wolven7 | "Maybe dad was right..."

He was elbow deep in her chest cavity, and the warmth was fading, slowly. He could feel the convulsions and spasming muscles, and he had to turn his head away, when it looked like she was going to throw up. She didn't, though, and he was grateful for that. He kept reaching further, inside, and squeezing, harder, draging sharp nails against soft edges, and he thought that spasming was actually her trying to gasp. The lungs, he thought, were wonderful things, marvelous things, able to bond oxygen to blood, and run it through the cardiovascular system...

Her eyes were starting to roll back, in their sockets, and he bent down, touching his lips to hers. It flooded into him, then, and he inhaned her scent, her taste, heard her cells breaking down, and felt the nuclear heat die off of her. He took her into him, as the last of her warmth faded, again, for good, and waited for that feeling of two "I" observers, behind his eyes. She always made a grand entrance, and maybe their fathers had been right...

Maybe there really was no feeling like being in love.
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