For Ealinesse

Stir

by Akai Kuu

The early morning was muted by grey fog, the dim light filtering through the half-open window with the calming scent of the first spring rain. There was nothing to be done that day, and she remained unaware, blissfully wrapped in sleep, the mist, the blankets, and him.

He lay encircling her, holding her to him from behind, one arm curled around her small waist, the other tossed across her torso, his hand loosely cupping one of her breasts. His breath drew evenly against the back of her neck, even as he began to vaguely register the birdsong outside their window.

He was infamous for his sloth, but, of the two of them, he always woke up first, if not in the conventional sense. For many years of his life he had been in the habit of "waking" like this: he would never open his eyes, or allow himself to become fully aware, but he would experience the day without moving from the spot, half-consciously exploring his surroundings, not unlike a newborn and blind kitten, before slipping away until noon.

Lately, though, the first thing he would encounter was her, and he rarely bothered to go any further. He parted his lips against her neck, his breath escaping in a sigh that trailed across her skin as his kiss moved to linger upon her pulse.

He felt her stomach rise and fall against his arm as he continued his half-awake administrations. The two of them were what one might call, in polite society, "overly affectionate", but while the nights were often rough, these mornings were always gentle. Every kiss, every bite, every soft flick with the tip of his tongue was bestowed with a light nuzzle, never failing to bring a faint, content smile to her sleeping face.

A slender arm emerged from beneath the blankets, snaking upward to cup his jaw, a thumb brushing over the rough strip of skin beneath his eye before continuing up his face and tangling in his hair. He leaned into her touch, hooking an ankle around hers and sliding his palm against her skin to rest just below her collarbone, her heartbeat lulling him along with the rain.

With the hand in his hair, she applied pressure to the back of his head, her shoulders shifting against his chest as she craned her still-tingling neck to meet him in a slow, semi-conscious kiss. He let himself dissolve into her lips as she turned in his arms, one hand tracing lazy patterns on his back.

Then, he gently broke that contact, neck bowing, his forehead drooping against her chest. The embrace had shifted: now she was cradling him, her chin nestled in his stormy red hair, her arms loosely dangling from his shoulders. She was waking, but not he; she felt the lazy grin against the hollow of her throat as he once again glady let sleep seize him.

He never went further than her, lately, because he never needed to.