One Winter Evening

by Roaming Tigress

It's the 24th of December.

Normally, we reserve sex for Fridays, but . . . It's the 24th of December. And when a blizzard forces us out of our traditional Christmas Eve ride, and the fireplace is crackling, gifts wrapped underneath the simply decorated pine tree, cider sipped by the fire, one thing leads to another, and there's a new dent in the wall from the bedpost.

That curly-haired idiot rolls over onto his side with a crooked smile on his face. I might have spent the last twenty minutes just rubbing his belly. There should be a vaguely Dutch-shaped pile of goo on the mattress; he melts like butter with my touch. His trademark curly hair is slick against his temple; his eyes are bleary from emotion-release tears. And yet, to me, stinking of sex, sweat, and a distinct odour all his own, he's still gorgeous.

"To think we would have spent an afternoon of readin', eh?"

I sigh and reach over to kiss that nose, scrunching up some of that hair.

"Yes. With me inside by the fire and you outside with your Evelyn Miller."

Dutch chuckles a hearty chuckle, his eyes squinting; he knows all too well how much those damn books drive me mad. I scoot up closer and reach around to grab ahold of an ass cheek; I know he is feeling a literal pain in the ass (and he can be one himself), and separating the cheeks as I massage helps. He winces slightly as my fingers make their way to the crack of his ass but tries to mask it. Now he should know better than to think he could hide pain from me, but Dutch is Dutch and Dutch is stubborn.

"I'll get the massage oil."

There's some on the dresser, and Dutch is disappointed when I stop what I was doing to get it. He pouts, letting out that sharp huff he does when he's annoyed at something. He's being a bit dramatic.

"You stopped."

"Well, I had to get it."

Of course, Dutch doesn't complain when I do bring it over. As soon as I turn my back, he's on his hands and knees on his bed, and I shake my head. He could have just rolled over onto his stomach, but I won't pass on the sight of that man on his hands and knees.

I pour some oil into my palm and rub it into my hands, glancing over him with a chuckle. His expression is one of eagerness and want. That charming twinkle in his eyes tells me as well that he likes to be looked after. I know he does.

"You know I enjoy aftercare, Mr. Matthews."

I almost purr. I love it when he addresses me as that. It's so fancy, so formal, so gentlemanly, so empowering.

"You need it after what I've done to you."

When I turn to apply the oil to him, I wince. I'm not getting any younger, but don't tell my drive that; my body should be glad we generally save it all for one day. Now it's my time to grit my teeth and hide my pain. We know each other too well to overlook each other's flinches, no matter how hard we try to hide them from each other.

I sigh as Dutch slips off the bed, albeit awkwardly, and takes me and my bottle of massage oil in his hands. He gently leads me back onto the bed and kisses the side of my neck as he holds me, letting his mustache tickle my neck. He knows how much I 'hate' that. If he's not careful, he could start something.

"I'll take care of you, Old Girl."

There's little point in resisting; he'll just keep pestering me, using those puppy eyes as leverage, a deadly weapon. I let him take me into his strong arms as he pulls me back into the bed and gently lays me down. He's treating me like I'm made out of something fragile, but from the way he moves right now, he knows what I'm capable of. I assert myself.

"You know that I can kick your ass, right?"

Dutch belts out one of those hearty laughs of his; deep, booming. He knows he's being an annoying little shit. "I wouldn't say that was kickin'. That was slammin', Old Girl!"

I shake my head. What am I going to do about him? As he does with me, I can almost predict what he'll say next. My fault, I opened the door.

"When you're done with me, I'm going to tend to you. You won't shit right for a week if I don't."

Dutch just laughs again. I can't be annoyed too long, however; he's got that damn oil pouring over my back. It feels warm, but more so when he places those big hands on my form and gradually works in a massage. His touch is gentle, still thinking I'm fragile, but I'll be damned if this doesn't make me feel better.

"Touch firmer, Big Cat. Especially on my lower back. I'm not going to fall apart."

I sigh again as Dutch's fingers move deep into the muscles, taking his time as he works his way down my back. I wince as he finds the spot that hurts the most, just right above my lower back. Almost animalistic tendencies kick in when it comes to sex with that man. I know how strong he is, and yet I also know what I'm still capable of, and I gladly demonstrate it, reminding him.

"Yes, that's it . . . Keep working that spot."

"I lay back down and wince when his fingers work deep over my left hip, but then laugh at the next silly thing he says.

'I think we both know we're both on that list!'

I won't deny it.

My laugh fades into a long sigh. Under his intense touch, I might as well have been turning into a liquidized form of myself. Turnabout is fair play, I suppose. For a change, I let him take the lead, allowing him to touch where he thinks I need attention, shifting whenever and wherever his hands move. He knows me like a book, understanding where I need it the most.

Still, I gently warn him. "Be careful that you don't start something you can't finish."

"You say that like it's a bad thing!" Dutch winks, and we make soft eye contact as he turns me onto my back.

I cup his strong jaw in my hand and just . . . look at him. I then lightly scratch that mustache, and he turns his head, kissing a fingertip.

"I think I'm in love with you . . ." I speak with feigned disappointment as my fingers run through his hair; how could I not smile as he presses his scalp into my touch?

There's a spark in Dutch's dark eyes as he turns his head up to look at me and leans down to kiss me over my heart. Evil indeed.

"Someone's got to."

I just smile and guide him to lay down on me, which he happily does; his groin lies against mine, his belly rests over mine, our chests, and by extension, our hearts overlap. I'll risk losing circulation to tend to him; I'm feeling rather floaty and would like for him to feel the same way. I've been to one of those fancy establishments (and I have), and I would walk out dissatisfied; nobody has his touch."

"I reach over to where he left the massage oil on the bed, pour a little over his ass cheeks, and start massaging as if I were kneading bread. I laugh as he squirms his ass up into my touch.

"Sometimes I think you want me to damn near ram you straight through the wall just for aftercare."

Dutch laughs, the sound reverberating right up from the belly; I feel the sound of it vibrating against my form. He's been laughing a lot today, and it's so good for the soul.

"You know me well, 'Sea."

"Bit scary that at times, that."

Dutch lets out a pitiful whine when I work my fingers along the inner side of his cheeks. He's very tender, and it will be so tomorrow, but the massage oil helps, and I apply more deep into the crack.

"Tenderass . . ." I whisper, nuzzling my smaller nose against his before kissing it.

Dutch, of course, pouts. I know he enjoys it but somehow always forgets about the pain afterward.

"You damn near put me through the wall!"

I lightly shake his nose and poke the tip of it when he takes a nip. "You wanted me to! Besides, you were getting spicy. You had to be put in your place."

"I tried to take one peek at a present." If Dutch could cross his arms in his position, he would.

I laugh. What a frustratingly adorable man he is. 'You told me, well, fuck you, then,' and proceeded to give me the silent treatment, and you know I couldn't let you get away with that." I cup his ass with my hands and then give his right cheek a light spank; he lets out a sharp gasp, but I just had to.

"And then you showed me that ass and told me you need to be punished. How could I say no when such an opportunity, ah, presents itself?" I give the left cheek a light pinch, and he lets out a pathetic whimper; I made good on my promise to tend to him, and I massage a little oil up into his crack. I lightly work it in, and he lets out a little sigh of satisfaction, squirming his ass up into my hand. Dutch's voice goes up a slight octave as my fingers work carefully around his hole.

"I just ASS-umed you'd show a bit of mercy—"

I kiss Dutch on his forehead; he returns it with a soft kiss on my nose and settles his head into the crook of my neck, snuggly! "I see what you did there. You can be clever. But! You'd have been a fool if you thought I'd show mercy. You told me to give you what you deserve, and you got it."

I can't help it. I lightly scritch along the crown of his right hip, one of his most sensitive spots. He tries to stifle a chuckle as he pushes away from my touch, but I know he loves it and knows I love making him squirm.

"I ought to put coal in your stocking, you naughty boy. The things you've put me through this year... " I let out an exaggeratedly exasperated sigh, but I squeeze him close against me, damn near feeling like slapping him on the ass when he speaks again.

"But, you love me."

I let out another sigh. "Yes. Yes, I do. I wouldn't want to dump that responsibility onto someone else."

The corner of Dutch's eyes crinkle in that delightful manner in which they do, and he reaches over to the bedside table, picking up a twig of mistletoe we picked up on a hunting expedition. Turkey is on the menu tonight.

"Merry Christmas, 'Sea."

I let out my third sigh in five minutes.

"Merry Christmas, Dutch."

And with that, we kiss.

A long, lingering kiss that we get ourselves so wrapped up in, that the only thing that interrupts us is the smell of the turkey burning.

Damnit!