Work Text:
Calloused fingers slide up through his shower-softened hair. He gathers his locks, black waves pulling away from his face as he stands there, illuminated by the last rays of a scarlet sunset.
It’s a warm summer eve, open window providing a welcome breeze but not much more. The heat is everywhere, like the sound of cicadas filling up the very air around you.
He’s thinking, eyes down and faraway, not even noticing the hair that escapes his grasp, tumbling down to frame his face like the precious work of art it is.
To you he is perfection, a being of such grace that it would make Greek sculptors weep.
His skin is flushed, heat turning it a shade darker than normal, and the low light raises up his scars, turning them into islands of gold in a pool of vermilion.
His tiger stripes, you call them.
Vestiges of the times when you could have lost him, and reminders of his strength, his will, to survive.
To return.
To you.
You sneak up behind him and place both hands on his back, gently sliding them down.
He startles, rigid for a fraction of a second, before relaxing into your touch.
Your fingers flutter over his sides, gleefully dancing on the ridges under his skin before moving up toward his chest.
“What’s up?” he says.
He picks the elastic from his teeth and ties it, locks swishing down, barely grazing the tip of your nose.
You giggle and scrunch up your face.
“I like it when you tie you hair,” you murmur, leaning in.
Your lips hover over the recently uncovered skin, searching for the perfect spot to land. You place little kisses on his shoulder, following a path of affection from his back up to his neck, all the way to the soft spot right beneath his ear that is so very sensitive to touch.
“Hmmm?” he rumbles, and you can hear the light smile in his voice, the gentle anticipation in his demeanour. “Why is that?”
“Ease of access,” you say, pulling yourself flush with him in a way that elicits a small whimper.
He breathes out, steadying himself, before he tilts his head to the side, an invitation to continue.
You grin against his skin, nudging his neck and taking in his warm scent. His breathing is slow, relaxed, but you can feel his heartbeat pick up when your lips move across his shoulder, mingling soft pecks with playful nips.
“Hey,” he whispers, and you let go, taking a step back to watch him turn around.
Muscles move beneath skin and your eyes wander, like they always do, locked in helpless addiction at the sight of him. He stands bare before you, and you take in the whole of him, from his exposed neck to the trail of thin black hair that runs down from his chest and across his abdomen.
When you finally tear yourself away and look up, there’s an amused smirk on his face.
He folds his arms, leaning back against the desk.
“Enjoying yourself?”
“Mm,” you hum, involuntarily sucking in your bottom lip.
There’s a brief sigh and the smallest of head shakes before he reaches out, one finger hooking behind the top button of your shirt, and reels you in.
“Don’t you bite your lip at me,” he says, laying his arms around your shoulders.
“Would you rather I bite yours?”
A snicker, and he pulls you closer, leaning forward until his mouth is millimetres away.
“I wouldn’t say no to that,” he whispers, and presses his lips to yours.