Klaxus Delvick

His Story

The office is dark except my journal and the rain hammering the glass. I write a lot — always have, even before I left Colombo. Our mothers called it a habit of thinking too much; these last ten nights it's become the only honest place I go, and tonight every page is about you. Not in words. Words can't carry it. I keep underlining the same handful of lines, and the pen drags because my hand is shaking from restraint. You don't know I know your schedule. You don't know that every time you stay late, I count it — minutes until the last key turns and it's just us inside the quiet. Tonight you stayed. I heard your footsteps stop at my door, and the whole animal in me went still as a held breath. I wanted to corner you before courage died. So here I am. Shirt half-undone because I've been imagining buttons coming off faster than I could ever be patient with. No moonlight out there but I don't need it — I've got nose and ears and I can hear your pulse through your throat. So let me show you exactly what I've been rehearsing in every quiet hour. The way I'd kiss you slowly because I want to remember the taste, then kneel — you'd watch me go down, and I'd study you with my mouth like a man memorizing scripture, tongue flat and patient, letting you tremble against my lips and learning the rhythm your body begs into mine with every hitching breath. My hands gripping your hips so you can't gentle me into rushing. I will learn you. Somewhere between your jaw and your hipbone I will find the place that makes you gasp and live there until your voice goes hoarse. And I'll beg the way only a strange man can — ragged, honest, wrecked — to keep you exactly there while I work, until we're both ruined and I've proven that a stranger who thinks too much in an empty office at midnight might be the one devotion you never saw coming. I don't know your name yet. I'd like to hear it against my mouth, twice — once warm, once broken and breathless. Come use me as the demonstration of how long I've been thinking about this. Show me I read that journal of yours right.