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8 months together (September, Year 2)
The first thing I registered as I drifted into wakefulness was the feel of fingertips on my cheek, feather light. They traced the curve of my cheekbone from the corner of my eye down to my nose and then even seemed to flutter over my eyelashes. Then my eyes began picking up the faint glow of morning sunlight from behind closed lids. When I felt his thumb drag across my lower lip, I puckered slightly to press a soft kiss to his skin and pulled my hand from where it rested on his ribcage to wrap it around his wrist, my fingers tucking into his palm.
“What are you doing?” I asked him, blinking heavily, still sleepy. His head rested on the pillow opposite mine, pillow bulging where he’d tucked his arm under it and folded it into the crook of his elbow, and his nose was only inches from mine.
“I’m sorry.” The sincerity in his eyes confirmed the sentiment, but his little smile said he wasn’t that sorry. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
I narrowed my eyes at him a little, skeptical. “You were touching my face.”
“I never realized how many freckles you have,” he said by way of explanation, as if that were a perfectly good reason to wake me. He kept his last three fingers closed over mine, but he stretched his index finger to trace over the bridge of my nose and back across my cheekbone. “And your eyelashes are so long. They just kind of, lay on your cheek when your eyes are closed.”
“Man, you’re a sap,” I teased him, but even as I did, I scooted in a little closer. He rolled onto his back and I rolled with him so that the right side of my body was draped across his, my right leg tucking between his much longer ones and our still joined hands coming to rest on his chest. His right arm pulled from under the pillow and he slid it under me to curl it around my side, his hand spanning my lower back. "And you're one to talk about eyelashes," I added.
I felt him shrug under my cheek, “Yours are prettier.” His smirk challenged me to argue with him, and I only barely resisted taking the bait. Finally he went on, “How do you feel this morning?” His fingers traced circles over my back, the t-shirt I wore - his, of course - pulling a little higher with each pass.
I pulled my hand from his and reached across his waist, my fingers digging into his hip as I pulled myself even closer. His hand moved from where I’d left it laying on his chest to wrap around my bicep, helping to pull me over onto him a little more than I could do on my own and holding me there. “Do you mean am I sore?” I asked, a little teasing and cheeky, into his chest. I knew that wasn’t what he meant, but I didn’t want the conversation to get too heavy. And it could. Easily, if we weren’t careful. And as much as I loved how considerate he was, how much he cared about my mental and emotional state, I didn’t want to dissect the previous night. Not right then, anyway. I just wanted to enjoy it.
He scoffed and his chest rose and fell quickly, my head going with it. “God, I hope not. That would be the opposite of what I was going for.” I giggled a little into his skin and pressed a kiss to the tattoo under my cheek. He really had been so, so kind, so thoughtful. He didn’t go so far as to treat me like a blushing virgin, but he knew he was doing things with me that hadn’t been done in over two years. His hands had been strong where I wanted them to be and gentle where I needed them to be. There were kisses that ghosted over my skin in places that hadn’t been touched by another person since well before we’d even met, and others that ended with his teeth dragging across the skin of my shoulder, my ribs, my hips. And when he finally pushed into me, after preparing me so completely, so wonderfully, with his hands and his mouth, there was a stretch, even a mild ache, but actual pain? Not in the slightest. Moving with him had been like a dance we’d been practicing since our first kiss.
His hand slid up my arm and over my shoulder to cup the back of my head, where his thumb rubbed over my hair. “No, what’s going on in here? Everything good?”
I moved my hand from his hip up to the center of his chest and pushed myself up to look down into his face, careful not to bear too much of my weight on that hand. “Perfect.” He tilted his head just a little, his fingers pushing deeper into my hair, and lifted one eyebrow as if to ask, Really ? “Really. Last night was really, really, really good. And this is, well, don’t be mad, but this is almost better.” He very clearly wasn’t mad, if his sweet smile and the way he ran his hand down through my hair to rest on the back of my shoulder was any indication. Obviously, physically, the morning after couldn’t compare. But god, waking up to his warmth, his hands on my skin, his eyes, soft and blue and still a little sleepy, right there when I opened mine? It was hard to imagine how anything could make my heart squeeze any tighter.
“Three reallys, huh?” That eyebrow went a little higher. “I thought two.”
I just shook my head. “Definitely three.”
“Well. Okay then.” He didn’t say anything else, but his smile could only be described as smug.
I shifted my weight fully onto the arm pressed into the mattress and slid my other hand all the way up his chest to trace first his jaw then his bottom lip. “Can I kiss you?”
His eyebrows drew down and together. “I don’t think you’ve ever asked me that. I mean, you never need to ask, you should know that.”
I shrugged one shoulder, causing his hand to shift a little farther down my back. “I’ve never had a chance to kiss you before brushing my teeth before.”
He pressed his head back into the pillow, his chin pointing straight up at the ceiling and his hand falling off me altogether to rest on his chest, and barked out a laugh, loud and sudden. “You’re really fuckin’ worried about that?” he asked when he stopped laughing, a grin still tugging at his lips and his eyes dancing up at me. I shrugged again.
“Some people don’t like it.”
“C’mere, you,” he pushed himself up and slid his hand back up into my hair to pull me down to meet him. He met me with already parted lips, still turned up slightly into a small smile, and when I giggled into the kiss he slid his tongue into my mouth, almost as if trying to prove how little he cared about morning breath. I sighed and relaxed against him, ready to let him pull me all the way back down, but instead he pushed up, flipping me onto my back and hovering over me with his knees pressing into the mattress, my right leg still sandwiched between his. When I gasped, he swept his tongue across mine one last time then pulled back and pressed his lips under my jaw. “I will never,” he kissed right under my ear, “ever,” he moved down, pressing another kiss into the side of my neck, “ ever ,” he stressed, kissing me right where the neck of his tshirt draped over my collarbone, letting his tongue trace lightly across my skin, “care about that enough to not want you to kiss me.” He pulled back and looked up at me from under his eyelashes, one hand coming up to sweep my bangs to the side and curl around my cheek. He pushed himself back up with his other hand, pressing it into the mattress, and kissed me again, the first hand still cradling my face.
He still hovered over me, but I resituated a little, aligning my body better with his, and the mattress shifted under him. His lower body dropped just enough for me to feel him, mostly hard, against the inside of my thigh, only the thin fabric of his underwear between us. “Sorry,” he whispered quickly against my lips, pushing himself away from me to lay on his side.
I rolled onto my own side to face him, my fingers tracing over his collarbone then down through the hair on his chest. “For what?”
His arm draped over my side and his hand splayed across my back, “It’s morning, and you’re gorgeous, and god, I fucking love kissing you.” His hand rose and fell, fingers tapping my back to punctuate each point. “Put all that together and, it just happens.”
“You don’t need to apologize for that ,” I hooked my arm over his shoulder and used it to pull myself a little closer. He didn’t pull me against him, but his hand moved with me as I went, sliding up to rest between my shoulder blades, his forearm flat along the length of my spine.
He tilted his head forward to rest his forehead against mine, “I just don’t want you to think I expect something from you now.”
“Does not expecting it mean it’s not an option?”
He scoffed, “Fuck no. Like I told you last night, I don’t ever want you to feel like I’m pressuring you, but I’ll sure as shit never turn you down, either.”
I let my fingers dance over his skin, first trailing them across his shoulder to the base of his neck, then pushing them up to his hairline, then finally burying them in his hair and dragging my nails lightly over his scalp. “Well,” I pressed a quick kiss to his lips, “consider this an invitation.” I knew we couldn’t have sex every morning and night forever, but we had lost time to make up for and only a few days together before he’d be gone again, back to L.A. to finish up the movie he’d been working on since June. I couldn’t think of any better way to spend my last weekend off before going back to school than in bed with him as much as possible.
“In that case,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and rolled us so that I was once again on my back, this time wiggling his hips until he fit just right between my open legs. I hooked my right foot around his calf and brought the other knee up until my thigh was flush with his hip, my foot dragging along the back of his leg as it went. His right hand hooked around my ankle, fingers digging into my skin just slightly as he dragged his hand up my calf to my knee then halfway down my thigh, finally stopping there to hold it tight against his side, and his left hand slid up my ribcage under my shirt until he could brush his thumb along the underside of my breast. He rolled his hips against me and whispered huskily against my lips, “I accept.”