A bit late to tumblr's Pornathon, but I made it and brought cookies. This is most likely a one-shot, but may decide to revisit in the future.
Inspired by a couple very quiet days at home with my mate.
For whatever reason, you brave the snow and head back to the bed and breakfast to get some lunch. It's not part of the normal routine, but you could do with some peace and quiet from the mayhem that Pete and Claudia can get into at a moment's notice. Since Leena's passing, no one is there to greet you or push a mug of cocoa in your hands when you come in from the cold. Each of you has stepped up to keep the place tidy in her absence. You unlock the front door and kick the snow from your boots rather than track water throughout the house. The floors aren't your responsibility (more like Claudia's with a tricked-out Roomba), but you are still considerate in keeping things running smoothly and without making more work for others than necessary. You hang up your coat, remove your hat and gloves and finally remove your boots before catching the aroma of tea. No one has been home since the morning, so you find it curious that there would be such a scent. Going from room to room, you look to see if anyone is there. In the last place you look, there she is.
Of course she'd pick the lock then secure herself back in the house.
Helena is sitting on the living room sofa; mug of tea in one hand, a book in the other. A small leather duffle bag is at her feet. Her back is to you, but she knows you're looking in her direction from the doorframe. Moments pass as she appears to finish a section of her book, place the bookmark in the middle and set it down on the table along with her tea. She gets up, turns and sees you standing there. It takes a moment to gather yourself with the sight of her in the same space as you. You're immediately startled by the dirty, lightweight clothes she has on that aren't suited for the cold South Dakota winter. Regardless of her state, you pull her towards you for a hug and just hold her, placing your arms around her waist, resting your chin on her shoulder. You're closer to the same height when you're barefoot and she wears her boots. Her arms are around your neck and tightly holding you despite her exhausted state. She isn't known for her hugs or displays of affection; the contact feels foreign to you, but right. Beneath the dirt and sweat on her body, her scent lingers and you recognize the faintest odor of her shampoo and lotion that you have not smelled in over a year. She appears to be cold, shivering when one of your hands presses to her lower back under her thin jacket. Your memories immediately go to Moscow where she held a piece of the Titanic and nearly froze.
You say nothing. You let her go, but reach down for the duffle bag by the sofa and take her other hand to lead her upstairs to your room. You open the door and usher her inside, pushing her towards the bathroom where you turn on the hot water for the shower. Helena takes off her cotton jacket and tosses it onto the tiled floor. You leave so she can undress and shower in private while you head back downstairs to make some lunch. She washes, you heat up some soup, make grilled cheese and slice up an apple to share. It's cold out and the warm food will do wonders for you both. Helena's still in the shower when you return upstairs with a tray full of food and a stolen electric kettle to make some post-lunch tea. No one else in the house will miss it if she's holding it upstairs for an evening. Setting down the tray, you pull her luggage onto the bed and open it; you're not trying to be nosy, only helpful. There's not much inside, just a small toiletry case, socks, underwear and tank tops with everything seemingly dirty and in need of a wash. You walk over to the laundry basket with her bag and directly empty its contents inside. From your drawers, you pull out some flannel pyjamas and a tank top for her to wear. Before she gets out of the shower, you open the bathroom door and place the clean clothes by the sink. As you set down the clothes, you notice her jewelry, especially her necklace with Christina's photo. You smile as you turn it over to see the happy little girl in black and white. Also near the necklace are several earrings, more than her typical pearl ones. Laid out in pairs are her pearl earrings and a set of small silver hoops. There's a single silver earring set apart from the others, one you don't recognize, that looks like one for a cartilage piercing. You'll have to ask her about that later. She turns off the water and you pull your towel from the rack, holding it out for her to grasp when the curtain is opened. You avoid looking at her and once the towel is out of your hands, you leave her to get dressed on her own.
Moments later Helena is standing in the doorway of the bathroom watching you set up the lunch you've prepared. She looks adorable in your oversized pyjamas with the leg cuffs rolled up and your towel draped over her shoulders to keep the dampness in her hair from seeping into her clothes. You turn down the duvet on the left side of the bed for her to get in and stay warm. She settles in, sitting up against fluffy pillows and wiggling her toes beneath the blankets. You place a tray of food on her lap which she eagerly dives into. You sit in the armchair adjacent to her side of the bed and delve into your lunch as well. You eat in a comfortable silence, no doubt listening to each other chew and slurp your food. She's hungry and tired, still a bit chilled from earlier, but nothing that some sleep can't cure. Once she finishes eating, you see the fatigue settle in and remove the tray from her lap. She tosses aside the towel from her neck and slinks down onto the pillows to sleep. Apparently she's too tired for tea - certainly a first. You pull the duvet up over her shoulders and she looks at you with a smile after you kiss her forehead, leaving her to sleep while you return to the Warehouse for the rest of the day. She probably wants you to stay, but understands you have obligations for the rest of the workday. Prior to heading out, you gather her worn clothes from the bathroom and add them to the laundry basket. You put on a wash and figure you'll put the clothes in the dryer when you return in the evening.
When everyone else finds out that Helena has returned, they all want to rush home to see her, but you remind them she's exhausted and needs uninterrupted sleep. While all of you eat dinner together later that evening, you put aside something for her on a tray, unsure if she'll even be awake to indulge in it. You pull Artie aside and ask if you can take part of tomorrow off, knowing that you offered to stay during the upcoming break so everyone else can travel and be with family. He fully understands and happily agrees with your request. Pete offers to carry the tray upstairs, but he's honestly looking for an excuse to see her too. You carry the laundry basket now filled with her clean clothes.
The room is dark when you open the door and the light from the hallway guides Pete towards your bed with the tray. She's curled onto her side, facing the chair and window, lightly snoring. You smile at the sight of her comfortably resting. Pete also smiles when he sees her peacefully sleeping, then looks back up at you, grinning as though you're the luckiest woman in the world.
You are because you're in love.
He gives you a quick hug before heading out himself for an evening of popcorn and movies downstairs with Steve and Claudia. It's only seven o'clock, but you just want to be besides her and reading a book. You hunt around in the dark room looking for your pyjamas, remembering there is a clean pair in the laundry basket. You pull them out and retreat to the bathroom to clean up before getting into bed. Despite all the ruckus of the running water, flushed toilet and a stubbed toe, she's still fast asleep with the covers tucked around her.
You crawl into bed beside her worried that she will wake up; however, she doesn't move. She's not going to move because she is exhausted and you realize that turning on the bedside lamp and the rustling of the pages of your book will not stir her from her sleep. You read for a few hours, pausing every half hour to see her breathing next to you, incredulous that she is finally here. You want to wake up next to her in the morning, see her hair tousled, watch her eyes try to adjust to the sunlight, take those first steps out of bed. When you finally succumb to sleep yourself, you push your pillow next to hers and scoot closer to her body, draping an arm across her middle. The two of you comfortably sleep curled up with one another for the first time.
In the morning, you've reversed positions: you're on your side with her hand resting on your stomach, pulling you close and her body pressed up against you. It's heaven.
You sleep late. Very late. Both of you, fading in and out of sleep the entire morning. You occasionally wake up, use the bathroom and hear a door open and shut down the hall. No one is going to bother either of you knowing that you are both finally together after so much separation. You take some time getting out of bed and dressed for the day; it's well after one o'clock. Once you're up, Helena eventually rises, surprised she slept for nearly 24 hours. After another hot shower, she's comes out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel looking for something to wear from the now clean pile of clothes in the basket. Everything there is meant for much warmer weather, so you take a long-sleeved shirt, sweater and thick socks from a drawer for her - her own jeans suffice for now. She smiles as you hand her the clothes and retreats back into the bathroom to change. When she emerges, she's pulling the shoulder of the sweater to her nose, inhaling your scent woven into the fabric followed by a contented sigh.
Dressed in your wool jacket and plaid scarf, she looks considerably smaller than you remember despite being bundled up in your wintry gear. Gloved hands are shoved into pockets, no doubt fiddling with an object inside and twirling it between fingers. Her shoulders are slightly slumped causing her feet casually move one in front of the other with snow gathering between the heel and sole of her boots. It appears as though Helena hasn't encountered snow for some time and tries to regain her footing with each step, so you slow down when you realize she's not at your side. Hanging back a moment, you await those two extra steps she needs and she catches up to you. You link your arm through hers to offer some stability along the icy path. Tilting her head, Helena looks down at your entwined arms and then back up at you with a delighted smile. She moves her arms deeper into her pockets, which makes your adjacent limbs collide even more, but she knows what she's doing there. The bump of your arms clashing knocks your cap marginally off-kilter. For a moment, you stop walking to fix your hat and she jerks backwards thanks to your interlocked arms. Your hand goes up to adjust it as your ears are now exposed to the cold, but as soon as you move your hand, her fingerless-gloved one reaches over to pull down the side that pushed up. Her pale hand lingers at the edge of the cap and tucks an errant curl behind your ear. Your heart beats two steps faster at the touch of her hand against your ear.
Even though she is the one who needs the support walking, she puts her hand back in her pocket and offers her arm; you modestly slip yours through hers. You keep walking along the snowy sidewalk until you reach your destination where you unhook your arms to hold the door open for her and another passersby who suddenly seems interested in a warm beverage. The coffee shop is buzzing with customers looking to escape the cold outside. She stands in front of the chalkboard looking at the endless options as well as loosening the scarf thanks to the warmth indoors. Looking around the room, there is one couch available in a corner by a window and she motions to you that she is going to claim it. Helena doesn't tell you what she wants, but you know what to get when you are at the register. Waiting for the drinks, you keep an eye on her sitting on the couch and rifling through her pockets for her small notebook. She opens it and jots down something, frantically underlining whatever it is she has just written and then puts away the book. You silently laugh at the passion in the underlining of whatever it is and keep on observing her. She doesn't remove her coat or gloves, just keeps them on and tucked around her to stay warm. None the wiser to you watching her, she calmly looks out the window at the snowflakes falling and watching people try to park their cars among the snowdrifts. Lost in your observation, you miss the barista calling your name the first and then second time. From the couch, she raises her head at the call of your name, then catches you looking at her. Helena gestures towards the counter and the woman holding up two steaming drinks. You turn around, blushing, and thank the barista before walking towards the couch.
Her right arm outstretches as you approach with her fingers rapidly moving until the warm drink is in its place. You sit beside her on the two-person couch, cradling your drinks and releasing a sigh of relief when you're settled next to her. She crosses her legs at the knee and slips her free hand into your coat pocket. You smile at her hand resting against the satiny lining and trying to grope around to see if there's anything interesting inside. There's nothing in there, so she quickly gives up her movements but does not remove her hand. Helena scoots closer to you then takes a sip of her tea which she realizes is far too hot to drink and singes the tip of her tongue. Immediately, you get up and head towards the register for a bottle of water. Upon your return, you hold it out in front of her and settle yourself back on the couch. You take the cup from her hand, remove its lid, place the cup and the lid on the table in front of you to cool as to avoid a repeat of recent actions. You then do the same with your own coffee. From your right pocket, the one she didn't get her hand into, you pull out a packet of shortbread fingers and place it besides her tea. Her brown eyes widen and the corners of her mouth turn upwards in a smile that you remember what she likes.
Several minutes pass without the two of you touching your drinks, but you silently listen to the music and watch people walk by lost in the snowflakes outside. Inside, customers seem engaged with their laptops, tablets or magazines. You both stand out as neither of you is looking at a screen or book, but rather just at each other. The hand in your pocket taps against your hip as it is released from its confines; the tap is a promise that it will return soon. Helena reaches over to pick her the now safe-for-consumption tea and takes a perfect-temperature sip. You figure it's probably safe to do the same with your coffee and take a long-awaited gulp, keeping the cup in your hands to stay warm. The packet of cookies is opened and she offers you one of the two shortbread fingers which you politely decline. She eats one piece of shortbread then places the packet back on the table besides her tea. With both hands now free, she returns one to the warmth of your pocket. She does this a couple of times until you realize that after each sip of tea, she's going to put the cup back on the table and return her hand to your pocket.
She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear and you notice the 19th-century pearl earrings and that modern silver hoop you saw earlier. Your hand reaches out to flick the silver earring; Helena chuckles yet explains nothing as she takes a swig of her tea with a raised eyebrow. Neither of you says a word. You just enjoy each other's company as you sip your drinks and try to listen to the light jazz playing in the background, but the music is essentially overpowered by the boisterous customers. There is always the option to go somewhere with a quieter atmosphere; however, this place sells her favorite shortbread and has the comfy couch. You both like it here, you used to come here before...
Once your drinks are done, you take her cup and yours to the garbage bin. She munches on the last of her shortbread and sheepishly holds out the empty wrapper. You give her a look, she smiles, you walk back to the bin with the wrapper. Before heading outdoors, you adjust your cap and she tightens her scarf for the walk back to the car. You hold the door for her and she waits for you to join her side, holding the crook of her arm outward for you to grasp. In the early days of winter, it gets dark early and think it's best to head home.
When you come home, everyone has left. The inn is quiet. The tree is lit, the rooms are warm and a few presents have been added beneath the tree, including some wrapped in Happy Birthday paper. You figure the gifts in that pinkish/purplish paper are for her, sitting idle in their rooms since September. You remove your jackets and help her with her boots as you settle into an evening together downstairs in front of the fire.
Despite her continuing exhaustion, there's a glimmer of playfulness and excitement in her motions. You sit together on the couch with a blanket covering your legs, watching the fire crackle, warming your wriggling socked feet in front of it. Her arm is around your waist, your hand is wedged between her jean-clad thighs. You want to ask a million questions, but it's not the time for that. You both doze in and out of sleep clinging to each other, relishing the quiet, the smell of the fire and the comfort of each other's presence. Before you hesitate any longer, you get up from the couch and hold out your hand to lead her upstairs for bed, much like you did the day before. The fire has died out and it's getting late. You gingerly take each step, making sure she is right behind you. Once in your room you neglect to turn on the overhead light, and shut and lock the door. She walks over to the laundry basket with some of her folded clothes, pulls out a couple items and tosses them on her side. You stroll into the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash up before getting in bed. The small bedside lamp on your side is switched on and gently lights the area.
Honestly, you're nervous. It feels right when you don't hesitate and forego the neatly folded pyjamas on your side of the bed. It doesn't matter that you haven't slept with anyone in over four years: she's the woman you love, she's clever, she's beautiful, she loves you back. Rather than let your brain get the best of you, you strip off all your clothes in front of her, heave them onto the floor and crawl into bed in plain sight of the clothed woman before you. It would be fun to have her undress you, however, that can wait for another occasion. She understands your proposition and does the same, quickly covering herself with a blanket. It's been even longer for her and she is hungry for absolutely any taste of your body. You're too far away from each other, so you move closer and pull her in with an arm around her naked waist. A little gasp escapes her lips at the contact of your hand on the dip of her back, fingers skimming over the skin found there. Your foreheads are pressed together, her arm is snaked around your waist and your hot breath mingles thanks to your lips nearly touching. Closing the gap between your mouths, you quietly seek her out, pressing your lips to hers and enjoying the sensations of you being joined together. Her dry lips part as you casually seek out her tongue and you do your best not to overwhelm her with the need to taste as much as possible. You have been apart for so long and to have her undressed, in your arms, kissing you is long overdue. Naked, entwined with your love in your bed for a first kiss isn't too bad either.
Your lips are locked together for several minutes until one of you finally has to catch your breath with a huge gasp of air. Suddenly you recall the last person she kissed is Pete and once rejoined, you smile against her lips at the thought of the day you met in London. Once you grasp embracing her, your hands begin to tentatively wander, moving from her lower back to beneath the underside of her thigh. You tug her leg in an attempt to drape it on yours and she complies by opening her legs to rest it on you. The smell of her arousal emanating from her thighs clings you to her even more, knowing she is turned on by your exploits. Your mouths never lose contact as she cups your breasts, learning the weight and feel of them in her hands, observing what makes you moan. You sigh into her mouth as fingers graze your nipples and she finally releases your lips from hers to hear all of the little sounds you make. Her freed lips mean that they can move south towards your breasts where she can suck at the stiff peaks she's encouraged and nibble at the soft skin around them. Her once dry lips are now wet and exploring everywhere from your brow to your navel. She's worshipping your body, loving every inch of your taut frame and pressing every curve of herself against you.
Her hands and mouth can't get enough of your breasts and you want your own chance to taste her body. Thankful for her thigh that rests on you, you grasp it again and push her onto her back. Your thigh is now between her legs, pressing into her. It's Helena's turn to wail with delight at your smooth leg next to her skin and entangle her arms around your waist; you moan at your clit delightfully pressing against her thigh for the first time. Before she is completely distracted again, you lean down to kiss her and find yourself once more lost in her lips. Your hands move to her breasts, feeling her nipples harden at the contact with you. Her mind spins once lips move there and she rakes her nails across your back.
You urge her upwards, on top of you and encourage her to straddle your hips. You want to taste her, but want to know what it feels like to be inside her first. Reaching between her legs, you press both hands against her pelvic bone to help gain her balance as she is exposed above you. She's a lovely sight when you dip one finger between her damp folds to reach the protruding pink bud at the top. Once you touch her, even with that one tender fingertip gliding upwards, you have her under your spell forever. She's arching into your hand when your palm changes direction and strokes her clit as your fingers travel down towards her opening. Two fingers crawl to her entrance and tease inside, but it seems as though "crawling" and "teasing" are not in her current vernacular and she just needs to ride your fingers. You just need to feel her heat surround you; your fingers effortlessly slide deeper into her and you remain still for a minute. You can't believe you're inside her, feeling her pulse around your fingers, burning hot with arousal, tight and holding you in place. She realizes what you're doing and leans down to kiss you. Her hips wriggle to relieve the tenseness between her legs. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up to your body and start moving your fingers inside of her. You slowly draw your fingers out and just as slowly push them back in, feeling how her muscles pull you in deeper and grip you tighter. After a few repeats of this motion, she starts to move on your fingers, slowly rising up and down on them, which encourages you to quicken your ministrations. The palm of your hand is sopping with her juices; she must have shaved when she awoke and your hand slides freely against her skin polished with her wetness, still hitting her clit with each thrust. You haven't kissed in at least a couple minutes and miss the contact of her lips against yours. You pull her down with your unoccupied hand so you can kiss her, wildly gasping into your mouth with each of your thrusts against her G-spot thanks to the new angle. You pick up the pace, sensing she's close by the way she rides you faster and is biting on your shoulder. Most likely, you will have some teeth marks there tomorrow morning. Abruptly she shuts her eyes, stills and lets out a high-pitched moan as her body shakes, her walls contract against your fingers and you have never felt or seen anything so remarkable in your entire life as Helena coming because of you.
When your fingers retire from her body, you take them to your lips to taste her. You really want to taste her because the aroma isn't enough anymore and your hand is just coated with her. A swift hand grasps your wrist with the sopping digits. She detours your fingers to her mouth to lick off her own juices with a languishing dart of the tongue, challenging you to taste her at the origin rather than your hand. You smile, thinking that is definitely not a problem when you roll her onto her back. There is, of course, the possibility of tasting her on her own lips, but you would prefer to dine on her elsewhere. Your objective is to completely tire out this woman beneath you.
Helena lays on her back, panting, sweating and trying to catch her breath. Positioned above her, you kiss your way around her body, rising up with her when she breathes in, sinking down with her with each breath out. Once you have finally reached your destination, she is still recovering, yet now moaning along with the kisses and licks you have bestowed upon her body. She's exquisite: her thighs spread, sex swollen and wet, glistening and slippery thanks to the moisture you've encouraged. You gently spread her lips apart and watch her pulse at your touch. So enticing that you need to taste her. A patch of wetness has gathered in one particular spot; your tongue thrusts out to lick and to assault your senses. You taste her and know anything you eat from now on will have to compare to her. She moans at your tongue moving up and down, from her entrance to her pink pearl, until you finally settle on the side of her clit and lapping with your tongue. Your hands move underneath her thighs, her fingers seek out your own as she holds on while you assault her with your mouth. You heartily taste the core of the woman below you, needily sucking and licking at her clit. With her body splayed out before you, it takes only a few strokes of your tongue to push her over the edge. As she comes again, you continue to flick your tongue against her and introduce your fingers back inside just to hear the additional sounds she can make. Now she's spent, now she's coming down from the high you've given her accompanied by sounds of utter delight.
The entire time you focus so much on her pleasure that you forget about yourself. There's a small wet patch on the sheets where you had been lying face down. You glance at it for a moment, which catches her eye at your distraction. A yearning appears in her eyes once she realizes that she hasn't touched you yet. You're the prey; she pounces. She firmly pushes you down on the bed and dives right into your pussy before you can protest. Beginning with her tongue prodding at your entrance, Helena's mouth takes in the source of your arousal from your entrance. Clearly, she loves you and she absolutely adores doing this. Suddenly, your clit is between her teeth and tugging, stroking and adoring every inch of your being. No one has ever eaten you out so thoroughly before. Sure you've had quite a few self-induced orgasms (an absolute necessity since the first day you met), yet nothing compares to the sensation of her tongue lapping and licking you up, pushing you completely over the edge until you are forced to crush her face against you as you climax. You silently thank the universe's deities that there is no one else in the house to hear you scream because of her extraordinary tongue. She continues to lick and you pull her head away from your oversensitive clit. She kisses you. You smell and taste your scent upon her face, branding her with your spendings.
You haven't said a single word to each other in the day she's been back, but you don't always need to when she knows you better than anyone else.