They didn't have to be stronge for one another. One of them wasn't always weak, wasn't always about to break down. But they liked it. They liked holding and being held and knowing that they were safe and knowing that they were making the other feel safe.
When she was weak, when she was hurting he would take her into his lap and she would cry into his neck, shaking, sobbing, shuddering for what seemed like hours to him. He always knew she would be ok, he always worried that she wouldn't. And when she was finished she would lick her tears off his skin, and push him back unto the bed where she would ride him until he lost control. Until she subdued him, until she took back the strength she had momentarily let go of. She would watch his face contort when he climaxed, pain and pleasure mingling to form a heavenly mask of wonderful agony. At that moment she was complete.
When he was weak he would bury his face in her lap, and she would stroke his skin where she could and kiss his head and love him in all the ways she could without words or sex. And when he was done he would lick his tears off her skin and push her back on the bed. He would make furious love to her, reclaiming the control he had temporarily given to her. He would hold off until he felt her approaching orgasm, and would let himself come only when she did. In this way he proved to her that he was once again in control of himself, that she no longer needed to protect him, to worry for him.
When they were both weak they clung to each other desperately. Their skin almost fusing with the intensity of their need. And when they made love it was a gentle reassurance from both of them to both of them that they were safe, that they were loved, that nothing in the world could hurt them and no one could tear them appart.
When they were both strong their sex was wild and passonate to the point of madness. They would fight for control, wrestle for supremacy. Their room would be filled with barely controlled groans, captured moans, and laughter, always laughter. They would tire themselves out but not admit it until neither one could take it anymore and they would both collapse in a tangled heap of flesh and sweat and other things.
When they were tired, just tired. Not weak, or strong, or needy or needed, just tired. They wouldn't have sex at all, just collapse onto the bed next to each other, hands clasped tightly together and they would fall asleep, and dream sweet dreams of surrender and defiance, of giving and getting, of needing and being fulfilled. They were together even then. Even when it was only in dreams.
When they parted, as they knew they would have to eventually, they remembered each other with more than a little fondness, with more than a little longing. They would never find another that filled their missing halves as well, that gave as much as they took. That knew them and allowed them to live and never held it against them. As long as they lived they never knew such completeness again.
|Genres:||Angst, Drama, Romance|
|Summary:||The Give and Take that makes a relationship.|