Rating: NC-17

Lying beside you, on you, under you, in you, you in me - transcends words, makes them meaningless, worthless. It transcends emotions, feelings. It's so much more than anything else. The intensity of the act of loving you, being loved by you, is just overwhelming.

I thought it would grow old after a while. I thought that in time the gloss would wear off and we wouldn't want to make love so often; we would find that we knew each other's responses too well; 'push button A after button P to go off like a rocket', but it hasn't been like that.

It's not that you don't know which buttons to rub against or bite or lick, because you do, and in what order to do them in, but it's not boring, because you know that when you devote all your senses to giving me pleasure, it drives me crazy and yet makes me feel so cherished and special, I can't even begin to describe it.

Sometimes when we're sitting in Simon's office talking over a new case, or rehashing an old one, my attention wanders and I know I've got a goofy smile on my face, and I realize I'm growing hard just from remembering what we did. I have to pull something onto my lap to cover the bulge before anyone notices. You smirk, knowingly, so I shift in my seat, releasing the scent of my arousal - knowing that it will get to you... and it does, causing you to squirm and glare, and Simon then calls us on our inattention like badly behaved schoolboys.

But, God, how I love the fact that I can make you hard just by getting hard myself!

And even when we come home after a bad case and we're tired and cranky and just want to shower and go to bed - to sleep - we will make time the next morning for more than just a kiss, even if it's a blow-job, or a hand-job, and you can, and do, send me spiraling into orbit with the moist heat of your mouth or the glide of your hand - and the best part is that I know I do the same for you.

There's no drawing or rolling away afterwards; it still feels sacred and precious and all's right with the world and I'm ready to face it all again. I think we both need that, need to feel that we have something that the ugliness of the job can't corrupt, we create something truly spiritual and, yes, magical.

Other times when we rut like animals and I scream into the pillow in ecstasy or frustration because I am wild with the need for you to do something before I go insane, and I know you are going to give me the pounding of my life and I will love it, because it's you doing it and you are just as close to that loss of control as I am... it's primeval and primal and yet somehow pure and perfect.