Triggering the Transition

You have fought with her at least twenty times, over the last month: your bitchy little roommate.

Over clothes one of you borrowed. The food eaten from the fridge without permission. Who gets control of the television remote. Or who is free to choose the songs played on your Alexas.

And though you and she have struggled against one another again and again, as she digs her claws into your sex, it is like the first time.

The first time you and she stripped nude and then met body to body and will to will.

The first time you and she glared and hissed — reached and clawed.

In that battle, you two roommates with little else in common, having discovered a shared and incredible obsession.

An obsession you allow the other to enjoy without real cause or external concern.

For you fight not against her, but with her. Each of you working together to satisfy each other’s needs.

Your hatred donned until neither of you can take it another moment. Her rage kept until finally, in the maelstrom of your combined friction, lips meet.

Either pair triggering the transition.

From warcraft to lovemaking.

From enemies to lovers.

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