Just So

A vignette. Dark, but not really

Photo by Basil James on Unsplash

I-we are lying next to each other.

The curtain above is open, and the window ajar just so.

It’s dark, but not really. I can see your eyes, but they are black. I know they are hazel; they go green-gold when the light catches them.

One of my favourite parts.

I shift, tucking the duvet a bit closer, and I’ve kicked you out, dramatically. My duvet.

Then nothing. No movement, no sound beyond the small noises of our breathing. I try not to linger as I search your face, then I lock in on a blackhead on your nose. God, I want to squeeze it. Partly because it’s gross but entirely satisfying, and partly because there’s that little kick that comes from making someone wince. I can feel my eyes narrow at that.

A soft scratch, and you move.

Your lips are warm on my forehead. They don’t stay long. I lift my chin, I’m smiling. Cheek next, how are you always so warm? As our lips find each other, there’s a sudden change in the duvet; my little cocoon of warmth is bleeding out, but the edge is already being pulled back down. Ok. You are not always so warm; your hand is fucking cold. But it’s already sending goosebumps racing up my back. I feel it arch slightly as my body presses against yours.

We break. I rest my forehead on your shoulder. Breathing. It’s already hitching, I can feel your breath on my neck, and I’m losing the ability to think straight. It moves up slowly, tortuously, and I lean into it. More. Ear now and a nibble catches my breath as I squeeze my hands tight on you.