In the Morning as I Wake
It was the lightest of touches, a barely discernable caress of silken skin gliding against my flesh that stirred me from my slumber.
That sweet touch brought a second, no less loving, no less gentle to my lips. The shear tenderness of the act was not lost to me, did not go unappreciated, for the barer of those lips was a man who's vitriolic tongue had cut far lesser men to shreds. And when that sharp tongue, with it's surgical precision, slipped past the boarders of my lips and into the warm, wet haven of my mouth, I sighed in relief.
After all the years of waste and regret and longing, this was reality. It wasn't a dream that filled my senses with sandalwood and sage, didn't pepper my tongue with mint and the indelible rich darkness of the man. No, he was here in my bed, in my arms, and it was almost too perfect to bear.
Just when I felt that I would die from a mere kiss, those beloved lips retreated. Opening my eyes, I gazed into dark, depthless pools of my true love.
"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," that wicked mouth purred.
"Good morning, Severus."