You’ve loved me good, deep, firm, warm. Quite literally fucked the doubt out of me. I don’t know what I expected to be in its place, but rawness wasn’t it. You don’t mind.
You laugh a bit as you gather your nerves, start to extract yourself from my grip until I tighten my legs around you, my hands to the breadth of your back: “Stay. For a minute.” So, you settle back down, forearms framing my head, fingers reaching to brush the bit of hair in my face behind me. You keep the back of your hand against my cheek while you tell me stories of afternoons you’d like to spend together, evenings you’ve spent staring anywhere but my dress, singing me little songs, until I’m not quite so misty-eyed.
“Ready?” you ask, a tilt to your smile. “Ready,” I nod, leaning into your palm as you brush one last dewdrop from my lashes. So, so gently, you break away from me, lean down, and gather me up. I’ve always felt like a weight but you raise me, one palm each under my shoulder and thigh, as if I lighten you just by the holding.
You step into the shower, lower me to the ground, my arms still clinging around your neck, my head pasted to your chest. You take it upon yourself to bear the first cold spray, to navigate my clinginess as you lather shampoo through my hair (then conditioner, it tangles with a vengeance), to run a warm cloth up and down, firmly but lovingly erasing anything that isn’t me from my body.
You unravel my hold and force me into the towel you’d set out—I realise now—long before this evening, but leave the door open so you can watch me, so I can watch you, as you make yourself clean for me.
I stand up to offer you my towel as you step out, shaking your shaggy hair, spraying me in the process, quite unapologetically. But you set my damp cloth to the side and wrap a fresh linen around both of us, holding my almost-warmed skin to your rapidly cooling flesh.
You sway there with me, a shadow of the times you take me up in your arms, force me to stumble through steps until they don’t feel foreign, until I don’t feel foolish, for a while. When I’ve lost all my warmth, you place a kiss on my forehead before spinning me out of my towel, my arm back over your shoulder, and back up into your arms.
I’m reminded that you’re not entirely perfect when you stumble crossing back into he bedroom, over one of the shoes you so prize but so willingly fling away in these evenings. But you stick the landing and lower me into bed, collapsing on top of me in a crushing mess of man before allowing me to push you off me and under the covers. I’ve got this need to see you in front of me, so instead of pulling my back to your chest, you take my hand and snuggle me under your chin, close enough so your other hand can stroke my back lazily.
I know you must be slipping, but you once promised to stay awake ‘til I fell asleep and never broke it. I don’t need to say anything at all; you see all of me. I just close my eyes and breathe in the smell of you, feel the warmth of you travel through the wispy hairs on my arms up my nerves to my heart. Just as I feel myself start to swim, I hear you giggle.
“Wanna share?” I only open one eye, an un-reproachful glare.
You just laugh, “You’re pretty.”
I close my eyes, nuzzle further into your embrace…
and then it’s all soft.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/gpkaq2/tired_mf_warm_fuzzies_soft_going_to_bed