Martha pinned James against the inside of his front door, then bit his lip in celebration of their long awaited seclusion. Desperate to be close, she peeled his jacket over his shoulders and to the ground. He followed suit, pulling her hoodie over her head and taking her t-shirt with it. For a moment, she felt bashful, but then laughed at the absurdity of the thought, before slamming him back to the door.

It wasn't about having sex – well, maybe a little bit – but about being close. She'd flatten his bones and organs against this door if she could and still not be close enough. She needed her atoms to shift in concert with his so they could occupy each other's space.

James had a different idea and launched himself off of the door, lifting Martha in the air. She instinctively wrapped her legs around him and felt his enthusiasm swell as he carried her to his room.

He shoved his bedroom door open with her backside and she laughed, breaking from their kiss and opening her eyes. Then she gasped.

James had once again painted a dizzying maze on a wall of his room, but this time, instead of stairways, rails, and streams, there were thorn covered vines, barbed wire, and pike filled canals. She jumped off of him to get a closer look. As before, the detail was masterful, if twice as disturbing. He'd added red to the color scheme of gray and black as many of the conduits were smeared or dripping with blood. And there were victims now – heads impaled on pikes, entrails hanging from thorns, bodies tangled in wires and writhing in pain.

"Oh James..."

"Like I said," he breathed. "This life has been different." Then James unbuttoned his black shirt and dropped it to the floor. Martha's breath caught. His ribs were pronounced under his sun deprived skin in stark contrast to his athletic physique from their first. But more concerning – so much more concerning – were the scars.

Lines in rows and lines in chaos littered his torso. Some were a fresh, deep red while others had faded with time. Some weren't lines at all but blotchy welts from burns. Martha hurried to him, then after a moment's hesitation, placed her fingers on a particularly large welt over his chest. He flinched slightly, but let her draw her hand down his torso and across the bumps and ridges.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered

"But it's not your fault," he said. "Why-"

She looked into his eyes and he knew instantly that it wasn't meant as an apology.

Martha placed her hand on her own chest – bare, soft, and unharmed. "I... had to keep up appearances to make it here, but..." A tear rolled down her cheek and James brushed it away with his thumb. "I have them too. You just can't... You can't see mine."

His brow twitched as tears welled. She recognized the sorrow in his eyes reflecting her own and she didn't need their atoms to align. He knew her pain and she, his. They carried it for one another as no one in the world or in time ever would.

In a burst of joy and sorrow, they embraced. Who led and who followed was irrelevant as they moved, of one mind, to the bed. Their clothes had become impediments – impurities blocking their true and perfect nature.

As they consumed one another, Martha felt ecstasy, but also impatience and greed. She wanted all of him and more. One mouth wasn't enough. Two hands weren't enough. She needed to be on, around, and through every part of him at once.

James moved from her mouth to her neck and she dug her nails into his back. He continued down her torso, taking his time, inch by inch, before finally passing her waist.

Martha had no point of comparison, in all her lives, for the pleasure that followed. It was like being electrocuted with German chocolate. It made the men from her first life seem like cavemen holding a Rubik's cube. After reaching her summit for a second time, she clenched her fists in his hair and pulled him back to her.

For a moment, they were still – staring into each other's eyes as he floated above. Though she'd had sex in her first life – only sex, never love – this body had not. In previous lives, James had taken her virginity north of one hundred times. But this was different.

She'd adored him in those lives. She'd loved him in those lives. But she'd never once known him. Because of that, this would be their first.

James began gently, moving in full anticipation of her needs as if her body was his own. She flipped him over and surprise flashed across his face. Had she never shown this kind of aggression? She decided to steal his line:

"Like you said... Things have been different."

He laughed and then his eyes rolled back as she showed him exactly how. They traded control and used every inch of his bed for who knew how long. On her fifth... he finally released his first and they collapsed in a sweaty heap.

Martha rested her head on James' chest and listened to his heart race like a rabbit's. He took a deep breath and it slowed by half. "So... what do we... do now?" she asked between breaths.

"Anything we want," he replied.

She rolled off of him and propped herself on her elbows. "Cheeseburgers!"

He smiled as he looked up at the ceiling. "We can get cheeseburgers." But Martha saw his eyes sharpen and begin to flit randomly. James was thinking. "So... the life after Robbie stabbed me, you woke up?"

"Mm-hmm."

"As a toddler?"

"For a minute. Then I flashed ahead a few years and then a few years after that."

"Amazing. And you have no idea how it happened?"

Martha shook her head. "No idea. I abandoned our research the second you died because... What would be the point?"

"There wouldn't be." His eyes continued to work. "But then... why didn't you come here?"

Martha sighed. "I did come here. But..."

His eyes went wide. "Oh my god."

"Don't-"

"Oh my god!"

"Don't apologize, James. You didn't know. There's no manual for this. And being immortal means never having to say you're sorry."

"Well, I don't know if that's true."

"It probably isn't. But it sounded clever. Listen – it's been awful. It's been fucking awful. But I'm here now. And... I always knew I would be, eventually. I always knew you were here, waiting." She leaned forward and nestled her head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her. "No one was waiting for you. Your nightmare was yours alone."

His grip tightened and he kissed the top of her head.  They lay together in silence as Martha twirled a strand of James' chest hair around her finger.  Then, she said, "By the way, does your mom own a gun?"

"No. Wait, why?"

"Never mind. It doesn't matter. Just..." She looked up at him. "Promise me something?"

"Name it."

"No more suicides."

James smiled sadly.  "For you, I'll go cold turkey."

"Thanks.  But do you know what's even better than cold turkey?"

He stared at her a moment, then remembered. "Oh, right. Cheeseburgers! I'm on it." He sat up to leave, but Martha stopped him.

"Before you go. Have you..." She cleared her throat and smiled bashfully. "...recovered?"

James smiled wide, then said, "Always and forever."

So they went for number six...

Author's note:

So... this is the first sex scene I've ever written.  You could... um... say that it was my... (clears throat) first time. 

I was pretty much making it up as i went along (kind of like my... never mind), so feedback is greatly appreciated.  Too much?  Too little?  Too explicit?  Too timid? 

To my squeamish readers, I get it.  Been there.  But I've put these two through so much suffering, I thought they deserved it.