译者：M’Loli · Lo · Sosanak
目录
作者的话
this is based on many many conversations about exusiai with stregaloveless (please read her excellently miserable mostiexu fic) thank you for having good and fresh opinions
as always the sex here is completely consensual but it is kind of depressing! if you think you might not like the concept of “having sex with an unrequited crush” then just skip this one 👍
译文
进入酒店房间后首先映入能天使眼帘的是深绿色的地毯。深绿色的地毯、奶油白的床单、深红棕色的木制镶板、发霉潮湿的空气、被烟熏染的天花板……能天使想要——需要记住这个房间的任何一个小细节，毕竟谁也不知道下次再有这种机会是什么时候了。啊，不过无论是怎样肮脏的房间，只要有莫斯提马在，能天使就会这么记住它：Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum. 她光环的光芒照亮着整个房间。 即使是在这样一个世俗的地方，莫斯提马仍然显得不属于这个世界。她身上的那层传奇色彩让你一刻也无法将眼神从她身上移走。“嗯哼？”她发话了，伸手缓缓地拉开了能天使的夹克衫拉链。她的尾巴像鞭子一样摇晃，缠绕在了自己身上。 能天使咽了咽口水，快速地脱光了剩下的衣物。
她的触碰比以往更粗鲁了。挺合理的，至少对于能天使的当下状态来说是这样。她还未从第一次高潮中清醒过来，就马上来到了第二次。莫斯提马仍旧在握着她的手，与她缠绵。“别松手。”她说。能天使怎么会想着松手呢？
已经六点整了，黄昏正在龙门降临。当然，莫斯提马在她们躺上床前拉上了窗帘。如果能天使转过头去，斑驳的阳光就能进入她的视野。 莫斯提马的眼睛似乎比以往更蓝了。 “我真的很想念你。”能天使说。莫斯提马用拧得更深的手指回应了她，而她只能发出呻吟。
落下的夕阳很快将天空让给了云朵，但这个房间似乎反而变得更加燥热、粘稠。能天使的头埋在莫斯提马双腿之间，不敢离开一秒。她甚至仿佛听见莫斯提马对她说“你做得不错”，尽管她心里知道她疯狂取悦莫斯提马的举动更多的是急躁而非技巧——急切地向莫斯提马证明她已经今非昔比，急切地证明她知道自己正在做什么（，急切地证明她仍旧除了莫斯提马别无所求）。 空调开始工作了，尽管基本没起到什么作用。八点半了，太阳早已下山。能天使的脸上糊满了口水、淫水和眼泪。
被子和床单早就被踢下床。被汗水浸透的能天使半靠在莫斯提马的肩上。“你要喝点什么吗？”莫斯提马将一瓶水送至能天使唇边，问道。于是那瓶水成了能天使尝过的最甜蜜的东西。 接近十一点，雨点拍打着玻璃窗，与空调的低声嘶鸣混合在一起；不知道什么时候被莫斯提马打开的床头灯在她俩的身上照出了长长的阴影；能天使已经适应了这个房间的味道。 当能天使喝完了水，莫斯提马便将拧紧的空水瓶放到了一边。“你一直没变。这真好。”她愉悦地说着，扯着能天使的头发，“现在你可以好好休息了。你干得不错。” 能天使突然觉得全身失去了力气。毕竟从某种程度上来说，她一直希望这一刻永远不要到来，这样她就能伴着长夜与莫斯提马谈天说地。不说拉特兰的事——能天使已经明白自己不会轻易地得到那些事的答案——而是聊聊任何除拉特兰之外的事：她的旅程、她的信使工作、她们不见面时她度过每一天的方式……任何事情都可以，能天使什么都愿意听。 她早上就会离开了。能天使深知这一点。这是不争的事实。能天使已经不再是会天真地相信莫斯提马能够留下来的能天使了，尽管她的内心还抱有一丝希望。她会离开，所以能天使紧握着她们能在一起度过的每一个珍贵的时刻。 躺在莫斯提马的大腿上，能天使闭上了眼睛，开始祈祷。
原文
The carpet of the hotel room is dark green, which is the first thing Exusiai notices. Dark green carpet, cream-white bedsheets, deep red-brown wooden paneling. Musty, humid air. Smoke stains on the ceiling. Exusiai wants—needs to remember every last bit of information she can about this room, because she doesn’t know when she’ll have this chance again. Ah, but even the dirtiest hotel room would become holy in Mostima’s presence, so Exusiai will remember it like this: Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum. Her halo shines enough to light up the room. Mostima seems otherworldly even in such a mundane place. She has that effect, a larger-than-life presence, blink and you’ll miss her. “Well?” she asks, and slowly, slowly unzips the front of Exusiai’s jacket. She winds her tail around herself, flicks it like a whip. Exusiai swallows, and quickly removes the rest of her clothes.
Her touch is rougher than it used to be. Makes sense, at least to Exusiai in her current state. Still half-dazed from her first orgasm, on the way to a second. Mostima is still fucking her, holding her hand. Don’t let go, she said. Exusiai wouldn’t dream of it. It’s six o’clock, the sun beginning to set on Lungmen. Mostima drew the curtains, of course, before they got into bed. Little slivers of sunlight shine into Exusiai’s eyes if she turns her head toward the window, leaving dark splotches across her vision. Mostima’s eyes seem bluer than before. “I really missed you,” Exusiai says. Mostima answers by twisting her fingers in deeper, and Exusiai can do nothing but cry out.
The setting sun gives way to clouds soon enough, but the room only seems to get hotter. Stickier. Exusiai has her head pressed between Mostima’s legs, not daring to pull away even for a second. You’re good at this, she can almost hear Mostima saying, even though Exusiai knows her frantic attempts at pleasing Mostima are more desperate than anything. Desperate to show Mostima she’s not the same as the last time they’d met. That she knows what she’s doing now. (That she still longs for Mostima, despite everything.) The AC sputters to life, though it barely makes a difference. Eight-thirty. The sun has long since set. Exusiai’s face is drenched in spit and cum and tears.
The covers and sheets are all but kicked off the bed by now. Exusiai is half-propped against Mostima’s shoulder, sweat plastering her hair to her forehead. “Can you drink?” Mostima is asking, and pressing a plastic bottle to her lips. The water that meets her mouth is the sweetest thing Exusiai has ever tasted. It’s nearing eleven now, rain lightly pattering against the window under the groaning air conditioner. At some point Mostima must have turned the bedside light on, casting long shadows against their bodies. Exusiai has grown used to the smell of the room. When Exusiai has had her fill of drinking, Mostima caps the bottle and sets it aside. “Good to see you haven’t changed,” she says pleasantly, and strokes Exusiai’s hair. “You can rest now. Good job.” Exusiai finds herself exhausted suddenly. In some way, she had hoped this wouldn’t happen: that she could stay up and talk with Mostima. Not about Laterano—Exusiai has accepted she won’t be getting those answers so easily—but about anything else. Mostima’s travels. Her Messenger work. How she spends her time in the days, weeks, months, years in between their meetings. Anything; Exusiai would be happy to hear it. She’ll be gone in the morning, Exusiai knows. It’s a simple fact at this point. Exusiai is not naive enough anymore to believe that Mostima will stay, even if the faintest glimmer of hope still lives in her heart. She will leave, and so Exusiai clings to each precious moment they have together. Resting her head against Mostima’s thigh, Exusiai closes her eyes and prays.