Manning Thorsen believes in (othala) wrote in repose,
Re: Home: Iris and Manning
Not evening - too often (but not sadly) they came up the stairs together with his hands on her hips, her waist, but sometimes loosely hanging onto hers as the dogs trailed after them into the bedroom where his arms would slide around her, lips to the back of her neck and he'd get that quiet, almost breathless giggle. Whatever happened after that was in flux, sometimes they'd end up in bed straightaway, sometimes it was a slow meandering of wandering hands and falling clothes, sometimes it was spent grinning at each other in the mirror as they got ready for bed and traded minty kisses in the doorway of the bathroom, into the bedroom, onto the bed -
"I suppose they can have your feet as long as I get to keep the rest of you warm," he rumbled, affection still laced through his tone. The tip of his nose swept over the back of her neck - she was turning - and it was so easy to meet her lips with his own. The kisses now weren't minty, they were sleepy on her side, languid on his as his hand stretched up her side, up, and up, and over the swell of her breast, her throat, and stopped when his thumb and index finger framed her jaw. One of the dogs huffed between their legs, but Manning could only smile as he edged closer to her.