Red

Cupid leads me down the dimly lit, vaguely grimy hallway toward an unassuming door. From the outside, everything looks normal. Doorframe, door, keycard reader, keycard. There’s nothing magical there. I wonder if I’ve been played, and the door jerks open. I take a deep breath, then gasp as if the wind has been knocked out of me.

He’s standing there in jeans, a white t-shirt, and the ugliest pair of camouflage Crocs I’ve ever seen. He runs a hand through his ginger hair, brushing it out of crystal blue eyes, and it’s like no time has passed at all. Smiling, he offers me his hand like a gentleman, like that scene at the end of Titanic.

I glance at Cupid, and he grins like a gameshow host. “Go on. This one is on the house,” Cupid says. He nudges me forward with his elbow, pushing me towards the man on the other side of the door. “Make it worth it, Red.”

I look inside the cheesy, red suite, swallow my nerves like a handful of pills, and take his hand. He leads me into the room, closes the door behind me, and pulls me into his arms. I fold into his embrace, throwing my arms around him like a hundred times before.

“I’ve missed you,” I murmur into his neck, inhaling his familiar scent.

He always smelled like Calvin Klein’s Obsession, and the warm, woodsy aroma brings tears to my eyes. He wipes them away with the pad of his thumb, kissing my cheek. It’s been ages since I’ve felt his lips on my skin, and the tears fall freely. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I knew you’d say that,” he says, cupping my cheek in his large, warm palm. “I knew you’d say that.”  He grins his usual carefree, crooked grin and chuckles as he pulls me closer. “Don’t cry, Red. There’s no time for tears tonight.” His arms wrap around my waist and back, holding me to him in a warm embrace.

He lets me go long enough to turn on the stereo, and then soft music kicks in. I half expect it to be a soft-core porn soundtrack to match the red curtains and heart-shaped bed. I half expect it to be Marvin Gaye or Luther Vandross, but I exhale a sigh of relief when it’s neither of those. He turns the sound up, and in an instant, I know what song he’s picked.

The last time I saw him, in a hotel room a thousand miles and a hundred lifetimes away, he played me Eric Clapton and Chris Stapleton songs until we collapsed on the bed in a heap of hands, lips, and tongues. Tonight, he leads me into the center of the room, takes my hand, and teaches me a slow two-step.

“I wasn’t any good at this the last time,” I remind him, putting my head on his shoulder as the song kicks into its familiar, haunting chorus. Smooth as Tennessee whiskey, his hands find a home in the small of my back while his lips brush my cheek.
“That never mattered much to me, Red.”

He spins me slowly in his arms and brings me into his chest. Face to face, I see him, really see him, for the first time. A lifetime has passed, and here he is before me, looking just like the photo in my wallet. There’s a smattering of freckles over the bridge of his still-sun-burnt nose. His blue eyes spark and flicker in the mood lighting, and I see myself in his reflection.

In his eyes, I’m 28 again. In mine, he’s 35. No time has passed, and we’re back in that hotel room, reliving our last night. The song, the cologne, the white t-shirt, and the Crocs combo are straight out of my daydreams and deep-seated memories. I remember how that night ended, and I’ll do anything for history to not repeat itself, not this time.

The song ends. We sway in small circles around the carpet in front of the heart-shaped bed, saying nothing and feeling everything. His hand finds the small of my back again, and his thumbs trace shapes along my spine. I trail my fingers along the cords at the back of his neck, running them through the short, sharp hair at the nape. He closes his eyes and hums a note, leaning into my touch.

It’s silent between us for a long moment. His eyes open, and he tilts his head forward, looking at me with a hunger in his gaze. He presses my body to his and brings our mouths together furiously. His need is evident in the way he kisses me. His desire tastes like Maker’s Mark and Coke Zero, and I lose myself in his lips.

Tongues clash, teeth gnash, as hands explore, feeling each other’s skin like this is the first time all over again. He pulls the white T-shirt over his head and drops it on the floor beside my jeans. His tattoos stand out in sharp contrast against his smooth, pale skin, dotted with freckles from shoulder to shoulder. I press my lips to his collarbone and trail kisses across his clavicle and scapula, tracing a path I know by heart.

His hands make quick work of my bra while I’m busy worshipping at the altar of ink on his upper arm. He unclasps and frees my breasts, letting the nippled pebble in the cool air. They graze against his bare chest, and he groans while unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down his legs. As he slides back up my body, rising to his full height, his hands kneed my skin.

They grope my thighs, my ass, my belly, my breasts. He sinks firm fingers into every soft inch of flesh he can find, and when he runs out of digits, he uses his lips. He latches onto one of my taut, pink nipples, sucking it between his teeth. He buries his face between my breasts, leaving kisses down my sternum. When he reaches my tattoo, he stops. He looks up at me, questions in his eyes.

“This is new.” He kisses my skin, trailing fingers over the still-raised skin. I shiver, and he does it again. “When did this happen?” Kiss.

“This happened when you left.” I shrug, and he digs his fingers into my sides. “It’s only temporary.”

“It’s a tattoo, Red. It’s forever,” he reminds me, chuckling. Kiss.

“This version is temporary. I’m getting it covered up.” He stops, looking into my eyes again. Confusion plays over his chiseled features, and I’m struck again by his beauty. How could I have ever let you leave?

“Why would you cover up something so beautiful?” Kiss.

“That’s what I asked you for years.”

“Shut up,” he growls, kissing his way back to my mouth. He relegates my panties to the floor, tugging them off in one firm, swift pull. In an instant, we’re naked in front of each other, panting, sweating, speechless.

His fingers brush over my skin, followed by his lips, as he pushes me onto the bed. He topples over, covering my body with his, pinning me in place. He cages me between his arms, and I sink my teeth into his bicep, nipping at the red, white, and blue sugar skulls.

His cock bobs between our bodies, dripping onto my thigh as it grows by the moment. I reach between us and feel the familiar, gentle curve of his shaft, wrapping my fingers around it. A growl rumbles low in his chest, and I feel it on my skin as I stroke him. I thumb the swollen pink cockhead the way I have hundreds of times before, watching his eyes roll back in his head while he bites his lip.

He shifts out of my grip, freeing his dick from between my fingers, and grabs my leg. He pushes my thighs apart, grabbing my knees and hooking them over his shoulder. With one hand, he lines his tip up with my soaked pussy, trailing it over my folds. With his other, he reaches for my hand and locks it over my hand, our fingers intertwined as he pushes into me.

My body responds the way it always has to his. I take his length in one stroke, sheathing him to the hilt as he rocks his sturdy, muscular hips. He thrusts slowly, allowing me time to adjust to the sudden fullness of his dick inside me, and I moan.

“You were always so vocal,” he grunts, picking up the pace.

“You’re one to talk. Have you heard yourself come?” I laugh, muscles contracting around him. He groans like Frankenstein’s monster and clenches his square jaw. The veins on his arms stand out, and his jugular throbs as I giggle, milking his dick.

“Plenty of times. But that’s not what I’m concerned with tonight.”

He tightens his grip on my fingers and works his free hand between us. He pushes it between my legs and massages my throbbing clit with each practiced stroke.
Words stop falling from our mouths as need takes over. He pounds me like he’s punishing my cunt for sleeping with other men. He grips my fingers like a vise, pressing our palms together until I can feel his Energizer Bunny heart rate jackrabbiting through his skin.

He slows to a halt and rolls me onto my stomach. He pushes my thighs apart once more, lines his head up with my entrance, and pushes deep inside me. The sound of skin on skin fills the air, and the scent of sweat overwhelms my senses.

It’s funny, the little things you don’t realize you miss. For me, it’s the way sweat collects in the hollows of his clavicles and drips onto my skin while he fucks me. Face down, ass in the air; his fingers grip me tight while he thrusts and rocks into me. I bury my face in the red duvet, the fabric muting my pleasure.

“Did I say I didn’t want to hear you?” His fingers tangle in my hair and lift my face out of the comforter. He tugs sharply as he pushes into me, and I feel an explosion bubbling at the apex of my thighs. “Moan for me, Red. There’s no one else around to hear us.”

I let loose. I moan and whimper with each well-placed stroked, crying his name into the thick air as he pounds me into oblivion and fucks me into ecstasy. He thumbs my clit, bites my ass, wraps his hand around my throat, and calls me by my name. He moans my name into the night, and it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. No longer just ‘Red,’ no longer just ‘Hey, you,’ he says my name in reverence as my core clenches and my pussy explodes around him.

Bubbles burst, and stars explode behind my eyes. It’s like something out of an old cartoon when two characters kiss for the first time, making my head spin. He holds me through the first waves of pleasure, then fucks me through the second and third. Our skin slaps together, our breathless moans and strained groans melt into each other, and by the time my orgasm subsides, his has begun.

He cries out with strings of ‘yes’ and ‘oh, God’ loud enough to wake the dead. He pushes into me one last time, filling me with his cum until it leaks out in thick, white strings. I can feel it puddling on my thighs while his sweat drips onto my back. We collapse into the bed in a tangle of limbs, curling into each other as we come down from the height of pleasure.

It’s quiet between us for a long time—his warm breath snakes down my spine while his fingers wrap around mine. Our bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, like my favorite word. Contiguous. For the last time, we are contiguous, like California and Nevada, and I don’t ever want this moment to end.

He speaks first, sounding sleepy and far away. “Do you want to spend the night?”

“Can I?”

“The little red guy said we could do whatever we want.”

“Did he say you could stay, too?”

Sigh. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Never hurts to ask.”

Silence falls between us again. The sheets crinkle beneath my chest as I breathe in his scent. Sweat, cinnamon, bergamot, and sadness. Eventually, he falls asleep. His familiar ragged snores echo through the room, and I lie awake in his arms, memorizing the feeling of his skin on mine.
I drift off later, waking when I feel his lips on my skin. I open my eyes to find my hand in his, his lips on my knuckles.

“I love you,” he says simply.

My heart cracks into a thousand shards. “Why couldn’t you have said that in real life?”

“I did. I just said it in my own way.” He turns my hand over and kisses my palm. “I can’t stay, Red. I wish I could.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation.” I close my eyes and think of the words Cupid told me to say when the fantasy was over. Sage Aristotle? Saggy tits Appalachia? Sagittarius Armani?

“Then, don’t say anything at all.” He kisses me urgently, grabbing my face and holding it between his palms. Wordlessly, we say all we need to say. Nothing passes between us but hot breath, soft sighs, and a stray tear sliding down my cheek.

He pulls away, looking me in the eyes. He kisses my forehead, leaving his lips pressed to my skin, lingering on the delicate contact. Clearing his throat, he tilts my head until my gaze meets his.

“It’s going to be ok, Red. I’ll see you in your dreams.”

“But I want to see you now.”

He strokes my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Red, you know it never would have worked.”

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t want to try.”
He’s quiet. His palm cups my cheek while he stares into my eyes, and I feel my heart break all over again.

“You have to say it.”

“I don’t want to.” A fresh stream of tears well in my eyes, pricking at the corners and threatening to spill over.

“There’s no time for tears, Red.” His lopsided grin is softer than I’ve ever seen it. He kisses me one last time, and I taste the salt of tears on my tongue.

“Sagitta amoris,” I whisper as his lips leave mine for the final time. I watch as he fades away, and the crimson-red room becomes a standard hotel room once again.

Sometime later, a soft knock on the door woke me. I throw on my shirt and step into my jeans quickly, answering the door with sleep still on my tongue. Cupid stands outside, leaning against the door. He stares at the tatty carpet, shifting uncomfortably.

He looks up. “Was it worth it?”

I nod, exhaling slowly. “Every second. It was worth every second.”

“Good. You know? I could tell there was something special about you from the moment you walked in. I’ve never seen anyone want to fuck a ghost before.”

“He’s not a ghost.”

“Ghost, specter, apparition, memory, it’s all the same to me.” Cupid shrugs, straightening up. “Whatever he was, that was hot. It made me blush, and I don’t fluster easily.”

“You were watching?”

“I had to protect my investment. It’s not every day you meet someone who fantasizes about the dead.”

“He’s not dead, he’s just… Gone.”

Awkwardly, Cupids runs his hand through his curls and straightens his tie. He tugs on his jacket cuffs and throws his manicured hands in his pockets. “Like I said, it’s all the same to me. I’m just glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. Just doing my job as the god of love.”

Cupid leans forward and leaves me with a peck on the cheek.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Red.” He disappears in a cloud of pink smoke and silver glitter, the faint scent of roses wafting through the air.