#handships

We were lying on our stomachs beneath Handy’s orange blanket when the rain started. The natural light from the window to our right had been growing dimmer and dingier, the grey clouds threatening, for the past hour. And then all of a sudden, like flipping a switch, it was coming down in sheets. The pattering on the window, the pinging of drops against the external part of the air conditioner, the drumming on the roof made it hard all of a sudden to hear the game on the television in front of us.

“Rain!” I exclaimed softly, grabbing his arm, slightly jostling the controller in his hands, “It’s raining for us!”

Handy didn’t seem to mind the interruption. He promptly paused the game, turning to smile at me fondly, “So it is,” he agreed simply, “It was just a matter of time.”

I grinned at him broadly. We’d shared our love of the rain since before we ever kissed, before we ever even met. He was still only a username, only words and emojis on a screen, the first time he had talked to me about his love for the rain. About how he took solace in it, related to it, how the rain overhead made me feel closer to him somehow. And I’d agreed on all points. We’d talked about how, as children, we had both inexplicably found sanctuary in the crooked branches of a Dogwood tree, rain water pouring from the leaves and humble petals. How astonishing it had been to discover that many miles apart, with four years between our ages and more than ten years till we’d meet, we had hidden in the same private misty world.

But it hadn’t rained on us while we were together, not a hard honest downpour like this one. Thunder rumbled outside and when I met his eyes, they reflected the same thrill that I felt at the sound. We lay there for another moment, frozen and focused on the storm outside. He closed the small distance between us then, his lips finding mine automatically, the most natural thing in the world. I nuzzled my nose against him gently as our lips parted, “I like it better with you here.” he declared, his hand running gently from my ribs to my hip under the blanket, smoothing the wrinkles in the soft purple dress I had on.

“Let’s make the most of it.” I said, kissing the tip of his nose quickly before scrambling out of the bed. He gave me a quizzical look, watching as I turned off the television screen and stood on tiptoes to tug the pull-chain to darken the ceiling light. I jumped back into the bed, and crawled eagerly back underneath the blanket. It wasn’t cold, but I wasn’t going to spend one instant away from his warmth that I didn’t need to. Once I’d turned out the light, I was reminded that Handy had lit one of the soy candles I’d made for him, the calmly flickering flame noticeable only once artificial light had been removed.

“Ooh, that’s nice,” Handy said, his deep voice taking on an appreciative purr, eager to pull me back into his arms the moment I was back within reach. He pulled me snug against him and I curled readily into the familiar shape of his embrace. He kissed the top of my head, “My sonnet and a storm…” he cooed softly, and I melted a little closer. The beauty of the statement never diminished, no matter how many times he said it. No one had ever described me in a way that I found as lovely, or as accurate, as that.

I made no effort to measure the minutes that we lay there, my face buried snug against his chest. I breathed in his warm, welcome smell and listened to the steady music of the rain. After some time, I wriggled onto my back and my hand emerged from the blanket, sliding the accordion strip of plastic to one side of the air conditioning unit over, leaving a small rectangle of window open. I peered out, looking up at the patchwork of green leaves and grey sky, the shapes shifting and shimmering as the wind and rain guided them. I watched the dance, contentedly transfixed. The tune of the storm was clearer now, invited in by the bit of window I had opened for it.

“I love you.” Handy said softly, his voice sincere, the gentle tone seeming like a part of the storm itself.

“I love you, too,” I replied, quietly, looking away from the wind-whipped branches to look back at Handy. His eyes were open to me, the blue-green illuminated mystically by the clear pale light from the overcast sky, “With all my heart.”

A relaxed, lopsided smile spread on his lips, and I was kissing him again before I knew it. His lips, always surprising in their softness, moved against mine with an earnest passion. My hand found his cheek, resting lightly against the soft scruff of his beard and deepening the kiss, tilting his jaw towards mine just so. His tongue danced with mine almost coyly, one large warm hand gliding across my stomach and coming to rest against the curve of my waist. The rain persisted in its steady, ancient rhythm, the light of the candle seeming to sync up with the sound, flickering in time with the ebb and flow. In the darkness behind my eyelids, nothing existed apart from the love and nearness of this astounding, beloved man. And in the brief moments when my eyes fluttered open, he was all I saw, his face half painted in the warm wavering candlelight, half in the silvery light of sun diffused through water and vapor.

One such time when my eyes opened, I found Handy’s eyes opened too. Never slowing the kiss, his lids hung heavy but his eyes watched me evenly through his lashes. There was an unspeakable love in his gaze, something beyond what words or kisses could say. Something as elemental and essential as the fire and water on either side of us. A soft whimper rose from my chest, passing from my tongue to his, moving lightly from one heart to another. Handy’s hand left my waist, sliding around to the small of my back and pulling me closer. I let my own hand leave his cheek. I ran my fingers indulgently through his silky hair from temple to nape, before looping my arm lightly around his neck. It was as if we were slow-dancing, our bodies close and swaying slightly with our kisses, the rain playing our song. My eyes fell shut again as I dissolved into the kiss, neither of us in any rush.

Although he held me flush against him, our kiss remained leisurely and delicate. The soft wet sound of our lips blended into the sound of the rain mere inches away from us, and my heart ached with wholeness. I could feel his heartbeat against my sternum, and it echoed my own relief. Everything is as it should be, it seemed to say, you are as one, you’re together, you’re safe.

“I love you so much,” Handy murmured against me, never breaking the kiss fully, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I’m so glad I’m home.” I corrected gently, and he grinned against me.

He breathed in deep, as if he was savoring the lemon scent of the candle mixed with the fresh green rain smell from outside. He broke the kiss finally and pulled me into a bear hug, squeezing me just a hair from too-tight, and I knew. I knew all the gratitude he was pouring into the hug because it was my own. I squeezed him right back and he said, his voice muffled against my hair, “I’m so glad I found you.”

Good Mornin’

I’m floating in warm water and I can feel him close to me. My feet aren’t touching the ground, but they don’t need to. I’m not treading water, I’m not worried about sinking or drowning. I’m safe here. The water is as warm and cozy as the womb, and nothing can hurt me. Handy is near me, and that means I’m safe. I can smell him, the clean Old Spice and sun-on-sawdust, oven-fresh-beer-bread sweetness of his skin. I can hear him, his deep voice softly rumbling a melody, the low-trembling currents of the water following the velvet hollows and twanging lifts of his voice. I’m taking the sound into me through the water, pulling it in through my pores and filling myself  with the magic of him that pervades this sea.

Handy’s lips brush mine softly and it confuses me. You’re not here. But he is here, he’s everywhere. He kisses me again, his lips soft against mine, and his mustache tickles my nose. I pull back and wiggle my nose a little and Handy chuckles, that sweet butterscotch sound all around me but far away. The water is starting to feel heavier, softer, and his hand on my shoulder is solid and steady as it guides me back to his lips. His hand is not like his presence all around me, not his aura in the air and in the sea, but his hand, large and solid on me. My lips respond to Handy’s on their own, experimentally. Mmm. Soft and sweet. Just like I remember.

He smiles against me, his lips opening slightly and mustache bristling against me a little. I giggle at the feel of it against my lip and he catches the laugh in a kiss, planting his lips more firmly against mine, nudging my teeth with his tongue. I admit Handy at once, my tongue meeting his lazily. He pulls me against him and it clicks in my mind; I’m in bed.

My eyes flutter open and everything is soft and sunny. My vision takes a moment to focus on him, but when it does, the butterflies in my stomach leap and dance at the sight of him. The early afternoon sun is shining bright through his window behind me, and he looks so beautiful. The light catches the red and gold hues in his beard and eyelashes, pulls the sea greens and aquamarines from the ocean depths of his eyes. Handy is smiling at me contentedly, peeking out from underneath the orange blanket that covers us both. He looks younger. Younger than he did when I met him a few months ago, younger than he did when he scooped me into his arms at the bus stop, younger than he looked yesterday. We once made some joke about me being the Fountain of Youth and Handy gaining longevity and youthfulness by drinking of me. My lips curl up a little at the tawdry silliness of the joke, and at the sight of my smile, he busts into an ear-to-ear grin.

“Hey baby,” I say, my voice coming out thick and soft like a sleepy child.

“Good mornin’, sweetheart,” He coos softly, kissing me again. Handy seems so relieved, so thrilled to see me again. I happily kiss him back, my lips and tongue moving soft and wet and slow against his. He breaks the kiss and lays his head back on his pillow. The thoroughly loved, discolored down-feather pillow that he has held and leaned on through so many nights that, to me, it smells and feels potent with all the years of him that I missed. He delicately brushes a frazzled lock of hair from my face and cups my jaw in his palm, “It’s good to see you.”

I feel my cheeks redden and cuddle my face against the pillow a little, never taking my eyes off his, “It’s good to see you, toooo, babe. I love waking up with you.” “Yeh?” Handy says, raising his eyebrows and giving me that sweet curious look that scrunches his nose.

“Yeh!” I reply, nodding rapidly back at him, a giggle bubbling into my mouth.

“C’mere,” Handy purrs, and closes the small distance between us again, his hand on my face guiding me into a kiss. I let myself drift in the perfect warmth of the blanket, the security of his chest beneath my hands, the gentle dance of his earnest kiss. No one else has ever kissed me the way that he does. This channel just opens up between us, allowing a direct flow of love that defies explanation. Every one of the millions of tiny nerve endings in my mouth awakens and glows and buzzes for Handy, and I can’t help but kiss him back, can’t help but lean in closer, can’t help but drink up the passion he brings and kiss it back into him. My right hand glides from his chest down to his waist and he hums against me, pulling me flush against him. My hand tightens against his waist, clinging to him as his kisses wash over me.

I’ve no idea how much time has passed when we part, breathing heavy, pink-faced, and smiling dopey little smiles at each other. I kiss the tip of Handy’s nose and he laughs. It’s such a wonderful sound, his laugh, I could listen to it all day, every day and be in heaven. Handy is looking at me like I’m the sun, emerging from the horizon, and I know I’m looking at him just the same way. His hand has moved from my jaw to my hip, and his thumb glides idly back and forth, caressing the small patch of skin that’s revealed between the waistband of my panties and the bunched up hem of my tank top. He glances down as the pad of his thumb skates across the soft skin just inside the crest of my pelvis, and that downward look electrifies the tiny touch. Seeing his eyelashes cast feathered shadows on his cheeks and his brow tense slightly, so focused on that small, absent-minded gesture that it seems suddenly significant.

He raises his eyes to mine again and the look in them has changed. The bright, care-free look I awoke to has been replaced by something darker. I recognize that look deep in my core and the butterflies go ballistic. Handy drags his teeth across his lower lip and my pulse quickens. His fingertips dig into the flesh of my rear just a little and his thumb makes a firm, decisive half-circle inside my hip, dipping the teensiest bit under the waist of my panties. I hum appreciatively, but with a teasing lilt, and he raises an eyebrow at me, “Yes, pet?”

The term always rushes through me warm and sugary and this time is no exception. I shrug and hold his gaze steadily, “Just thinkin’.”

“Just thinkin’, hm?” He cocks his head at me, watching the mischief glitter in my eyes, “Just thinkin’ what?”

“Just thinkin’ you’re predictable.” I say, with a small glance down at his hand to underscore my meaning.

“Oh, predictable, huh?” Handy repeats, placing a hand to his heart in mock offense, “Predictable? Ouch, babe, just… ouch.” I snicker and watch as his mouth stretches into a crooked grin. His voice takes on a menacing tone as he says again, “Predictable?”

I set my jaw stubbornly and nod. He digs his thumb hard into the soft spot inside my hipbone and a knee-jerk reaction has me bending a bit at the waist, sticking my bottom up a little. Faster than I’d believe, his hand leaves my hip and lands one sharp smack to my behind. It’s more of a swat than a spank, but he tends to hit hard. A swat by his standards is a solid spank from anyone else. I yelp, and Handy closes his hand tightly on the stinging cheek, eyebrow lifting higher, smugly, “Predict that?”

“No, Sir,” I reply, but smirk a little as I add, “But if I’d thought about it a little…”

“Ugh!” He groans in frustration, but there’s an undercurrent of amusal as he pulls me easily off the bed beside him and up to straddle his hips. I note with satisfaction the hardness of his length pressed against me through our clothes. He laces his fingers with mine and tugs a little, urging me to lean down over him, and I do. Handy nips at the tip of my nose and tries to give me a stern look. I grind my hips against him slowly and watch his jaw drop ever so slightly. The liquid heat in his eyes deepens and he presses himself up against me a little. Nose to nose inside the curtain of my dark hair, he is gazing up at me hungry and intense. I can feel the butterflies thrumming against the walls of their little cage, can feel the tightening below my belly button, the wetness spreading in my panties and the dark fire in Handy’s eyes is only intensifying it. I’ve been playing around, but all of a sudden I’m aware of how much I want him.

I remember too late that I have no poker face when I see him smiling. He must have just watched all of that play out on my face and now he knows that, as always, he’s winning. He may want me bad, and he may even be predictable, but it doesn’t change the fact that he has me wrapped around his little finger. I’m his, and I want him, and he knows it.

My hips flex against his again with a will of their own and he gives me that stern look again, demanding obedience, “Oh, do you want something?” I nod a little bashfully, unable to stop the rocking of my hips against his erection, “Tell me.”

“You, Master,” I reply, slipping into this side of my persona like pulling on a well-worn pair of jeans. My voice is smaller and wobblier when I add, “I want you.”

Handy laughs, a mix of good humor and a dash of condescension, “That’s my good girl,” He says and a blossom of satisfaction blooms in my chest, “You can gimme a hard time, but when push comes to shove,” he punctuates both words with a small thrust up at me, “You’re just so good for me.”

“Thank you, Master,” I sigh wistfully, tingling at the praise.

“Oh no,” he squeezes my hands, “Don’t thank me yet.” In another display of startling sudden speed, he flips me over so I’m underneath him, with my back on the bed. Handy pins my hands down against the mattress, indifferent to hurting my fingers a little, and growls against my throat. He bites, hard, below my ear and I gasp. He grins down at me a little wickedly, his eyes sliding over me, my hair staticked against the pillowcase, my tank top twisted and askew,, “Aaaall mine.”

I lift my head off the pillow to give him a small kiss, catching his lip between my teeth, “Mines.” I hiss against him before dropping my head back down.

“Yours,” He concedes, leaning down and kissing me sweetly. His lips leave mine and travel across my cheek to my ear, nosing my hair out of the way to kiss and nibble his way along the shell of my ear and to bite down gently on my earlobe. As always, I come alive under Handy’s touch, whining and arching off the bed against him. He sniggers into my ear before his lips travel slowly down my neck, eagerly tasting the skin along my collarbone. He shifts my hands so that his right hand holds them both pinned together above my head, his dominant left hand following the path of kisses down my neck, gliding across my collarbone and pushing aside the strap of my tank top. The touch of his hand has goosebumps rising on my skin, down my arm and chest. He notices them as his kisses move down approaching the neckline of my shirt. He smiles up at me, “You have goosebumps, pet.”

“Mm-hm,” I manage to reply weakly.

Handy snorts a laugh, “Mm-hmmmmm,” he echoes. His hand glides along my goosebumped skin, ignoring my shirt and moving right under the neckline. His fingertips brush my nipple and I gasp, my hips bucking up against him again. Handy drags my shirt aside roughly, his mouth closing at once on my nipple and eliciting a sharp cry of surprise. His hand moves across me to pull aside the other strap of my tank top and slide down my belly, pushing my shirt so that it bunches up uselessly around my waist. As he sucks and nibbles on my breast, his hand travels teasingly towards where I’m grinding desperately against his thigh. I shudder as his touch moves under the waistband of my panties, resting against me, pinky to thumb spanning easily from one hip to the other.

“Please, please,” I hear myself sighing.

“Please, what?” Handy asks, grudgingly lifting his mouth from my breast.

“Please, Master,”

I can practically see him shudder, “Man, do I want you,”

“I want you,” I agree eagerly, my voice breathy and high, “I want you, too, Handy, I want you so bad.” It’s as though my words break the spell we’re under and we abandon any roles, any decorum, any game we’re playing. He frees my hands and we’re scrambling to push blankets out of the way, to peel each other out of their clothes. The instant my panties are out of the way, I’m wrapping my legs around him, pulling him closer as he kicks his underwear off of his ankles. I catch his face in my hands, and kiss him hard and deep, pouring as much love and desire into that channel between us as it can hold. My hips haven’t stopped moving against him and I bump against him, skin on skin, and we both start at the feeling of nothing between us. With his lips hovering over mine, Handy moves intentfully right against me, sliding along my slick opening and I moan against his mouth. He kisses me deeply as he enters me.

And he’s all that exists to me. Like my dream of floating at sea, the rest of the world melts away from this point of contact. He’s peppering my face and neck with little kisses, damp and sweet as joyful tears. I open my eyes and only then realize they were closed. I’m so full of him, so close to him, and it feels divine. His cheeks are pink and his pupils large and dark, his eyes wet and wide open to me. There’s no walls and no miles between us, no roles, no rules, no world outside of our skin and our souls, “Handy,” I sigh. He’s not my master here, he’s simply a part of me.

“Sarah,” Handy says, tucking his face against the side of my neck. His hands slide between my back and the bed and he pulls me tight against him. I wrap my legs around him more firmly as he begins to move in me. His rhythm is as familiar to me as the ocean currents must be to the moon. I match his thrusts, joining him for this most ancient dance. We move in a languid way, savoring every sensation, every sacred sound that leaves the other. He moans softly against me, his lips finding my ear, and my thoughts disintegrate. There is no room for linear thought amidst the meeting of two souls. I give myself up, carried weightlessly with the movement of his body and his heart, mirroring my own.

I can feel that looming pendulum weight of a climax approaching and witness serenely the way my hips meet him more insistently. He glares down into my eyes, his gaze intense with need and love and something like ownership. His hands grip me hungrily, his pace crescendoing, watching my face as he pushes me closer and closer to orgasm. He glances down at my lips with each strangled sigh I make, as they come faster and higher. Handy leans down nearer to me, his nose almost touching mine and commands gently, “Cum for me, baby.”

We may have left roles and rules behind, but my body obeys him all the same. I cry out and lock my arms and legs around him tight as I cum hard around him. He groans at the feel of it, embracing me against his chest, never breaking the pattern of his thrusts inside of me. The pleasure is exquisite, tingling from my core right down to my fingers and toes, Handy’s arms surrounding me the only thing keeping me from flying to pieces. I moan, almost a sob, against him and I can almost feel the sound dive straight inside of him.

Handy holds me steady in his hands as he makes love to me, kissing my damp hair and my skin, grinding into me harder and faster. He pushes me into orgasm after orgasm and I’m trembling against him and half-sobbing with ecstasy when I feel him getting close. His movements become stiffer, jerkier, his breath coming faster, his fingertips pressing deep into my soft flesh. I raise my face from his chest and look into Handy’s eyes. His brow is wrinkled softly with vulnerability, a somewhat disbelieving look in his eye at the delicious nearness of the edge. I move against him harder, hearing the wet sound of our body’s meeting. I hook my legs firmly around him, and “Oh oh,” he gasps.

“Baby,” I coo, squeezing around him and he drives himself deep into me as the pressure breaks. I feel the throbbing of him pouring inside of me and move slowly, savoring the feeling. After a few lingering golden moments, it passes and I hug him hard. He reciprocates, crushing me against him.

“I love you, Sarah,” he murmurs against the top of my head, as he rolls us onto our sides.

“I love you too, Handy,” I sigh against him, blissfully. We lie there for a moment together, catching our breath, our bodies sticky and sweet with love-making. We don’t need to speak. In a way, this is the best part of the dance. We are still so open, so raw, more like one person than two. But the hunger, the need, that deep visceral striving is sated, and now there is only the need to remain close. Slowly our breathing returns to normal. My consciousness is drifting somewhere between waking and sleep when Handy’s hand combing through my hair tugs me back to my body. I raise my eyes to his. They’re so beautiful, clear and hopeful as the sky when a storm has passed, and they’re looking at me like I’m the welcome rays of sun, “Hiiiii,” I say on a slow exhale.

“Hi, beautiful,” he says, an innocent smile curling the corner of his mouth.

I smile back at him, feeling my satisfied drowsy smile stretch into a grin. I feel a bit like a lazy cat, having finished a big breakfast, I am ready to nap in the sun. His smile broadens at the sight of mine. I giggle, “Now that’s the right way to start a day!”

“Right?” He agrees with a raise of his eyebrows, “Goooooood mornin’,” he says as he pulls me half on top of him in a bear hug.