Re: [Closed, Mature] Never Felt Like Any Blessing
Posted: Tue Aug 25, 2020 10:51 am
Night, 28 Hamis, 2720
The Ibutatu House
The Ibutatu House
The memory of Aurelie’s hand on his bare chest lingered as they set together about the bandaging. It burned in him like a fire, and when her fingertips just barely brushed over his shoulder blade or side, it actually ached.
Aremu knew himself, and he knew something of control. He thought he could have kissed Aurelie like that for hours, and been glad if it. It was not that he did not want; he did, with an intensity that half-frightened him. But he did not - could not - want her badly enough to do it less than the right way.
By the time the bandaging was done, he was drained. It was well night by now; Aremu’s eyes were aching, and half-open. Aurelie came and sat beside him, taking her hand in his, looking up wide-eyed at him.
“Yes,” Aremu rasped; his throat ached again, worse from when he had held back grunts or aches or pain as her fingers found the tender soreness, “please. I...”
Aremu closed his eyes for a moment, pushing through the haze. “I have nightmares sometimes,” he said, quietly, frowning at Aurelie. It wasn’t quite a lie; sometimes he didn’t remember them, and so he couldn’t be sure. “I don’t want to frighten you, but I’d like to sleep with you here.”
His thumb stroked softly over her hand. He lifted it to his mouth and kissed it, tenderly, looking at the freckles and calluses and scars with a little smile. They were beautiful hands, he thought, aching, small and shapely and strong in the same way Aurelie was, with a bone deep knowledge of what they could do, and a competence.
Aremu set her hand down lightly; he rose, and took a few slow, deliberate steps, and took his shirt from where he has folded it. He pulled it on, grateful for a lack of buttons, and came back to Aurelie; he did not like to sleep with a shirt, but he thought - I want to respect you, he thought of saying, and he thought then of Tom, and couldn’t but grin.
They lay down in the bed, a little ways apart.
“May I hold you?” Aremu asked, very softly. He rolled over onto his side; his fingertips closed the space between them, and he took Aurelie’s hand once more carefully in his.
If she let him, Aremu thought, aching, he would curl her against him, settle his body against her back and tuck his arm around her. He wanted it; he wanted to cradle her in the circle of his arms and against the warmth of him, to have her hair just shy of his lips. He knew he didn’t deserve it; he knew better than to have asked. Perhaps it was the tiredness, the length of the day, the quiet perfection of the kisses they had shared; he asked anyway, and he hoped.
Aremu knew himself, and he knew something of control. He thought he could have kissed Aurelie like that for hours, and been glad if it. It was not that he did not want; he did, with an intensity that half-frightened him. But he did not - could not - want her badly enough to do it less than the right way.
By the time the bandaging was done, he was drained. It was well night by now; Aremu’s eyes were aching, and half-open. Aurelie came and sat beside him, taking her hand in his, looking up wide-eyed at him.
“Yes,” Aremu rasped; his throat ached again, worse from when he had held back grunts or aches or pain as her fingers found the tender soreness, “please. I...”
Aremu closed his eyes for a moment, pushing through the haze. “I have nightmares sometimes,” he said, quietly, frowning at Aurelie. It wasn’t quite a lie; sometimes he didn’t remember them, and so he couldn’t be sure. “I don’t want to frighten you, but I’d like to sleep with you here.”
His thumb stroked softly over her hand. He lifted it to his mouth and kissed it, tenderly, looking at the freckles and calluses and scars with a little smile. They were beautiful hands, he thought, aching, small and shapely and strong in the same way Aurelie was, with a bone deep knowledge of what they could do, and a competence.
Aremu set her hand down lightly; he rose, and took a few slow, deliberate steps, and took his shirt from where he has folded it. He pulled it on, grateful for a lack of buttons, and came back to Aurelie; he did not like to sleep with a shirt, but he thought - I want to respect you, he thought of saying, and he thought then of Tom, and couldn’t but grin.
They lay down in the bed, a little ways apart.
“May I hold you?” Aremu asked, very softly. He rolled over onto his side; his fingertips closed the space between them, and he took Aurelie’s hand once more carefully in his.
If she let him, Aremu thought, aching, he would curl her against him, settle his body against her back and tuck his arm around her. He wanted it; he wanted to cradle her in the circle of his arms and against the warmth of him, to have her hair just shy of his lips. He knew he didn’t deserve it; he knew better than to have asked. Perhaps it was the tiredness, the length of the day, the quiet perfection of the kisses they had shared; he asked anyway, and he hoped.