Orbit

He sits on the same couch as her. They’ve been doing this for a while now, sitting close but not touching. She is pretending to listen when he speaks, but finds herself mesmerized by his words, drawn into the tone of his voice and the movement of his lips. When she speaks he is distracted, his eyes drawn to the swell of her breasts and the way her trousers press tightly against her crotch as she sits with one leg tucked under her. They laugh and chat and conversation jumps from topic to topic. He imagines his hand pressed against her crotch. He imagines the sensation as the warmth radiates through the fabric and onto his skin. He feels a stirring in his pants. She senses the change and knows they are close, that it is almost time, and that they have just launched themselves into this inevitable orbit around each other. Now there is no turning back. Now they can say as little or as much as they like, because there will only be one outcome. It will end in a tangle of arms and legs. Sweat and saliva and hurried, heated breath. Fingers and hands and muscles straining, chests heaving and words, passionate words. Swearing and angry looks and her hands on his hard body and his hands on her softness. Words whispered in her ear that will melt her and take her further until she feels her wetness running down between her legs. Until he finishes inside her, or in her mouth. Until they have one last kiss and fall asleep in each other’s arms. Until the next night, on the couch, where it starts all over again. Where they start their inevitable orbit once more.