Take and in the taking you shall give back tenfold. Take so that you may give. Take, and be taken in return. I take of you so that you may be taken. The perfume of his skin is invading my senses, sending me ever higher. My pulse, already racing in time with the club's insane music, spins itself faster and faster. My heart knows what's coming, what's going to happen. It flutters with anticipation, greedy and aching with pure, unfettered want. I read somewhere about all the chemicals your body releases during sex and how they make you want more--some sort of drivel about mating and evolution and keeping the species going. They mentioned voles, too, the amusing irony of which didn't escape me. Humans, not all that different from rodents. I think my body is addicted to those chemicals, or more accurately to his. To the ones he creates, the ones my body only releases when it's him plowing into me, him holding me down and lifting me up. I'm an addict, I'm jonesing for a fix, and my body knows it's about to get a hit of the good stuff. Mouth watering, cock pulsing, skin tingling, fingers itching for a taste. A preview of what's to come.

Deeper take me higher, take me, deeper higher taking.

I want this to last, this my first fix of the night. He created this need, out on the dance floor, and now he's going to satisfy it. Nurture it, nourish it, feed this craving. I want it hard and fast and long and slow. I want it every way the backroom has never seen it. The men back here, they're addicts too. Wanting, needing the sensation, the connection. The thing is, they're crackheads trying to make do with cigarettes. The rush, such as it is, isn't enough; it can't even distract them from what they need, for even a minute. Pretty pathetic existence when a mouth on your cock can't make you feel good. I resist the urge to smirk; after all, I'm about to get a shot of the best stuff on earth, and they can watch, or not, but they can't have any. Mine all mine hands off mine mine mine.

He's closer now; close enough that the sexual gravity that pulls everyone to him starts to act on me too. Every atom in my body realigns itself, tugging me to him. Each step is a monumental effort; my body screams to let go, give in and float back to him. Join him, be taken. Taken. Then it happens; his fingers wrap around my wrist and all of a sudden every nerve in my body exists in that narrow strip of skin. My cock feels his hand, my ankles fight the restraint, my throat gasps for air as it constricts. I dare to look at him, even though I know the view will make me weaker--if it's possible for me to be any more so than I am now. A strong thought would tip me over and leave me a puddle at his feet. I'd still be reaching for him, though. Wanting.

The randomly moving air molecules between us shift and scurry and I know know he's about to move, about to take my mouth but I can't do shit about it; I'm stuck in that gravitational field. Like I'd actually not want this. Oh god his mouth, his tongue, the taste of him is suffocating me in moonlight. I can't see, it's so strong, overwhelming, ferally aggressive as he takes, stealing harshly. There is no air between us; his body against mine and mine against something holding me upright. I'm trapped, caged the way he likes me to be, like some sort of prey he's tracked down and captured. I'm his favorite quarry; willing but not yielding, hunted but not resigned, surrendered but not docile. I'll fight to the end, and even past it--but I'll fight with him. For him. He has me where he wants me, but that's not important. I have him where I want him, and I didn't have to do a damned thing to get him there. And they call me easy.

My cock is talking, Come on come on come on come on, speaking an endless litany of it-wants-something-tangible. We want something. Anything, just give it to us. I know there's something coming, and I want it now. When he leaves my mouth I protest; give me back that which is mine you fuck harder, bite down, draw blood, it's yours-mine-yours, take-take-give-take oh god he knows what that does to me, knows how it destroys my mind. I can't think can't find words am left more more climb inside and take some more.

He moves away and I'm bereft, left stranded and unsupported. The universe expands unwillingly to include the space between us, a space quickly contracted as my hands find his shirt and my mouth his skin. We're a writhing, twisting sculpture, made more there and more beautiful by each bit we cast off. His skin is sweat and spice and already tastes like come, as if it's bubbling just below the surface. Seething, twisting, waiting to find me. Mine, mine alone, belonging on my tongue, in my body, within my hands. Mine.

I think I'm moving again; dark and light splashes of some other reality flit across my retinas. The way my leg is moving lets me know what's what and I catch it over the sofa and hey, there are people on this thing. I can feel their eyes sucking my cock. Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Touch it and draw back a nub, asshole; that belongs to the god behind me. He's put me on display, his prize possession, the most precious item ever given to him. I gave it myself, including no gift receipt, and now that he's finally found a place in his life-loft-hand for me, he's become fond of praising himself for his good taste. He likes to show me off, just like he's doing now. I get the impression that this is going to be an extended display of looking-at-what-you-can't-have. They all know his measure, literally and figuratively. By the time he's done, they'll know that they're doubly lost, since he'll never let them have at me. Ever.

I'm grateful for the support, already letting it take some of my weight and knowing it'll bear more in a few short minutes. His hands are on me, petting and measuring and oh god again yeah, right there, go ahead, I want you inside. But the air is shifting again, my skin tracking his lips as they trail down my spine. A sudden chill strikes as he breathes in and god oh god, inside hard-wet-slick-hard twisting-scraping-twisting so fucking hard. My mouth drops open, gaping as my head rolls back. There's a ceiling somewhere, but not in this universe. This reality is nothing but him and me, and right now most of that existence has boiled down to his tongue and my hole and what the fuck. Stretching, pulling, there's more of him inside me, his tongue doing that a few times for good measure. I can hear my voice, clear as a morning sky. I'm wailing, screaming, the sounds reverberating on the insides of my skull. Most of the noise is contained; only a few whimpers escape. I wonder if he can hear both sounds--the few I deign to share with the room, or the plaintive cries meant only for him-and-me. I put out of my mind everyone watching us; they are nothing but matter-standing-as-witness, mere formalities to this proceeding. We are the only things really here, in both mind and body, fingers and tongues stirring us together, mixing us up and I can feel him wanting more. His tongue is desperate, searching for something that only another part of him can find.

Then fingers, unnaturally slick and somewhat cooler than the blood-heat I prefer. They're spread open and I can feel it, the head of his cock, nudging between them. Laying in wait, whispering to my hole, teasing-torturing-teasing. My body reacts instinctively. We are prey but we don't give up without a fight. If you want, you have to take. So take. Force the issue, push, shove, take it. Take me. Make me submit, make me open myself to you. Waiting is hell so take this wanting away. He owns me, but I make him prove that ownership again and again. Every goddamned time, so he never takes it for granted. Every time, so he never will.

This taking begins at a pace not unlike that of spring thawing the winter; so slow that acceleration is imperceptible, too slow speed the fuck up, come on move faster you fucking cock. He's on my back, mouth consuming my neck, shrinking our universe so very slowly. My ass is screaming at him, my mouth wide open, voice silently pleading for mercy, throat aching with need. He's here, next to me, breath warming me. We stare together into the infinite nothingness we're creating so slowly. My ass is spreading open, millimeter by millimeter, every muscle fiber relaxing individually. Their voices join mine, this erotic choir chanting his name, begging, sending up wordless prayers. Our offerings fall on deaf ears as the head of his cock pushes on shrieking ripping pressure flooding, move-move-move you can't stay there oh god you're not leaving, please god have mercy on fucking deeper go on let me come the pleasure hurts so goddamn much. Existence slips from my grasp and I'm lost, adrift on an excruciating sea of desiring-reprieve. He's merciless, never straying from his path and it takes at least a decade for him to move past my prostate. I'm so caught up in the momentary relief that I don't immediately notice that he's there. There and we are joined. Our reality is shrink-wrapped around us now, pulling us tight, sealing this union. There is no exit, no way back. No way out. We are. United.

I can hear him, his fingers softly speaking and thus I listen, body calming so I can hear his words. I let myself ebb and flow around him, waiting for the cue to begin. To come into being, to become. The first slide out is a crime, one I endure only because of that empty-filling-opening sensation that is his return. I can't help protesting, grasping him, bringing him back into me. We undulate, skin stroking skin, my cock commiserating with his as he fucks me and I fuck air. Right now both of us are plunging into insane tightness, gasping and reaching. He's riding me and I'm riding his cock, holding him prisoner as he holds me down, prey enslaving predator.

He's drawing this out, taking it slow. Normally we'd be mindlessly rutting by now, our choreographed dance breaking down into furious thrashing. This time we're maintaining the pace, maddening though it may be. My body is caterwauling, my blood clawing at my veins, cock and balls protesting this steady flood of sensation that is battering away at my mind. I can feel myself coming but I'm not; it's a hallucination brought on by memories of what we could be doing. It's so real, though, so very there, mocking my continued arousal.

We're almost there, nearly to the finish; soul-shattering pleasure has filled every corner of our beings. My skin is starting to orgasm, the tingling beauty of it spreading like frost melting from my toes and fingers, creeping stealthily towards my cock. The same thing is happening to him, his body listening to mine as each part of me separately concedes to him victory in whatever-we're-doing. I tighten around him, then constrict once again, making it impossibly difficult for him to remove himself from me. He doesn't want to be out of me anyway, so why should I make it easy on him? I let myself listen, allow myself to hear what he's saying and that does it; our whispers slide together until we're saying the same thing, our bodies echoing the words, jaws clenched in waiting-for-fuck there it is slamming into us over and over. It washes over us, cleansing us of our impurities, burning away the rough patches and fading scars.

His cock pulses inside me, mimicking my own body's convulsions. Every stream is matched, filling and emptying simultaneously. The after is at least as good as the now we just shared; the pleasure is less intense but being able to breathe makes it very satisfying. His weight against my back grounds me as our reality expands with every exhalation, thinning and stretching until those around us can't tell that they're in world completely separate from ours. The illusion has shifted, and so must we. I protest the loss, even though I know it's a necessity.

I glance around as we retreat, measuring the expressions on our audience's faces. Do they even know what they saw? Perhaps they simply witnessed an elegant power play, predator taking down prey. Did any of them see the worship, hear the prayers? Could they have comprehended the union, its inherent equality, how taking and being taken were so muddled there was no difference between the two? He took me, yes, but in order to do so I had to take him and in ways that far overshadowed his taking of me.

Then his lips are on mine again and I decide that I don't give a damn. We're going home so we can do this again and again and again, but with fewer people and more precision, in a place where I can wail as loudly with my voice as I do with my mind.