| Lazy Sunday Morning |
[18 May 2009|12:08am] |
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On Sunday morning in Darian's condominium, vertical blinds sliced the eastern light into ribbons. The decor was neutral: white, black, beige, wooden floors. Everything clean and in its place, because he didn't own much. He didn't spend time there. The only concessions to the arts were bookshelves lined with hardbacks and two enormous paintings, one in the pre-Raphaelite style, another an impressionist's work. The bed was a rumpled twist of sheets. An empty bottle of wine and two glasses crowded a nightstand.
He took a shirt and pants out of the closet and hung them on the bathroom door. The water ran noisily in the sink. He walked in and stood behind the blonde at the mirror. One hand went to either side of her, hemming her in. "You smell like me." Darian's face pressed into her neck and he breathed her in through his mouth and nose. It was a sweet and primitively possessive experience, to catch his scent on his lover's body, to find evidence of himself that stretched beyond his memories of having her. Sweeping her hair to the right, he kissed her shoulder.
( Morning Rituals )
( Appreciation (Adult Content: Sexuality) )
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