It’s about missing him. It’s about what it feels like to have him back, in my bed, in my loft. To have him where I can do more than just fuck him, where I can actually watch him stare contemplatively at a computer screen for hours. Where I can run a hand through his hair while he stares at the monitor as if it is somehow responsible for his inability to transfer what he sees in his head to the world.
I am too grateful to have him where I can kiss him to hold off his orgasm, or my own.
I stiffen and he’s right there with me, biting my bottom lip, digging his fingers into my arms, moaning and then going limp, his body pliant, his smile satisfied. I collapse on top of him, my head on his shoulder, my body sprawled over his.
He loved LA. He has no idea what he’s going to do now. He’s complicated, and moody, and downright bitchy but he’s here, and he’s mine, and it would complicate things to say it, but I love him.
I run a hand through his hair and watch as he smiles like that means the same thing.
Oh, I liked this fic a bunch! I am so irritated, though, that I can't see the graphic that inspired this lovely bit of Brian!musing and hotness. I know it must be wonderful, though. Thanks to you both for participating. ;)