there is one thing about post-sex intimacy that i don’t think i talk about enough, and i am going to use this chance to explore that a little while i think about post-sex cuddles with chan.
as much as i would like there to be a lot of praising and pantings and kissing, there isn’t going to be anything too special in terms of post-sex cuddles with chan. of course, there will be words spoken softly to each other; about how good you have made him feel, about the pleasure that he has brought to your body, about how much you both appreciate each other. there will be panting, because the sex was rough and exhilarating, it was releasing and relishing, and you both have lost yourself in the moment so much that your body began to burn from exhaustion without your knowledge. there will be kissing, on the mouth; smooches that leeches the blood off his lips, kisses that seal the steals your breath and seals your voice, lip-locks and hearts tight as the final end of the past fervent intimacy.
but the most important part is always what comes after that—there will be silence, there will be touch, and there will be breathes.
aftercare with chan is quiet. he takes care of you without words; he does it without asking, he does it without explaining himself. he just does. he wipes you down with a clean cloth, he lathers you with vanilla soap and warm water, he dresses you in his black shirt and cotton panties, he tucks you in bed with him and he engulfs your fragile form with his arms. he does it all without words because there isn’t a need to speak. the pure looks of adoration you two flashes for each other, the way his calloused hands move so timidly against you in complete contrast to how they felt pinning you against the bed—those are all you two needed to communicate.
he holds you under the covers, in a way that awakens somethings soft in you and replaces the feral lust. his arms, his strong and protective arms, turns into a familiar home rather than leverage for you to exert your overwhelming pleasure on. they are what hold the pieces of your shattered body together, they are what glues the broken parts of your heart together at the end of the day; he holds you under the covers, warm and tight like he would never let go, the way you want to be held, whenever you want to be held. and chan finds solace in your permission to let him be a safe place; holding you makes him feel protective, it gives him someone to care for, someone to soothe, someone to love, and he needs it to be good.
he needs to be good, you give him a chance to be good.
he can feel your half-asleep eyes flutter against his bare chest, he can feel the hotness of your breath against the curve of his pecs—he smiles that he can just feel you breathe against him, that you are not just a faraway dream he has to be afraid of losing. he just thinks about you; he thinks about hugging you closer, he thinks about what to cook when you two wake up again, he thinks about the temperature in the room while he absentmindedly brings the blanket up to your shoulder.
he buries his face to the top of your head. he can’t see you in the dark but he can trace your skin, he can feel your breaths, he can hear you snore. you are safe with you, you gave yourself to him, you love him, and he is good.
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