That night

“Rrrrrrrrnnnh…you…think…you can…take me…?” His breath is ragged and hot, coming in quick, short bursts; you love that sound.

I know I can… you reply as calmly as you can, even as you strain and push the muscles in your svelte, coltish legs to overcome him…to conquer him completely and utterly.

Your powerful thighs contract and push, and you scale further up the rough, chalk-stained wall. Your fingers shoot out and catch in a crevice, barely appropriate for grabbing but not only are you light, you’re *strong*. Stronger than you’ve ever been, and even as your arms burn from the effort of hauling yourself up, you kick up and catch your heel on the edge of the wall. A sinuous motion, and you’re up, over the top, looking down at Mizrah and smiling that serene, rose-lipped smile. You perch upon the edge, your legs – in those new, overpriced green cargo shorts – dangling temptingly over the side.

Come on, handsome man. I’m waiting for you.

You call a sweet invitation to your lover, still a few meters down. At about seventy pounds heavier, and honestly lacking the sort of leverage afforded your long legs, Yusuf is fighting manfully, putting up a good effort to get to the top. Rock climbing was something you’d done before with your friends, and while the vague temptation to call them up and summon them ran through your mind, you really wanted to just…spend another day with him.

Was that so bad?

You brood on the topic as he snatches at a bright yellow knob, missing it and almost falling as he scrabbles to keep his grip. You knew for a fact, Isabel, that few men enjoyed doing something he wasn’t good at in front of a woman, especially if that woman was having sex with him, and especially if she was better at it than he was. You’d seen him climb before, back at the pier, and truth be told, enticing him to something you knew yourself to be skilled at wasn’t exactly fair…but he was a good sport who couldn’t turn down a challenge.

It wasn’t exactly fair to be taking this much of his time either, right? He had a band, and you’d heard him kind of…brushing off Percy and Delilah last night to spend it with you. Your brain constantly told you that he’d grow sick of you, or that this was just some hot fling for him – the old voice of self-sabotage in relationships burbling up from the gravedirt of your mind – but…he never seemed to want a break from you. During the few hours you’d caught alone after crashing your work’s profile system, you found your mind inevitably turning to him…and clearly his thoughts were on you, as evidenced when you checked your phone’s messages; you’d carried on a long conversation about an obscure fantasy series you’d read as children, about a knight in brass-chased armor. Then came the photos…selfies of him at what looked to be some kind of…meeting? Bleacher-seats around a firepit, at least three dozen other individuals sitting around them, limned in shadow, listening to the speaker seriously. They seem to group together in fours and fives, but he’s one of the only ones alone. His expression is utterly casual and disrespectful…you remember he had a bit of a thing against any kind of organized structure.

Maybe…he just…really liked you. Maybe he saw something in you that you just couldn’t conceive of on your own. Was he deluding himself, or had you somehow tricked him?

“I’m…almost…there…!” You watch his sinews bulge against his skin as he pulls himself closer to you.

Look at him. Look at him fighting to get closer to you.

You flip over onto your belly and reach down for him. Take my hand Yusuf!

“No! I…can…do it…!” His face is red, a vein is standing out in his temple; he’s clinging to the wall in a way that is wholly unnatural, more spider-monkey than werewolf.

I know you can, but remember you said? You’d let me help you?

“That’s…diffREEEH – “

He’s pitching backward, missing his grab for the edge. You shoot forward, snatching his wrist in your hands, your belly over the edge…only your legs, the strength of your back to keep you both from tumbling over.

You fight for him; you pull him closer, and he scrambles up and over to join you.

Once again the both of you lie panting next to each other, soaked with sweat…only this is the first time you’re doing it clothed. About a minute passes, and you finally roll over onto your side, slicking his hair back from his forehead and touching his chin with your thumb.

You did it! I knew you could.

“Yeah…well…you…you still…win…” he wheezes. You unhook the little steel thermos at your side and pour a bit on his forehead, sluicing the sweat off gently and doting over him and only poking a bit of fun. As you’re doing so, your stomach growls painfully, and not for the first time. Mizrah’s eyes open and he casts a glance at your talkative gut – you pour a bit more water on his face.

You’re supposed to pretend you don’t hear that.

“Lady even I heard it, take that girl out for a steak dinner ya mook!” a wiry old man grouses at Mizrah, shaming you both as he effortlessly ascends the lip of the wall nearby. Your lover gives him a wry stare and pushes to a sitting position, his hand sliding over your aching, hungry