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He suddenly gasped, loudly, a gut wrenching gasp, and pulled himself out of her mouth. At first she was confused, why would he do that? She was braced and ready to receive a mouthful of his cum. She wanted that. She wanted to taste him. But then what he did was beyond what she’d imagined. The man who did not speak. He pulled out, grabbed his cock with his own hand, pumped once, firmly, and shot his load all over her. She felt warm spurts of liquid landing on her collarbone, her chest, her breasts. She turned her head and felt droplets on her neck.
And a single word tore from his throat.
A rough rasp, “Elijah!”
It flooded the room, a tidal wave of raw emotion in that single utterance. He fell forward onto her. Limp and heavy.
His warm hands came down and skimmed over his cum droplets, rubbing it into her skin as if it was massage oil. Over her neck, smearing down her body. To her breasts, where there were larger puddles now. Her breasts, her ribs, her whole torso. He rubbed himself into her with firm, warm strokes. His eyes followed his ministrations.
He took a deep breath. In and out. And another.
“Elijah,” he whispered again, quieter now. Like a delicate spun sugar decoration being placed on top of a snow soft ice cream sundae. “Elijah.”
He’d just said his name.
His old name.
Out loud.
He’d spoken his name.
In front of her. He was standing up to the universe and saying his name. Yes, Elijah, I’m Elijah. I fucking exist, okay? I’m atoms, I’m matter, I have a pulse and I fucking exist after all. He just suddenly realized that he did want to stand up and be counted after all. After years of thinking he didn’t, after years of wanting nothing more than to fade into the black fabric of the universe and let the atoms of his body simply drift away into space. Now, he felt like an actual being. A free agent, able to do. Able to change. Able to feel. Able to speak. A human. To be loved. To be cherished. To be respected. To be heard. Because he existed. Goddammit it, he existed after all.
He’d had the biggest fucking orgasm of his life and the force of it had exploded something else inside him. He felt it, like the big bang, a universe coming into being. Something new beginning within him. A feeling of wanting to exist. For the first time in a long time, motivation to care. To try. To live. He buried his face in the nape of her neck. Smelling her hair, her warmth. Smelling life. He took another deep sniff.
“Elijah? Is that your name?” she asked, shifting a little, sitting up now on her elbows.
He took a breath, and closed his eyes, even though it was dark and they could barely see each other.
“Eli,” he offered up into the darkness.
Sophie breathed. “It’s a beautiful name.”
And he fucking loved her. In that moment, that instance, he loved her. She didn’t question, didn’t pry for more, didn’t clap and whoop or make a big deal out of it. She just rolled with it, embraced it, and offered him nothing more than the warmth of home. And that was all he wanted. He lightly butted his head against hers.
Did she realize what she had done? He was hers now, and she was his. And he was going to love her as much as he could with his new, barely formed, immature little heart that skipped its beat in his hollow, dark chasm of a chest.
He proffered up a droplet on his finger, offering her a taste like she did earlier with ice cream. He was high off success, the adrenaline and serotonin in his blood making him brave, ballsy. He wanted her to lick the essence of him. He wanted to feed her with himself. He wanted to give himself to her. He wanted her to taste him. She had heard him, now he wanted her to taste him. This was where things changed, he realized. He’d spoken. Out loud. To her. Things were only going to get more intense, and he was going to make them happen. She wanted into his life? She was coming in. He would let her in, drag her in, and she would have all of him. Slowly, he wasn’t going to rush this, he was going to savor it. Sure, it was going to terrify him, he was going to new places, trying new things, laying his newborn, stuttering little heart on the line here, but he would be pushing on, regardless.
She looked at his finger, approaching her mouth with the wetness clinging to it. She wordlessly opened her mouth, and sucked. He felt her tongue flick out as she made eye contact with him. Her eyelids fluttered like she was tasting one of her ice creams. Something that brought her pleasure. She’d done that before, when they had both tasted each other in the ice cream parlor. She wanted him in her mouth. Fuck yeah. Get used to it, Sugar Plum Fairy, ‘cause you’ll be tasting more of it, a lot more, he thought.
* * *
“When I first saw you,straddling your motorcycle, across the street, I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know what to say,” she said then, looking up at him.
He blinked. How ironic, she didn’t know what to say?
He pulled his clothes back on, tossed her pile of clothes from the floor to her. He dug out his phone.
“Oh, of course, I’m sure you have somewhere to be,” she babbled, blushing now but not with sex, with embarrassment. No, she was misunderstanding him. He shouldn’t have dived onto his phone, it probably seemed rude. He wasn’t leaving. He wanted it again, wanted her again. He would have her again. His fingers dug out his phone and flew over the keyboard.
Her phone pinged in the back pocket of her jeans that she was clumsily trying to wiggle into. She fished it out. And a smile instantly lit her face. Phantom eased.
She read his text message out loud. “Date night. Come out with me.” He had written.
She looked up at him and replied, speaking her text out loud as she did so. “When? Where?”
He texted his reply back instantly. “Tonight. Your place. Now.”
