inspired by @professorplummm
"Lying on my back, staring at the ceiling, sweat sticking my hair to my forehead. I wipe my face with a hand and keep panting, soft remnants of pleasure rolling through every muscle and sinew. I slow down my breath, my wrist still over my eyes.
I don’t have to see him to feel Aerion rise up on an elbow and look down at me. I can feel his haughty smirk, his doe-eyed look. I can’t face him yet.
His hand finds my chest. Wide palm, harsh callouses, hard knuckles. I know it well. It’s hit me. I’ve kissed it.
Breaths calm. Tranquil silence. I’m so, so tired.
“Do you wish for anything?” he asks, the question so unlike him that I can’t help but release a brief laugh of disbelief.
I take my arm off my face and look at him, bemused, not ready for another game of his. But what I see isn’t a game at all. He really asked me that, just then. I look over his face, as sweaty as mine, as clear of tension as mine. What do I wish for?
“Only to sleep,” I confess. My eyes water. I hate it. I can’t help it. My heart beats so loud and painful in my chest when I ask: “Would you sing to me?”
I thought he would laugh at me. But his lips only purse in surprise at first, his eyes widening slightly. Then he frowns, thoughtful, a small wrinkle appearing between his pale brows. The hand on my chest travels further away from Aerion to wrap around me.
I sigh and close my eyes as he drags me closer, my back pressed against his chest. He puts his chin on my neck, the apple of his throat palpable through my damp with sweat hair between us. I am afraid. I open my mouth to lie to him that I was joking, that I didn’t mean what I said.
But he sings first. His voice reaches my heart, vibrates through my own neck. His fingers twitch with some words, brushing past my chest. It’s comforting. It’s bitter. The words, the voice – so like our mother’s.
blakekathryn
titsay
kianamaiart
turnnoffyourmind
yousharknotpass
dailybridgerton
