eversonpoe:

she could never get in the mood if there wasn’t music. it didn’t matter what it was, save for country or rap, she just needed music. it could be beethoven’s fifth or closer by nine inch nails or even black cow by steely dan. the music would flow through her veins and bring her blood rushing to that glorious spot between her legs. she would pulse to the rhythm of it, sway in its melody. she would come when a song reached its own climax, a beautiful symbiosis between them.

he was always far more calculating. methodical. to a fault. he needed the right music, and it changed every time. he didn’t have the same relationship to it that she did. he would spend too long trying to match his mood, his colour. the desire would be gone from both of them by the time he chose. the shame would set in and he would feel worthless. but occasionally, he would find just the right song, just at the right moment. the two of them would intertwine, thrusting and clawing, lost in the grandness of the sound.