The Little Things
She wakes to feathery light touches – his fingertips are like butterfly wings fluttering against her naked skin.
Her back turned to him, so he can't see, she smiles, but doesn't say a word, letting him believe that she's still asleep (after all, he did exhaust her); she doesn't want to disturb his explorations.
He is gentle, almost tentative, almost as if he wouldn't dare to touch her, afraid she'll break, or just disappear – turn to smoke and fly away, like she did so many times in his dreams. (Which is stupid; they just made love hours ago. She bears marks on her neck shaped like his lips.)
He draws one single fingertip down the inward curve of her waist, raising goosebumps in its wake. She sighs contently.
She can feel him tense for a second, then, without turning around, she knows he is grinning.
"What's on your mind?" she asks softly, giving up all pretenses of sleep.
He doesn't answer right away; his fingers go missing, and she can feel the mattress dip as he moves. The next moment his fingers are on the back of her neck, brushing her hair aside, and then his lips are on the sensitive skin.
She smiles into her pillow.
"You are beautiful," he breathes into her ear.
She turns around, facing him.
"And it took you this long to realize that?" She just can't help teasing him.
He grins down at her, silly, smitten.
"No; it's just I'm learning to appreciate the small things only now."
She pulls her brows together, and pushes herself to her elbows.
"So we are back to me being small?"
He chuckles; she is starting to realize she is falling in love with this sound.
"No, I mean…" he pauses and leans down, kissing her right under her jaw. "You tremble," he says when he pulls away. "When I kiss you right there, you tremble. And here…" His fingers wander to her right hip, caressing the skin. "You have these freckles here that look like a part of a constellation. And your hair…" He slides his fingers into her locks. "I love how the light plays on your curls. It brings out so many colors." Pulling her head gently back, he kisses her. "And then my hand just fits everywhere… Here…" He puts it on the curve of her waist. "Here…" He cups her breast. "And even here…" he finishes, putting his hand on her mound, slipping a finger between her folds. She gasps and grabs his wrist, keeping him firmly in place. "These are the small I love so much – these, and so much more. These are the things that make you beautiful. That make you you."
She wants to reply with a sarcastic remark, but she just can't; she just can't ruin the moment. She just gazes into his eyes for an endless second, then takes his face into her hands, his stubble rough under her fingertips, and kisses him, trying to put all her love and passion into that kiss.
She flips them over easily; a little push against the shoulder and he is already settling back against the pillows, letting her – helping her – climb on top of him. As soon as she has her legs on the two sides of his hips, he places his hands on her waist, anchoring her.
"And now?" he asks, smiling, his thumbs drawing little spirals into her skin.
She smirks and licks her lips.
"And now I'm going to show you all the little things I love about you."
And she does.