Work Text:
I love mornings.
I love every morning I wake up near you. When the sun gently plays on your body, the invisible hairs on it begin to shimmer with gold, and your skin seems to glow. When you are still sleeping, your breathing is even, and your shoulders rise and fall in their own rhythm. At such moments, I want to hold you tightly to myself, and at the same time I am unable to move. When the realization comes that I have you. I can wake up long before you do and just watch, and you don't even know it. I like to listen to how your breathing gradually changes, how the pillow rustles under your hair when you turn your head. I like to catch your first glance, when your eyes are not yet focused, full of uncertainty and I can try to see in them the remains of the elusive dream. A few seconds pass and you can connect a few words.
I love your voice in the morning. It is hoarse and quiet. I like that the first word of a new day of your life is addressed to me. I like that the first word of a new day of my life is addressed to you, and it does not matter whether it is said before you wake up or after. I like that in such moments no one hears us.
It's even strange: we are the who. Loud. Screaming. Not only can we be heard, we literally scream into people's ears, breaking their precious hearing. And in such moments, everything is the opposite. You don't want to think about the who, or even less about anyone's ears. You don't want to think. And you don't want to talk either - just lie side by side and enjoy the beginning of a new day, not guessing what it can bring. Someone's car starts under the window. The dust in the air, illuminated by a ray of morning sun, swirls, flutters and goes wild in every possible way.
I love the first touch. When my hand accidentally finds yours. It's warm, dry. reliable. My palm opens and your fingers slowly slide between mine. Or time has become slow and everything around is moving slowly too. Or the world around us hasn't changed at all and you and I have created a tiny sphere in which our own laws of physics operate. Whatever it was, I like it. I like the light friction of one skin pattern against a completely different one. I like the quiet rustle of skin against skin. I like stroking your phalanx with my thumb. I like watching how you silently observed every movement, how relaxed your muscles were and how your neat mouth was, as always, touchingly open. Finally, the sweet ache in my stomach overcomes the desire to maintain the idyll and I lean forward.
I would like to remember every kiss we have. Even those fleeting, blurry touches, like when one irritant is on another, but a goodnight kiss is still necessary. And of course, all those deep and whole, sincere kisses, when we claim that we have merged into one, and it is hard to believe that we will have to break up into two of us again. I love kissing you in the morning, when your morning stubble lightly tingles your skin. You look so beautiful: unkempt, with tangled curls and an unshaven face. It suits you very well. I love it when the taste of your lips is still on mine, my hands are tangled in your curls, and our foreheads are pressed very close. When the summer red sun illuminates us like this. When your hands are on me. I like your naked torso. It's as if it was made for me to run my hands over. I like it when I don't have a shirt on either. We sit in jeans or just underwear. Or we have nothing on. I lean towards you again, my shoulder touching yours. There's no mirror nearby, but I think we look very beautiful.
You never said it, and I never asked, but I think you like mornings too. You always look so happy.