He crawls on shaking limbs to arrange himself alongside me, trembling from the force of his release. I can feel his heartbeat thudding through his ribcage, the thrum of it echoing in the veins of his arm draped over me, and I soothe the staccato rapidity with half-note hums and quarter note breaths, stroking my fingers over his skin and through his hair, softly inviting him back down to earth.
I can see the moment he stops floating on feeling and starts descending into thought. It has been a long time coming, this coming home; living together matters not where absence is concerned, and his presence – here, in this moment – is palpable.
I observe the change in his countenance with curiosity, knowing he is sifting, settling. I know him well: There will be an outpouring, a stream-of-consciousness processing that wells from places deep within, and I am content to wait for it. But for all that I know him, I also know that we are venturing into new territory, and his actions now – and going forward – are weighted with a new kind of promise. And I am curious…
His eyes are glazed but from their fascinated daze I can tell that he has tumbled on to something that is holding his attention. And so I ask, invoking his name, what is going through his head.
He smiles beatifically, his face lghting with dawning joy, and he responds…
“Vegan pizza.”
.
.
.
Looooong pause…
.
.
.
Bwuaaaa-haa-ha-ha-ha!
And they say romance is dead.
:P
Source: The Suburban Domme
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