Outside of your bedroom, the silvery light of the moon cascades through the sleek curtains, enveloping your bedroom in a soft ethereal glow. The plush of the mattress beneath you feels cool, a stark contrast to just ten minutes before, when the stifling heat had felt nearly unbearable. You swallow, throat dry with exhaustion. Your husband, ever the observant type, gently lifts the prepared glass of water from the nightstand and holds it to your lips, careful not to splash you.
“Pantalone—“ you whine, panting. You’re shaking. You want him to hold you. To tell you it’s okay. To curl up around you and never let go.
“Shhh,” he croons instead, briefly leaning in to brush against you, “just stay here, I’ll be right back.” You make a noise of protest when the mattress rises once relieved of his weight. He leaves the door open, but you can’t tell if it was intentional or not. You listen to him scuffle around in the bathroom before turning on the sink, the sound of the downpour making you thirsty again. Within seconds, he’s back, a wet washcloth in his bare hand. He presses it to your head, then your collarbone, before dragging it down the rest of you.
“Look at you,” he praises whilst cleaning in between your thighs, “you did so wonderfully.” Your breathing is still uneven, body scrambling for air after the intensity of your workout. Even so, you manage to get out a weak “I love you”. He smiles and presses a kiss to your stomach, lips still wet from your lip gloss, which has since been smeared across the pillowcase. You settle back, exhausted. The red lamp is still on, casting a deep crimson glow across your body. Pantalone looks exquisite in the red light, even with his chest slick with sweat.
Your eyes droop with sleep, blinking slowly before resting your head on the pillow behind you, allowing your body the privilege of going slack. Pantalone laughs at the sight, moving back to his side of the bed so he can properly hold you. Somewhere outside, the train whistles.
“Do you feel alright?”, he questions softly, “would you like for me to fetch you anything?” You shake your head, already sinking into sleep. The gentle push of his chest against you every time he inhales just lulls you further. Barely conscious, you watch him reach over for the pack of Marlboros on his nightstand, lighting one and setting it haphazardly in his mouth. A long strand of smoke rises from the butt, stinking up the bedroom.
“Stop that,” you scold, “you’ll ruin your lungs.” He scoffs and holds it out, exhaling dryly. He smoked one just before dinner as well, and before he left for the bank. You don’t even want to imagine how many he had while at work. You’re worried about his respiratory system. He doesn’t need another surgery. He glances at you again before putting his cigarette out and tossing it into the bin beside his spot on the bed. You murmur a soft approval and settle back onto his chest, curling up underneath the fancy silken covers.
“You know I’m only looking out for you,” you assure him, snuggling up closer. The scent of his vanilla hand lotion is now suddenly overpowering now that the smell of sweat and intimacy has begun to fade.
Pantalone settles one hand on top of your head, “I know, my dear,” he croons, peering at you through downturned eyes. He leans over towards his nightstand to shut off the red mood light. In an instant, the once crimson-lit room is cast into darkness, the only light coming from through the closed curtains. You murmur softly into his chest, already drowsy.
“I love you,” you repeat, enjoying his warmth. Pantalone lifts one of your hands up to his lips, planting a determined kiss onto your palm. Your breathing has slowed, now a constant pattern rather than the heaving gasps from before. He enjoys the nights like this, the ones where you two get to sit in bed until noon of the next day. This week has been utterly exhausting. Perhaps he’ll take you out for dinner tomorrow, or go walk with you in the gardens. He knows how much you’ve been wanting to get away from the house and back into the city.
“I love you too, beloved,” Pantalone purrs lowly, hugging you closer to him. You respond with a sleepy mutter, listening to the distant screech of wheels on train tracks. Snezhnaya is always far more peaceful once the dusk settles. Although, of course, the nights tend to be chillier than the day. The thought of the frigid landscape outside makes you shudder, curling up even more to keep warm. “It’s alright, my dear,” your husband croons, nuzzling against you, “I’ll stay right here.” He places a protective hand on your back, feeling across the dips in your muscles. By the looks of it, you’re already asleep, still bathing in the afterglow. Tomorrow he’ll have to make sure you feel well enough to walk, although he’s sure you’ll want to stay in bed at least until noon.
“Sweet dreams, beloved,” he sighs, pulling the covers up to your nose, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Despite your exhaustion, you smile.
⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔
