Sexual content but nothing titillating.

Aftercare

"How can you still look so attractive while crying."

He brushed a piece of damp hair away from her face and at just that she shivered. Her body felt like an expanse of nerve endings – every part of her, even the most innocuous ones, capable of being lit up when touched in a certain way. All of her trembling and quaking and reeling. He pressed his lips to her shoulder and murmured, his voice low and content, "How can you still look so attractive while crying…"

She felt a quiet flush creep into her features, as slow and languid as she felt now, trying to come up with something witty, failing, her whole body spent and liquid. Settled for a lame, "Not crying…" She swept lamely at the wetness under her eyes, then shut them.

"S'okay, I don't mind." His voice was like hers: low and husky and sleepy.

"Just… overwhelmed…"

"Mm…" He pressed another kiss into her shoulder, tightened his hold on her. "Not hurting or anything?"

She took a moment to try to focus on checking in with her body, to stop being distracted by the hot bright feeling of him curled around her, his breath against her neck, the improbable flash of embarrassment and thrill that she felt when she saw their clothes tossed across the cabin's floor. He had been – bigger than she anticipated, she thought with another bright flash of thrilled mortification, but no, she wasn't – "No," she breathed. All these tones her voice could take that she never realized – breathy, airy, low… "I feel – perfect."

He groaned softly into her shoulder. "Good. You are."

"Cloying," she teased softly, snuggling closer to him, "Saccharine…"

"Don't give a crap, it's still true."

"You're not too bad yourself…"

He laughed, a low rush of breath against her ear, making her tremble again. "Mm – you always get weepy after you come, or m'I just special like that?"

She curled up tighter, and he held her tighter in response. "It's not really something I'm terribly familiar with…"

She could feel his posture shift just slightly. "Not even when you––?"

"I don't really, anymore," she murmured into the pillow, his pillow. "Since."

He exhaled heavily and pressed slow kisses into her hair. They laid in silence for a moment. Then she could feel him slowly, everything he'd done had been incredibly slow and marked by a thoughtfulness that made her ache, move his hands up to her face and carefully wipe under her eyes. "Gorgeous," he mumbled. "Beautiful."

She swallowed back another flood of emotion – had she really cried? Was she really that girl, who teared up after sex, who for the just-after kisses had a damp face and was shaky, her shoulders quivering, her lips trembling, spastic and moved and on edge and flooded with feeling––

"It'll be better," she promised softly, "next time. I won't get so… I'm sorry…"

"So you're saying there'll be a next time?" he teased, and she rolled her eyes just a bit. "There's nothing to be sorry about. Dunno what you're talking about."

"I don't think I'll always be so. On edge," she clarified, her voice getting softer still.

"Don't care," he said seriously. "Seriously, princess, I don't––"

"I don't mean to be so high maintenance, i mean," she practically whispered.

"You're not. Here, s'it okay if I––" He moved to turn her to face him, and she nodded, and he did, kissing her forehead and holding her close. "You're stunning, you're sexy, you're so –…" He frowned, chewing on his lip for a second as if trying to figure out how to articulate himself. "You know that was – really – damn – good for me, right?"

She closed her eyes. "Don't want you to have to be careful…"

"You're – damn important to – do you know how long i've wanted to – I was always going to be careful, sweetheart," he laughed into her hair. "I want it all to be," he carefully tilted her chin up, kissed her softly, "perfect. Alright?"

"I just––" I just wish I could be like you, I wish I could be casual, I wish I could no-big-deal this, I wish–– "Cryingafterwards,Han – it's so – mortifying, I can't believe––"

"I like," he said, kissing her again, "that it," and again, "means," again, "something," again, "to you." Once more, then, "Don't care how you show it, don't think any less of you for getting a little teary. Love – this," he said, catching himself quickly. "Was perfect, you're perfect."

"More perfect next time," she promised, "okay?"

"Can't really imagine that, but I'll take your word for it."