Are you wet for me, my love,
knowing that I sit and watch?

There is a heat in your loins,
a smouldering burn,
a spreading warmth
of liquid fire.

Do you wait for me, my love?

Yes, you wait... 
spread open in want,
and tenderly pierced 
by your lover's lance.

His steely hardness glistens.

You envelop him, 
accepting his gift
Of pleasure and lust.

My tongue flicks out,
wetting my lips, 
but not dousing the fire.

I long to taste the sweet nectar
where your points converge.

Where you two become one.

He seems to me, at times
an echo...
an extension, 
a reflection of myself.
So natural inside you,
that he simply belongs.

Every creaky bed spring,
every slap of flesh,
every wordless cry,
is a herald's trumpet call.

We are soldiers for you,
united, loving you in our own ways.

Cherishing you,
placing your passion first
and above all else.

You and I will share him, 
of course,

But first

we are your handsome men,
your lovers.
Soldiers, maybe,
or willing slaves
bound to you by want.

Soon, I will rise.

Your song calls to me.
I am familiar with the words.
You are building
to a lovely crescendo,

A delicious climax
of sights and sounds
and scents to savour.

Your lover
bucks wildly now,
spurred on by your words,
and your cries of passion.

You have struck the perfect chord.

I tighten hold of myself,
as He tightens,
releasing his seed into you.

I will rise.

I will sample that sweet nectar
where you two become one.

I will be your soldier,
your slave,
and your lover.

I will claim you as my prize,
even as you claim me,
while another sits and wonders...

Are you wet for me, my love?

Author's Note - I'd like to extend a special thank you to Milik for editing this piece. I couldn't be happier with the end result. Thank you.