She was always distant, out of his reach. Haughty and sought after.
A solitary bead of sweat trickled into his eyes, panting with effort.
It was at night she crossed his mind the most. Her hands creeping in under silky darkness; dissolving his resolve, wearing him down.
His right hand ached from the repetition. A soft gasp, a muffled grunt; betrayal of exhilaration.
Always from afar, never returned his gaze.
Ignoring the strain; smoother, faster, steadier. Nearing his goal.
I’m coming, I’m coming. His breath shuddered with pure visceral delight. A weary smile.
One more shovelful and we'll be together.