by P. R. Zed

For the contrelamontre three senses challenge.

Alec buries his fist in my gut and I remember. Remember the gentleness of that same hand caressing my face, my throat, combing through my hair.

The copper tang of blood blooms in my mouth and I remember other tastes. Shared cigarettes and alcohol. Alec's skin, sweat-slicked and salty. The musk of his cock.

I hear his breath in my ear and remember when he strained against me in pleasure, not pain.

At the end, when he looks at me and sees death in my face, I feel it all: affection, loyalty, lust. Love. Betrayal. Hate.

And I let go.


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