Makeup
They had fought.
They bickered often, but fighting- she could count the number of bad arguments they had on one hand. The teasing, the pushing, the pulling, the repartee- it was part of the charm, of the attraction, oddly enough, and she found it endearing most of the time.
But tonight they had fought.
She was in the king-sized bed they shared, and it had never seemed so big. She lay on her designated side, not daring stray from it, but when she rolled over, her arm flew out to the side, landing on the cold sheets beside her.
His absence was all the louder.
She buried her face in her pillow, a flurry of confliction. Her anger was subsiding quickly- in fact, as soon as she had kicked him out and stranded him to the couch, she was regretting it. She hated fighting.
With a frustrated groan, she rose. She tip-toed out of the bedroom and into his study, where he was camped out on the couch. His form was a mere silhouette, cloaked in black and the soft glow of street lights leaking in through the bay window. She crept towards him, slipping carefully under the covers beside him.
She realized he was awake then because he scooted over to accommodate her, a tentative arm snaking warily around her waist. He was silently asking permission, she could tell. In answer she covered his arms with his, locking their fingers where they fell at her midsection. He pulled her against his chest the tiniest bit, and she felt the breath of relief against the back of her neck.
She rolled around, a great feat on the small sofa, so she was facing him, titling her head upwards. He replied in kind, lowering his head. Their lips met—slowly, softly. It was a very tender and unhurried affair, and it was her tongue asking for entrance. He gave it to her, deepening the kiss even more. Their tongues touched, almost shyly, as if they hadn't been acquainted yet, and they explored each other all over again.
She loved that he could do this to her.
Just kiss it and make it better.
She broke the kiss, her brain demanding a break from all the things he was doing to it, looking at him a moment. He looked as lightheaded as she felt, and for a moment she wondered how he could do that to her. She watched as a small smile formed at his lips and he nipped the tip of her nose, playfully.
"Missed me?" he murmured into her ear, a hint of a smile in his whisper.
"Apology accepted," she told him, a hint of that sarcastic bite in hers.
"I'm sorry." He replied, smile gone.
"Me too," she whispered back. Their lips met again in a very measured, deliberate kiss. Searching. Dancing, playing, touching, teasing, but mostly searching.
Neither of them made a move to go any further, both happy to meet for the first time all over again.
