knowing the unsaid

he sat watching the same movie for the tenth time. the only explanation needed for the repeated watches? “this is a great movie.. really.” so I sat next to him, close but not touching. electricity crackling in the emptiness between us. his jaw, clenching and relaxing, betraying him. his hands, lightly guarding the remote, and I know what he’s thinking. his whole body, just barely rigid, and so goddamned still. he’s never that still unless he’d rather be moving. so I turn to watch him watching, and instantly his attention flees the television in favor of my face. the final tell. he turns back to the show, but a moment too late. I take the remote from his loose grip, and he’s still. reaching up to his chin, I tilt his head toward mine, kissing him softly, lightly. I’m barely breathing and I’ve only just begun. I consider pacing myself, so I can still breathe in a dozen minutes’ time. then his hand grazes the nape of my neck and my loose resolve loses itself among the smooth marriage of skin on skin, the goosebumps that belie my wanting.. appearing everywhere all at once, much like his wandering kisses. his body’s still not relaxed, neck craned just right to kiss me.. nothing more. he’s trying so hard not to want this moment. trying to make me possible to live without so that when I force him to, he’ll stay somewhat intact. almost whole. but soon he’ll give in. soon, he’ll want the feel of my skin on his badly enough that he’ll convince himself he’s just saving up memories for when I’m gone. that kissing me is better than not because it’s what I want, because it feels right, because resisting is just too damn hard and too complicated. and I’ll push him to that point because it’s what I need. what I’ve always needed. even because it’s what I’ve convinced myself he needs. so I swing one leg over his, and my heart pounds as I kiss from his lips to his neck, his collarbone, his barely beating, barely breathing chest. I can hear the words that’ll ask me to stop on just the other side of the silence, and I can feel phantom hands waiting to press my shoulders away from his. so I let my mind go. let my hands and lips wander where they like because I feel him both wanting and not to pull away, and I don’t know which side will win. when he turns me until the comfort of his weight is on top of me, I know he’s regretting that he wants me and wishing desperately for the world he always thought he’d live in.. the one where moments like these, his lips passionate on mine, bodies moving in a graceful explanation of perfection, are commonplace. where he doesn’t have to ration memories and kisses because they don’t end. but for a few savorable moments, I convince myself to forget, and hope he does too, that our kisses are numbered and remaining days together few.