Little Things
So I wrote this a few months ago at 3 in the morning and just found it in my journal. I still like it so I figured I would share it. Hope you like! 3
He's always the first thing. The feeling - gliding over skin - teasing. Caressing. They aren't delicate. No. Calluses, working hands; these hands have seen battle.
They're drawing patterns - tracing the shadows left by the morning light. It's seeping in, chasing the Fade back into its realm.
Battle-hardened. That's what they are, but -
These hands are so much more. These are a leader's hands - a lover. Gentle. They were made for this. Soft mornings and whispered words. Confessions you desperately want to say - praying that he's asleep. Because… it's terrifying - this feeling. These feelings. Always secret, in the dark. Forbidden. It never mattered before. Fun; that's all it was. Release, lust, a passing fancy. Never real - never this. Aching, heart-wrenching; this longing. The words are there, stuck, choking you.
That maddening touch is there - he's awake. He's still here. With you. This isperfect. You open your mouth to speak - to tell him - but those hands stop. The bed shifts, sheets sliding across skin and your eyes meet.
"I love you." Amatus.