Snapshot Fiction - 5am

Jul 09, 2005 11:16

Dedicated to my lovers. Thank you for letting me share your bed and reminding me of the magic of 5am.

5am

The morning is slow and sleepy, light just starting to creep into the nighttime dark. Everything is gray and hazy except for the arm draped across my hip. The sensation burns hot and bright, spreading warm through my body. My lover sleeps behind me, relaxed and unaware that dawn is approaching.

My skin still tingles and my mind feels fuzzy. I feel happily sluggish and subdued from our last slow entanglement. I slip out from underneath that protective, possessive arm pausing only to caress it once, fondly. I smile.

My clothes are strewn across the room and I collect them and dress quickly and quietly. There’s a long drive ahead of me and I can’t be missed. I have my shoes in hand but I pause at the door, slip back into the bedroom and leave one lingering kiss on my companion’s cheek. A soft sigh, my lover rolls over and settles more deeply into sleep. I have never seen a more beautiful face.

Outside I slip my shoes on, keys in hand. Dawn is threatening but isn’t quite here yet. The morning fog holds it back. I settle into the drivers’ seat, taking a moment to familiarize myself with the inside of my car. Everything feels unfamiliar. I run my hands over the controls, trying to remember what everything does. My mind is still hazy, still drifting in the last vestiges of orgasm. When I finally start the car I find driving to be a fascinating endeavor. I can feel the bumps of the road through the accelerator. The wheel seems alive in my grip.

I start to drive, making it as far as the first red light. I’m staring at the light, marveling at the brilliant colors, watching them change, before I remember, faintly, that these colors mean something. I bring my car to a stop just in time to avoid any hypothetical cross-traffic. The road is mostly mine at 5am.

Buildings blur by and I watch with fascination. There are colors here I’ve never seen. The mountains are taller. I am drunk with the power of my own car - a silly little tin can of a thing - gleefully pushing the needle past 60, past 70, up over 100, flying down the highway with the wind whipping through the open windows, alive with the memory of stolen kisses and caresses, alive with the memory of two bodies tangles together, of slow smiles, laughter, heat, sweat… I am alive with the memory of being more than myself, of being wanted, desired.

It is 5am. Everything is new again. I am alive.

sex, writing

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