A Brief Entanglement

The rain came down, silvery, the sky black but for the full reddish clouds that hovered overhead.  Smog and ash in the air, but it made for pretty sunsets and surreally coloured clouds.  The city was almost quiet, singles and couples and gangs of people running through the streets made blacker by the rain; it collected in the potholes and dips to reflect the streetlights many times over.  The sound of hard-soled heeled boots on wet asphalt and laughter as two children leap to the sidewalk. 

A gasp and a laugh, dripping hair smelling strongly of sweet-scented hairspray in water, smiles darkened by waxy waterproof lipstick.  Hands touching shoulders and breath mingling as bodies search for warmth.  A brief tangle of lips.  Another laugh.

Let's get out of here.

Clicking down the wet cement on heels, and the jangle of jewelry in motion.  Eyes bright and starred with passing reflections, the lashes matted to make the faces look like rag dolls. 

The juggling of keys, nervous giggles.  Then up the stairs lightly, hands clasped.  Silence, and then the keys again.  The door opens.

So cold, it's cold in the air conditioning. 

The flick of switches, hiss of a lighter, the smell of incense and candlewax. 

Bodies hugging themselves red hair and green eyes and blue eyes and dyed hair and pale skin on both. 

You can drive me home anytime.

Gladly.

Hands reaching, the smell of wet cotton and sweat, and black fabric lifted from white skin.  Silver charms knocking against each other.  Whispering.

I love you.

No, you don't.

Yes, I love you.

Black fingernails against skin, waxy smears on necks.  A small moan and a kiss at the pulse point.

Motion, a table clutter with paper and ashes.  A flash of a blade.  Kisses and a jewel on the underside of the wrist.  Black lips closed on alabaster skin and ruby blood falling at the corner of the mouth.

Oh, I love you.

Drawing blood and timeless motion.  The taste of salt and metal, water and smoke.  The quiet sucking of hungry mouths and sighing softly.  Hands in hair like spiders, and the hair like webs.  Tiny fangs stabbing at tender pieces, a single creature that eats itself, hugs itself, loves itself. 

And the sound of rain falling slanted against foil covered windows.

the end

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3/23/2016 Edited for formatting/spacing errors.