. sustancias

[rosie de la cruz]

Rosie

The heat rushes before it breaks, eyes screwed shut as she braced for each rolling pulse of her own body, knowing he was close when his steadiness fell away and he was chasing the same high she was trembling for. Only looking to hm when her name sounded from his lips, when stillness met them both and she felt she could finally, finally, catch her breath. Any further and Rosie felt she'd have been tipping to painful sensitivity, even now flinching at his shift to pull her closer, grimace swallowed into a deep kiss she returned with flickering fervor. Rosie's mind was also whirring back to life in the process, wondering what now. Where did this leave them in the aftermath, staring at one another with nothing further ahead figured out? Quietly, swiftly, she recalibrates, focusing on her. What did she want, now? Rosie leans in for another kiss, one silent in word but thankful in meaning, easing gently up on her knees to then fall to the bed next to him. What she really wanted was a shower and the softness of her robe but her legs needed to come back to her as well, tipping her head to the side to study him. "What you did to me," she all but laughs, hands coming up to her face again as she lets out one deep breath, then another. Eyeing her bathroom door that seemed so far away, the creeping desire for a minute to herself. "I...still need a second, extra towels are in there if you want to shower."

[benicio otero]

Benicio

Sometimes after the peak, there is regret during the comedown. When he was younger and reckless, that meant senseless pillow talk or planning a quiet exit; existing only physically, withdrawing mentally. Some strings were severed easily, others thinned until they broke or became tied elsewhere. With Rosie and this agreement, it wasn’t quite so anonymous or clean cut. Turn off his feelings, bury the memories, nix the aftercare. Bite his tongue about missing her or any part of this. Maybe a version of them existed in some timeframe when they first met, if they had gone home together and realized they were all wrong for each other right away. She falls to his side, the both of them still recovering. There is a startling clarity afforded after his orgasm, energy renewed, drinks muted to a hum in his system. Tempted to invite her into the shower with him, Benicio studies her for a moment and decides against it, knowing where this is going. After one more kiss he shuffled to the bathroom, shedding the condom and stepping beneath the hot water. Steam clouded the mirrors when he got out, towel tucked around his waist as he gathered his clothes. Tossing her robe onto the sheets next to her, he pulled on his boxer briefs and nodded toward the bathroom. “I can be gone by the time you’re done,” he offered, zipping up his pants.

[rosie de la cruz]

Rosie

I don't do this. It feels as much of a cliche as it usually sounds, Rosie's eyes all but rolling at her blank ceiling. Trying to tug her feelings back one by one, fighting the urge to follow him into the room slowly filling with steam. Breaking routines to grasp at the pieces, finding them more valuable than the whole. Or a lot less painful, at least, finally gathering the energy to sit up as he emerged. Then trying with all her might to fight the soft sadness that clung when he tossed her robe at her. As if he'd read her mind, sliding it over her shoulders as bit by bit they drew away from each other. Sorting through their own versions of this, whatever it was, meeting his gaze with her own muted complacency. Acknowledging this reunion for what it was; physical, fleeting, good. Slowly stepping away from anything further as she nodded, tying the sash around her waist and swallowing the awkward words she'd likely try to spit out. Settling instead for another kiss, a breathy "goodnight," seared against his lips before Rosie stepped back and drifted into the heated haze.

[benicio otero]

Benicio

Tiny, imperceptible invitations: the bathroom door left ajar in case she changed her mind, his palm open between them in the backseat. Little lifelines Beno didn’t realize he was tossing out into the wind at someone who often diverted her gaze, jaded by the many attempts of others. She looked backwards, he knew from stories about her ex and the deep roots that still held her in place at times—but not at him; if he was out of sight, he was out of mind. A vague flash of hope that she will say no and insist her stay the night, allowed to wake up next to her in the morning. But before the hypothetical can begin to settle, he remembers her warning from the bar: it’s this or nothing. Starving for her, the choice was easy and instant. Watching the robe flit around her waist, his own shirt back on, adjusting the creases and hems as the shower continued to stream a few feet away, knowing he is losing her in a new way—voluntarily, almost welcomed—and these are their last few moments. Again. “Goodnight, Rosie,” he echoed after her, leaning into the kiss before it’s broken. Realizing he was still without her number, the power back in her grasp. “Call me next time you need me,” he said as she disappeared into the steam like an apparition, finding the door out of her apartment but not out of her life.