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You are the breath in his lungs, you must be. Adrian smells the perfume you dab behind your ears, even in his sleep. Half-awake, coaxed from soft dreams, he reaches out across the bed. You’re still there, lying next to him and similarly caught in-between states. Your mouth opens a fraction, enough to let out a soft noise of contentment before you sluggishly turn over.
“Another bad dream, love of mine?” you mumble, your words so strung together as to become one. Adrian shakes his head very slowly, opening his eyes just a crack. But you haven’t done the same, so he vocalizes his answer,
“No, no,” he sighs, if only as an excuse to breathe in again. “Nothing is wrong.”
It isn’t your blood that haunts him, compels him to act as a real man might. It’s everything else, the warmth of your skin and the soap in your hair. You made scones earlier, he can still smell butter and sugar on your fingers when you lift your hand.
“The truth, my love,” you say, and this time your eyes do open. You look at him, only a foot away with so much fondness in your eyes. You could fit more affection, he is certain, in your pupil that he could in every inch of his chest. Such is the beauty of humanity.
Your fingers find his hair, long and mussed from turning in his sleep. You pet it, brushing it back from his face. You’re so alive, he can feel blood rushing from your wrist to warm his cheek. Adrian can’t help it, he leans into the touch and feels no shame about it.
“I’ve told you the truth,” he assures you, knowing you only press out of a desire to protect him. Even though you know you can’t, his night-time burdens are his own to bear. Still, you’re there when he wakes up. “I had a good dream, for once.”
“And what was it about?” you smile, nudging closer towards him. Your hand slips around the back of his neck, pulling him gently in your direction. He wants to do nothing more than follow.
“You, of course,” he replies, “what else do I have that’s good?”
“Sypha and Trevor,” you say, your grin softened by lingering exhaustion. He’s sure you’d like to go back to sleep, but you seem more intent on this conversation. Adrian huffs.
“Sypha, perhaps,” he says, a slight edge to his voice that betrays how he teases. You tut, your voice still barely above a whisper.
“You are rich in friends, dear heart,” you say, “no matter how much you try to deny it.”
“I am,” he finally relents, “but now I am merely distracting you.”
His arms around your waist loosen, having proved himself right. You haven’t left, not yet. And while he fully expects you to turn again and shut your eyes, they stay open.
“You’re the one who woke me,” you sigh, but your smile remains unchanged, “so you must do as I say, not the other way around.”
“I would do as you say even if you had woken me,” he tells you. A heat rises in your cheeks, you nod.
“You’re so lovely,” you mumble. Your hand on his neck tugs him closer, still. Close enough to kiss.
Adrian yields, pressing his mouth to yours and allowing himself to fall against you. It is the best feeling, your kiss. Nothing compares to your slight hesitancy before teeth begin to worry on his lower lip. Your tongue follows soon after, brushing gently where you bit. With no resistance, he lets you in.
Your tongue greets his, the gesture more passionate than midnight affairs usually afford. It appears you’ve woken up more than you let on, but still your hands at his neck and in his hair are careful not to grip too tightly. Your poor love, he’s been hurt too much already.
“Do you want it?” you ask, breaking the kiss for much-needed air. For him, breathing is optional, but he lets his lungs overwork themselves. He’s nearly overwhelmed by how good you smell, giggling at him in the soft moonlight. It occurs to him that you expect an answer.
“Yes,” he replies.
“Do you want to do what I tell you?” you continue. He nods, shaking the fog from his head. Adrian feels warmer, now. You are hot to the touch.
“Yes,” he sighs, “a thousand times, yes.”
“Then lie back,” your orders are always easy to follow. He never tires of your impishly commanding voice, the sweetness and love that it always holds. He does as you say, happily turning over on his back and kicking the blankets down from his waist.
You sit up, a little slower than you might if the sun were out. But you crawl towards him over the comforter and sheets with a mock-predatory stance. The look in your eyes is one of clarified lust, you're not the least bit upset to be awake. He swallows hard, caught in your stare.
There is a throbbing under his shift. He stiffens and shivers as you settle next to him on your knees. You put a hand beside his head, resting all of your weight on it as you lift a knee to straddle him. Adrian inhales pointlessly, the smell of your perfume stronger now. The air around you is charged, but not electric. Despite the fact that you are unwilling to slink back off to sleep, there is no urgency in how you conduct yourself.
You sit back on his thighs, admiring the expanse of his still-covered chest and the elegant column of his neck. His hair is fanned out across the pillows, framing his head like a halo.
“Beautiful,” you sigh, “just gorgeous. And so well-behaved, too. You’re so very good.”
You reach out again, taking his face in your hands and claiming another kiss. Adrrian feels your chest flush against his, the soft swell of your breasts and the hummingbird heart that beats underneath it. You’re as excited as he, even if there are no outward signs.
His, on the other hand, make themselves clear. You can feel him under your belly, half-hard and in need of attention. It makes you giggle again, breaking the silence occupied only by heavy breathing and thudding hearts.
“My goodness,” he says when your kiss is once again distracted, “I love you.”
“I feel the same,” you return. And then, to dispel any doubt, you add, “I love you, more.”
“Doubtful,” he mutters, “what have you done to me?”
“Well, I haven’t made you soft,” you giggle again. The sound is sweet and rounded. You lean back and give a toss of your hair. He can pinpoint what it smells like, now. Lavender and vanilla. Perhaps a hint of lemon. But it doesn’t matter, it only smells like you.
His laugh sounds reedy and low, like a half-growl. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up with anticipation.
“No,” he agrees, “you haven’t done that.”
Admitting love so freely, however, that is new. Or perhaps he’s just had no one to offer it before. It’s as powerful a feeling as it is vulnerable, offering one’s heart up at another’s altar.
“I think I’ll take care of that,” you muse, “lie still. You can touch me, but not yourself. Understood?”
“I do,” he agrees. Obeying you is its own euphoria, but he reaches out immediately once given permission. He grips your waist, your hips, the tops of your thighs.
“Very good,” you say. You do not miss the second shudder that grips him, despite his warmth. Nor the insistent throb under your belly.
You rise up fully, straightening your back. With slow hands, you push up the hem of his shift and find the proof of his around. You give a smile, sweet and in love with the sight. You take him in hand with no preamble, giving a lazy pump to encourage him before letting go.
“More,” he exhales, “more, please.”
“I want to undress you, first,” you say. “Can you wait that long?”
“I suppose I’ll have to. Here--” he cuts himself off, sitting up to help you tug his shift over his head. You brace your arm behind you to keep your balance, and tug on his sleeves to pull the fabric from his wrists.
He lies back down right away, never one to forget a command. Adrian’s given a kiss for good measure, his head swims at the press of your mouth against his.
“Are you sure you want this?” you whisper, checking yet again for any signs of guilt-ridden compliance on his face. There are none to be found.
“I do,” he repeats. He does not voice his utter shock that you want to do this with him. Such expressions only upset you.
“Good,” you say, “and you know that--”
“I can change my mind, yes,” he says. The first traces of impatience make themselves known in his voice, making you smile again. God, it’s a beautiful sight.
“Excuse me,” you feign apology, “clearly I am neglecting you.”
“Indeed,” he teases. But somewhere deep in his mind, Adrian rebels against that agreement. You’ve taken good care of him.
“But how can such a body go unadmired?” you ask, lavish in your praise in the hopes of flustering him. You know what he wants, even languid in the middle of the night and insisting that there is no time but time to waste. So you pause a moment.
You explore him, your fingers trailing up his lean chest. His stomach dips and bulges, the muscles underneath fluttering like butterflies with every air-light touch. You can undo him so easily.
“Oh, Adrian,” you mumble when you come to the edge of the scar. Your index finger brushes the edge, where red flesh meets smooth skin. “May I kiss you here?”
“Gently,” he agrees on that condition. You not and dip your head, barely ghosting your lips over that dark and physical memory.
“I love you,” you remind him.
“I know, I love you,” he replies.
“You’re wonderful,” you say, your tone shifting just slightly as the mood edges away from heavy and serious. “I’ve been doing nothing but leading you on and you’re barely cross with me. What an improvement.”
“My thanks,” he laughs, you’re wrapped up in that reedy sound again.
“I think I’m ready,” you say.
You take his cock in hand again, its interest hasn’t dulled in the slightest. Adrian grunts low in his throat, his hips bucking minutely. His hands are still at your hips, his fingers squeezing your soft skin and urging you forward.
“Ah, ah, ah,” you tut, shaking your head. Adrian squeezes more insistently, but does not force you to move past your pace. You note his desire and press a kiss to the centre of his collarbones.
All the while, your hand works over him. Until it pauses, releases him and tucks itself between your legs.
“Let me--” he starts. He looks at your face, finding his favourite brand of passion in your eyes. “I am allowed to touch you, after all.”
“Yes, you are,” you say. But you do not move to grant any ease of entry.
“Allow me to occupy myself,” he replies, “I would like the opportunity to return your careful attention.”
“As you wish,” you sigh, sitting up on your knees and withdrawing your own hand.
Adrian pushes his fingers between your thighs, eager to please. You push your legs apart and he wastes no time. He cups your sex, feeling it under his palm. You’re hot, wet, as needy as he but far better at hiding it. He drags a finger up your hairline fracture, the pad of his middle finger catching on your clit.
You moan, the sound of you is almost as addling as the smell. Your desire is another perfume, it makes it difficult to concentrate enough to please. But you have been just as good for him, he admits, and you deserve the best that he can offer.
“Do you like this?” he asks as his finger draws small circles. You nod, catching a moan between your teeth and trapping it. You’re never as loud as he, you keep your noises locked up tight.
That’s all right, he thinks. There is enough time to undo you, too.
His finger grazes you, moving lower until it’s poised over your entrance. Adrian dips it inside you, careful not to demand anything of your body too quickly. You give a sound like a weight has been lifted and part your thighs a little more. You lower your hips, finding a comfortable position so that he can satisfy.
“It’s good,” you say, “you’re good at this.”
His finger curls, sinking into you. He works it in and out almost lazily, the task of caring for your clit delegated to his thumb. It makes your legs shake with almost no effort on his part, Adrian’s delighted.
He presses his index finger into you shortly after, delighting in your audible gasp. You smile at him, brushing his hair from his eyes yet again. You press a kiss to his forehead, then to the bridge of his nose.
Your eyes shut tight when he curls his fingers just right, seeking out a spot inside you that will pull you from silence. Its discovery is heralded with a loud moan of his name.
“All right,” you say, “I’m ready for more.”
And though he could easily entertain you like this all night, Adrian allows you to leave his hand and sit back up. He puts his fingers to his tongue, cleaning them as you stare with a sheepish smile on your face.
“Out to murder me,” you huff. He gives a small shrug. No use in denying it.
His hand returns to your hip as you pick his cock up from his belly. It’s pale as his skin, but flushed red and a pretty pink near the head. It’s as beautiful as the rest of him, you note. You line him up and settle on his length with a shaky sigh, wasting no more time now.
“Oh, my love,” you say. He grips you tighter and watches your shifting expression. From excitement to relief as you take him in, Adrian is awestruck by how beautiful you look.
“Yes?” he asks, barely able to form a single-syllable word. Everything feels pleasantly hazy, the night embraces the two of you as easily as you hold him.
“Fuck me,” you say, “until I finish.”
You’re satisfied with his work, clearly. Adrian smiles, showing sharp fangs before his hips begin to move against yours. Up and down, his thrusts shallow, he does his best to please you a second time.
It’s perfect, your hair tickles his face with your forward lean. And other than a few shifts on your part to meet his upward lunges, he’s left to his own devices to do right by you. You rest your hands on either side of his head, leaning in for kiss after perfect kiss.
He breathes out of habit, because you do it. Your natural behaviour is naturally emulated. He can feel your heart racing in your chest, Adrian draws a hand up from your hip and presses his palm to the valley between your breasts so that he can feel how it races.
Your eyes close, you’re lost in a good feeling. His hand at your breast is short-lived, quickly relocated where it was before you decided you wanted more. Adrian’s middle finger prods your clit again, making you straighten up and sigh his name yet again.
He thrusts with all the eagerness and desperation of someone needing to prove themself. But he knows that no such action is required of him, you trust him completely. It’s a comforting thought, to know that there is no possibility in which he could fail to give you what you want.
He is what you want, he remembers. And you already have all of him.
His shoulders tense, it’s difficult to remain lying down while trying to give you what you need. He could sit up and get a better angle, but that isn’t what you asked of him. Adrian has his orders, to fuck and make you come. He intends to do both.
You are so warm around him, gripping like a vice even as you remain still. He pours his heart into the task, lifting his knees a little to find purchase on the bed. It helps, it gives him a new angle for him to sink into you.
And the new wave of pleasure that washes over you is quickly shown to him. You fall forward, your hands finding his hair and giving short tugs. You know how much he cares for that, he keens and bucks against you.
“Good,” you repeat, “just like that.”
His thrusts falter as exhaustion creeps up on him again. While Adrian is no stranger to physical exertions, he finds himself tiring very quickly. And still, he hasn’t completed his task. You note him slowing, but make no move to push him beyond his limits.
“Are you all right?” you ask. He gives a slower, more languid thrust and nods. “We have all night,” you remind him.
“I know,” he exhales.
“And all morning,” you say, “all afternoon, all night again.” You giggle, the sound is like music. Carefully, you trace the outline of his scar with your finger. “Take as long as you need.”
He hums, pausing a moment and bringing his hand to your cheek. You’re warm in the face, and he is too when you turn your head to kiss his palm. It’s the reassurance he needs.
A few, loving moments pass before he feels up to continuing. The meantime is spent exchanging kisses and fond looks. You put no pressure on him, even with your ability to order him as no one else could. Though you hold the power to make him want to do as is asked of him, that fact is never used as a weapon.
You love him, he thinks. You really do.
And you kiss him every time he begins to miss the feeling of your soft lips against his.