On a kiss

Faring Well

By brewt.blacklist

May 2012

Written for the Remittance Girl "A Slip of the Lip" Challenge from 2009, three years after deadline. I'm late, I know. Sorry, RG.

 

 

She approached with her heart in her throat, her trembling palms sweating, stumbling twice along the way, chiding herself for being afraid, c'mon, you can do this, it's important, don't want to miss the chance. There would be fussing if she wanted to do this again later. She'd approached him for this so many times before, that part didn't bother her; walking right up to him for a kiss was always easy. It was always alright: her needs mattered to him, and right now she needed more than was appropriate.

God damn, he was still beautiful. Sure, shouldn't say that about a man, but it was true to her nonetheless, and she could imagine him rolling his eyes again at her whispering of the word. It was part of the ritual, part of how she gave up her hold on the world and lost herself in him again. Her heart wouldn't stop racing but something else got her attention in her anatomy as well, something lower than the butterflies, something no one else would understand, and she hoped the perfume she bathed in this morning would be enough to mask the lovely feminine aroma---she remembered him saying how much he loved it---for when she returned to her seat; this was between her and him, none of them would get it, they sure as hell didn't matter, leave us alone, she knew they were all looking, and she totally didn't care.

His eyes were closed, and this part of the ritual was familiar, leaning over him in bed, hovering there in a slight pause for a moment before she would descend to gently kiss him, to align herself toward their intent to each other, to wake him with love, to get the kiss to last a little longer, to mean something.

Contact.

And it all came back to her, just like it did every morning. Oh, God.

Their first lunch date when he shook her hand in her office instead of risking embarrassing her with a kiss when they hardly knew each other in front of her co-workers, the first time he really kissed her in the car and it knocked her socks off and she knew she knew right then and there that any man who could make her cum on their first kiss was definitely the man she would spend the rest of her life with, the endless weekends they spent in bed finding their ways into each other's hearts-souls-bodies, the trips where she rode in the car naked availing herself to him to whatever fancy he had, the dares, the crawling that did god-knows-what for him, the times she let him tie her up and she came more than once hallelujah, the times they spent doing dirty things with each other in the bathroom, the fisting, the whipping, the wax, the needles god the needles, how many gallons of his sperm had she drunk, the drug-free screaming births of the children where even he cried, the near constant running into each other in the kitchen that annoyed her but but but always made him laugh, she loved making him laugh, the unbelievable stress of losing jobs and homes and picking the pieces back up and putting themselves back together yet again and again and and those horrible years when they were celibate because she couldn't she just couldn't it was the menopause I swear I love you I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I know it mattered to you and I hurt you more than I meant to please forgive me I was such a bitch I can't believe you stayed through that and I'm so grateful thank you God for this man I would follow you anywhere please don't go I'll be your whore again I am your slave your slut my cunt is yours. Yours. Yours. Yours.

God damn it, wake up.

Shit. Shit.

...Shit.

Don't go.

The tears were flowing quite steadily when she uprighted herself; she tried to remember if she brought tissues, someone would have some, and she made sounds all the way back to her seat that everyone heard. It grieved her that the only person she wanted to hear them couldn't any more. He'd heard her make these kinds of sounds so many times and it made him happy and it made her happy and now...fuck.

She didn't hear anything else of the service, all she could think about was the peculiar taste he'd left her with, and she knew she would insist on tasting it again before they finally closed the lid. When there wouldn't be a crowd, and she could take her time with him. When she could touch him, and maybe put her breasts into his hands one last time. She had the right, and by God, she would exercise it and she promised herself that this next time she would not hesitate, not one little bit. Screw the fussing.

Because tomorrow, the hard part would start.

Hmmm. Maybe that's formaldehyde she was tasting. Not as bad as his piss.