Checkered Hearts
Theo and Cyrus replied together, the rhythm that was becoming natural, the chorus that was their language.
Arthie shifted, the reconfiguration that was constant and essential. Moved to face them both, the three-way arrangement that was new and familiar—knees touching, hands finding, the circuit of contact that was complete. The darkness that was not obstacle but medium, the lack of vision that intensified the other senses, the smell of them that was individual and combined, the sound of breathing that was three-part harmony.
"My heart?" he asked, the question that was medical and intimate, the ritual that was daily and essential.