[ Gathering her in, Hei settles deeper into the mattress, her body across his, her hair tangled across both their faces. Sunlights filters from the window and plays over her outline. A vein of red fire snaking through everything. She says, What do you plan on doing to me? and his mind, no longer fuzzy-edged, stretches toward the dissolute themes of the morning with flickering antennae. Sketching scenarios. Mapping out routes. His rough-tipped fingers reach out to barely trace the shape of her mouth. It's true; he's never the most tactile person, but there are ways to brand some memories into your cerebrum faster than others. Touch is best. Then, scent and taste. (Like the floral faded shampoo hiding behind her nape; the starchy laundered smell of the sheets and that marine undercurrent of sex; the warm rub of her skin and the warmer breath tickling his face.) ]
[ Underneath the covers, his foot brushes lightly against hers, toe nudging against the ticklish sole in a way that's more contemplative than playful. ]
Besides keeping you in bed until noon? [ Dryly, ] I'm open to suggestions.
no subject
[ Underneath the covers, his foot brushes lightly against hers, toe nudging against the ticklish sole in a way that's more contemplative than playful. ]
Besides keeping you in bed until noon? [ Dryly, ] I'm open to suggestions.
[ Although he has a few ideas of his own. ]