I'm shaking, it's cold. I bring up a hand and the concrete is dirty on my fingers. I'm at the centre of the crossroads on my back, hard up against the sky and my breath comes fast. It's like somebody put nails down beneath me - I want to jump away and leave, get the hell out of here. This is where people die. This is where they walk past the red lights and die, shattered and bleeding. So let's get our fucking clothes off and let's do this.

Your hands snatch at the tarmac as I ride you. The growl in your throat meets the engine of a distant taxi. There's grit in your hair and moonlight silvers your skin, mixing with the red of the traffic lights, you filthy saint. I reclaim you. Wind bites through my sweater; you're my naked sacrifice but fuck it if I'm stripping all the way down on a March night. The wool's rough on my nipples and my knees grind against hard stone, marking my ground in blood as I tilt my hips into you. Damn, but you feel good like this, and I don't want you to stop.

Sound carries on cold air; so do you. I can smell you mingled here with engine oil and the sweat of bare panic. We're hammering each other now, my hands grabbing your naked hips, smearing them with grease before I wipe them on your sweater. But I can't hold you, you slip out of my reach, obscuring the moon, a green nimbus around you as ghoulish you take what you came for. You won't let me touch you, you don't need it, one hand working at your clit as the other crashes down on my chest, pinning me into the ground, your cunt wrapping around me, not letting me go.

Later, I want to be languorous with you, but this space is only ours until the sun rises. And that car swerved close before it dived past, horn screaming. You're past caring, you're in disarray, you're begging, you've forgotten that you're up against cold stone ground and that I'm going to take you until you scream. I'm leaning over you now, pinning your hands back by a pothole, my hips moving knowingly, relentless. You're in my temple and this is the crossroads where you go where I want. Get ready.

When we leave, the streetlights remain. Stop. Go. Get ready. Fuck. But we're mingled with their light, and it's our space now.

C.

No copyright but if you copy it, how about adding a verse of your own or going out and fucking on a dark street somewhere?