A/N: I'm alive! Last week was crazy for me, so writing was a bit out of the question. Now about the chapter, it was so hard not to...well...let's just say that I'm too lazy to change the rating of the story, okay? Ahaha.
After the routine procedure to remove cells for growth, Artie was able to return home after a couple days of post-op bed rest. He followed me into our apartment with a happy 'home sweet home' kind of sigh, a plastic band around his left wrist, and bandages around his middle to keep the small incision down the already scarred middle of his back clean. I had really missed his wheelchair bound self. Like when I found a dead baby mouse under our bed, or when the lesbian couple next door got really frisky and I could vaguely hear then though the walls, as I lay in bed alone with the exception of a book. In the hospital, the most I could do was kiss him – maybe, and in the most literal and innocent sense possible, the nurses would get mad when they caught me in bed with him.
Artie closed the door, and I reached above his head to bolt it before walking over to the counter to safely put away my keys. I turned around, and he remained in front of the doorway with his hands atop the big wheels on the side of his chair. With a hop, skip, and a jump, I hurtled myself into his lap – my force causing the back of his wheelchair to thump against the front door. Not long after landing, I attacked his lips and adjusted my legs around his thighs.
"Tina, my back...be careful," he scolded.
I pulled my face away immediately and gathered my hands around his face in a protective manor. "Oh, my God – Artie I'm sorry. I forgot. Are you okay? I'm so sorry."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he responded with a grim tone.
I plopped my hands into my lap, and sat back on the top of his knees – my legs remaining split over his lap. Looking down though the corners of my eyes, I avoided his less than happy gaze.
"Sorry," I muttered in a second attempt to reconcile.
A thick gulp came from his throat and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down in remorse, "Tina, I-"
"No…you're right…I-I'm thoughtless and stupid and-"
Artie immediately shushed me and tilted my chain upwards with his left index finger. However, I continued to hide my eyes. My habit of crying over minuscule things was one I never could kick. Leaning forward, he sweetly pecked my lips – shallowly swooping his bottom lips under mine. Artie then pulled away and cupped one of my flushed cheeks in his calloused hand.
"I love you."
I sniffed and nodded quickly.
"Do you still love me?"
"Of course I do," I sniffed again, wiping my eyes, as I picked up my head to its default angle.
Artie leaned in once more to brush his lips against mine, and this time I kissed him back for the brief time he lingered. Warping my arms around his neck, I sat up straight to press my bare forehead to his covered with side swept brown hair. He smiled and brought his hands under my thighs to pull me closer so that the inside of my thighs touched his hip bones and my knees pressed against the back of his chair. I trailed my hands down his chest, angled my head, and quickly captured his lips. These kisses were different than the sweet and tame ones we shared mere minutes before. Separation makes the heart grow fonder.
We kissed, on and off between tender, romantic, and wild, in front of the doorway, putting on a show for both the living room and kitchen until the area between my legs felt warm and tingly. Soon we were moving. Artie removed his hands from my legs and instead paid attention to the wheels of his chair. I kissed down his neck and pulled the collar of his shirt to the side to suck at the base where collarbone met shoulder so he could see.
Once at his desired destination, I crawled off his lap and hurdled onto my side of the bed. Holding my torso up with my forearms, I subconsciously arranged my legs in a taunting and seductive manor, waiting for him. Artie pulled himself onto the bed, rolled onto his stomach, and dragged himself on top of me and between my thighs. My ankles locked behind him accordingly.
It was a weird thing to admit to anyone but myself, but I adored when he lay on top of me and how his body would simply cover mine like a security blanket. However, as nice as he felt between my thighs and on top of my torso, nothing could be accomplished besides osculation and PG-13 rated fondling. Tightening my legs around his hips and bracing my hands against his shoulders, I physically reversed our rolls with an adrenaline-powered flip.
Artie's stomach tightened, his back arched upon impact. I opened my eyes briefly with a smirk, but when I saw his face contorted with pain, my protective instincts took over every desiring hormone in my body. Straightening my arms and pressing the palms of my hands against the bed, I took most of my weight off his torso.
"Art?"
"I-I'm fine, Tee…my back's just a little sore," he assured.
"Arthur, if you're in pain, tell me," I ordered, stroking his cheek.
He sighed, closed his eyes, and nodded shamefully. In return, I carefully dismounted his lap and landed on his side of the bed. Using only his arms and abdominal muscles, Artie transferred onto his side. To help his balance, I instinctively reached my hand out to align his hip and legs with his torso, in which he smiled thankfully, but in almost a resentful way. Lying on my own side, facing him, I bunched his flat and lifeless pillow under my head.
"I'm sorry, Tina," he said, covering his baby blues with the pads of his fingertips.
I took a hold of his wrists; pulled his hands away from his face, and made him look at me, "Don't worry about it."
"But I miss you."
"I know. I miss you too," I said. "But let's just cuddle. You're home. I want you to feel safe, not pain. We have time."
"I guess."
Artie had always been sexually insecure. Whenever something didn't go as planned, he would always blame his disability – even if he didn't necessarily vocalize it to me. I tried to make him realize that I loved him the way he was, and sometimes he listened, but often it would work to no avail. Sometimes I wondered if it was one of the reasons he wanted to change so much – as if he didn't feel good enough for me.