It's the heated twist of bodies in motion that's pure art. In the glow of soft lamplight, or in the twilight of a dark night under stars, when slick sweat pools and slides like oil, making skin slippery against skin, that's the moment most people would kill to catch for the rest of their lives.
The instant when you are full of cock, fucking you so hard you feel it in the back of your throat, when your eyes are heavy and your mouth is full of come and sweat and dirty words begging for more and harder and fuck me faster, right there, and oh god, names and pleas that run together in one silent scream of NOW.
Now, that frozen second when you're tottering on the precipice and it only takes one touch, one breath, one kiss, one blow to get you off, that's the passion. In the split-second when you fall, coming so hard your ears are muffled, your eyes blank and wide open, that's when you're the barest and most open you'll ever be.
That's art. Your face, your body, your expression is nothing but the canvas on which your lover is painting their love for you, and every time, it's just a little bit different and a lot more intense.
Never the same again.