![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Aug. 16th, 2009
I've missed him.
The time I was away I had to train myself to forget things. The broad sweep of his shoulders, the two maddeningly kissable dimples in the back of them when he stretches. The way he always smells clean even when he's sweaty. The lovely spots just under his ears and the back of his neck, the soft happy sigh he always makes when I lavish kisses all over them. The way he drops kisses onto the top of my head, the back of my neck, the back of my hands, and occasionally my ankles. His eyes, dear gods, his eyes, you'd never know it behind the glasses, but they're fucking beautiful and I could stare into them all day if he'd let me. The way he feels in my arms, and how I feel in his, safe, spoiled, loved.
It all came rushing back when I kissed him for real after he'd picked me up from the station, how the tension of his day just rolled off of him as he melted under my mouth, how for the minute or so our mouths were touching, nothing in the world existed but him. Later as I rolled him on top of me, for once not needing or wanting any of the preliminaries, closing my eyes and letting my hands trail over his back, arms, and shoulders, I realized I hadn't really forgotten him at all. My right knee was hooked perfectly over his hip, my left hand had settled in the small of his back, my teeth had found that delicious spot just under his collarbone that I haven't left a mark on in way too long, and my right hand had buried itself in the hair at the base of his skull. I knew his rhythm without having to think about it, and let myself just ride it, vibrating to each little sound he let escape from his throat, loving the feeling of my pussy's grip on him, the base of his cock grinding against my clit, and letting the deep throb of his orgasm tip me into my own.
Coming home should always be this sweet.
The time I was away I had to train myself to forget things. The broad sweep of his shoulders, the two maddeningly kissable dimples in the back of them when he stretches. The way he always smells clean even when he's sweaty. The lovely spots just under his ears and the back of his neck, the soft happy sigh he always makes when I lavish kisses all over them. The way he drops kisses onto the top of my head, the back of my neck, the back of my hands, and occasionally my ankles. His eyes, dear gods, his eyes, you'd never know it behind the glasses, but they're fucking beautiful and I could stare into them all day if he'd let me. The way he feels in my arms, and how I feel in his, safe, spoiled, loved.
It all came rushing back when I kissed him for real after he'd picked me up from the station, how the tension of his day just rolled off of him as he melted under my mouth, how for the minute or so our mouths were touching, nothing in the world existed but him. Later as I rolled him on top of me, for once not needing or wanting any of the preliminaries, closing my eyes and letting my hands trail over his back, arms, and shoulders, I realized I hadn't really forgotten him at all. My right knee was hooked perfectly over his hip, my left hand had settled in the small of his back, my teeth had found that delicious spot just under his collarbone that I haven't left a mark on in way too long, and my right hand had buried itself in the hair at the base of his skull. I knew his rhythm without having to think about it, and let myself just ride it, vibrating to each little sound he let escape from his throat, loving the feeling of my pussy's grip on him, the base of his cock grinding against my clit, and letting the deep throb of his orgasm tip me into my own.
Coming home should always be this sweet.
