And I’m desperate to feel him like this. We’ve had sex before; I’ve sunk so deeply inside of him and dug my teeth beneath his skin. But never like this—never with the knowledge that he loves me too. Assuredly, verbally, completely confirmed.
It does something else to my body—makes me frantic and careless. I’d do anything in this moment to keep him with me, I realize.
So I let that show in every movement, in every sound. It transfers from me to him as I shove his cock down my throat, asI kiss up his thighs and over his stomach, while I sink my fingers into the tightness of his back entrance.
And Benjamin is falling to pieces beneath me, moaning and whimpering as if I really am pulling him apart piece by piece.
“I’ve got you, I’m right here. Nothing will hurt you. I’ll burn this whole fucking city down, Benjamin. I won’t let them hurt you anymore.”
“Aaron, I love you. I love you so much.”
I’m pushing deeper and deeper into him, and in my heart, there is a sadness—a deep-rooted sadness that feels almost like guilt and regret.
Every inch of me is pressed against every inch of him, and as I flip him over and press my chest to his back, I bury my face into his neck and sink so deeply inside of him that he chokes.
And some time later, he’s coming, spasming around my dick as I thrust over and over again, and I’m tumbling right after him, my teeth latching onto the back of his neck in a painful claiming that feels like the only right way to take him.
To make him mine. To ensure that no one, not even Benjamin himself, can take this from me.
He’s hot against me, sweaty and full of my come. And as he talks me off the ledge that is the height of my orgasm, I can’t stop crying.
The force of how much I love him is racking through me in harsh waves.
But I can feel it. I can sense it in the tension of his body and the sad honesty of his hazel eyes: things aren’t magically fixed. I fear they will only get harder from here. How—I do not know.
If I hold him tight enough, can I prevent him from falling apart? As I think this, I pull out of his body and press my thumb over his entrance, keeping my seed inside of him.
The dream starts to fade, and the blood on the back of his neck leaks from the incisions in neat little lines, streaking over the sides of his neck.
I look at my notebook, now having scribbled the entirety of the dream onto the piece of paper. This is the first time it was so detailed.
And now—having seen it in such startling description—I am certain that Elijah and Benjamin are one. Right down to the color of his hair and the delicious curve of his hard cock.
I could see it in the bright hue of the green flecks in his eyes and the familiar way he clung to me and made himself completely defenseless.
With the addition of this new information—Aaron—I am now also certain that it is not a matter of memory loss or prophecy.
The man holding him so tightly was most definitely me. Therefore, Benjamin does not exist in this lifetime. I must have loved him before, when I was Aaron. And now I am Rowan, and he is Elijah, and I have found him again.
Or, to be accurate,hefoundme.
Why I am the only one with these memories of our time together, I’m unsure. But I intend on holding onto them.
And with the pain in my chest, with the sorrow and terror that courses through me at the sight of him, I know I must have lost him before.
When, where, and why remain unknown, and if I’m honest, I am not too concerned with figuring it out. I’m happy to writedown new information and collect the story if it comes to me, but it’s not a necessity. I’m just happy to have an explanation for my current issues.
I’m not crazy; I don’t have an incurable, unidentifiable mental illness. No—my body is mourning and remembering the loss of its other half. And now I am reunited.
Will the pain fade? Will this fear dissipate? Only time will tell.
I wish I could tell him. I wish I could grab Elijah and sit him down, explaining from start to finish how we are star-crossed lovers here to reconnect with one another. But he’d probably think I’m insane, so I’ll keep that little fact to myself. At least for now.
Taking the paper I’ve now ripped from my notebook, I clear the corkboard in my room and hang it. Then, I grab the film from my camera and begin the process of developing the picture I took of Elijah.
I won’t be going back to sleep any time soon, anyway.
It’s around lunch time when I hear a knock at my door. Three steady beats, then a moment of silence. I’m pretty sure I know exactly who it is from that alone, and my heart begins to beat at a quickened pace.
