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TLS Lyrics and Lemons Contest
Song: 'Beside You' (New York Sessions Version) by Van Morrison
http : / / tinyurl . com / 64nyj2z
Please, listen to the song first. I don't normally ask that you do, but this is a lyrical contest and the song is integral. js.
Rating: M
Word Count: 5,755
Pairing: Edward/Bella (AH) (OOC)
Summary: "It's sort of an undefinable thing, when you feel like somebody's really looking at you and you're really looking back, and seeing them." This is that story. Entry for TLS Lyrics and Lemons contest.
Disclaimer: All rights and respects to Stephenie Meyer who owns all things Twilight, also to Van Morrison, Jack Lynch, Thom Yorke and my prereaders and inspirations who cannot be mentioned at this time, but shall be later. I love you guys so much.
Warning: This story is not for everyone. If at any point while reading, you encounter anything that squicks you, please, stop reading. If it squicks you, it isn't for you.
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The Sky Comes Down, Kaleidoscope
Across the barroom feels so far.
She counts the steps it might take to get to him. Fifteen or so. He could make it to her in fewer. She knows. She wants him to.
He's numbered the steps he wants to take as well, twice now. Even though he's mid-conversation. Thinking one thing and saying another is making his words come out, out of sorts. Sort of.
Maybe.
He's only half paying attention. He's watching her laugh and wishing he could hear it.
She glances. He lets his eyes linger like they want to.
He can feel her from where he is. Faceless people brush him as they move past, touching him on purpose. His elbow, his shoulder. Through his well-worn jacket. They say excuse me, but he hasn't felt or heard any of it. She's humming. He feels her. He's always felt her.
They've only been... Whatever they are for a few years, but it feels like always.
She turns her feet in his direction. Out of Giuseppe Zanottis and into high-top Converse, she's ready to step. Ready to follow her heart. Ready to further loose his tie. Ready to run with him.
He sees and he smiles, a little higher on the left side. He's ready too. She doesn't need to wonder. She feels him. She's always felt him.
And way out on the back streets, out the side-doors and into the pouring rain, hoods up, she ducks. And less than half a step ahead he stands taller, broad shoulders blocking the flash-snaps, smiling with subtle pride, beside her.
xxTSCDKxx
"How long has it been?"
She touches his cheek as she speaks. His five o'clock shadow has become a beard that she hasn't seen in she doesn't know how many days.
She knows how many nights though. The depth and distance of each one is too distinct for them to blur together.
Six.
Six nights.
He leans into her touch with eyes closed.
"Seven," he tells her. "Seven days. Six nights. Too many."
He rests his head on her chest. Ear to her heart, finding. Arms around her waist, clinging.
She moves her hands into his hair, messy and flat in places from his hat.
"Too many," she agrees, quiet while she breathes him and holds him inside herself where she's missed him so much.
They're home now. As home as they can be in a house they rarely see and a bed they rarely sleep in. But they're alone together. And he is home to her. And she to him.
It is rare, what they have. It is rare and it is enough.
Enough for the distance and the depth. The rumors and red-eye flights. The lost sleep and labored-with-missing steps. All of it. All the time like trudging, spent apart, is worth it because home is more than enough for two lifetimes.
And all they want is one.
"I dreamed of you."
His voice is light as he speaks the words, muffled a little by her tee-shirt.
"You slept?"
She teases. He hears her smile.
"Before," he tells her, thumb stroking the soft space between her ribs, feeling through the fabric that's denying him.
"Forever ago."
She hums out loud and inside too, like she always has. He feels her smile growing up, tickling her eyes. He dips his hand under her shirt. She's warm and soft and home. So home.
His more than stubbled jaw touches her neck, under her chin as he shifts against her in their bed. She bends here, at home with him. Defenses down. She is delicate and genuine, and she giggles. Under his hands and in his ears. He can feel himself falling harder and flying higher at the same time.
"Shave your beard," she whispers, still smiling.
He laughs. She feels the small puffs of air from his nose, breathing in and out.
In. Out.
She feels him smiling and bending half above her, half beside her, to get his jaw and chin on more of her bare skin.
"Does it tickle?" he teases, nuzzling his grizzly grin in the bend of her neck.
It does. It tickles and she laughs, and loves it. And when he leans up and pulls her shirt over her head, it tickles her stomach. And her chest. And the sides of her breasts, near her ribs where his fingers just were.
She's bare underneath him from her skinny jeans up, but it's not like that. Not just now. Either one of them could make it like that with just a look. Just a half a sound. But not just now. Their love is innocent just now. Wholehearted and lifeswallowing, and pure wonder.
He adores her. She looks up to him.
He brushes his chin back and forth under her bellybutton, watching her smile. She watches him too. She feels him humming.
"I think I'll keep it," he smiles back, tilting from his chin to his jaw. She's so soft. He doesn't resist the urge to rub his cheek against her belly to nestle closer. To feel her better. The way a child might his favorite blanket, just before sleeping to dream.
He could sleep there. Where he can feel her heart. He could sleep there forever and always be right on time.
Right on time.
She loves and reaches to touch. She loves the feel of his beard under her palms, between her fingers. Touching her skin. She loves how it makes him, with her. Like this. Just like this.
But she knows. And something inside her that doesn't tickle, pinches.
He feels it, and brings his fingers to touch her too, the top of her tummy. To better connect them. To give her more.
Her voice is watercoloured sad.
"They won't let you keep it."
He knows.
His eyes are warm. And when he looks at her that way she can see him, seeing her. And it brings her back.
"Don't be sad, dove."
Little turtle dove.
Just like the first time he kissed below her ear and she made that small sound he loves so much. The one that makes him ache to keep her, love her, safeguard her close to his chest, always.
"We're here. We're together. Don't be sad. Be here, with me."
He kisses her bellybutton. She tries to smile. She needs more. She doesn't want to try. She wants to feel.
He grasps her hips and holds her still, and blows raspberries, tickling her smile high again because he knows. And he loves. And he never has to wonder.
She laughs until she can't catch her breath from him. He kisses and tickles, and sings silly soft-songs to her hipbones until she tugs at his collar. And he comes up to lie down beside her.
He is quiet with her there, side by side in their still so made bed. She watches his eyes. He sees her. All of who she is. Innocence lead by imagination on the road to experience. He sees her will. And her ways. And all her most determined dreams. Every bit as strong as she is soft.
She shifts closer, bringing her fingers up to touch his stubble-curled cheek. She feels him, knowing and loving and disarming her. She feels him falling and flying for her and she feels herself fall-flying too.
She trusts him, like she couldn't help it even if she wanted to. Like she didn't know she could trust anyone. Ever.
He leans into her touch with eyes open, still watching hers.
He sees her and he can't lie, and it's scary, and he wants her to know.
"You're my best friend," he tells her in his quietest voice.
The words make her feel brave. They make her chest feel full. He feels it. Against his own and deep inside. Her heart beats like it wants out and he knows. He's known for a while now, that he's hers too.
Her smile glints. Light breaking through, bright and high, and honest. She closes her eyes first, stretching her arms and legs out between her best friend and their bed.
The sweet-small movement moves him and he pulls her to himself, ducking his head to touch his smile to her neck. Not to kiss really. Just to feel her with his lips.
She feels his eyelashes close against her jaw. Open. Close again.
Open. Close.
Their arms wrap around and they're built together like it's gotta be. Had to be.
"I love you," she tells his messy hat-flattened hair.
He hums, like her. He echoes her words and her heartbeat with his. Just the same.
And outside, way out on the highway, dogs are barking and trucks are unloading. The whole world keeps spinning, but they're unspun here. Unshaken by it all. She's still and steady on the solid ground of his constant devotion.
Home.
The world is background here. Their lives beside the point. Their love - such a small word for something so everything - everywhere. Their love is everything, everywhere here.
It's overwhelming for her. She's so small and it's so big, so much, so very everything. It opens her up and makes her feel defenseless, but she smiles. From the inside out, so deep. Because she knows if she's absolutely safe anywhere it's here, nose to nose, in naked truth right beside him.
xxTSCDKxx
There are hundreds of people between his heart and hers, security and tall walls, but he can feel her, being here for him.
Outside the theater, he meets eyes in the crowd for seconds and half-seconds at a time. His heart feels huge. He's overcome. He's moving.
He's missed her and sleeping beside her, and the soft way she moves against him in her sleep, all day.
He's been going all day, hours before the sun. He's been moving.
He closed his eyes on the flight here, but even then, stillness felt impossible to find.
With his headphones in and eyes closed on the plane, it felt like she'd only just moved between the blankets and curled against him in his hotel room, his bed-made-theirs.
Soft in his shirt.
He rubbed his hands on his legs, through his hair, under his eyes, wanting that feeling, missing it.
The soft warm slip and give of her skin under one of his tee-shirts.
It was late and dark, but she was warm like the feel of light coming in. He buried himself against her, and she against him, seeking safety, affection, home.
Home.
He felt like he'd only just wrapped her up when his phone alarm rang, just after one am.
He reached over her to silence the sound. She rubbed her nose and cheek against the middle of chest. The hard dip of sinew and bone where she could feel his heart.
She hummed.
She blissed out, half asleep, all the way in love.
He reveled in the sound and touch and feel of her, chuckling quietly under his breath as he brought both his arms around her back, over the blankets.
She breathed against the side of his chin. In.
Out.
In.
He hasn't really stopped moving since he landed.
He remembers the feel of her breathing. He wants it.
He keeps moving. Meeting eyes. He can't help his smile. His heart keeps growing.
The crowd outside is loud joy, adrenaline. He feels keyed up, worthwhile. A little proud.
Anxious.
Thankful.
So thankful.
He moves and he shares, and he moves closer to the doors, and for some reason the crowd gets louder. It makes him more excited, more anxious.
Gratefulness moves him to what feels like no end. He waves before he steps through the open doors.
It's immediately quieter just inside the lobby of the single-screen cinema, but not much. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears.
Genuine pride and sincere love beat a matching lub-dub pattern further in the theater, high and deep at the same time in her chest.
She has been moving and missing all day too.
Up at a later, but still dark morning hour, she's running on just as little sleep as he is. Her eyelids are just as tingly-heavy, but she is so excited and thankful too. So happy with him, even with the space between his palms and hers, she can feel his honest heart, beating like crazy.
He's everything she knows he is and she loves him with her whole heart. The way he is love to her, and freedom, and goodness. The way he is wholehearted truth to her, in every way.
He was stretched on his back when she knelt on his bed-made-theirs, and felt her way to him.
His arms reached with hers and bent, and curved to bring her body closer to his.
"Baby," he whispered to her cheek, closing his hands over her hips, dipping the tips of his fingers under his tee-shirt.
She turned, tilting for his lips, for side of the mouth kisses. Moving with him, bending, burying herself closer for sleep.
With her head on his chest she could feel his heart more than she could hear it and she could hear it so clearly when he held her that way.
It was deep and heavy, and familiar from the first time, and it made the fullest, most wonderful sound under her ear and up against her cheek.
It lulled her own heart.
She's shaky inside now. A little high. She's been in the theater since before he even arrived, but her bearings are still in the air.
She touches the back of her hand to the front of her neck, fingertipping her necklace, her cool thumbs to her warm skin as she turns in her seat. Glancing behind her. Feeling for her heart.
She remembers the sound his makes, the sound of him breathing. She wants it.
Next to her, his friend shifts his arms and legs, mumbling something about the blue sky blonde giving him cotton mouth like a motherfucker. She laughs a little. Meets a few eyes. Turns back around. She opens and closes her hands against her dress.
The theater is filling. The murmur of quiet-kept conversations is picking up.
She feels eager, wishful for him. Way up in high spirits.
So proud.
Thankful.
So thankful.
In the lobby, the steps that bring him closer to where she is, curve his smile deeper.
He wants to see her. He wants to feel her skin, her heart and lungs at work. He wants to feel her breathing against his cheek. He wants to feel her hands dug into soft fists at his shoulders, pushing him, pulling him. Needing him.
Behind another set of doors, it's quieter still, but he can still hear his heart in his ears. There's still a buzz of blurred together background sounds, but nothing like outside.
He is sure he can feel her humming.
He scans the smaller crowd.
She's there, in the middle, off to the side with his friend.
She turns to glance toward the doors again. Knowing. She can see him. He's already staring.
In-love eagle eyes uncover her turtle dove fervor and affection from still so many steps away. He's beaming at her. Her smile grows. And grows.
His own stretches higher too, drawn by hers. Want he's carried all day expands sharply suddenly. He wants to be nose to nose, arms around her. He wants to kiss her hands.
She smiles so high she feels it in her tiptoes and fingertips, in her knuckles, and her knees feel weak. She beams back at him and he only has eyes for her.
He moves toward her in long strides and she feels moved inside. Recognition of the most simple and true kind moves her endlessly, immeasurably. Sort of like the disembodied and most essential part of herself, what could only be her soul, recognizes his naturally, and wants to reach to touch and tell secrets to.
She stands as he closes the last few steps, reaching as he reaches, understated and subtle, and underneath it all, so full.
Still taller than her despite her heels, he bends his face toward the top of her head and they fold together.
There's a feeling like taking off. Everything from all day starts to lift.
His voice feels warm, quiet, near the top of her ear, through her hair.
"How're your feet?"
She feels her smile.
His friend speaks up somewhere behind her, making him laugh, making her laugh. He is joy-lit too and wraps his arms halfway around them both. Patting him on the back. She can feel it coming through, in her chest.
Separating, he turns, letting her sit first, before he settles beside her with his friend next to him.
They smile and speak, and laugh together in familiar three-part harmony.
His heart beats. She feels him in the air. The sides of their feet soft-collide and press together.
His friend takes a text. He finds her eyes. Touches the front of her dress, draped layers of soft grey wrapped around and around her middle. He brushes the tip of his index finger back and forth over the side of her hip, through too many folds of thin fabric...
Butterflies. He gives her stomach butterflies. They know his touch, his name, his flight patterns and his heart.
He smiles genuine, unhidden from her, playful in her eyes.
The lights go low and she smiles out loud.
She leans into him in the dark, curving her fingers between his when he clasps her hand.
He knows they have to wait a little while. He knows.
He knows he needs to turn around and make the right people aware. He knows they can't stay gone long, that they have to return for everything after.
He knows as well as she, but it's not too long before he squeezes her hand.
So close she can feel the tug of tendon and muscle in his arm, under his jacket both times he turns to set things in motion, she breathes easy. Unconsciously counting her heart beats. She is without hesitation. Holding his hand does that to her. Makes her stronger.
She would follow him anywhere, just as instinctively as he would her.
She squeezes his hand back. He turns again.
They half-stand and step together through the dark.
Moving in patterns that have come to feel like second nature, where she feels safest and where he feels he's best protecting her, his feet remain half a step in front of her feet. He keeps his fingers loosely curved with hers, distinctly aware of her proximity and well-being at all times.
She follows him out the back door and across nighttime crystal pavement. Smiling. Holding surely his middle and index fingertips as he leads the way.
There are a few stray out-loud smiles and flash-snaps outside, but everything is fast.
The closed up shelter of his back seat is quiet, but they're not alone. Solid human shields are next to him and riding shotgun.
They're not alone but they're together so close. Closer than they've been all day.
Their hearts rush epinephrine and insufficiency, wanting. Anticipating. Their hands press together between the side of her leg and his.
Blocks from the theater, he kisses her temple.
Close.
So close to home.
Her smile turns up. Between their legs, she slides her hand against his, brushing her thumb back and forth in his palm, stroking his fingers. Longing.
Loving.
Quiet save for shared, air-light laughs and steady but shallow breaths, the minutes it takes to get to his hotel coast quickly.
Parking around the back and out of simple sight, he follows security through a set of side doors. She follows his shiny shoes and close-kept steps.
With each one, his heart beats exponentially stronger. He's silently sort of awestruck and elated at how something so sweet and so very lighthearted became something so much more in such a short amount of time.
With every other step, her chest fills up and resonates an identical beat to the one in his. She's every bit as taken and beholden as he that something that started so curious and innocent as a crush and shy first kisses has come so far. That a feeling can run so deep, so completely hook, line, and sinker, heartens her.
She doubles her steps to catch up, to walk beside him.
So proud, he closes his hand around her smaller one. His thumb curling half around her wrist. His earnest sort of confidence swelling to fill his whole chest up.
Walking-talking, living-breathing protection doesn't part from them in the elevator. Or in the hall. Not until they've reached the thirty first floor and his suite has been checked.
They wait just around the door frame side by side. Beating hearts. Binding hands.
Upon confident assurance, she enters first and the room all around her feels like him, smells like him. Like kush and hotel soap. One of the hallway lights is on. Curtains closed. The bed is rumpled, not quite unmade.
She walks toward it, further into the huge room. Stepping out of her Stella McCartneys to feel the cool carpet under her feet, she loses five inches on her way.
The door closing moments later, the small sound of metal click-sliding into place sends her butterflies into flight and makes them alone together in the just barely lit dark.
"I couldn't sleep," he tells her before she turns. She can hear the smile in his voice and his steps across the carpet.
"I tried. I had some time before. I missed you. I couldn't."
She shakes her head as she turns around to him. Still some steps away, he's a sharp-stark cut silhouette.
The same fluorescent glow of light colours her soft in his eyes. Barefoot in front of his half unmade bed, she looks small and shy when she looks up at him. But her eyes are deep and love-full. He can feel her just as certainly as he can see her, breathing, humming for him.
With him.
He towers over her the closer he steps. He's stopped talking, but his silence and his height overwhelm her senses. She can feel everything. Being alone with him makes her whole body more aware of everything around her.
His nearness and close attention.
The movement and missing all day.
The joy-rush of tonight.
She feels dazed, engulfed. She feels like he, like the way they're bound together inside could completely consume her. Like he could swallow her whole if he wanted to.
He can feel the trembling inside her even before he sees her fingers start to nervously bend at her sides. Reaching for her as he steps closer is as natural as a reflex.
He tilts and touches his forehead to hers, catching hold of her soft sides.
"You okay?"
She rocks to her tiptoes, nodding, swallowing. Her chest feels full when she tries to breathe. She needs water. Air. Something.
"I missed you," she tells him, letting her eyes close as the side of his nose brushes the side of hers.
All day missing move through them both.
"All day," he agrees, nudging his nose against her cheek, near the corner of her mouth.
She nods again, only just breathing, lips so close to his, lost to everything else.
"So, so much," he tells her.
She feels his words like touch and she parts her lips further, opening for his kiss.
They each press closer, reaching, climbing together softly higher. Moving. Turning.
He lifts her off her feet and the sky comes down in a million different colours, tiny bright fractals all around the edges of her vision and she's home. Home.
Home.
He lays her down and the soft-cool contact of blankets and pillows, the dip of the bed under their weight as he comes quickly, carefully down against her - she feels like she could swim in the caress of it all.
She hums louder. He can hear with his ears what he feels with his heart.
Hands in her hair, down her arms, over her dress, he kisses from her lips to her chin, down the side of her neck and across her chest. He wants more skin, more smile-sounds, more give-me-air noises.
She pushes at his jacket, loosing his tie. He drags the zipper of her dress down her side, pushing it gently away. Bringing his mouth back to hers for her soft-in-love kisses. Cradling the back of her head in one hand. Reaching his other between her legs as she pushes tiny black boy shorts down, down, down.
She arches when his palm curves around the inside of her thigh. He parts his lips from hers, groaning, moving.
Her breathing slips and picks up as he shifts lower, pressing his mouth between her breasts, down her stomach. Talking to her butterflies in a language all their own. All warm breath and hungry kisses, and he can feel her shaking all soft as he dips lower still.
He nudges his nose against her hipbone, kissing just below it while he presses his other hand to her other thigh. Opening her.
She turns, moaning against the pillows, curling fistfuls of his shirt at his shoulders.
"God, please," she begs, unhesitant and hopeful sounding. The tender pitch of her voice sets him right on the edge of himself. He glances up, toward her eyes.
They're closed, her face still tilted to the side, her eyebrows furrowed in the most desperately clefted little line.
"Please," she pants, made needy by his heavy affection. She drags her right hand from his shoulder, sliding her fingers between her legs, opening herself for him.
"Please," the word drips and falls, light and quiet, over and over again. He watches in love and longing, entirely and deliciously captivated as she touches herself for him.
"Please, please, please..."
She wants his love, his mouth, his anything. So much so that the weight of his hands on the insides of her legs, the feel of him over her, half on top of her, is enough.
Her mouth drops open wider as she touches deeper, closer. Her head rolls and tilts back -
He takes over all at once, covering her fingers with his own, his stronger touch guiding hers. Showing her.
"Just like that," he whispers, his voice hot and wet feeling between her legs. Listening to her take air in and out in high-pitched gasps.
In.
Out.
"Just like that."
He kisses where she needs him. Removing their hands. He kisses her fingers, her palm, deeper between her legs.
Her whole body starts to curve. She coos and shakes, and circles her hips. She needs, and is so soft, and so wet. So freed by love right now that he doesn't want to stop or let go for the world.
The sky colours behind her closed eyes pixelate and spin together in tight bright bursts. She inhales sharply and gasps for another breath, and another, and he guides her. Closing his lips gently around her clit. Sliding his tongue in small circles. Sucking softly, so softly.
The bravery and strength he gives her, the safety he wraps her in, the unyielding sturdiness of his faith and fervor, and fondness all swirl tight around her heart with all the kaleidoscope colours and she comes apart shaking. Cooing pleasure. Clutching at his shirt, at his shoulders underneath it.
He slows down, careful with her, loving her with long deep licks from her center, back to her clit, all over where she needs him.
Her smile curls the corners of her lips. She swoons and hums, and lets herself go, so safe at ease in his arms.
He can see the ecstasy surround her and he smiles too, higher than she, watching her come down as he leans up.
In love with her.
In wonder with her.
He undoes his pants with one hand, stroking the side of her trembly stomach with his other.
Her lashes are heavy when she lifts them to look up, flirting with her eyes as she moves her hands near his, untucking his shirt, fumbling with the buttons. Wanting him, just the same as he wants her.
He lowers his hips the moment he can push his boxer briefs down, hours beyond needing.
The soft, small, open feel of her makes him feel impossibly harder. He leans his forehead against her jaw, groaning as he slides against her, unable to keep from pushing the head of his cock inside.
She arches higher, gripping tightly to his shirt, his buttons only halfway undone. She needs.
"Baby," he breathes into her skin, moving one hand underneath her, pressing his palm to the small of her back, against dimples he holds so dear. He angles her body to take him all the way.
"Baby, baby... Baby..."
He moves his other hand to the back of her neck, holding onto her in this way that makes her feel cherished, and protected, and wanted. Like she belongs to him, with him.
Right here.
This way.
She nuzzles her nose and cheek against his forearm.
He fills her slowly, pushing all the way in, all the way, grinding against her, building a heavy rhythm that's all his. Just feeling her body take him, shake around him, cling so tightly to him.
Pulling back only a little at a time, he pushes deeper, moving in and out of her slowly. Guiding her high again. Working her. Making her body work.
He can feel it, tightening in her stomach. In her shaky legs. In the way she breathes.
He pushes deeper. She moans like it hurts, like it's too much. Past words. Stretching and reaching, and holding onto him so tight. Ready to break apart again.
She bucks against him and he thrusts harder, driving as deeply as he can. In.
Out.
In.
All her muscles squeeze to hold onto him, to keep him, and she comes apart out loud.
"I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you..."
His thrusts are taking her breaths and her voice is almost all air, and he did that.
He gave her those sounds, that feeling.
She's his and he's so hers, and gets him like it's got her, and he can't control it. At all.
He holds her tighter, pressing his fingers against the small of her back to fasten her to him as he comes apart too. Rocking against her. Filling her.
She writhes under him, to and fro, taking. Blissfully adrift in loving.
He comes down slowly, eventually stilling on top of her, kissing her cheek, her forehead. He shifts to turn, to move, but she winces.
She whimpers and she sounds as lost, soft voiced:
"No, no, no, no, no, don't. Don't go," she pleads so quietly.
"Don't take it out yet..."
She blushes at her own words, tilting her face to the pillows again, her hot cheek toward the comfort of cool cotton.
He can't help sinking heavier against her, half-still hard, half hard-again at her innocent-hearted request. It's natural and honest, untouched by her hesitation. It's the purest overflow of intimacy and it's the most erotic thing he's ever heard.
"No," he whispers, agreeing with her, helping her undo the last few buttons of his shirt. Less rushed lust now. All love.
"Not yet."
He moves with less need. All want.
Want to stay. Want to keep and make smile and care for, always.
Never leaving her. Never disconnecting.
He pulls his shirts away and brings her up. Securing her hips to his own, he completes her from an angle that makes her whole body start to tremble again, the same way it did when he was walking toward her, just some minutes ago.
He pushes up deeper, just for the feel of her. It's so much. She leans down, against him, tucking her head under his chin.
Her spine curves and her entire posture changes to take him even deeper, to move with him. She feels so full.
She holds onto his shoulders and he touches her hair, her sides, her legs.
With her head on his chest this way she can feel his heart more than she can hear it. And she can finally hear it again, so clearly.
She can feel every deep beat, under her ear and against her cheek and he closes one hand around her hip, helping her as she starts to move to the sound she loves most.
Taking him deeper. Warm like light coming in. Holding him in where she never has to wonder, because she knows. Because she's always felt him.
He feels her world opening up. She's inviting him in, trusting him, asking him without words to hold her hand and show her which way to go. Which way?
Which way?
He feels her, rising and falling with his chest when he breathes. He feels her love and her freedom with him, and her wonder just like his, and he wraps both his arms all the way around her.
"I love you," he breathes against the top of her head, his tone strained by so much contentment.
He lifts his hips high and they move together, turning, side by side in his bed made by loving.
Bringing her arms up, around his neck, he shifts slightly lower to keep moving inside her.
The new angle makes him feel close to her in a way he hasn't before. Deeply fettered, connected so closely to her on every level, in more dimensions than he knew existed. So divinely near to every part of her that he can feel his soul physically attaching itself to hers.
He feels so good she leaks tears. She endears to him with the lightest, sweetest kisses along his forehead, thanking him, cherishing him.
She breathes in with each thrust he gives, panting each breath out so soft and small against his temple. It's a sensation he's missed, ached for all day, just like home. He tilts his neck to look up at her and he can feel her heart, beating the same as his, everywhere under her skin.
The blended harmony reminds him of when they play together.
Songs no one else knows.
Songs no one else is meant to hear.
Not her melody and not his. Theirs. A perfect pulmonary poem between them now.
She feels it too. He sees her. He knows. And nose to nose, he's hip to it.
At home with her.
Inside her.
Beside her.
Beside her.