One shot Your mouth

One shot
Your mouth



Robert Downey Junior pov
November 2011> Malibu


I gasp.
Brisk walking on the sidewalk along the sea, not caring who passes me on the side, as well as the fact that someone might recognize me.
I have a cotton bag dropped like a ski mask and a light scarf, the suit anonymously, on the i-pod on a rather old song, Barry White You're the first the last my everything, but it expresses what you are Jude for me.
I see the car, which I have indicated, with the engine running, the plaque is correct, tinted windows prevent me the final confirmation of this incredible event, I am going to live.
I climb out of breath and meet your smile.
"Jude ..."
I'm flying in my arms, you're radiant, despite everything ... yes, despite everything that has happened in recent months.
We kiss: your lips is the second thing that meets my body, after the looks, which are mixed in a blaze of joy to meet again.
Your caresses my skin, including the cheekbones and neck, where I want to lose me, oxygenator with your perfume, the smell of your wonderful person, who once again did not deserve it at all.
"Jude's you ... you're really here ..." - seems like a catharsis, my amazement, that even blurs the vision of you - 'Angel ... Jude ... "
Take my hand gently, opening more powder blue shirt, and then posarne the palm up to your heart - "You recognize it Rob? ... Belongs to you, do not forget it. "- Murmur quietly, kissing again and putting down a minimum emotion, he was going to make me cry.
"I missed you ..." - hint in a sob, but I want to touch you everywhere, I need a damn Jude and you do not subtract even a small portion of your lovely countenance at my touch, it becomes even childish, as confused and excited.
"Not here ... From Rob, let's go." - And leave, heading towards the hills.


I close the door and lift up a barrier useless, leaving out our problems, the hypocrisies, duties, career, contractual commitments.
You push against us, stripping them urgently, I can not wait any longer, I do not want.
In return, you move me to the bathroom, making me falling on the floor, but before I turned on all fours in front of you, I am a whisper - "Forgive me ... Rob" - which seems to arise from something that I was caved in, dark and sad, as the tone, you appear to be precipitated suddenly your voice warm.
Half-naked, forcing me with a strange and unusual bullying, to suck your fingers, you will use to break, even if you have the right to do so, since we fell in love.
Humoresque, yes, so, my love.
Now you're hurting me, your anger roars exploding from infesting your throat and the air of a lack of love, with which you want to punish me.
And 'right, even if it goes against every principle we, as the sweetness that the gestures shuffled between memories and present, where you're not you and I are not I, but no matter what you want me Jude, I would not be with no one else, ever.
Your gender is broken within me, like a storm, which seems to have no end, but sooner or later happen.
Even happen that I find the courage to take you away, taking away myself from that day, when our history seemed to turn to oblivion.
I remember your sentences, full of cold, typical of a London autumn, where I returned to finish our film.
"Rob did you decide to both ... In my new life, I chose to welcome you, almost madly deluding myself on the fact that we ... Well, we do not exist more, now."
A mortal blow, but, selfishly, a liberation, in front of my new responsibilities irrevocable.
Did you read that relief in me, though infinitesimal.
Now, with your physical vehemently, you're demonstrating how stupid I was: I spent weeks later empty your joy, midnight phone calls, where you told me funny stories and theatrical situations, before selling to breathe, which seemed to lick the Our absolute sense of mutual dependence, physical, mental, spiritual.
The distance is set aside, nullifying the melancholy, heightening the pleasure of forbidden love in that way, it could not suffice for long.
When I have tried, with a text message rather thin, I started to live again, I admit.
§ I want to see, the details via e-mail, I kiss JL §
Almost a code phrase, unusual for you, you've never enjoyed the subterfuge and half-truths: You're a better man than me, Jude, I told you at first, as disappointed as I would have to notify you of the expectations and common projects .
The work would become an excuse to spend several weeks elbow to elbow, but no satisfactory development, for our dream, which was gradually crumbling as you do now, and going down on me, showing how fragile and how I got six to ruin.
"I'm sorry-for Jude ... sorry ..." - stifled gasp spasms, although I should be the duty claim your excuses for the way you're mistreating me, but I dare not, my fault is sensational.
You seem disunited in the progression from what you are, Jude, but even my shit would be able to transform the clean and sincere person, known lucky on that set.

You're staring, after having turned it gently, the same that you used, leaving the battlefield, dripping of your moods: we do not love how long? Perhaps centuries and I love to emphasize that we are concerned.
I touched his forehead with his knuckles shaking, the same that before you sank between my tongue and palate, where I want to keep only the best of you.
Your mouth, Jude.
Would restore me, before I let you get on my belly, before releasing a cry for vengeance sent by your wounded pride, let me first love, with your superb mouth.


You know the good, even while you sleep, undone by the feelings which never renounce: did you just admitted, mopping his face with a sheet stained with us.
I love Jude: Do not stop repeating at regular intervals, between the moment when I'm scared and when I place the utmost confidence.
Tomorrow is there ready waiting for us.
I decided: I will live it with you, in any way possible and impossible, as is our love Judsie, never doubt.
No more.

THE END