"It does not bother me to say,
This isn't love
Because if you don't want to talk about it then
It isn't love.
And I guess I'm going to have to live with that.
But I'm sure there's
Something in a shade of grey,
Something in between,
And I can always change my name
If that's what you mean."

-- "Anna Begins," Counting Crows


It's always the same.

Her fingernails are running across my chest, light, almost non-existent tracks of contact. She leans forward and touches her mouth to my chest and, ever so carefully, kisses the spot just above my nipple so that her lips just brush the tip. Gods, it feels good, and my breath hitches in my throat for a moment.

"Fuck," I breathe, and she laughs, leaning forward to rub against my erection. "Fuck," I say again because I'm past caring about wit or decency. I think we're both a little past decency. I let my hands trace their way along her spine and along the slope of one shoulder. Her skin is softer than I've felt in a long time, pristine. I trace the muscle line in her neck so softly, so carefully, watching as my finger creates an indent in that perfection as it goes.

She tosses her hair and backs away, pulling away from my touch and smiling lazily down at me. "You're not going to break me."

And even though I understands what she really means, I can't help but know that I will because this time is no different from the last or the one before or the one before: someone always leaves broken. I reach out again and wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her against me 'til she fits so tight and right up against my body, 'til the heat from her breath pounds against my lips and the tempo of her pulse throbs against my shoulder.

I'm beginning to lose myself again. Gods, it's always the same. I slam my mouth desperately against hers, movements becoming wilder, erratic. She pulls back at first, out of surprise more than anything I think, because a pulsebeat later, she's latching onto me and driving her tongue into my mouth. Her nails dig into my shoulders, leaving marks that'll be gone before we're through. I slide one hand along her ass and down over her thigh to tickle the spot behind her knee. My other hand strokes up her neck, around, feeling every juncture and crevice of her collarbone, then back around to the top of her head. I dig my fingers into the mass of black hair and imagine, again, that I see curls.

You got married a month ago, and I still can't let go. I always had a problem with that. It's been years, and I'm still only beginning to forget her voice and how she looked carved open on the bed we'd shared the night before. And, that aside, I know with a cold certainty that it'll be years and years before I forget you. There are too many moments that were never followed up on and too many thoughts that I never dared to voice, and now it's too late, and I know I'll regret the lost time until I die. I'll keep losing myself in a momentary fuck and a memory.

There was this one time, somewhere before the fire and explosions, when the defences were just beginning to crumble, that we ran into each other. You looked so fucking gorgeous back then. Tanned skin darkened with mud and ash, hair wild, shirt practically falling off your shoulders. Soldiers were screaming all around us, and we both knew with a certainty that we weren't going to live to see the morning. You stepped toward me, and I remember just standing there waiting.

"Listen," you swallowed. You'd moved close enough that I could see your Adam's apple dip beneath your skin. "I…" But, whatever sentence you'd been planning died in the wired air between us.

Fuck it. I should have kissed you. But then, that sums up my life, doesn't it? Should've kissed you, should've fucked you. Should've shown you that I was yours and that no fucking psychic bitch with hollow promises of forgiveness is going to change that.

"I don't want to talk about her-- it," I said. I'm such a fucking moron, but I was mourning.

You lifted your head a little, tilting it just a little to one side and watching me out of the corner of your eyes. "You're going to have to, sooner or later."

"Later then, " I snapped, beginning to turn away, but you were much faster than I was back then and caught me by the elbow and pulled me back. I crashed into your chest, and looked up at your face, not entirely sure if wanted to hit you or kiss you. You grabbed my chin and held.

"Ish-- Fuck, listen, at the rate you're going, later, you'll be dead." Your eyes were dark, half-shaded by curls. I wanted you so much. I want you so much. "Do you have any idea how… I-- I don't - want - you - to - die."

Just the memory of your voice as you said that is enough to drive me to my knees now, but then? No, I pulled away. "Just leave me alone, ok?"

Such a fucking moron.

Suddenly, she pulls away, pulling me back to the moment. I close my eyes, and I can still almost see her smile. She sits back, resting her back against my raised knees. I moan as she grinds against my erection, tilting my head back and breathing raggedly. She doesn't seem to care, and her hands wrap around my belt buckle. The buckle comes open easily, but she has trouble pulling the belt off with my sword still attached.

"You kingdom men and your swords," she breathes, and it's funny and sexy at the same time, so I laugh.

Finally, she gets it off and tosses my sword defiantly across the room. Then she turns back to me, leaning forward so her hair falls into my face, and kisses my neck, then tongues it, patiently moving up and down and up and down. And I let her, 'cause I always do.

We got drunk one day. It was some night soon after I'd come back from the north. We'd grabbed a bottle or two from the kitchen and wandered off into a corner of the palace yard to sit and catch up.

"So, who's the new girl?" I asked because it's what's expected of me.

You smiled. "Court mage."

I raised an eyebrow and pretended to consider this. Really, I was watching how you'd stopped being careful about how you drank, and a line of beer was running along the curve of your jawline. You finished drinking and turned to me for a reaction, wiping your mouth on your sleeve.

"Hot," I said, and I don't think you understood I was talking about you.

"She's not interested. Trust me, I already tried."

I shook my head and took the bottle from you. "What a waste," I said, tilting my head back to finish off what you'd left.

You made a noise; maybe you were sighing, maybe you were just exhaling, but at that time, it sounded to me like you whimpered. So, I looked at you, but you had already recovered from whatever momentary lapse had caused that little noise.

"Yeah, a waste. Definitely a waste. I don't think even you'd be able to get her into bed…"

I raised an eyebrow again and smiled lopsidedly because I was feeling bold and rather drunk. "Are you doubting my seduction skills?"

You smiled that gorgeous smile you do when you find something genuinely amusing. I'd like to think I've seen that smile more than anyone else has but that might be the delusions at work again.

"I'm not," you began slowly, "doubting your seduction skills so much as calling into question their very existence."

"Calling into--" I gaped, then pouted a little. "Listen, I could seduce the pants off you." I was drunk.

You blinked. "Metaphorically speaking, of course."

"Not metaphorically speaking!" I was very drunk. "I bet I could get you into bed if I tried." Very, very drunk.

You blushed. It was the first time I'd ever seen you blush. You laughed a little too, as if that could somehow make what I'd just said platonic. You turned your head a little to the side and a little down and watched your hands twist in your lap. "I very much doubt that."

Leisurely, I lifted the hand that wasn't wrapped around the neck of the beer bottle and placed it on your shoulder. Your whole body went still, and I laughed. "Oh, I think I could…" I said, humming a bit as I walked my fingers up your shoulder. Your dark eyes darted towards mine, but you didn't move. I smirked and leaned toward you, pausing so close to your ear that I could taste you without touching you. "I think I could make you want me."

You stopped breathing. If I forget everything else, I know I will never, ever forget that. You stopped breathing. But then you started again and snorted a little to overcome your nervousness.

"Not in this lifetime, my friend." And in the end, you put a little too much emphasis on friend.

My grin faded a little, quickly replaced by a faint smile. I looked at your hands. "I can wait for the next."

Your eyebrows drew together, and you smiled quizzically at me. Obviously uncomfortable and obviously under the impression that it was the alcohol talking. For the record, it wasn't.

There were other things too, moments that I would've been happy to live in forever. Not all of them were about sex; if I'd been born blind I swear to whatever god is listening at the moment, I would've loved you as much.

Now we're approaching the part of the fuck where I can stop thinking about you for a second. I'd almost say it's why I keep doing this but that would be a lie. I have sex because sex is fun.

She presses up against me. I don't know when she finished undressing, but she's naked now, so I don't really care. She moves around a little so that she can touch and taste and tease just right. She gasps and for a moment. Her hands leave my body to touch her own: hand trails between breasts, head tips back, mouth works without noise for a moment. Then she starts to scream. And… and for some reason I'm not getting off on this.

Fuck you. Even in the middle of an orgasm, I can't forget you tonight.

"Hi." You smiled nervously. I don't know how I knew, since I had my back to you, but I could see the smile in my head as clear as I could see the sky out the window.

I frowned at the stars. "What are you doing here?" I gripped the windowsill. You should've known I didn't want anything to do with you right then. You should've known me that well, at least.

The thing is, you probably knew and just decided to ignore it. "I just…" You stepped up beside me, so your shoulder almost touched mine. "Are you okay with this?"

Okay? Hah. "With what? You mean you getting married." Was I shaking? I think I was. So much anger and so much longing, I thought I'd explode. "Fine, just…just fucking fine, ok?"

The corner of your mouth twisted to the left, and you looked me in the eye. I was still trying to ignore you, though, so all you managed to do was glare at the periphery of my vision. Then you sighed and looked out the window as well, and I immediately regretted not turning to meet your eyes when I had the chance.

"I'll take that as no. Listen, Lo--"

I hate the way you say my name, if only because it makes me feel like collapsing every time I hear it. I shut my eyes and passed a hand through my hair. "What are you doing here?"

"I just--" You were nervous again, and at the time I couldn't begin to think why. "You just seemed a little...startled at dinner." I breathed out a snort, and you made a move to dissemble my argument before I could mouth it. "Which you have every right to be! I know. I know this is... fast... but, I..." Your jaw firmed a little, and your back straightened. "I love her."

No you don't. No you don't. No you don't.

I turned to look at you now. "Fine! Great! I'm happy for you. Is that what you want me to say?"

You looked back, eyes a little ashamed, a little defensive. "Not if it isn't true."

"Good. Then I won't say it."

"Lo--"

I stopped you again. I didn't want to hear it: excuses, apologies, regrets. I have enough of those on my own. "I don't want to hear it, ok? I don't want to hear you say you love her, and I don't want to hear why, and I don't want to hear anything that says we can't--" My voice died just in time.

Or, it would've been just in time if it was anyone but you listening. You took a step closer to me so we stood face to face. I had to tip my head back a little to look you in the eye. I love your eyes.

"Can't what?"

I looked away. "Forget it."

"Can't what?"

I looked back. "I said forget it, Ji--"

And, you kissed me. Lips spread slightly, so I could taste your mouth, taste your tongue as it pressed against mine. Your hand brushed against my cheek, trailing along my cheekbone to rest under my chin. It was not, by far, the stupidest thing we've ever done, but it meant so much more because this time you started it, and this time neither of us had been drinking.

You pulled away, but your hand didn't move. I breathed out, slowly, moving the scant centimetres to touch my forehead to yours. Your other hand moved up to cup my other cheek, and you smiled. Not sadly so much as wearily. For the first time, I could see the yawning ache in your eyes that I'm sure has always been in mine.

"You're right," you said quietly, "we can't. I--" You paused, studying my face. Then you licked your lips and nodded slightly. "I just didn't want you to think that I didn't get it. After all this time."

"We can't," I repeated.

"No."

"I love you."

"Yeah," you nodded again, "I know."

My hips jerk forward without much thought on my part. She bites her lip and rubs against my chin. I hiss and gasp, but she's screaming so loud that I don't think she heard. I take her hand and lift it to my mouth, biting each finger lightly then blowing. She writhes against me, around me. I cock my head back. Quirk my lips. Press tighter. Press harder. Press into her.

The door slams open. We both start, turning to look at the door. There are about a hundred reasons why no one should be able to burst in here unannounced, not the least of which is the two armed guards who are supposed to be standing outside to keep attackers out.

People like the two who now stand at the entrance. She gives a little shout of alarm, and I start to push her away, battle instincts coming into play. She half-falls off the bed, pulling the bed sheets with her.

"Get out of here," I hiss, but a second later I realise how stupid and useless that order is because she has nowhere to go, and the two men have already crossed the distance between us.

I make a hurried grab for my sword, something sharp, anything, but something slides into my chest. She screams but not for long. I cough and feel something drizzle out of the corner of my mouth. My tongue tastes like iron, and my chest feels cold and broken. There's no pain. Pain is something that lingers, that lives on for far too long, and I know without needing to be told that everything I'm feeling will stop soon.

Regrets spiral. I wish she hadn't thrown my sword across the room. I wish I'd slept alone tonight. I wish I'd never left the kingdom. I wish I'd never met you. I wish I'd never lost you. I wish I could get over the feeling that you won't miss me. I wish I could get over the feeling that you will. I wish I could get over you.

And, in the end, you're the last thing on my mind.