They walked a little more, this time Micael wasn't aware of the spiders on the ceiling; he never bothered looking at the ceiling conversationally. His eyes were straight at the wooden floor just underneath their dusty soles while handling Amy with all of Micael's will, and with the littlest amounts of mileage, they reached Amy's room. He opened the door with his right hand, as his left arm was holding unto Amy's waist. She was not completely drunk, as she said, but it felt like she was: She couldn't walk properly and talk straight out of her lips, too.
They seemed to be frazzled. Micael could smell the liquor coming from her body, as if it was leaking from every pore of hers. Soon enough, Micael had budged the knob, and opened the door. Whilst doing so, Amy talked silently while the door was open halfway. It squeaked, and so did she: "You know, Micael, you are fortunate I like you." It was a soft whisper piercing through Micael's left ear. The door was open, like Micael' think-abouts. He thought of the thing which he had read on his father's very letter. It was about hearing the same thing, over and over and over.
Insanity? He thought not. It was more than just insanity, or maybe it was insanity inside his very flesh, and soon enough, he remembered the last line of the letter.
If one heard the title of this very prose, it is green light. Beyond the light, you will see how fortunate you are.
Then locked the door shut, this time it was fast and not clumsy. "What are you doing?" Amy asked silently. She was still whispering. Was she scared? Fair enough, and she was really not. She looked at Micael, of which recently turned around after closing the door, while Amy was holding herself into the jacket rag beside her. "You know what I am doing, Amy," he replied, and he abruptly grabbed Amy on her waist, with both of his hands held tightly on it. It was something illicit from both that time, but it was the libido which made everything went arise. She knew she was not drunk, and so did he, as if she just used the word tipsy for her to have time with Micael. Deceiving or not? Micael never had cared, for all he knew was that it was a win-win either way. The lips of Micael closed shut a little as it started to approach the front of Amy's lips; Amy's steady, and they started kissing, and could feel the heat of the other. It was intimate, yet no one had ever closed their eyes, yet, as if one was waiting for someone to come about the door, but never really did, and so did her eyes.
Amy reached onto Micael's jacket, unbuttoned it, took it off slowly, which stopped the dancing of Micael's very soul. Himself was risen, and so does Amy. The jacket was slowly moving out of Micael's torso and arms, and soon after it was lying on the floor, like it immediately went astray. Next was Micael's vest, which was much easier, of course. Amy managed to reach for the vest's buttons within fractions of a minute, and she did unbutton it again. Micael was quite of a dancer, too. He moved his hands from Amy's waist down to her buttocks, and it was soon what he was holding onto. The vest went off, but Micael's hands were not. They were holding tight, like wood glue. They continued, still eyes closed. They were feeling that it was just a dream, but they could feel everything. The touch, the lips, the heat, and quite the splendid reaction of their bodies onto one another. Soon after, it seemed Micael had had enough. He lifted Amy's weight, with his hands still on their whereabouts, and went to the nearby bed. He was scurrying towards the room, as if he was in a hurry. It was dark. Their mood darker.
But there was a window outside, which brought the light, the breeze, and much of the feeling. He dropped Amy on the bed, and he had put his hands off of her quite a sec. He untied his tie, unbuttoned his shirt in quite a haste, took it off, and soon he was naked before Amy's, top-wise, and he went back to his business. He kissed Amy, again, and this time, he was grabbing something different. His hand went fast, like sparrows flying across the landmass, and soon they landed, merely half a foot below Amy's head. It was dark, but Micael was never blind enough to be not be able to see. They did kiss some more, while Micael's hands were still a foot below her head. His hands were clenching, but were never made it halfway, and as for Amy's head, she could feel it. She could not talk, either, for her lips were on Micael's, and her bosom was on his hands, but she sure did feel it. She wanted to talk, and to sigh, but all she had ever uttered is a whimper. Her hands were on Micael's waist and back for quite the time, and so she moved it. She moved it deliberately, and it went underneath. Micael stopped, and he was deafened, as if he had become sober once more (though he really was since the beginning of their smooch). He had felt a quite slide under his belt. It was fluid, like knife slicing through butter, and then he felt the sensation down to his crotch, but he knew there was no sweat at all. One could feel the touch of Amy on his, and she uttered:
"Is that all you got, Micael?" while feeling the excited from her very lips, of which separated with quite the seduction.
It was now apparent that it was never illicit at all, and the only between them was ignorance. Micael quite remarked a laugh which followed by a mere tired voice, as if he was chasing his own breath: "Wait until I got you undressed, Amy, and you will see what Micael really got." Micael took Amy's weight and rolled him over. Reached the back of Amy's dress, and unraveled the laces behind, and their night continued.
...