Eternity
                              
                       by Dianna Silver
                              
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I had thought it was my imagination. Once again, to have you
ripped from me. It hadn't seemed fair, that the power of
miracles would take away the one thing I had so secretly
longed for. It was horrible, watching you fade away like
that, as if you had never been, leaving me only your jacket
as a teasing reminder of . . . something dancing around at
the edges of my mind.

Then she had turned to me and smiled that mysterious little
smile of hers. Her soft voice, telling me that I could see
you even though you were dead. "This way," she had said . .
. and desperate heart that I had, I followed her through the
ever-shifting landscape that is this school I have come to
like and dread all at once.

There you were, standing there by the pool, as gorgeous as
any angel that had come to grace the Earth with your
presence. Your body, so perfect in that black
uniform--including the twin to the jacket I held in my
hands--your red hair, the color of liquid flame, your blue
eyes that seem to hold in them the sparkling stars you
promised to show me one day. What had happened when the
power had come upon me and that mysterious sword pulled from
the Bride's chest had scattered the petals of the rose you
wore? It didn't matter, really. All that mattered was that
you were there, whole, alive . . .

You had saved me then, those two long years ago. You never
willingly left me; I know that now, I know that you would
have stayed with me had it been possible instead of leaving
me with only your wet jacket and the memory of you within
that hurt too much to recall.

All the cursing I did in my heart, all the tears I shed . .
. Do you know how terrible it is to be a princess without
her prince? Yet, you had touched me so deeply then, your
nobility in spite of your worldliness, that I wanted to be
you, to carry on the princely ways you had so engrained upon
my heart.

I cut my hair, threw away the lace and frills. It was so
painful, to go on without you, my beloved prince, that I
needed to remake myself . . . but the undying love made me
emulate the closest thing to a prince that I knew--you.

And now I'm gazing at you, your blue eyes staring back at me
with that love I've so desperately missed. Somehow, what the
Bride has done to me has made me both what I was and what I
am now. My hair is long again, falling over my slender
shoulders and down my back in soft waves of pink silk. It
was always the perfect shade to go with your gorgeous red
hair, I must confess.

You start to walk away. I gasp, the tears coming to my azure
eyes. I know the truth, but I can't let you go, not again. I
call out to you to wait, grabbing you in my arms, holding
tight. No, not again. I can't do this again . . .

You feel so warm there where you belong, in my embrace.
You're dead, yet you live on? How? God, the sensation of
holding you, of the heat and solidness . . . the reality of
you there. Even as I cling to you, you slowly turn to meet
my watery gaze. My fingertips trace over the lines of your
beloved face, one that I dared not even dream about for fear
of giving in to the emptiness that threatened to swallow me
whole. My voice is soft, thick with the emotion I feel, as I
ask you over and over, "Why?"

Your answer is so simple. A deep truth lies there, one that
I had known, but the feeling of your fingers gliding over
mine, so strong, so real, makes the words even more
precious. "Feelings are deeper than flesh."

Then you ask me if I am afraid, even as I hug you to me,
pressing my body against yours, craving the sensations that
I've missed for so long. How can I fear you? You were all
that I had wanted, my dearest, most wonderful prince. How I
needed you--how I need you now. A breeze sweeps past us,
sends our long hair, red and pink, dancing around us. I
could never be afraid of you, even if you are supposed to be
dead and gone. The feel of you against me, the sound of your
breathing, the timbre of your sweet voice, the sensation of
your beating heart against the palm of my hand as I press
slender fingers to your jacketed chest--lies, they tell me.
You being dead is all a lie.

I don't want to be a prince anymore. I want to be with you,
to be your dear, cherished princess. Hold me, let me feel
you. Nothing else matters, nothing at all.

I cry out those words to you, even as you pull me closer,
your dear hands stroking my back. The gallant, chivalrous
one as always, you scoop me up to cradle me in your capable
arms. Tears fall down my cheeks, catching the light; I look
up into your beautiful blue eyes and see again the stars
I've so longed to see. How like an angel you are to me, with
your handsome face framed by that wonderful mane of red hair
. . .

This is the way it should have been, the way it was supposed
to be. You carry me, your one true princess, in your arms
over the threshold of your room. I slide against you as you
gently let me down, the friction between our young, vibrant
bodies making me shiver in a way I only feel with you. Your
elegant fingers trace over me, along my shoulders, then down
the front of my masculine jacket, deftly undoing the buttons
one by one. I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of you
as I tremble, your fingertips sliding across the bare skin
of my arms while you slowly peel the jacket from me. I
return the favor, fumbling with the shiny golden buttons,
pressing my lips against the shirt still warm from the heat
of you as I tug the black fabric from your torso.

I can feel you, the solidity of your muscular form, the beat
of your heart under the caress of my lips. Your fingers
tangle in my hair, silken pink strands whisper faintly as
you let them pour like water from your wondering grasp. I
can feel your hands on my waist now, sliding ever so slowly
upwards, lifting up my shirt to make the cool air of the
rainy day tickle against my bare skin. I sway between your
grasp, turning this way and that, a supple willow bending to
the will of something bigger than myself--my love for you,
dearest prince.

I want to feel you, all over. You can tell that, somehow, in
the way I cling to you, pressing against your beautiful form
even as we strip away the cloth barriers between us. The
tips of my fingers trace over you, getting to know the
definition of your muscular, masculine body, the firmness of
your flesh, the planes of your beloved form. I feel your
hands on me, cupping my breasts, gently squeezing the soft
mounds in your grasp. My nipples ache as you rub against
them, making them harden and press back against your palms.
I give a ragged moan as one of your hands is replaced by the
sensation of your warm, wet mouth surrounding my hardened
flesh, the ache being soothed by the heat and the pressure
of your suckling. Feelings go beyond the flesh? In this
moment, I have never been so alive.

The last of our clothing falls to the floor; no more
barriers are between us. My hair sways back as you press
against me, gently lowering us both to lie on your bed. The
blankets beneath me are so soft, but they pale in comparison
to the gorgeous sensation of you lying over me, suckling on
my breast, filling me with the most wondrous of feelings. I
moan and gasp, turning my head this way and that, writhing
from the pleasure that you give me. Your hand wanders across
my soft skin again, even as you turn the attentions of your
laving tongue to my other nipple, the one you abandoned
tingling with the coolness of your bedroom's air. I can feel
the slide of your long hair across me, and I reach up,
grabbing handfuls of the silken strands even as your hand
tickles along my inner thighs. My breath catches in my
throat; I long to feel you touch me there, to make the
winter chill within me melt away in the summer of passion's
heat.

Yes, oh yes, my prince! I cry out, arching upward, grinding
myself against the pressure of your hand as fingers stroke
and tease me so. My hands tighten in your hair; more tears
come to my eyes. It's so beautiful, to truly feel you, to
share the love we have in so intimate a manner. I can tell
you are just as moved as I am, the prodding of your aroused
flesh against one of my thighs speaks of that in a way
that's unmistakable. Am I frightened of you? No, never, for
I know that you would never willingly harm your princess.
Such is the nobility I've always known you've had. The same
nobility I sought for within myself when I wanted to be just
like you.

But I'm not like you. I'm so aware of that fact as your hand
slips against the damp cleft between my thighs, your lips
and tongue kiss and lick at the rosy crest of a breast and
your fleshy sword prods at me as I writhe helplessly in the
haze your spell of pleasure weaves around me. No, not at
all. You are firm, hard, angular lines and muscular planes,
a heartbreaking handsomeness that is an earthbound angel. I
am soft, yielding, feminine curves and willowy, a beautiful
rose to be cherished, savored, cradled in the safety of your
embrace.

You are the prince and I am but your princess. This is how
it should always have been.

Your lips leave my breast, my nipple rosy and erect in the
wake of your attention. I let go of your mane of red hair as
you slide yourself lower; I feel the ends of the straight
strands tickle along my skin, leaving a tingling trail of
anticipation as your hand shifts to spread open the delicate
petals of my femininity. The first tentative touch of your
tongue makes me helplessly shudder, the feeling is like
lightning, my dearest prince. I groan and arch upwards as
you intensify your sweet assault, begging for more. I feel
the wet heat of your tongue as you lick against the hard nub
just the way I need to be touched, only to cry out in
gasping bliss as you lightly rake your teeth against that
sensitive pearl before suckling on it as you had my aching
breasts. I moan and pant, hips quivering; my hands, needing
something to do, reach up to tug and lightly pinch my own
nipples. Just another little part of the spell that
enthralls me so.

I feel the crest coming, the heated tension sitting there in
the pit of my stomach, between my thighs. My breathing is
fast, ragged, soft little moans filling your room even as
the open window bring in the glimmering fireflies to dance
like little mobile constellations around us. It's bright,
crystalline, painfully sharp but immeasurably
sweet--something like that castle I had glimpsed hanging
upside down over me after Himemiya had saved me from your
sword and had kissed me.

Her kiss was something frightening, beyond my understanding.
But yours . . .

How sweet are yours, my prince.

I feel this climax rush through me. Your name rings in my
ears, screamed out as I thrash helplessly under your
skillful, passionate attentions. This is incredible, this
roaring wave of feeling, something beyond anything I've ever
felt before. I shake in the grip of this ecstasy that claims
me for its own, my femininity grinding against your lips as
you continue to make me feel you. When at last I groan and
fall limp on the bed, you lift your mouth from the mound
between my thighs. I smell my own scent on you as you press
those lips damp with my passion against my own. Drained for
the moment, it's all I can do to slide my arms up to loosely
embrace you and to kiss you back, tasting myself on your
mouth as I do.

Your weight presses me down, comforting in its heaviness,
warm and solid. Catching my breath, I find myself wanting to
please you as you have pleased me. I push against you, hands
on your broad chest. How I love the smile you give me as you
silently agree with my unspoken request. Such a perfect
prince, to know me well enough to sense what I have in mind.

To my wondering eyes, there you are, in all your masculine
glory. I breathe in the mingled scents of myself and you
before I lower my head to tentatively lick at the nipple
there on one well-defined pectoral. I feel a thrill run
along my spine as you softly moan, your hands once again
slipping through my pink hair. How I love to feel you
playing with my hair, the pulse of your blood as I carefully
worry your sensitive nipple with my white teeth. You groan
and whisper my name, and I find a new pleasure in knowing I
can make you feel so well. I loved the way you had suckled
on me between my legs; perhaps you will like that as much as
I? Determined to discover this, I blaze a trail of kisses
and nibbles down the flat plane of your stomach, my hair
draped over you as I go slowly ever lower. Your athletic
form, so angelic in its beauty, writhes under me, and I know
a purely feminine thrill at knowing that I am the one that's
causing you such bliss.

I come to my goal and gently grasp it, marvelling at the
softness of the skin that overlies an intriguing hardness.
Though you have brought me to the heights of pleasure, my
gorgeous prince, I feel an aching need between my thighs as
I stroke my hand up and down your hard shaft. I press my
lips against the velvety head, then tentatively lick that
very same spot. Do you like that, dearest Touga? It seems
you do, for you moan and tighten your grasp in my wavy hair.
Emboldened by the sounds of bliss, I run the tip of my
tongue over the head of your shaft before taking a breath
and surrounding it with my mouth. More moans, more
writhing--you shudder under me, and I wonder if you can
truly feel me as I know I feel you.

I take you in as deep as I dare, then slide my mouth back up
to near the head, repeating this simple movement over and
over. I reach down to gently fondle the soft sac underneath,
being overly careful with my caress. I'm not that well
versed in something like this, and I don't want to
accidently hurt instead of give you the pleasure you
deserve, dearest prince of mine.

I must be doing this well enough, for you only sound more
lost in bliss, your deep voice making sounds that bring the
tingling tension back to rest between my legs. How I love
you and everything about you. Do you love me just as much?
Do you feel me as I pleasure you like this, your hard staff
sliding in and out of my mouth as I learn the joy of being a
princess able to make her beloved moan and writhe in
passion's grasp?

"Utena, please," I hear you beg. I lift myself up enough to
look into your dear face, my hands still holding you,
feeling the throb of your heartbeat in your hardened shaft.
Your eyes, the blue darkened to nearly midnight, the gaze
glassy with passion, stare back at me, and I see the stars
you always promised shimmering there in the azure depths. I
nod, wanting this moment, though I do feel now a dread I
hadn't felt before. Even so, I slide myself up along your
gorgeous form. You lift yourself up to meet me halfway, your
lips pressing against mine. I feel one of your hands
grasping my hip, the other slipping between us to help guide
me. I hold my breath as I feel your hardness there against
my feminine petals, telling myself that I want this no
matter the pain that might come.

I want to feel you. All of you. You press upward and I can
feel you slide in before there's an uncomfortable tightness.
I bite my bottom lip, trying to relax. But you reach up and
pull me down, pressing your mouth against mine once more.
And as we kiss, your tongue slipping past my lips to rub
heatedly against mine, claiming this part of me as your own,
your hands pull me down at the same time you thrust upward.
It hurts, yes, but not for long. I cry out into our kiss,
tears falling from tightly clenched eyes, but you hold
still, letting me adjust, still kissing me in that sinfully
wonderful manner. How thoughtful you are, my dear Touga, to
stay motionless and only caress me with tongue and lips
until I'm left breathless and moaning, my passion rekindled.

I shift restlessly, needing more than the wonderful way you
fill me up there between my thighs. I gasp, lifting my head
back, breaking the kiss to take a shuddering breath as the
movement of the two of us sends a pleasure I can barely
describe jolting through me. You moan, sounding just as
caught in this magic as I am, your hands beginning to show
me what to do by first pressing, then pulling against my
hips. Oh yes, this is the right way to move; I swiftly
discover that joy as I rock myself according to your cues.
Oh yes, this is so incredible, so wonderful! Oh Touga, Touga
. . . I think I'm closer to seeing the stars than I have
ever been before . . .

Our pace steadily increases as our bodies crave even more. I
feel the weight of your hands on me as you help me keep the
satisfying rhythm, your hard shaft moving within me, your
sweat-beaded skin under me. My breasts bounce with the moves
of this most intimate of dances, and I reach up to stroke
and squeeze them, needing to feel more. The tension's
building again, soaring ever higher, making me feel as if I
must surely explode before reaching that wonderfully
draining release again. I writhe and cry out, my rhythmic
movements becoming almost desperate, and I can sense you in
much the same state.

I feel you, all of you, my precious prince. The climax this
time is so much more, taking control of me. I arch my back,
head lifted toward the skies, tears coming to my eyes with
the overwhelming beauty of it all.

At last, I see the scintillating stars . . .

All I can do is feel, feel the rhythmic clenching around you
as you thrust up hard into me, caught in the crystalline
moment of your own release, feel the prolonged waves of pure
bliss that leave me shuddering and lightheaded in their
wake, feel the weight of your fingers and the tug of your
hand you pull me down toward you, our joining having come to
the warm afterglow.

Tears still sparkle on my cheeks as we tenderly kiss, the
feel of you still within me making me softly moan. I find my
voice at last, needing to speak the question on my mind. Do
you feel me, as I feel you, or do you only touch me and go
no deeper?

You press my forehead to yours, your gorgeous eyes filled
with the love I've missed for so long. You tell me what I
want to hear, what I need to hear--that you feel me in your
heart as deeply as I feel you, and that here, in this place,
we can have eternity together. Then you gather me up in your
strong, protective arms and roll us over, your weight once
more pressing me down into the comfortable embrace of the
bed. I hug you back, my dearest Touga, my darling prince.
You tell me you will always be there and love me until the
end of the world.

I love you, Touga. This is the way it should have been.
There should have been the "happily ever after" for us; the
prince isn't supposed to die rescuing his beloved princess.

Eternity is a very long time. But in your arms, I'd rather
not be anywhere else. Even for eternity . . .