Author's note: One-shot, but tell me if you like it as I have an idea for a longer story. As always reviews are much appreciated. Enjoy!

…

My hand in his hair, it is still damp from the rain and a droplet of water runs across my wrist and down my arm. I can smell his sweat, and the faint traces of petrol that still cling to his skin. Against mine his lips taste strange and metallic, I lick them, curious. He is so different from anyone I've ever known, a puzzle, unsolved and unexplored.

His mouth opens under my probing tongue, and I reach deeper, we are locked together, partners in an intricate dance. His hand moves from my shoulder, running down my back and making me shiver. It slips lower and I let out a small cry; all this, familiar, and yet so different from what I've known. But his gentle confidence reassures me. This is what I want.

My hands fumble at the front of his shirt, the small buttons making my movements seem clumsy and awkward. I feel his lips pull from mine and almost cry in protest, but then they are back, pressed against my neck. Slowly they move downwards, caressing my bare chest, intensifying the heat that already floods my body.

Now his shirt is open and my fingers flutter downwards, tracing veins and muscles. He moves against me pressing closer and closer, breath hot against my bare skin. And now his hand is moving down still further, loosening my belt – investigating. I lean in, wanting more and suddenly I am somewhere else.

The bed feels soft underneath me, and her weight so achingly familiar. I can hear her whispering in my ear, her fingers running strange and intricate patterns across my body. But when my eyes snap open the returning pair are not brown, but green.

My mind is a whirl of confusion, colours, faces, times, places and voices, spinning around in my head. Again I cry out, but not in pleasure, in fear. What am I doing? Why am I here, a man pressed against me, his hands on my leg, lips on my neck? Where is she?

Afraid and disorientated I jump back, the pants that lie around my ankles trip me, and I fall backwards. Strong arms catch me, pulling me close, and for the first time I realise my eyes are damp with tears.

"She was there, with me. It was so real, and then…"

"I know, I know. Its okay, everything is going to be okay."

His lips press against my forehead, I know he means to comfort me, to abate my fears, but the image is still to clear, the hurt to real, and I push him away.

"I'm sorry, I can't do this, it's too…I just can't."

I feel so inadequate, so weak, but my mind it seems is not ready for this, however much my body aches for it.

"Tell me, what did you see?"

He's rocking me now, holding me against his chest like a baby, stroking my hair. I am so grateful for his empathy, his compassion, but how could he understand? I want him…I love him, but I loved her too, and my heart still remembers.

"I saw her…Lisa," the name sticks in my throat, unwilling to leave. "I was there with her, we were…and then you…I'm sorry."

I don't know what I am apologising for. His pain, my pain, her death? Being unable to go further? It doesn't matter all that matters is that he understands, that he knows, it's not that I don't want to. It's that I can't. maybe in time…but for now the wound is still to fresh, the pain to raw.

We sit in silence for a long time, entwined together. But gone is the passion of minutes ago. Gone are the fast urgent actions. Now we are simply two men, side-by-side, each lost in his own world.