I rolled my eyes, and he climbed on top of me, rubbing his cock against my thigh.

Forged in the smithy of desire, he murmured.

Okay Chaucer, get off, I wheezed, you’re crushing me.

He relaxed and splayed himself atop me. I’m dead, he said.

I can’t breathe.

Your corpse groom.

I’m serious, get off me.

I actually couldn’t breathe and grew panicked and told him firmly again to get off. His smile disappeared as he slid off of me. I could tell he felt rejected, which wasn’t my intention. I felt a heaviness descend between us. I wanted to keep things light, so I turned to him and smiled.

Fatso.

He chuckled, and I rubbed my hand over his belly. It had just the right amount of hair. Not too coarse or thick. My big bear, I said, in a silly voice, my big, pregnant bear.

Don’t.

Third trimester.

He sat up and batted my hand away. I’m serious, he said, I’m sensitive about it.

I propped my head up with my hand. Are you really?

Yes. I am.

I’m sorry.

I made to kiss him on his cheek, but this seemed too impersonal, so I moved towards his lips, but in my indecision, ended up somewhere in between. This tiny failure robbed the kiss of any intimacy. In fact, it suddenly seemed to signify some larger misalignment.

I’m always initiating and you’re never up for it, he said. I pointed out that we hadn’t been sleeping in the same room, and he asked me whose fault was that.

I don’t know, why? I asked. Do you blame me?

Well it’s not my fault, he said, lying back down and staring up at the ceiling, his erection subsiding. I asked him why it had to be about fault. There was something about his diminishing erection that I found deeply tragic.

Fuck it, let’s do it, I said, getting onto all fours above him, and running my hand up his thigh.

It’s fine.

No I do, I really want to.

The moment’s passed.

No, I’m—look. I grabbed what remained of his boner. I’m seizing the moment, see? Based on his little jolt, perhaps a bit too forcefully.

Wow, you certainly have.

I slackened my grip a little, and leaned down to kiss him, this time confidently on the lips, open mouthed. Tongues darted, probing. It was a choreography at first. A mimicry. But gradually, it became real. Embodied. We lost ourselves in one another like we hadn’t for ages, until he pulled his head away and studied my face with a furtive smile.

It’s nice to have you back, he said.

I didn’t go anywhere.