Soft. That's the only way she could describe how she was feeling right now. Completely, wonderously, snuggly soft. From the way the sunlight slanted through the curtained windows to the low mellowing of the trumpet milking its way out of her stereo's speakers. Something jazzy slow and sexy mingled in the air. It only took her a moment to realize that scent was the remnants of love, their love. Spooned in bed under a down comforter to ward off morning's chill, Casey Novak lay with her lover, her babaí. And she knew, for the first time in her life what it was to be cherished.
It had started that night, with the midnight moon shining through the window in Casey's bedroom. She was swaying to the soft melody across the wooden floor, her head resting on her lover's shoulder, arms curled around a taught back, hips bearing the weight of strong, yet gentle hands. Mississippi had not been her song of choice, but like fine wine over time she'd grown to appreciate the croon of that trumpet, the hum of that guitar. And if she let go of the words, she could hear herself coming to the musical wiles of her lover's touch. Listen. Touch. Love. Repeat. That's how it always began when they danced to this song. Their song.
Casey closed her eyes against the moonlight and let herself be held, be enveloped in the warmth that was this private moment. A smile drew from her lips as she felt little butterfly kissses flutter against her collar bone. This was her absolute favorite place to be touched, here where her neck and shoulder met. Casey normally hated being patted on the shoulder in any sort of gesture, being rubbed on the neck in condolence. It made her feel as if she were being soiled. But, when her babaí touched her there it was all sensuously pretty feelings. Casey broke away for a moment, but only to pull Babaí down to where she laid herself on her bed. Babaí followed willingly.
They lay there together, body against body, stealing kisses and caresses, giggles and gasps. Nipping hands stole clothes away and discovered warming flesh. A slip of tounge against skin marking a path to a rosey nipple, a flow of fingers tracing a perfect v. Like the moon outside the window passing his time, blood rose in the lovers' veins bring heat and need into their ministrations.
Heart beating against heart, they delved into eachother. There was no rush, no swift intake of breath. Just the natural hum of two beautiful souls acting upon the passions and blessings in reveling one another. They pushed together, breathed together, up and dove over that alluring crest together. There was no shout of righteousness, no clawing in the throes of desire. Just a gentle shattering of that obstacle that finally allows you into the freedom land. No words, no laughter, no tears. Just love.
Some would say what they'd done wouldn't be very enjoyable, not something worthy of being discussed during a girl's night out over liquor and potato chips. Some would even say it was the lazy way to have sex. Casey'd disagree with that. For what her babaí'd done to her, showed her was making love without all the bells and whistles was a precious delight. Pure, even. Casey didn't have to scream her lover's name to let her know how good it was. She didn't really have to say, "I love you." The light of her life knew it by the way her body responded to those fabulous touches, those glorious kisses. And there was nothing lazy in the way she'd touched and been touched, kissed and been kissed.
The two lovers lay together with limbs entwined and hearts beating against eachother, gazing into eachother's eyes only to break contact to rest in a deep, satiated slumber.
And that's how Casey awoke this morning, feeling like the last star that shined at night and through the dawn. Soft and glowing in the morning's light. She placed a sweet kiss to Babaí's cheek and snuggled closer to her.
God, she loved Olivia Benson.