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It's not about love. It's not about lust. It's all about need, and nothing more.
They both need this, for different reasons. She needs it because she wants to forget the one who left her and broke her heart. He needs it to be able to feel, even for a night.
And so, when he trails kisses on her cheekbones and caresses her breasts, she closes her eyes and tries to concentrate to the gentle touches rather than her bittersweet memories. She tangles her fingers to the black curls and captures his lips. The taste is different to the one she remembers all too well, but she doesn't care, doesn't want to remember. He kisses her back almost violently, and when the need of oxygen becomes too much she raises her eyes.
The brown eyes staring back to her are like mirrors to her own feelings: need, frustration, longing, pain, hopelessness. That's when she know it will all going be alright.
* * *
The sun hasn't risen yet but he's already awake. Truth to be told, he hasn't slept much the whole night. She has though, and he can't help but smile a bit when he watches her sleeping form. She's curled to his side, her head on his shoulder and arm draped over his torso. He raised his hand and strokes her curly head gently.
He remembers the last time he slept like this with someone. Only then it was someone special, someone he loved more than life. Little did he know about the future and the pain it would bring to him. But at that moment he was happier than even before, and he wonders will he be able to find that kind of happiness ever again.
She shifts in her sleep and mumbles something in her sleep. He doesn't have hear it to know what she's saying, it's the same thing she has repeated over and over again in her sleep. He removes himself gently under her arm and gathers his clothes. Reaching the bedroom door, he takes a last look to the still sleeping woman before leaving.
She stirs in her sleep, whispering: "Jack.."
* * *
It's been weeks, months, since the last time. She thought she could get over the grey dullness covering her life, but yet she's here again, searching for resolution.
He looks different, and yet the same. She can't really tell is it all inside her head, or is it the truth she's seeing. It doesn't matter to her, not now, when all she needs is this mad rush of still being alive.
And when they lay all sweaty and tangled in her sheets, she feels more content than ever.