Free Light and Wine by Sparrow AuSoleil Page A

of heat and need and hope, I press and she sings.
    I slide.
    And push.
    All the way until her head is back and my eyes are open. All the way through until God’s name is on both our lips and all I feel is love.

Lacie chases gasps, her whole body contracting around mine, and I can’t help pushing deeper still.

“God, God, God,” she pleads, tears sliding over red-pink cheeks as His name between her needy breaths fills my chest with grateful fire.

“God, don’t stop,” she begs, her whisper just as shivering slick as where she holds me. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop—”
    Soft little cries leave no room for hesitation in me. I am pious ambition and sacrosanct fervor as I straighten to my full height, bringing dark, need-filled eyes into focus as I brush my hands from her hips to between her shaking thighs.

My palms slide.
    We’re soaking in worship.
    I shake my head.
    No , I tell Lacie with my eyes.
    It’s okay. We’re not going to stop.
    “God,” small and pink and glowing hiccups. “Father, oh, oh—”

“Open,” I coax, sliding my hands to where she’s holding me. “Open, love.”
    Pressing down as her moan fills the chapel, I spread burning light carefully wider, pushing her legs slowly up and apart until her knees are all the way back. Delicately swelled and entirely parted, Lacie winces and shakes, shifting and adjusting, but the pitch of her words is sincere.
    “All the way,” I tell her, holding the backs of straining little knees apart as I swallow and start to push again. “Open all the way for me, Lacie …”
    Deliberate and loving, I sink with intent and insistence, and quick shallow notes echo into the chapel. Hazel eyes whisper the need for slow, steady strength as she tenses and relaxes, and tenses further in a soft pattern, but the faint beginnings of a smile trace the corners of her lips.

And I know it hurts, but trust in her and in God keeps me moving.
    Soft was made for hard, as give was made for take.
    Even as her body shakes and stings where love holds her open, Lacie shines steadily and soul-sure under pressure that aches for acceptance, because she was made for me.
    As I push in constant, determined increments, the space between her hips and mine slowly closes. Neither light, nor air, nor sound slips between my skin and hers, and as I settle against her, enduring faith arches. Her shoulders come up from the altar with her backbone’s plea to bring flesh to flesh everywhere. Taut little peaks brush and slide along my bare chest as I lean down, wanting her to feel my heart pounding against hers, blood calling to blood in the warm, wordless language of life itself.
    With my hands still pressed in the burning backs of her knees, Lacie wraps her arms around my neck. The small shift and give in our posture brings me inextricably closer, and with eyes closed, I feel all of her for the first time, tightly holding all of me.
    I’ve wanted to walk in God’s light my whole life. I’ve sought and prayed and waited forever to find light, and now—
    “Stay with me,” my calling whispers, brushing her thumbs under my ears, lifting my head. Her chin quivers, and she fastens her eyes to mine with the most plea-filled promise. “Right here. You’re right here—”
    The slightest gasp of breath proves her words, and her brows furrow with want to let her lids fall. My blessing is all inhale and arch and open. She’s all receive and hold, and it’s almost painful because all I am, here and now, is made of light, and it’s light’s purest nature to expand.
    To stretch and turn, and warm all that it can.
    To unobscure and make vivid, and fill with the first of all God’s miracles.

Keeping our bodies touching and pink knees pressed open, I rest my forehead against Lacie’s and let our eyes close. Meaning and purpose flicker from the back of my neck, down my spine, and I rock smoothly forward.
    The little glow that gives me light sings as I rock back and forward