I contemplate how to penetrate him; narrowing and entering the pores in his neck, sliding up and down throughout his being, dousing myself in his essence.
 
It doesn’t rip, or burn. It feels… full. Crowded though I have no mass. Tingling where I’d have a spine, and I feel certain my own body is convulsing where I’d left it. As this one is now.
 
I cling to the tendrils of his inner fabric, wrapping myself around, fighting until – he ceases to push.
 
I do not let up, wary of his silence.
 
I never should expect a typical visit from you, Tom.
 
The voice is rough against me, more intimate though akin to a beard scratching against a cheek.
 
We’re mingling, absorbing each other though trying to retain our own selves; I know my words though not if they escape his lips.
 
You’ve never known what to fully expect.
 
His body brims with contradictions; the muscle is weak and yet jolts to touch with a rippling, undefined power. He excudes an intoxicating confidence of potential capped only by a tired reasoning I cannot access. He… chuckles.
 
Do not metaphorically frown, Tom, your essence might freeze that way.
 
He is stalling. Tired and unable to release himself from my hold yet. I grasp onto this as I do onto him, fueling my self-confidence into overtaking his hand.
 
It is mine now. Aged and unsmooth, calloused at the tips and palm. The invasion of his space is offset by the intimate contact, and I focus on what I have gained, not what I am sharing. I slide his hand further down his lap and away from his wand, rendering him impotent in that regards.
 
Silent, are we? I could drum up a tune for you. I play his fingers against his thigh.
 
His body seems to suddenly radiate a hot surge of force, a power that leaves my self momentarily dizzy as he struggles back for the hand. It rubs back and forth across his lap, a visual sign of our battle.
 
I lash back, sure my old body’s fists are clenched with effort, gaining back his hand. I can tell no difference  between what fists were mine and what is his, where one begins and the other doesn’t. As he regathers I do as well, unable to stop myself from bringing our trembling hand over his face, trailing it down his chest to back upon his lap where, in a moment of disgust, I have him grab himself and yank. Let him feel the humiliated shame of basic need and desire controlled by me; only it leaves me ill as well, retching down to my core.
 
His voice isn’t rough against me anymore; merely dull scraping.
 
I’ve never known you not to finish what you’ve begun.
 
You would know, with the amount of times you’ve failed in stopping me.
 
I admit nobody stops you better than yourself, Tom.
 
His broken shards of self reflect both of us back to me in fractured bits, leaving me suffocating though I need no air, needing to end this and return.
 
I won’t stop now.
 
I would not expect you to.
 
I drag our hand to his wand, the wood hardly giving any feeling against our hand as I take it up and turn it slowly to face him. I feel him straining, our hand trembling, the wand shaking back and forth between us as we both press on…
 
All together...

End.