( when he moves, drifts them down further into the muss of sheets, each of her limbs follows as if they've done this before. as if they know just how to tangle with him, just where she fits for sleep to find her. her thigh nestles over top of his — warm there, still, a reminder — calves linking and a single arm bent against his chest, left just beneath her chin where she lies. exhaustion sweeps over the two of them like a blanket, otherwise leaving them half-hidden in sheets, blonde tendrils stirring against her spine when another breeze is let in through the curtains.
thank you. an affection pressed to her forehead, and she's left ruminating quietly just there beneath the hood of his jaw. she doesn't sit upright, instead, letting closed lids paint her for him, the tips of her fingers drawing mindless little circles against his chin. her tongue is lazy, used, but when she finally encourages it around the syllables that follow, it's reaching. )
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thank you. an affection pressed to her forehead, and she's left ruminating quietly just there beneath the hood of his jaw. she doesn't sit upright, instead, letting closed lids paint her for him, the tips of her fingers drawing mindless little circles against his chin. her tongue is lazy, used, but when she finally encourages it around the syllables that follow, it's reaching. )
What are you thanking me for?