The Meeting of Winter and Spring

The slide of cold over warmth, smooth skin over smooth skin. Blue eyes connecting with green, as the two bodies move in motion, hands touching and traveling. Bodies undulate together, fingers interlacing and the fabric crumpling beneath them, the sounds of their love-making echoing softly in the large chamber, gasps of breath and the sounds of lips meeting again and again in the softest of caresses, the most passionate of touches.

This is all they are allowed. This is all they can get.

They are all alone, it is known that they will need the time. The touches are soft and caring, but rushed and mournful at the same time, sweat running down both bodies and staining the softest red silk beneath. They moan in union, grasping and touching and tasting each other, never getting enough.

It will be a long while before they get this again, after all.

Every sound is stained in sadness and love; every touch is slow and yet rushed. They need everything; they want nothing. They want to not love each other; they want to not need each other every day of the year; they want to be together forever.

Such is the sadness of the seasons. Once a year, these two mingle with each other. The one day a year where the weather is perfect, the most wonderful combination of cold and warmth, Ice and Flowers.

Winter and Spring.

And it is over, both gasping for breath, chests heaving against one another, as they lay together as their sweat cools and their limbs intertwine together, every plane of skin touching.

'I wish I could be with you forever.' Whispered Spring to Winter.

'I wish we could be together always.' Whispered Vexen to Marluxia.

'I love you.' They kissed one last time, a lingering of lips, a slight caress, but a loving one, and fell asleep, resigning themselves to another three hundred and sixty-four days without the other.