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KIM KITSURAGI — Kim is making you uneasy with the way he watches this all play out.
MASQUERADE — Sitting on his heels at the end of the bed, head cocked and his expression unreadable. Boredom, perhaps? It seems like a front.
MASOCHIST — As if he didn’t just fuck you within an inch of your life. Your back still hurts from arching while on all fours.
ANOMALY — You’re getting old, Jean.
LOGIC — Kim and Harry are old men themselves. Older.
KIM KITSURAGI — He doesn’t act like it, though. You’d asked him — begged, really — to make it hurt. No condom, little prep.
SAVIOUR — It wasn’t as pleasant for him as sex should be; his hisses were audible. But he still liked it, you can tell.
RETORT — Or treated it like a chore. A bit clinical. Dr Kitsuragi, reporting for duty.
THE NEXT WORLD — Do not say that — there’s not enough space in this head to create more fantasy scenarios.
MASOCHIST — Regardless, it did hurt, but he still came inside you. That’s got to count for something.
HARRY DU BOIS — Now it is Harry’s turn, although he doesn’t use your body like Kim does, despite you — again — basically begging him to. Instead, he’s turned you over, gotten ahold of your hips, and pushed you flat against the mattress on your back.
SAVIOUR — Not quite pushed; guided down, more like. And it’s not a very tight grip either. You don’t remember him ever being so gentle with his hands. It seems to be some sort of trait he’s developed over the past few months, a new way of saying without actually saying it aloud, I’ve got you. Relax. No one is getting hurt here.
MASOCHIST — Although you wish he wouldn’t. You wouldn’t mind letting him tear you apart.
SAVIOUR — This is not the man who used to drunkenly kiss you in seedy pubs and beat strangers who called you both fags, or cry while you sucked his cock, the blonde wig falling over your face as he called you a name that wasn’t yours.
THE NEXT WORLD — Where did he go? Not quite sure. Away forever, perhaps, to some distant land inhabited only by ex-wives and peaches.
LOGIC — Apricots. It’s apricots.
PARLÉ — How could you forget? He never stopped going on about it. Had a panic attack outside that Frittte on Turnpike Street once because some chick at the payphone was chewing gum.
YOU — Tutti frutti.
SAVIOUR — That’s right. Nearly killed him on the spot.
YOU — Yeah, well, he’s pretty fucking lively now, and I am quite partial to him being alive and all.
PARAMOUR — He’d smile if you told him that.
WILLPOWER — Although you might want to save it for when he’s not about to suck your cock.
PARAMOUR — He’d smile even with your cock in his mouth. He’s romantic like that.
YOU — Let’s not discuss the vastness of his fucking heart or soul or whatever while he’s—
HARRY DU BOIS — He’s trailing kisses down your chest in a very non-linear order; left to right, over your ribs, between them, down, up, sucking on a spot next to your belly-button.
CONSTELLATION — Birthmark; that ugly, port wine stain covering a pretty sizeable patch of your skin. The kind of thing that looks like a blood blister or a bruise, something terrible and violent. The kind of thing past lovers—
ISLE OF MAN — Though there haven’t been very many.
CONSTELLATION — They would look at it and hesitate, wondering what mess they’ve gotten themselves into. You are not a very attractive man, but you know how to be obedient when it matters. That keeps people around.
HARRY DU BOIS — His hands drift upwards and start to ghost your sides.
YOU — “Knock it off.” You can’t push him away from this angle, not really. The effort is minimal anyway. You sound so incredibly tired.
CONSTELLATION [Medium: Failure] — More late nights at the gym for you, Vicquemare. There shouldn’t be that much there for him to grab onto.
MUSCULATURE — Don’t fucking kill him, goddamn. He looks perfectly fine. Say shit like that and he’ll start shooting up Agathé’s ketamine as pre-workout.
JUNKIE — I do like the sound of that.
WILLPOWER — That is a terrible idea. That would kill him.
ANOMALY — Oh yes, and we wouldn’t want that, would we? Just imagine it, your poor little heart giving out. Breathing slowing down until you don’t at all. It’s a depressant too, a sedative. Might even be peaceful.
YOU — I really need you all to stop doing this when I am mid-fuck, by the way. He’s— why is he looking at me like that?
HARRY DU BOIS — He frowns slightly and kisses you again, this time on your V-line. Sucks there too, causing you to ball your fists in the sheets and roll your head up into the pillow, gasping.
KIM KITSURAGI — Then you see Kim out of the corner of your eye, still watching intently. It’s a bit fucking disconcerting, you won’t lie, though wet breaths against your skin momentarily pull you out of the thought.
SAVIOUR — It almost looks like he’s frowning too, but he keeps it more hidden, his lips still drawn in a relatively tight line.
KIM KITSURAGI — He shifts on the mattress and shuffles over to you, wordless, and close. Too close. Too much is happening, and you can’t focus, because, well.
HARRY DU BOIS — There’s him, with his mouth roaming through your pubic hair, searching, searching. Hair on hair, where does he end and you begin?
YOU — Horrifying thought. I do not like the idea of us being this, like, three headed creature thing.
THE NEXT WORLD — You are too morbid; what little love still exists in this world manifests itself in ways like this. Bodies writhing against each other, and a million tiny ruptures. You are an amalgam of all the affection they have ever given you.
ISLE OF MAN — Giving it now.
PARAMOUR — Kissing you. That’s what Kim is doing. You were too focused on Harry to notice that, Jean.
KIM KITSURAGI — That’s right — he’s readjusted himself and is holding your face in his hands.
PERCEPTION (TOUCH) — Uncharacteristically sweaty hands.
KIM KITSURAGI — Kissing your lips and jaw and nose and eyelids and—
CONSTELLATION — You reckon that disgusts him a bit, feeling your bumpy skin on his lips? Looking at how pallid you are?
ANOMALY — Like a corpse.
YOU — Shut up. Shut the fuck up, please.
PERCEPTION (TOUCH) — The sheets are back in your hands again, kind of wet.
HARRY DU BOIS — You glance down, and he’s taken his sweet fucking time, but the man’s finally gotten your cock in his mouth, and he wastes no time licking the tip, tongue over the slit.
YOU — Shit.
KIM KITSURAGI — While Kim slips his own tongue into your mouth and kisses you hard. Not greedy, not taking more than he needs. Simultaneously the patron saint of sex appeal and godly restraint.
ADRENALINE — The two most receptive parts of your body are being fucked beyond belief right now. You are not even in possession of a body anymore.
THE NEXT WORLD — You’ve floated off somewhere else entirely.
PERCEPTION (SOUND) — The moan that leaves your mouth doesn’t sound like it belongs to you either, nor the gasp when Kim bites your lower lip, nor the quiet please as Harry gains speed.
WILLPOWER — Almost there.
JUNKIE — Then your hips buck upwards, accompanied by a feeling that surpasses anything you could ever inject into your bloodstream.
HARRY DU BOIS — He looks up at you with this almost unwavering adoration, like you are an Innocence whom he is begging at the feet of.
KIM KITSURAGI — While his other god speaks softly into your mouth.
LABYRINTH — There’s a pervasive quietness in your head as you come down from the orgasm; two millimetres wide, a swallow. The topic of conversation over dinner an hour prior, with non-alcoholic beer and the good bread from the shops, because you all got paid this week and thought, we can eat in luxury.
ISLE OF MAN — When the world succumbs to that swallow, there will be no one left to remember how much the two of them meant to you. It’s a sort of love that feels secluded, harboured within yourself, the forever-voyeur. This is only sex to them. There are no multitudes to it. But…
WILLPOWER — You are still here despite it. You still exist.