latermaybe | (no subject)

(no subject)

from here.

"Fuck me, right here," I murmured to him in Italian, words muffled against his lips. "Don't let me come. Not until you say."

He'd teased me about fucking in my office, with me bending him over the desk after hours, but despite my reluctance, it wasn't a fantasy he harbored alone.

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"Right now? We should try sleeping," I suggested. "Napping. Not moving from this spot for at least eight hours." After a beat, I amended, "Twelve."

Kissing his forehead, I reminded him. "You were going to ride me while you fucked me with that thing, remember? That's a good place to start."

“Twelve whole hours, huh?” I ask with a chuckle, sliding my hand up and down his arm and staring at his face. I could stare at him every minute of my life and never tire of it. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I groan softly at his words, reaching up to cup the back of his neck. He kisses my forehead and I kiss him on the mouth as he tries to pull back, soft and lingering.

“A very good place,” I assure him, rolling away from him to reach for the nightstand. The vibratory digs into my thigh and I laugh, setting it on the nightstand so I can clean it later. After tossing the lube in the drawer, I pull out a pack of wipes and tug one free, smiling over at him as I wipe my hands and chest. I love these moments, too— the quiet clean up, the domesticity, knowing that he’s mine, mine, mine.

“I can’t let you enter your coma all sticky,” I say as I fold the wipe over and sit up so I can wipe tenderly between his legs. “I’d never hear the end of it.”

"I'd never complain," I assured him, carding a hand through his hair while he dutifully cleaned us both up. Somehow, these moments were as intimate as sex— perhaps more so. His hands between my legs, touching me with so much care, his smile soft and full of so much love.

Plucking the soiled wipe from his grasp, I tossed it in the direction of the trashcan, then reached for him, urging, "Come here."

“Right, that’s my job,” I say with a soft smirk, cutting him a look before turning my gaze back to the soft paleness of his inner thighs, strong and dusted with hair. His cock is sticky and pink, looking satisfied after all my attentions, and I hope that I might wake up before him so I can coax him awake with my mouth.

Oliver takes the cloth and I turn to see his outstretched hand, eyes pleading for me, and folding myself into his arms is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. It feels like coming home, like slipping into a snug little space made just for me, and I let out a content sigh as I settle against him, naked and warm and feeling so much better than I did at the start of the evening.

“Thank you for tonight,” I tell him quietly, stroking my finger along his chin. “All of it.”

"My motives weren't entirely altruistic," I pointed out, chuckling softly as I leaned in and grazed a kiss across his brow.

"But you're welcome," I added, squeezing him close. "Whatever you need," I lifted his hand, pressing my lips to the back of his knuckles. I could say that, only because it went both ways. Whatever it took, we were there for each other.

“Well, I know that, you horndog,” I say teasingly, letting out a squeak as he squeezes me in his big arms. Our legs slot together and I feel around for the blanket so I can tug it up over hips as we settle together.

Sometimes we’ll drift apart in the night, waking up on our own sides of the bed, but I find it hard to fall sleep like that. I want to be wrapped up with him always, clutching at him with all my limbs. I know part of it is the fear of waking up without him again. I know that fear will never leave me, not entirely, and I also know that it doesn’t matter how tightly that I hold onto him.

But it helps me, soothes that scared part of me, and Oliver doesn’t seem to mind me wrapping myself around him like an octopus.

“Whatever you need,” I say back to him, echoing the sentiment, because I’d do anything for him. Anything at all, without question.

Pushing his hair back from his face, I drew my head back enough to look at him, taking in all the familiar details of his face up close. Every imperfection. Every one of them perfect.

"I love you," I murmured, tracing the thick line of his eyebrow with my thumb. I kissed the narrow bridge of his nose, eyes nearly crossing to keep him in focus.

“Really?” I ask as he kisses my nose, smiling happily as he touches me. There is nothing better than being the focus of Oliver’s attention, nothing at all. Ever since the very first moment I had it, it’s all I ever wanted. “You’re very subtle with it.”

He kisses me again and I stretch my arms over my head before pushing at his shoulders, rolling him into his back so I can spread myself out on top of him, resting across his broad, masculine chest. My fingers trace the edge of his Star, nestled in a light patch of chest hair.

“I suppose you’re alright,” I say with an easy shrug, biting back a smile as I lean down to press a soft kiss to his nipple, feeling the small bud against the softness of my lips. “It’s not bad.”

Warmth bloomed in my chest as he touched the Star settled in the hollow of my throat, my own hand seeking out its twin, which he always wore.

"Hush," I said, shoving at him playfully. Then, I laughed helplessly at the ticklish brush of his hair against my skin as he ducked his head, his lips warm against my nipple.

"Go to sleep, you goose."

“You goose,” I echo, amused as always by the term. It’s a wonderful thing, being loved by Oliver. The melancholy from earlier is gone for the moment, swept away by him like cobwebs from a porch.

It’s only when he tells me to sleep that I realize how tired I am, and I yawn as I shift a little to settle more at his side, an arm and leg thrown over him as I nuzzle into his neck. My hand rests over his Star and I fall asleep with the steady thrum of his heart against my fingertips.

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