The midday bells were ringing across the lagoon when they finally stirred, the heavy velvet curtains of the Danieli suite holding back the day. When they finally emerged onto the Riva degli Schiavoni, Venice was nursing a collective hangover. The streets were a landscape of the morning after. The grey paving stones were slick with dampness and plastered with layers of wet confetti, coriandoli, that looked like dissolved impressionist paintings. Discarded plastic masks bobbed in the canals alongside sodden feathers. The city was quieter, the frantic energy of the Ball replaced by the rhythmic swishing of street sweepers' brooms and the clinking of espresso cups. They found a small, unassuming trattoria in the Castello district, away from the main tourist drag. They ate with the voracious appetite that comes after a night of dancing and fucking, plates of frittelle (Venetian doughnuts), eggs, and strong coffee. They watched the city sweep itself clean, sharing a comfortable silence that felt lived-in, aged far beyond the few days they had known each other.
The afternoon was spent wandering aimlessly. They avoided the Piazza San Marco, opting instead for the wind-swept promenade of the Zattere, watching the heavy traffic of boats on the Giudecca Canal. They walked hand in hand, gloves on, shoulders touching, trying to slow the passage of the sun. As evening fell, they made the pilgrimage to Harry’s Bar near the San Marco ferry stop. It was a required station of the cross for any Venetian affair. The room was small, crowded, and golden-hued. They sat at a tiny low table, knees knocking together, sipping peach Bellinis and eating paper-thin carpaccio. The noise of the room was a roar around them, but they were in the eye of the storm. "My train tomorrow leaves at 11:00 AM," John said, not looking at his watch, the time clearly etched in his mind. "I know," Eloisa replied, tracing the rim of her glass. "Back to the restoration. Back to the cracks in the paint." "Not yet," John said, signaling for the check. "Not tonight." They returned to the suite at the Danieli for the last time. The final light in the room was a masterpiece of atmospheric contrast, a lighting scheme that no artist could replicate on canvas.
John didn't turn on the overhead chandelier. Instead, he switched on a single, small table lamp on the far desk. It cast a pool of warm, amber resistance against the darkness, throwing long, soft shadows across the Persian rugs and the heavy brocade furniture. But the dominant light came from the window. John pulled the heavy drapes wide open, inviting the lagoon inside. Outside, the fog had lifted, leaving the night air crisp and clear. The moonlight struck the churning black water of the Grand Canal, bouncing off the waves and projecting rippling, ghostly bands of pale blue light onto the ceiling of the suite. It was a living illumination, undulating, shifting, eternal.
The room was suspended between these two worlds: the warm, static amber of the lamp, safety, intimacy, the indoors, and the cold, shifting blue of the water, mystery, the inevitable departure, the flow of time. In this mixed light, Eloisa stood by the bed. The blue ripples washed over her skin as she undressed, turning her pale form into something ethereal, like a statue submerged in water. When John moved to her, his shadow, cast by the amber lamp, stretched long and tall across the wall, encompassing her.
They laid down in the center of the bed, right where the warm gold met the cold blue. This final act was an exploration, a pushing of their boundaries. It was a slow, deliberate memorization. John watched the way the water-light played across Eloisa’s face, catching the flutter of her eyelashes, the part of her lips. He kissed her as if he were trying to imprint the taste of her onto his soul. Eloisa held him with a desperate strength, her hands mapping the muscles of his back, feeling the beat of his heart against her chest. She moved down his abdomen offering kisses to each stop along the way unto she reached his cock, taking it in her mouth, worshiping it with her lips, her tongue and her hand. John arched his back at the sensation as she started to massage his balls with her other hand and then took them in her mouth to caress them before moving his cock back in her mouth.
He was enjoying the sensory experience as she gently released his balls and then started to tease his ass with her fingers making the same small circles around his pulsing sphincter he did on her clit the night before. When he had relaxed enough she slipped her fingers inside his ass and started to move in and out of him while she sucked his cock. She continued like this for some time until he came in her mouth, deep into the back of her throat as she swallowed his savory juices. His breathing was fast, labored and deep. When she was done, she moved up and kissed him to share the juices of his arousal with him. They kissed for a long time and before long, he was hard again. She moved on top of him and straddled him, and slowly slid his cock inside her pussy before she started to grind on him as he used his thumb to tease her clit. They moved together in the semi-darkness, the room breathing with them. The reflections on the ceiling danced faster as their rhythm built, a silent, watery applause. When the climax came, it was profound and achingly sad. It was a physical realization that this perfection was ending. In one last act of discovery for her, Eloisa sat back up and slid John’s cock out of her pussy and began feeding it into her ass. She had never done this before, but had been eager to try with somebody she trusted, and she felt that this was the right time. millimeterr by millimeter, she slid his cock inside her as she wiggled her hips from side to side slowly guiding it until it was fully inside her. Once his cock was inside she held it there for a bit to adjust to the new sensation. She slowly started to move and with each movement she began to enjoy it and it made her want more as she started to move up and down on him. In no time she was moving with him taking him deeply inside her ass as her eyes rolled back in pleasure until he finally came with her, his cum filling her ass.
For a time afterward, they laid there, entangled in the sheets. The amber lamp finally burned out, leaving them bathed solely in the reflected moonlight of the lagoon. The room was washed in silver and shadow, silent save for the lapping of the water against the stones below, a lullaby for the end of the affair. Both knew the following morning would bring the dreaded, goodbye.
Images as imagined, from the Internet
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