The girl was flat on her back on the plastic mattress, her pale blue scrubs sticking to her skin where sweat had gathered, making the material damp and dark. Her eyes were closed; lashes gracing her cheekbones with flutters as if she were dreaming and the only movement came from her chest, lifting at a steady pace with her breasts. There was a gap of skin to see between her pants' waistband and her top’s hem, and the skin was a pale cream, tantalizing.

Sunlight cast strange shadows over her body and the rest of her plain room. The light caught her hair, casting it into shades of bronze and red and black, the true color would be unknown. The grey walls and grey floor showed wear and tear, scratched paint and scuff marks along the floor. The girl was barefoot, and limp with limbs dangling onto the floor, not even cool in the heat. A lazy fan pushed the heavy air around, the scent of damp something permeating everything.

He walked down the corridor in silence; the only sound was his beating heart pounding in his ears and his breath that sounded too loud in the empty hall. His socks gave him grip, they were the kind with the little rubber dots on the bottom, not truly shoes.

This was the only high he got anymore, but he would take what he could get. He didn’t have to count doors; he knew the path to her room by memory. His hair was pulled back into an elastic band that he was given when he had refused to cut it, so it hung down to his shoulders when he didn’t tie it back. His hair was a blondish red, and he let it get stringy and oily to give him a grungy appearance. She had never said anything about it, but when he came to her she would run her fingers through the length, tugging gently at tangles, and rubbing his scalp with nails that had been forcibly filed into dull half-moons. The thought of those long, pale fingers on his skin gave him shivers, and he moved faster.

The door was silent, and the click of the mechanism holding the door shut was the only sound from it. She still didn’t move, let alone twitch, when he approached her. His shirt, the same pale blue scrub top that she wore, dropped to the floor, and then the pants. The material whispered to the floor, and would have been drowned out from hearing entirely if the room wasn’t so deathly silent.

He fell to his knees beside the plastic mattress, noticing her eyelids flicker slightly and smirked, feeling the stubble that he could never truly rid himself of, on his cheeks. He dipped his head and let his dry lips touch the strip of exposed skin, waiting for a sign from her.

Her hands pulled the band from his hair, and her fingers stroked his temples, and the back of his neck. She applied no guiding pressure, nor did she push him away. He took that as agreement and pushed up her top, exposing more creamy skin, which he trailed his lips up as the hem revealed more and more. He stopped when the top was just below her breasts, and teased her with his bristly cheeks. He was given a sigh that heaved her chest, and her strong fingers grasped his jaw, and pulled him up to her lips.

He tasted the salt of sweat on her lips and tongue, as he lazily explored her mouth again. She didn’t take control of the kiss; she seemed content to let him go at his own pace. He carefully laid his body atop hers, knowing to put one knee between her legs, straddling her thigh and letting his hands trail over her skin, warm and damp. His skin felt the same way, although he was slightly cooler as he was bare, his clothes in a puddle on the floor. He let the kiss draw out, and then nipped her lip gently, pulling away and looking into her open eyes. They were a magnificent shade of bluish green, neither one color nor the other and framed by the most gorgeous natural lashes.

“It’s good to see you.” His words ghosted over her cheek and made errant strands of her hair flutter. He saw the smile in her eyes, at the corner of the crinkle that showed she was amused. “I think you’re a bit over dressed.” He let his hands dip to her waist, where the elastic band of her pants clung loosely. He pushed them lower, and felt her raise her hips for them to be pushed off completely. He kicked them off the plastic mattress, and brought his fingertips up over her sensitive skin from her knee to her hip, and felt her twitch.

Her hand wrapped about his penis, and he couldn’t help but sigh at the contact of her warm, tight hand clutching him. He ducked down to kiss her again, his hair curtaining them. He felt his hips thrust involuntarily as she stroked him. He pulled back, and broke the kiss and pulled her limp body up to remove her top so he could lavish attention to her breasts.

He felt her skin pebble against his rough cheeks as he sucked a nipple into his mouth and felt her body draw tight.

He sucked harder, and then bit hard enough to be considered painful. Her hands left him, and instead drew up his bare back, a signal as she pushed him closer to his skin.

The first thrust was always the best, as she squirmed under him and her breath hit his neck as she bit into his shoulder with her white teeth. He let her revel in the feeling, as much benefit for him as her. He imagined he could feel her stretching around him, taking him in and making herself especially for him, and only him. He slowly pulled out, near completely, and pushed in just as slowly, a finger finding its way through the damp dark curls at the apex of her thighs to find the hot, damp flesh that was such a secret. He had spent hours on this, learning exactly what she liked, and how to please her. He stroked the sensitive nerve and felt her jerk, and put less pressure on the skin, not wanting her to fall over the edge too soon.

She squeezed him, and met his thrusts, still having a grasp on his shoulder and back, pushing herself against him as close as possible. Their skin was peppered with sweat; drops snaked their way with the help of gravity to the plastic mattress and gathered beneath her body.

He could feel her close, and moved faster, pressing harder until the sharp bite on his shoulder and clenching around him told him to ease off, and he let her ride out the pleasure, close himself. He pushed himself as deep as he could go into her, feeling her jerk at the fullness and spent himself, and collapsed on top of her skin as the release drained him and her muscles still worked him.

He felt her release his tender skin from his teeth; and her fingers start to card through his curls, tugging and rubbing, while he regained his composure. He pressed closed-lip kisses to her neck and collarbones, tasting their sweat on her skin and savoring the salty tang. He drifted in her arms, not yet asleep, yet not awake.

She enjoyed the complete press of his body against hers, and the feel of his hair in her fists and his breath ghosting on her collarbone. She combed out his hair, and let him drift, knowing it wouldn’t last long enough. He would always get up, press a kiss into her lips and put on his scrubs, and slip out of her room with as much sound as he made when he entered.

She would be alone again, and the room would yet again become oppressive, draining the desire to even take in breath. She wished he would stay in her arms, and continue to press his lips into her neck for the rest of the night just so she could breathe. She would trade every drop of pleasure he had wrung from her for that simple, sweet human contact.

He slipped off of her, and she shuddered at the loss of his weight, his pressure so comfortable in her arms, and took the band for his hair back from her and messily shoved it back from his face. He looked over her naked body, eyes lingering on her creamy skin, her dusty rose colored nipples redder from his bites than they would normally be. He’d spent hours teasing pleasure from them alone.

He bent, sorting out his clothing from hers and let her see the curves of his body. He was slim, lean, with clear muscles in his arms and legs, and his ass. He would be a runner if he were not confined here. His back bore marks of her fingers, and his shoulder was red and her teeth marks were still visible, they would bruise.

When he stood, pulling up his issued underwear and pants in one sweep; she could see his penis, now flaccid, in a nest of bronze hair that was surprisingly neatly trimmed, surely still moist from her fluids. He paused before pulling on his shirt, letting her gaze linger on his body as his did on hers.

His abdomen was flat, with a little definition of abdominal muscles, more able to be felt than seen. His nipples were a pale pink, the same as his lips and the head of his penis. Standing, he was of average height, taller than her, but not over six feet. He pulled on the top, and crouched beside her, and she felt her pulse quicken just by his proximity, knowing what was coming.

“Will I see you at dinner?” he asked, after pressing a kiss into her lips, the stubble rubbing in a not-completely-pleasurable way. He examined her face with his blue eyes, clear and honest. He found her answer and sighed, a hand lingering on her cheek and a thumb rubbing her cheekbone. “I wish you would come out more often, just so I could see you. I miss catching a glimpse of you, you know.”

He knew she knew; he was far less sure if she missed him when he was gone. He rose, pulling on the socks, and slipping out of the door, leaving her to watch him take the air with him as he went down the hall, leaving the scent of their coupling behind.