[Alina curls closer, welcomes him into the cradle of her legs, and they fit together as they always have. As her warm sweet milk splashes his tongue, and his cock nuzzles into her, her voice unfurls from an oft-tended flowerbed of his memories: Like I was made for you. And in that dream he'd answered, We made ourselves for each other. Now it's an ache that threatens to split him open, yearning for wholeness amid the broken pieces of who they are.
They have never acknowledged it so directly, the desire at the root of that dream. They'd talked around the awkwardness of sharing something so raw. They'd buried it and carried on. It was the dream that planted in him the longing to be a father, but now Nikolai wonders if it was his ever-present loneliness, like a wall of clouds darkening the horizon whenever he considers the day he must resume his real life, that invited the dream in the first place.
There is so much he could say to her. A whole swell of emotions pressing against his tongue, sticking to the roof of his mouth. Luckily, the performance of his duty of sucking her tit exempts him from answering right away. After a stretch of quiet, filled with only the soft wet sounds of his task, he releases her nipple.]
I did too. [His words tip-toe out, fragile things afraid of the light of day. His gaze flickers on her face before lowering again. In this pause, he busies himself with her other breast, cupping its newfound heft, pulsing his thumb just so to surface her milk.] Against all practicality and logic and hope.
[He doesn't know what to do with all this truth. It hangs in the air around them, stifling in the still dark of night. He doesn't know what to do with the weight of wanting and knowing he can never have it. All his life he has always manifested his desires, bent the course of his life and the shape of his world to achieve his goals. But no amount of bending can make her his beyond this little pocket of time and space, or create the future they hunger for after just a taste.]
no subject
They have never acknowledged it so directly, the desire at the root of that dream. They'd talked around the awkwardness of sharing something so raw. They'd buried it and carried on. It was the dream that planted in him the longing to be a father, but now Nikolai wonders if it was his ever-present loneliness, like a wall of clouds darkening the horizon whenever he considers the day he must resume his real life, that invited the dream in the first place.
There is so much he could say to her. A whole swell of emotions pressing against his tongue, sticking to the roof of his mouth. Luckily, the performance of his duty of sucking her tit exempts him from answering right away. After a stretch of quiet, filled with only the soft wet sounds of his task, he releases her nipple.]
I did too. [His words tip-toe out, fragile things afraid of the light of day. His gaze flickers on her face before lowering again. In this pause, he busies himself with her other breast, cupping its newfound heft, pulsing his thumb just so to surface her milk.] Against all practicality and logic and hope.
[He doesn't know what to do with all this truth. It hangs in the air around them, stifling in the still dark of night. He doesn't know what to do with the weight of wanting and knowing he can never have it. All his life he has always manifested his desires, bent the course of his life and the shape of his world to achieve his goals. But no amount of bending can make her his beyond this little pocket of time and space, or create the future they hunger for after just a taste.]