For the warm, soft, so very loving woman to whom I can't wait to curl around and snuggle up with every night. :)
kairos
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It feels awkward and he doesn't know why.
It wasn't before but now they carefully stalk around each other, as if they don't quite know where to look, how to be.
He supposes it's different, preparing for bed together instead of the relative safety of sneaking in when the lights are already off. Knowing that they'll crawl into bed together, expectations almost palpable between them, of bodies pressed together, legs entwined and fingers splayed at ribs. When they're not dating, when they haven't even addressed the idea of dating. Theirs is a careful dance, a practiced, tentative ballet and he just flung his leg too far, set them to pirouette. He only hopes they won't spin too much, too far, too soon.
He hands her a pair of Alexis' leggings and one of his t-shirts, gets a kick out of it when she raises her eyebrows and grins at the 'Women of Star Trek' print on its front. He shrugs. What can he say, he's always admired head-strong, kick-ass women. Their fingers carefully don't brush as she accepts the clothing.
He uses the bathroom first, takes a quick, steaming shower. He feels like he needs it, needs to let the hot water sluice off the grime and ugliness of the day. After he's finished, hair towel-dried and mouth minty-fresh, he sets out towels for her, washcloths and a new toothbrush, the sample of make-up remover he's appropriated from his daughter's bathroom.
When he leaves the bathroom she's sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed, already dressed in the clothes he gave her and her naked feet tucked under her legs. He waves his fingers at her, grins awkwardly, just standing there like an imbecile as she untangles her endlessly long legs, swings them down to the floor. She slides past him, closes the door behind her with a decisive click.
He lets go of the breath he was holding, scrubs a hand down his face. The sound of the toilet flushing actually makes him blush; he feels like he's intruding on her privacy so he walks toward his side of the bed, away from the closed door and the alluring woman on the other side of it.
Folding down bedding, arranging pillows and sheets, he busies his hands, fidgets until there's nothing left to arrange or fold. He slides between the sheets, sitting up against the headboard, his head tilted back. His eyelids fall closed of their own volition, heavy with the weight of the day.
The steady sound of running water lulls him, reminds him of waterfalls or the ocean brushing up against the shore. He dreams of tropical forests and the beach, of endless white sand and the sun hot on his chest, of Kate curled to his side, sun-kissed skin and relaxed limbs, body soft and her lips teasing the ball of his shoulder.
The door opening startles him and his eyes fly open. He finds her silhouetted in the doorframe, backlit, almost haloed by the fluorescent light above the mirror.
Then she flips off the light and she's bathed in shadows, sharp cheekbones and fathomless eyes and he can barely breathe, the blood rushing in his ears. There's awareness between them, a sizzle in the air, like electricity zipping along invisible wires strung between them, binding them together.
Her fingers fiddle with the hem of his t-shirt where it brushes her legs mid-thigh, her teeth abusing her bottom lip as she watches him, quiet and pensive. Heat rises through him; he feels his heart pounding all the way into his fingertips. It's a whole-body feeling, the way he just needs her, here and close and forever.
The words tumble forth, an unstoppable force. "Come here," he asks. Pleads, demands, begs, his voice raw with it, a hand stretched out in supplication, palm open to receive the slide of hers against his.
And then she does come, long legs ambling forward and he can't stop staring at her, at the lithe lines of her body, the elegant grace of her movements, the mystery of her eyes. It only takes three steps and suddenly it's the most natural thing in the world, for her to slide beneath the comforter, her hand folding into his. For him to follow the descent of her body as she sinks into the mattress, tugs him with her, surrounds him with her embrace. For him to curl against her, bodies pressed snugly together, his forehead nudged into the arc of her neck and his cheek smudged to her chest. For her to mold around him like it's the only place she wants to be, legs tangled with his and fingers entwined.
He realizes he's forgotten about the comfort of holding another person, and of being held, protected and treasured this way - or maybe he's just never had it before, not like this. How soothing, how indescribably good it feels, the closeness and intimacy of it unequaled. There's nothing like it.
No one like Kate.
He clings to her, can't help it, an arm wrapped around her torso and his hand bracketing her ribcage as he holds her closer, tighter, as tight as possible. Her fingers smooth into his hair, fingertips curling against his scalp. She ruffles through the strands, her nails softly scratching his skin, drawing soothing circles and patterns that he wants to decipher but can't. Her other arm brackets his back, a leg hooked high over his hips that clamps around him like a vice when she gives it back, holds him just as tightly.
He's warm and heavy and suddenly he feels the full force of his fatigue, exhaustion dragging him under, weighing on his eyelids. A sense of peace envelops him, a hushed comfort he's only ever felt with her, soothing the ragged edges of his mind. He soaks her in, a deep sigh deflating his lungs that he feels echoed in the drape of her body beneath his as he sinks, fades inexorably, his eyes falling closed.
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Your encouragement and kind words always leave me smiling. Thank you.