❁The car❁ joshler

Untitled Part 1

I grip the wheel, eye your uncomfortable pose and profile and shift some, the economy of unrequited love in close quarters. It always comes back to the two of us and the car. Nervous skin on old leather seats or lighthearted positioning, foot on the dash or white knuckles, every point on the spectrum of comfort but always you in the passenger seat and me at the wheel. I mark wildflowers at the side of the road as we slowly get further and further from the city, watching summer wind in barley fields or patterns of power lines and the never ending strings of pylons or streetlights. The sun is barely touching the horizon.

I feel alright tonight, our unpaid rent checks left on the counter way back in the flat, where Mark and Chris will be sipping beers and playing video games or letting the TV play in the background as they sit bent over papers and laptops. There's something refreshing about the fact that we are here and not there, watching in a developing comfort of silence as the sky begins to turn blush. I sense your body relaxing now. We listen to the AC for a little, going somewhere; where we were or where I was or where I thought we'd end up. You put your bare feet both on the dash, a symbol of comfort and understanding.

Pulling onto the empty freeway now, your eyes closed in the pink light that illuminates the peach fuzz on your cheeks. Soft lips in a resting pout and long lashes casting shadows onto cheekbones you sit. Smiling in the evening as the streetlights turn that amber orange that they do when they first light up or in the early morning as they shut down. Your hair is that light mahogany that I have grown so accustomed to.

We glide off the well marked asphalt and up the hill that I know well, past industrial frames and through a seemingly useless barrier. The suspension on this beautiful old car does what it usually does and pretends to be non existent as I navigate the familiar bumps and holes in the cement path. I drive carefully, avoiding holes to let you sleep. I curse a couple times, whispering words that you rarely let me say.

Eventually we reach the end of the road and I stop. I pull hard on the break, keeping you safe though it seems impossible for the car to move from this place when we are in it. You stir now, smiling at me with sleep still weighing down your eyelids. I squeeze your hand, feeling familiar soft skin pressed against my rough fingers. I reach into the back, grabbing my mom's carpet and stepping clumsily out of the car. Levering myself up and then in turn help you, we sit on faded floral carpet on the roof of the car, then I move to touch your leg but something stays me. You move closer from the cold, exchanging body heat. On this metal it's warmer than my bed has ever been before, bodies curled together and buzzing with the excitement of the skin of your bare ankle touching my torso.

Now standing, we walk to the familiar abandoned St. Michaels church, its stained glass windows dust-caked and fading, the cracked concrete of the steps seemingly buzzing from the heat of the day. My cold fingers touch the nape of your back, sending shivers up your spine, you hold me tighter. The temperature is at a comfortable warmth as your legs wrap around my waist. Then sudden heat comes to my cheeks from the closeness that we have platonically shared for a long time. Something is different tonight, it's as if this feeling is deliberate.

Then before I know it those soft lips are pressed against mine and that tongue slips over them. My hot breath is on your neck, leaving marks that I would never have thought I would leave until now, in this moment. My hands ran over planes of tan skin. Then I move to kiss your chest, paying close attention to each sweet and stuttered breath that leaves your soul. You writhe under my touch, eyes hooded, it sends quivering power through my body.

Under the eye of the lord we kiss until your skin is so hot that I fear you'll melt these steps that we sit on in pure and clean love. With this thought I move you easily, lifting your thin frame and returning us to the backseat of the car that has grown to symbolise everything that we are. Here, on the cool leather of the seats, your fingers lace my hair. In that second the car fills with lust. Sweat beads on the fabric and windows steam up, only a large shirt of mine hangs on your frame as I lower you onto me, your eyes scrunch up for a moment. Now the backseat fills with a serenade of soft swears and moans. Your peach fuzz skin is flush against mine as your cheeks turn a specific shade of pleasured pink. We continue this dance for a while, the stereo playing songs that we've heard a million times but that have never sounded so good.

Now we drive home, we will return to normal for a while, hiding the purple bruises and the marks left by your nails on my shoulders. But like I said; It always comes back to the two of us and the car. .