We all knew it had to happen eventually. The end of the world. Doomsday. Gehenna, or Judgment Day if you are religious. As we look up at the stars, I think it's hard to realize that somewhere out there, so far away that we can't even really see it, our doom is coming for us, hurtling towards its final destination - and ours - with enough speed to rip our world in two. An asteroid - some fragment of a lost or doomed planet, torn asunder and sent barreling through space until, just a few hours from now... boom. And that, as they say, will be that.

I suppose we had a good run of it, us humans. We built and created, sang and wrote and loved and lost, all within the scope of our desire-- until now that time has run out, and it all seems, in a sense, worthless. Death is the greatest equalizer of them all, and now that we are all set to die, it seems that a certain calm has descended upon the world. There's no more intrigues, no more politics. No one is complaining about animal cruelty or anti-vaxxers, or the looming threat of world war three. Those who are insane, or optimistic, or both, have sought out their bunkers and shelters, settling in for an eternal winter in the wake of the disaster. Others, mad with fear and grief, have decided to end it before the great collision, going alone or in groups to find whatever maker they believe in. But the rest of us...? We know there's no point in running. And there's no point in panic, either. Death will come for us, it will find us, and neither money nor power can change that. Twitter has gone silent. The internet has slowed to a crawl, and people.. people are doing what people do, I suppose. Celebrating life. Lamenting death. Or huddling up with their loved one, in the final hours.

There is no salvation.

So come, lover. Lie here next to me, on the hill beneath the twinkling stars. The air is warm and the grass is soft, and there is no one around but you and me. Put your head against my chest, and listen to my heart beat - a last fluttering hurrah before oblivion consumes it. Put your hand on my stomach, and trail it down to where my shirt stops and my skirt begins, down to tug at the hem of my panties, soft and silky against your fingertips. Brush your lips against my neck, and listen to the tiny, shivering sigh of pleasure that your warmth brings me. Feel my hand reach over to touch you, sliding smoothly across the folds of your clothing before finding and groping the core of your hardness, woefully concealed from my touch.

Take off your pants, lover. And lay your head between my legs, while I gaze up at the stars. Maybe I will see it, before you lithe tongue forces my eyes closed with its pleasurable dance; that tiny, sparkling dot in the night sky that is growing imperceptibly larger as you grip my thighs and hike them up, spreading me against your mouth to release my fragrant juices onto your taste buds.

Can you taste me, love? Can you hear my quiet moans?

I don't want to die, really. But if I am to die, I want to face my death with dignity. I want to feel you climb between my legs, the skirt pulled off and discarded carelessly onto the rolling sea of green, and lift my legs against your shoulders. I want to reach up and pull you close to me as the girth of your manhood spreads me open, pushing and bucking until we are closer than any two people have ever been, and our breaths are both ragged and hard, a twin chorus of lust-filled gasps as the sky above us erupts into fire. I want to feel your body tremble against mine as you rock me gently on your cock, your face a mere silhouette against the flames above us, their incandescent glory reflected in my dark eyes as you lean in to kiss me, our arms wrapped around one another in a tight embrace.

I want to put my legs around you and pull you into me. I want to taste myself on your tongue while my fingers rake thin, red lines down your back.

I want to feel you cum in me. Please. Let your pleasure be the last thing I feel.

Close together. Like we could take on anything.

It's only the end of the world, my love.

Please.

Cum for me.