#I'm in love | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

junedenim · 2 days ago

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this is the kind of fluff i live for.

golden boy’s in bad shape

contains: fluff, smut, unprotected sex, kinda breeding kink (not sure?).

word count: 6.8k.

A camera’s clicking is sudden as a bird flying out of nestle, while you fret with a bra clasp. A rasp chuckle echoes through the room, that’s when you turn to face him. Smug yet still with a tad of doziness in his eyes, a mischievous smile sits pleasingly on his lips. A day just began once again like other ones. You woke up after him and, for others it’s a phone they hold after waking up, saw him holding a camera already.

“What are you doin’?” You raise your brow, knowing for sure he has that face for a reason.

He hums, lowering his eyes to the camera, appearing as if he was extremely busy. His new little hobby. This film camera, around this little thing, his world revolves these days. You couldn’t lie, the concentration he had when he contemplated how the camera works when he just purchased it, was something you enjoyed seeing, but observing him setting up the camera every time, to get a nice picture and not waste a film, is what you really like. Always he has that face of full engrossment and carefulness, the way his hands gently hold camera yet with determination. Alex is like a big painting to watch – many details and every of them is worth noticing.

Alex does like to set all these wheels, that man has no interest in simple things or doing them simple way. One day he tried to explain to you the whole sense of it, but you just watched with slightly wide eyes attempting to soak in at least one word from this photography lecture. You didn’t understand a lot, but listening to him never was a bore. Honestly, it was hard to call it a little hobby. Anything he took on acquired significance and depth. Alex couldn’t do whatever it was, writing or photography, by halves.

“Tryin’ a new film.” Simply, he says.

“You took a picture of me.” Chuckling, you finally clasp the bra on turning to him, expecting an answer.

Alex’s eyes lift, appreciating, full of satisfaction gaze laps at your body, chest specifically, “Maybe I did.” He shrugs; his eyes fall back on the camera restfully. Fidgets with it without stopping, it gives you the warm sensation of adoration in heart. He slyly does pictures of you, and the most irritating part you can’t see the photo immediately, it drives you mad, always worrying about how you look on a picture, but he says every photo you are on – his best photo.

The morning is all shining and delighting. Sun is up gifting all the warmth it has, rays lying peacefully on the rustling sheets. The one specific crosses his chest, a small path of hair on it, giving you the desire to lean on his inviting body and spend all day in bed with him. Sounds enchanting, really. Being lazy, cuddles and kisses… You force yourself to finally start the day, retire to the bathroom, to brush teeth and so on, leaving the door open, as usual, for his possible, desirable, you confess, visit. When he doesn’t come in, you peek out to see what he is doing, mouth full of toothpaste foam and a toothbrush in your hand. Alex shoulders slumped and he looks longingly in his notebook.

You quickly spit the foam in the sink. “Babe, you good?” For the past few months that one expression became painfully familiar, and saddest part, you catch him looking like that in the quietest moments, all alone, leaving you without any word about his condition. He can’t write.

Once you found him out in the same state, he stared in his notebook with despair and hatred, you would say. Hatred for himself, hatred for not be able to do anything. His eyes were skimming through the words, and he wasn’t satisfied at all with what he saw. You called him out and he jolted, closing the book at the speed of the light, after reassuring you that everything was tip-top, but his eyes were saying the opposite. You pushed, probably not the softest way to deal with his silence and not having a choice, he confessed. Since then, you have been aware of his writing block.

It's taking a toll on him. Alex always was better at expressing thoughts on paper and taking away the ability to do it, he feels mute. Talking never was his strong suit, the usual struggle of saying words aloud ended up with a sudden silence in a middle of a sentences, zoned out gazes and phrases like “Y’know, nevermind”. All you could answer with is a reassuring sad smile. He doesn’t like to discuss or acknowledge his flops to other people, and even being with you for so long, the blunt end in his mind when he looks at the page is something he never encountered before and sharing it with you felt like the pure burning shame in his chest. But you found your ways eventually. The moment when he is close to sleep, that close, that can’t refuse and resist, all he tries to withstand, starts flowing from his mouth, at the start reluctantly but at the finish he is frank and open to you as a casket. Almost like a confessional, Alex is a sinner that pours out his soul, and you are a priest that listens silently, not judgingly. In the morning, he always apologizes sheepishly, jokingly saying that lack of light on him really does scary things to him. You never blamed him.

“Al?” He is clearly lost and when you call out for him, he lifts his head with a perturbed and guilty face of a puppy that got into trouble by chewing favorite boots of an owner.

He just shakes his head with a disappointed face, not observing any changes. Alex knows, nothing could appear while he slept, yet it stung. His notebook with a thud falls on the bedside table, he leans with his elbows on his knees.

“Don’t say a word.” Alex doesn’t like to be reassured.

Wiping mouth from leftovers of toothpaste you sit next to him, bed creaks under the weight. Draping your arm around his crashed down posture, he wriggles fishily, trying to escape your hook but you hold him tight.

“No. Hey, look at me.” His eyes firmly piercing the floor at your demanding, “Slow down. We talked about it, yeah?”

He huffs. In his eyes you could read silent and sarcastic: “I bet it helps.”

“Alex.” Like a mother’s scolding sounds out of your mouth.

“Give it a time. I remember.” And he answers like a scolded child, “I jus’…” His hands ran over his face exhaustedly and down already prominent grown out beard, lingering there as if for a second forgetting it’s even there in the first place.

There is rightness to your words, he takes your point, but making himself stop, slow down like you said, something that he sees in dreams. In bad ones. If he stops, what will be left of it? Why did he even start in the first place? Stopping, even for a second, has a sense of end beginning, gradual end but end. Not writing every day meant giving up, stopping trying every day meant losing grip, and these thoughts freak him out.

You nudge him to rest his head on your shoulder, offering peace and soothe. Feeling your kiss placing on his head, he closes eyes, “You aren’t disappointing anyone.”

Alex would like to believe that.

It’s only two days away before the trip to Paris. He was dropping hints, and you couldn’t exactly skip his the newly acquired love for France and all that made by it, from music to cinematography. It was decided to have a small getaway for a couple days, and the weather is supposed to be nice. One big suitcase, enough for both of you, sprawled in the bedroom on a peak of readiness. Mode of an excited puppy automatically on when it’s something about his interests. Once both of you were watching one of these his favorite French new-wave movies, and he couldn’t contain himself from dreaming out loud with you about places he will show you and how else pair of you should spend time, it was months before trip, you bet you saw invisible tail wiggling happily.

Alex can’t keep his mouth shut about things he is very, seriously, very, into. If someone had a chance to see him in the usual state of things, grumbling man that peppers every phrase with a sarcasm, may not be very attractive side of his yet the one he always shows. Let him start a conversation about things he likes - Alex starts talk and talk, and talk, the river of words has no end. Oh, and don’t let them drink a lot or he definitely starts rumbling, be careful. Both of you happened to be on a party and he talked one of his acquaintances to death, you had to whisper him that he should put the brakes on and let the guy breath.

Though, these days, being intoxicated became a sight rare to see, more often one is thoughtful silent state, sometimes when there is solemn stillness and you don’t happen to be near him you wonder if he is alive, even his breathing can’t be bothered to be a sound. It might seem funny, but once in a while you just come from one room to another to check him, and there he is, sits like a mouse engrossed in the sci-fi book and every time looking up, face shows the expression of a scared deer with these coffee eyes of his.

“Better think of how you gonna show me Paris, yeah?” Your finger strokes his grown-out a-bit-too-long waves of hair.

Little smile pulls up on his lips subconsciously, “Aye, of course.”

Wandering through Paris alleyways became a common thing after two days and you felt almost staying and living there, like with any city you have visited. At some point with perpetual enthusiasm of yours you started to tug him behind and Alex had no choice but to follow you. The weather is great, just like you planned. None of you were a fan of crowdy tourists places, so when you showed an aspiration to see the quieter parts of Paris, he couldn’t wish for more.

By noon, frequent cobblestones on the city’s roads did their deed. Your not a smart choice to wear uncomfortable shoes led to moaning and cursing, until both of you finally reached the hotel. The place isn’t exactly posh but nice to stay at. Alex is not a person who would get greedy about comfort, yours or his.

“My feet…” Groaning, you fall on the bed the first second after card lock on the hotel room door clinked happily, “Maybe these heel boots weren’t a good choice for a walk after all.”

Alex grunted with alleviation, falling in a chair near the window, that showed off an expensive view of the city. “Amazin’, right? Heel boots aren’t good for a walk.” Shake of head shows the sarcastic amusement - he told you few times to put something else, but being a Parisian diva is far important than tired feet. His legs apart, trousers stretched on his thighs, and he almost seemed to be taking a breath after a long walk. He wouldn’t call himself slothful, but wanted a moment of silence, away from buzzing streets and motley fast-talking French constantly from every side. Being indoors is something he enjoys every time and everywhere.

You roll your eyes. Crispy, usual for hotel, white bedsheets, crumple under your stretched out body, a recognition finds your face, “Al, eclairs! Snack time!” Immediately getting up you grab a small box of eclairs you both today bought on the way to the hotel. His face winced when he narrowed eyes to check if the price was real, with a detached face Alex pulled out cash and gulped the greediness down for you.

“Uh-huh, eclairs…” Grumbled he, as his palm run over beard as if to check if it’s here and didn’t run away. From time to time, he forgets it’s there.

Alex didn’t mean to grow the hair out, facial hair or hair on the head, whatever, it grows, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. He borrows one of you scrunchies sometimes to make a small bun like today. Hair finds way in his face, it irritates him to hell, he brushes them back and they fall again… Bun helps a bit. He just stopped caring, and you didn’t seem against his new look. You tugged his strands during passionate moments slightly too rough, he memorized it and considered it as endorsement. After couple of years of bustle and naughtiness, alcohol and partying, it feels like a breath of air. Who could think that leaving your hair alone and not slicking them with gel every morning can have such a liberating effect? Besides jokes, Alex feels closer to himself, to you, it feels right, and he has no plans to leave that environment soon. He quietened down, everyone noticed it, but here is “accept it the way it is or leave” mindset formed in his head. Alex got tired, maybe it supposed to be that after a man turns thirty, maybe not, he changed, and now it’s going to be like that.

The current “problem” of his, keeps his mind occupied. Alex wasn’t trying to write all these days – he decided to follow your advice, reluctantly but he didn’t grab his notebook with him. Few months ago, he wondered how nice it would be, you and him in the city of love, but this “situation” tarnished all experience, and these charming streets became dull. He doesn’t like to call it the name it should be called - writer’s block. It gives off the worst sensations in him, like something is wrong with him.

You sit yourself on his lap distractingly, fishing him out of his deep-deep thoughts. His arm immediately finds a familiar place just above waist, on the rear, thumb counts the bulging few bones. An eclair with pastel purple glaze, he remembers you choosing one with a blueberry filling and another one with strawberry, appears just in front of his nose before he can get his bearings.

“Ahh... Open mouth, darling.” You bring pastry closer to his lips urging him to open them.

His grouchy and yet puppy eyes look questioning.

You tsk, “Relax, no one will make a laugh about you eating an object that has a cock-like form, we are alone here.” Snicker you, still keeping an eclair close to his tightly shut lips, “C’mon. Make your woman happy.”

He scoffs, a smirk stretches on his lips, “Very funny.” Alex mutters but opens mouth obediently. His insides of lips are wettened, tongue as if calls for you to capture it. You let him take a bite, his lips, a bit dry and rough, feel your mellow fingertip against them. The sweet taste spreads in the mouth colorfully as teeth sunk into the eclair, blueberry filling melts against the tongue. Alex licks the lips, picks up the crumbs while eyes follow the way you take a bite too, clearly trying to tease him with the way mouth opens and envelops the sweetness, such an old-fashioned but working move. Heart does cartwheels and body pours with boiling warmness through his blood. What he knows for sure is that thirty with something man shouldn’t get easily aroused by such basic trick.

“Minx.” Palms make its way to the full curve of your ass, gripping it as if fresh soaking peach in the summer late morning. Alex couldn’t help himself, tries to keep it together, but watching you all day swaying those hips wakes relevant thoughts – to get a hold of them and squeeze. Your lips make out an immediate grin.

“Want glaze?” You lead to his lips, stained in glaze, fingers.

His eyes travel to your two fingers glued and sugary. Alex has a destructive thought to put them in the mouth, lick slowly and torturously, put you in a mood, fuel until you are the thirsting one. He doesn’t hesitate and licks the glaze from pads of your fingers leaving a feather kiss after cleaning up. He would make a face if it wasn’t you and your hands. Your eyes admire, insidiously and intricately, as fox observe its prey before finally dine.

You hum and brush away strands of hair from his face, that fall on his faintly wrinkled forehead. His obedient side is equal to the vulnerable side, so beautiful and precious for you, you cherish, acknowledge every little moment like this, so rare they are. Previous desire finds love and adoration in the ocean of feelings for him.

“That one was delicious.” You nod for yourself glancing to the coming evening outside the window, sun tug slowly down, throwing last rays on the attractive Paris.

“Savoureux, aye? Costed like a bloody penthouse…” Complains grouchily he. A French word juicily left his mouth with a distinctive edge of Britishness to it, veiny rough hand traces patterns on your bum. He started to memorize some words here and there, Alex sounded gourmet without trying, though he never likes the way he sounds even in English.

You chuckle lightheartedly. “You could refuse me!”

“Didn’t want to.” Alex really didn’t want to. He grumbles because he can. If he can buy any overpriced eclair you pointed with a finger on and that makes you feel on a seven cloud from happiness – he will do it.

Alex insisted on ordering room service and stay indoors, though you made him have the last dinner of a trip on the balcony of a hotel room – fresh air, you and him, and night light of the city. During these days he was distant, much dreamier than he was usually, tried to brainstorm lyrics or on contrary, suffered from emptiness in the head – you have no clue. He was quiet and often disappeared right in the middle of the talk, not physically but mentally. You are sure he thinks of his inability to write, he experiences incompleteness and defectiveness as an impotent, as a human without a vision, as a deaf human. Writing for him is such a common and everyday thing as breathing.

Dinner was delicious, evening was warm, and Alex was silent in an uncomfortable way, thoughtful. Night found both of you, letting finally doze off in the bed. Tomorrow is the last day before coming back. Your fingers brush through tangled strands of his, still wet from the shower earlier. He is soothed by you, and you await the moment to talk to him properly. His eyes start drooping and light from the TV screen stops to be a bother in a background of exhaustion from a few days of constant exploring through the streets of Paris.

“Sleepy?” You place tiny kiss on his temple, “Want to talk?” The certified working scheme is on. Words sound clingy and not exactly discreet you are, but you can’t help yourself.

He mutters something incoherently, before sighing loudly in the half-darkness, “I noticed, y’know.”

“What?”

The corners of his mouth are raising just a bit, and eyelids reveal tired but familiarly gentle hazel eyes. “I get emotional with darkness comin’, don’t I?” Alex gruffly lets out small quiet laugh, his hand in habit gesture already runs down his messy beard, “You use it.”

“I’m just a worried woman.” Infected by his grin, your own one flourishes too. “Don’t make me a villain.”

“Nah, I don’t, jus’… Err… I dunno.” His secluded laugh fills the cozy room, and you share a giggle with him, cradling his head close to your chest. Alex wraps himself around you like a koala, arm around your waist and leg tangles in yours. He told you once it’s the most embarrassing pose he could be in, too exposed, shows his need for closeness, yet the warmest and most favorite one.

“In my defense, I think you are fully aware of what you are doing.”

He hums, his thumb makes long slow strokes on a small glimpse of skin between your pajama trousers and tank top. “Guess, I do.” Alex looks up at you with a traditional deer gaze of his.

Yes, he is aware. Those might be slips off, he always told himself to get a grip but couldn’t. Alex thirsts to speak out loud and is forced to stay muted. He feels inaudible. The point he tries to lead people to, gets lost in the ocean of other things. Alex knows no one will get him properly, entirely, some things die with you only. It’s a common thing but doesn’t make life easier. You didn’t understand him, not fully, didn’t understand the whole sense he tries to make, but he does cherish your willingness to hear. You listen when no one else does, you offer when no one else offers, you love when no one else does.

Sounds of breath and distant television talking are the only sounds in a settled silence in the room. That silence differs from the earlier one, not so strained and uncomfortable. You could hear some voices in the hotel corridor and occasionally passing cars outside, comprehending the buzz around you. The way the world is constantly restless while you and him lie there in cocoon of affection brings a tad of strange reassurance to the exact moment.

“Actually… You didn’t grab your notebook with you.” Mumble you, raiding your fingers through his hair, untangling clamps on the way making him wince his face.

“You said to give it a time.”

“And you listened to me?” You scoff as your brows lift by themselves.

Alex hums. “You should be the right one in a while.”

You bark out a sonorous laugh, not holding yourself back from a strong kiss on his forehead. He squeezes his eyelids together, letting the smirk stretch on his lips. Your arms cuddle him close-close to you, to transfer him the energy, a heat of love and quiet admiration just for existing and being here.

Small pause before he says, “That space, between, uh… my notebook. It helped.” He mutters, before opening mouth once again, “But I want back now.” Alex gulps, not sure what you are going to say, “I want back home, love. I feel… I’m ready.”

Lifting on your elbow you look at him properly, and see the face, faint dark bags under his eyes and lines of exhaustion on it. And yet, his face has certainty and calmness. You missed it. Missed the days when he was sure of himself, with what he was doing. It always strikes you, seeing his smile in the best state of mind and not fake one, that he makes to assure you. Now you could notice the first steps being made and the first changes to the confident tranquility in his mind processes.

Alex looks back at you, awaiting the answer.

“Okay, babe. Home it is.” You lean in to kiss his lips, capturing them, you feel the immediate eager answer from him. Alex needs that one, calming words are never enough, but a kiss somehow anchors words, that makes him find trust in himself. His hand brushes through your hair, while your hand softly feels his chest.

Back at home, things started to make progress. Alex is engrossed in making new album – he has some curious idea of a hotel on the moon. Seeing the process and the result after really captures you, if life could stop for a second, you’d have your eyes only on him and the way he writes or tries some bits on acoustic guitar. Something you can’t quite place about him with acoustic guitar… Such a romantic emotional image – you are being in your fantasies, probably nothing special, and yet nothing distracts you more than him. The power he has over you is stronger than shame or any other feeling.

Alex all day absorbed in music in the room that is discreetly “his” place. Without joking, you start to miss him. Hearing melodies pouring behind the closed door, only make you curious and frustrated, but he asked for privacy – not to lose the train of thought. Well, the fact that you understand it completely doesn’t make it easier. He wakes up in the morning already full of thoughts, then you both eat breakfast and that’s it. You bring him food for lunch and dinner, and you share a small talk with him, but his eyes are always somewhere else, blurry and dark, not really here with you.

This evening is no different, Paris already feels so far away when you get involved in work and chores. Stirring vegetables, the kitchen fills with mouth-salivating aroma, you feel your own stomach rumbling. Your favorite TV show plays in your earphones keeping you in unawareness of things going around. Until you feel the rough unashamed grips of your ass that makes you scream out and quickly pull out your sound blocking little things. His treacherous laugh and beard tickle the back of your neck, as arms, octopus-like, wrap around your waist.

“Couldn’t help meself…” Alex kisses a slope of your neck, the sensation of your warm skin feels against his lips pleasingly, “The smell was too nice… And ‘ere I am… walkin’ on the kitchen, seeing ya... Couldn’t not grab.” His accent just a bit rougher on edge, probably from staying silent too long – you didn’t hear him singing for past two hours, only the guitar from time to time.

“You scared me to death.” Cut you out.

Alex hums and plants more kisses on the neck, right after another one. A few fast playful pecks and then a few slow delicate kisses. Fingers drum against your hipbone actively – he is in a good mood.

“What’s for dinner?” His hand lovingly pats your stomach, as his chin nestles on your shoulder peeking into the pan.

“I’m stirring vegetables. Gonna add chicken, and sauce.” You clarified feeling almost like a professional chef.

“Me favorite.”

“You say it to my every dish.” You scoff and grin, giving him a glance, before coming back to the cutting chicken file.

“‘Cause yer every dish is me favorite.” And it’s a wholehearted truth. Alex can cook great in theory, but through practice it’s easier for him to go to the nearest cafe or restaurant than cooking himself. But when you appeared in his life, homemade food became his most liked food.

“Toady.”

“Right.” He leaves the last kiss, lowering a light slap on your bum before enigmatically walking away.

You glance at him, and magically he isn’t here. You throw sliced chicken file into the pan. It was nice to get a glimpse of his attention even for half a minute and just had a routine talk. The thoughts of him leaving to the France again soon, La Frette Studio, he said, made you anxious and lonely beforehand. You are the person who feels good by being alone, you craved alone moments from time to time, and yet unexplainable feeling eats you from inside. Alex said he will call you, but the lack of physical contact will wound you badly anyway.

A loud click of the camera spreads all of a sudden, before you could turn to him, a picture of you already taken. Your smile rises on its own, you can’t help it. The attention and the desire to capture you in a photo, stirs in you a different kind of love for him. It pleases your ego, but he isn’t just a photographer, he is your Alex, and it makes photos dearer.

“Again?” You chuckle unamused.

“The las’ picture it was.” Alex slips behind you again giving you a bear hug holding the camera, “I’ll go and develop film tomorrow, so ya could have photos before my leave.”

Corners of your smile involuntarily rise slightly more, yet eyes sting as you hold back childish tears. “I’d prefer to look at your photos, than mine.”

“It’s the film I used in Paris. There must be couple photos of me you sneakily took.” His thumb caresses reassuringly the curve of waist, as if feeling the uneasiness in you.

You hum. “Well, I could easily mess them up.”

You remember. He left to the bathroom, and you got bored and curious, the camera was neatly placed in a case on a bedside table. His one was too clean, and yours had candy wrappers and jewelry all over it. Alex never told you not to grab his camera, and at that moment you saw a green light. Pulling it out carefully, so carefully, that fingers started to tremble, you looked at it wondering how he is dealing with remembering all these little settings. You heard shower stop and, in a minute, with hot steam flowing from open door as he walked out too. Towel lingered on the swaying hips, wrapped not quite tightly. His body glistened with cleanness, hair was wet, some strands fell on the face. Veins entwined his arms and muscles relaxed, and he seemed unbothered as never. That’s when you caught him in the lens.

“We will see.” Pecking your ear sweetly, another soft smack feels on your ass, “Finish dinner, love.”

Night lowered on the city. The bedroom has a strange aura of cold, and Alex is stuck in the bathroom. He leaves in a few days, that thought doesn’t let you go. Remembering earlier tears in the kitchen that you successfully held back, you feel like a fool. It’s not the first time and yet there is no explanation for your behavior. Your usual anxious-without-a-reason self. Just when he comes out of the bathroom, you open your arms, waiting for him, needily than usual. Darkness might make not only him vulnerable. He grins at the sight and slips into your arms with a warm chuckle, Alex is half over you and half on the sheets, so he doesn’t crash you.

“Feelin’ clingy?” His finger caresses your jaw. You do not feel yourself, it’s in the air. Pressed in his neck, you seek comfort and warmth.

You nod.

“I’m gonna come back soon, you won’t notice.”

You huff.

“Don’t be that way.” Alex laughs quietly, velvetly.

You groan.

“Nah. Stop, love,” He shakes his head, his arm goes under you, to get wrapped around you entirely, then sneaks under t-shirt, “Come here.”

Alex looks at your face closely, counts moles. Moonlight is somewhere far away, just a streak found its way in the room through curtains. He doesn’t look like it, his face often doesn’t show the exact feelings he actually has, but he is going to yearn for your presence as you going to yearn for his.

“I could visit you there…” Almost whisper you, as if not sure with idea. You can imagine how sweet a reunion would be after a long time of no seeing. Your eyes travel over his face too, still young and yet with hints of future wrinkles, hair frames his handsome physiognomy.

“Don’t mind.” His thumbs on your lower lip. Your lips are softer in comparison to his - smooth and at the same time taut.

His eyes meet yours and both of you can’t notice how magnetic becomes the sight of each other’s lips – his slightly opened and your tightly shut. Your eyes are closing, expecting the long-awaited moment of intimacy to happen. You weren’t mistaken. As soon as your eyelashes go down, he gets closer, a usual silly frowned and overconcentrated look appears on his face and he kisses you.

That’s not one of those fleeting kisses that you make in between anything. That’s a kiss is specific. Meaningful. Straightforward. Locking his lips with yours, he gets into a tornado of emotions instantly. Hands roam over every part of your body, not leaving any left-out pieces. Fingers crawled underneath a t-shirt and pajama trousers. Shorts nails attempt to grip skin, leave marks, but he just trimmed it and he’s ready to growl in disappointment of not feeling moment to the fullest.

Backing away from your lips with a wet pop, Alex looks at you, contemplates reaction, silently asks permission to go further. To go to the end.

You don’t answer anything, but you don’t have to. The eyes you have speak instead of you, and the only thing they say is yes.

Only a second, but Alex’s lips already trail down neck, kissing and nipping. Teeth graze your skin with adoration and passionate love. His hand found the hem of a t-shirt, he lifted it, listening to your rushing pulse and rapid breathing.

“You waited that, aye?” He mumbles, buring his nose in between your breasts, making a way down feathering tiny kisses to your sternum, before getting his attention back to the main dish.

Your breath stuck in the dry throat and palms start to sweat. Hands silently sneaking into his long strands aching for anchor. All of this – his constant writing, the soon farewell – stored up in your head, heart and soul. It awakened in you the innocence of pure craving for the most tender love he could give you. Words swallow down themselves, answer stubbornly can’t leave your mouth.

His hand covers your mouth as if saying “No need to answer.”

“I would never leave ya without goodbye sex, would I?” The voice is raspy, aroused and with a tad of impatience.

Your eyes get dark, and pupils become huge. Alex puts away the hand from your mouth, he has no intention of playing rough tonight. His mouth finds your breast, nipple already slightly hard, your sensitivity high to the sky. Tongue flicks almost agonizingly over your nipple, at the beginning fast to make you react. You arch not leaving him without the delightful first reaction. Teeth tug the nipple carefully as some kind of small creature, then reassure with the tongue, hand cups the other breast teasing another nipple in between fingertips.

Your skin gets hot and your mind pulses with sensations. Eyes get blurry and you close them giving into every little thrill he makes you experience. Your fingers tightly grip the hair on the back of his neck, they are damp here. His own body seems to burn yours.

Alex keeps on loving your chest, he kisses another nipple. There’s a mole near it, it drives him up to the wall, it’s so elegant and accurate. It’s that exact feeling when a person looks at something and can’t explain why they are drawn to it so much. He feels his sweatpants get tighter to the point where fabric feels hurt against his thrumming desire. Alex breaths out, to ease the feeling down here, he’s not the loudest during sex, tries to keep the composure.

“Love, I’m bloody on edge there…” Words are punctuated out, he craves his part of the satisfaction.

You couldn’t not agree, “Yes…” Gulping you add, “Take that off…” You grip shirt on his back, desperately. Every word forced out of your throat, as loud breathing tangles in between them.

His own breath is fast enough to create a cacophony with your breathing. Alex pulls the shirt over his head. At the mercy of your every whim, today no one will keep clothes on. Sometimes both of you could keep clothes on, but tonight not the night. None of you have control over that night, each of you act on instincts, passion and deep affection. Skin to skin is a need, not a want.

Your every piece of clothes is discarded all over the bedroom with his, you couldn’t care less. He is on top of you naked, and faint light from the window emphasizes the muscles of his arms and line of pelvis that leaks into hard cock. Never he looked so handsome to you before.

Alex whispers silky words into your ear, mixing them with urgent but tender pecks of your earlobe. Propping your legs, he lets you wrap them around his hips. Your hand roughly tugs his already tousled hair. He slips into you. Alex lets out quiet grunt, his eyes roll in satisfaction before closing them. His hips carve into yours, urging your other hand to grip his arm, lapping at his tense muscle. You break into the quiet breathless moans, arching into his frame shamelessly.

“Baby…” You whimper into his ear.

“Alright ‘here?” Alex glances at you for a moment, checking if the whimper was a good whimper. His palm lovingly brushes over your cheek.

“Yes… Just don’t stop…” You gulp overwhelmingly. “Never stop.”

Alex growls into your shoulder, leaving few bites to contain his stream of desire. You are pinned under him like a flower pressed in a book. His breath lashes over your collarbone, his cock slides in and out perfectly. Both of your heated bodies close to melting against each other as if made of wax. His lips fervently trace the path of kisses from shoulder once again down to breast.

Sheets tangle into your and his legs and you can hear him cursing them under his nose. The bedroom filled with rustles, groans and slaps of the skin. His length pushes into you tenderly, yet with confident deep thrusts, feeling you thoroughly and letting you feel him thoroughly. Your legs tremble, nails leave reddish imprints on him. You are getting close.

When your walls squeeze around his shaft, he lets out desperate “Fuck” into your ear, before adding, “Love, I’ll come inside.”

“Inside?” You lift your head slightly, your eyebrows raising. Breath gets faster, rushing and outrunning your words. The world around you seems pulsing, his words awaking lust that gathers in your lower stomach. The only thought is strangely alluring.

“Inside. Please.” Alex doesn’t stop his movements. They became peaking, piercing. Rhythm lost any composure. His begging is almost pitiful, he wishes to be close to that extent of joining his body with yours, of ruining his body with yours, “Let us be close…” Mutters he, words fade out, ending with vulnerability.

You groan, your head falls back on the pillow, hair is sprawled all over it, “Do it, Al.” You can barely keep your eyes open.

He mutters something to himself, already spent much as you, close to the finish line. You clench him once again, involuntarily – can’t help yourself. Your legs push him deep inside as possible. The last few trusts from rapid ones start to slow down as he spills into you riding out his own orgasm. You let out one last gasp and everything goes silent for a second, it rings in the ears.

You and him, try to catch for a breath, his arms fail him and his body tumbles on you, “Oi, sorry, darlin’.” Alex mumbles out of breath and completely spent.

You groan feeling sticky and hot, “Alex, get up…” You stretch “up” lazily.

He lets out a low chuckle and rolls off you, taking full breath spreading his figure on the side. Your body slightly trembles with aftershocks, sheets are messily lying on the bed. Feeling your body gets colder, you crawl to his side, placing your head on his warm chest.

“Satisfied?” His eyes closing on the verge of sleep.

You hum sleepily, searching for the sheets to cuddle up in them.

The sound of a coffee machine and rain wakes you up. A place near you is cold and you are wrapped in bedsheets alone. Your eyes stir slowly, and your vision is blurry as you just open them. Not having Alex near makes your naked body feel a shiver of cold, and not having shower yesterday’s night makes you feel itchy. You look around the room, the clothes you threw away carelessly during passionate lovemaking were neatly folded on your bedside table. The sight makes your smile rise. You don’t want to ruin the stack and yet put something on to cover yourself. Wandering to the kitchen you surprisingly find him there and not in “his” place. Alex is leaning on the table sipping coffee and spatially staring ahead of himself.

“Morning, hon.” Sleep made your mumble raspy. You lean on the table too, glancing at him when he doesn’t turn his head to you. Spaced out again.

“Mornin’.” He says seconds after in an almost alien-like voice. That man is lost, “Woke up earlier. Carried the film to the photo lab.” Oh! Lost but not completely.

You nod, “Okay.” It’s always exciting to wait for the scans of photos. And you know they are going to be great, Alex took them, after all.

“I’m gonna miss ya.” Alex finally turns his gaze at you. It sounds like a confession; he isn’t the one who is simple about feelings. It’s hard to say them out loud, you can’t blame him. Your heart foolishly leaps, every time he says something like that out of the blue. Hearing it always makes you flustered yet happy.

You look at him, just look at him, almost expectantly but then sigh and lie your head on his shoulder, “I’m gonna miss you too, Al.”

a/n: i have no clue what to say, i got drunk while i was editing and rereading, closer to the end it's bad probably, sorry.

#it feels lived in #it's cozy #it's warm #it's a blanket to my soul #i'm in love

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