Anyway, rated T for naughty implications and use of the word 'sex'.
When Mika comes to bed she tosses aside her jacket and pushes Tohma down with one swift, smooth motion.
There is a breeze from the open window as they begin to kiss and Tohma’s cool hands slip underneath Mika’s shirt to touch her warm back.
Neither Mika nor Tohma are young any more, but they still enjoy the comfort of each other’s touch.
Someday it will be for the last time – be the parting a divorce or death or indifference or a simple lack of desire.
‘And, if the end is near or far, it seems wrong to waste the time worrying when now will suffice,’ Mika says as she leans away and slips off her bra.
Tohma is not gentle when he pulls her back down to him, and Mika would never want him to be.
Someone once told Tohma that two merge into one during sex, but he and Mika have always been two.
Among the thousands and thousands of people in the world, he and Mika will always be two.
In a moment of passion, Mika once told Tohma that he was the King of her desire, and then she bit him when he dared to laugh.
Over the years, Mika has learned every imperfection of Tohma’s body; she even knows the scars that can’t be seen and she tries to kiss them, too.
It is always a blur when they are together, time seems to slow or speed up, whichever is more painful at that particular moment.
Tohma is used to waiting and being patient, but there is a point where he always breaks and simply takes what he wants.
Positions change, and Mika finds herself pinned to the mattress.
‘Don’t be kind,’ she says.
Tohma holds his wife and presses a kiss to her lips as she wraps her arms around him.
He will never want Mika the way she wants him, but he will always need her.
Their kiss deepens and Tohma envisions someone else in Mika’s place.
The nails scoring his back bring his full attention back to his wife.
Tohma can see into the depths of Mika’s soul when he looks into her eyes, and it is a very dark place indeed.
When Mika looks into her husband’s eyes, she sees pleasant little lies and worlds that don’t exist -- in pictures they are happy, but they are never together.
‘I am a fool to think you could ever want anyone besides Eiri,’ Mika says, nearly hissing as she wraps her legs around her husband.
Tohma thinks that Mika is never more beautiful than when she is mad at him.
A child was never the answer to the troubles of their marriage, but they tried anyway.
Now, the child is gone and so is the chance for anything beyond what they have.
A shadow of something that could have been lurks behind Tohma, and he tries to ignore it along with all the other lost chances that torment him at night.
Mika cries sometimes and whispers goodbye to her chance at motherhood, but when Tohma is around she acts as if she doesn’t care and buries those feelings deep inside.
Even when they make love, Mika and Tohma hide their true feelings from one another
It is fortunate that they do, otherwise they would make hate instead of love.
There is safety in the little lies of conveniences between husband and wife.
But there is always one other ghost that lingers between them, even when they are locked in their most passionate embraces; the ghost of a man Tohma hated, a man Mika never met and yet despises.
The ghost that has been the muse for many books, and curses filled with violent passion.
The ghost of a man whose eyes wandered where they should not have, and who paid the price with his life.
Mika often mutters to herself how Eiri should never have gone to New York, and when Tohma hears her, he cannot disagree.
The first time they were together, Mika sang afterwards; Tohma has not heard her sing since they married and he misses her tone-deaf song.
It is quick and sudden when Mika bites Tohma’s shoulder, and he realizes his mind has wandered.
They stop and look into each other’s eyes, gazing a years of pain and accusations and loyalty and understanding.
Time begins to move again with quick, violent movements.
Tohma wishes for his crimes to be washed away in the sea of passion.
Mika is torn between her feelings of love and loathing for the man atop her.
It is their history that keeps them together – not love, not duty – though those exist as well.
This is their private power struggle; a struggle neither Mika nor Tohma has ever gained the upper hand in.
It bothers Mika that their struggle always ends so fast and messily, with no real conclusion.
Mika cries out to a God she does not believe in as her nails dig into her husband’s back.
Tohma’s hand reaches out and presses against the wall, to steady himself against the wave of ecstasy and agony.
They are naked and vulnerable when they collapse together, a state no other person has seen of them.
Mika and Tohma lie on the bed they’ve made together and stare at the ceiling, the desire to move driven from them as they listen to their own breath.
Tohma harms Mika without meaning to do so, and Mika tries so hard to harm Tohma and never succeeds.
They pretend everything is perfect, but only for a few precious moments before the realist within reminds them of who they are and that their lives will never have a fairytale ending.
Mika will always hunger for the marriage she dreamed of as a child, and Tohma will always yearn to love his wife the way he knows he should.
They want to believe in something beyond what they have, but neither of them willing to chance anymore disappointment.