spooning you

you’re there, naked on top of the sheets, body turned away. your back is curled into a subtle C shape, as your knees pull together.

You roll over, pulling the blanket off me. The cold air chills me, and I slowly wake, realising as I do that I need to pee. I grumble, sit up, slide out of bed and make the trek to the bathroom. The freezing air causes my skin to goosebump immediately. Seven steps: open the door. Avoid the couch, one step down. Another four steps, and two steps up to the bathroom.

I hurry back to bed and steal some blanket back, pressing myself against you, your skin sharing much needed warmth with me.

“Mmmm cold,” you murmur without properly waking up.

I lie there, my whole body nudged against you, and manoeuvre my arm over your chest until I can bring you even closer, your hair tickling my nose, my thighs locked tight against your ass, one thigh lodged between your cheeks.

I wait for sleep to take me, but it doesn’t. My mind wanders and spins, getting lost down little rabbit warrens and caught in eddies. I think about the friend —lover — from school that I saw earlier tonight at the pub. How time attacks us in different ways and at different paces. His vacant stare, a remnant of too many and too hard drugs, his lined and scarred face, wondering how close I could have been to following him to where he is. I think about sleep, and how a friend doing a PhD on it told me to think about the sleeping brain as like an apartment building. At different times there are different numbers of lights on in the windows, and even if you’re not asleep, lying there and resting is almost as good. It might just be a few more lights on.

I feel you breathing, hear the depth and slowness, knowing you’re properly asleep. I am obsessed with how warm your skin is, how the light from the half moon comes in through the shitty curtains makes the room look.

You stretch your legs out, before bunching them up again, and I mirror your movements, keeping my body tight against yours. The warmth transferring between us. I feel you fart — little warm bursts against my thigh — and can’t keep myself from smiling.

I sense sleep returning and I turn away, pressing my back against you, pulling the blanket tight and letting your skin warm my back.

——

The couch is warm under my skin. Sun through the window, book in my lap. You’re scrolling on your phone.

I can tell you’re getting bored. You start sighing, your legs start moving and I know what’s coming next.

“Did you know that summer is almost 40 days longer than it was in the 1990s?” I put my book facedown on the floor and tell you that no, I didn’t, but I’m not surprised given that it’s autumn and I’m sweating through a couch.

“Are you grumpy?”

“No! But I was just in the middle of a chapter and I reallly want to know what is going to happen. It is so chaotic.”

You walk over and straddle me, running your hands through my hair. Grumpy Clem, you say, while continuing to ruffle my hair.

I grab your hands and we start wrestling. I burst out laughing as you try and grab my nipples.

“Out of bounds!”

I’m stronger but you’re more determined and our bodies are locked in a stalemate. Your knee against my hip, my hands holding your wrists, one of my legs locked around yours. You loosen off, just slightly, and I use this moment to flip you onto your side. I shuffle onto my side too and you shove your ass against my hips. I curl my body back to make room for you and we lie there together in the sun, feeling the velvet of the couch against our skin.

“Read to me?”

I pick up my book and find my page.

“Okay, as background, she is a mum in her 40s who was driving to New York but didn’t get out of LA and is having a weird romance with a younger man and is redecorating her hotel room.”

I start reading as you nuzzle your head back against my chest.

——

I’m still sweating as I open the door and make my way into the cool of the house, kicking off my runners as I step inside. I see our bedroom door is open and I look in as I walk to the shower — you’re there, naked on top of the sheets, body turned away. Your back curled into a subtle C shape, your knees are pulled together in a little z with your feet.

I turn on the water, cooler than what I usually find comfortable. It chills my body and I feel the runners high mingling with the sensation of cold water running down my skin, as the afternoon sun streams through the open window. I towel off and make my way back to the bedroom, easing onto the bed and pushing my body against yours, feeling my chest, my hips, my legs all pressing against you. You stir slightly, mumble something and jut your butt harder against my hips.

I feel blood start running to my cock, feeling it harden. I kiss your neck, run my fingers down your side body until they reach your hips, where I dig them in gently. You moan as you wake up and straighten your legs slightly, rubbing your body against mine.

I hear your breathing change slightly as you become fully aware of me here. It thrills me, and I think about how I can know your body so well and still feel so much desire, that in fact it has built over the years — the opposite of what I’d been told to expect.

I reach over your hip, forcing my hands between your legs and feel how wet you are. I rub two fingers over your clit and feel your whole body spark. You press your ass against my cock, rubbing it between your cheeks until you reach down and grab me.

“You’re so hard.”

I know how much you like it when I’m really horny and I smile as I kiss your neck.

“Sorry for waking you.”

You squeeze me and guide me to where you want me and then stop.

“You’re not allowed to go in yet.”

I fight you a bit, pressing into your hand until I can feel your wetness on my tip. The warmth and need to be inside you driving me mad. You arch your back and lean your head so I can see your lips. I kiss you, not a peck, but a full lipped kiss. Full of need and passion. You kiss me back as I run my hands over you, feeling how smooth your skin is.

Finally, you relent with a moan, and I’m inside you.

I pull you closer, my face in your hair, breathing you in: sweat and sleep and your favourite moisturiser. I dig my fingers into your thigh as you press back against me, moving gently at first. I reach down and start playing with your clit again, and I feel the shift in you immediately, the way your breathing changes again — faster, shallower — the way your whole body reorganises itself around what’s happening.

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

I don’t. I feel your body tense and build and I feel electric knowing I am the reason for it. Something about knowing I can give this to you drives me, a need that’s harder to name than desire. You scream when you cum.

“Sshhhhh,” the neighbours, I laugh.

You pull my hands away from your clit and I bring them up around your throat, palm against your pulse. You’re somewhere else now. You know what you want and you’re chasing it. Faster and faster, rubbing against me, and I’m trying to hold on, trying to stay present, but there’s a point where the body just takes over and thought leaves me. I feel warmth running down my leg onto the bed. The smell of sweat and sex and the soap still on my skin from the shower.

“Fucccck,” I sigh. “I’m going to cum.”

This sends you over the edge. You go faster, moving so far forward at points that I almost slip out of you. You cum again. I scratch your back, dig my fingers into your hips — knowing it will bruise tomorrow, not stopping — until I can’t hold off any longer.

I’m spent, you get up and open the curtains and I just lie on the bed, feeling the sun wash over me, realising I have such simple needs: love, movement, sex, art and friends

——

We’re exhausted. Our bodies are filthy and despite being in the city for only a night, the thought of going out and exploring is intolerable. I drop my pack on the tiny space between the bed and the floor, massaging my shoulders. I strip naked, noting the mud and blood and grime covering my legs. You tell me the pack was rubbing my shoulders raw.

“Five days in the mountains will do that,” I reply with a half smile.

I run the shower and step in. The water is too hot and I let it scald my body. I hear the door open and you join me. I grab the shitty hotel shampoo and massage it into your hair, wash it out, and then put the conditioner in. I love the feeling of your hair and the soap between my fingers.

I barely dry myself and just jump under the covers. You take longer. I hear the shower turn off and wait until you appear, dry and with the towel wrapped around your hair.

“Do you have your laptop?”

I know you do, but I don’t remember where. It’s in one of the bags you left behind while we were hiking, and I watch you rustle through your stuff, seeing the red marks around your hips where the pack rested, the scratches on your legs, how strong your butt and shoulders look after months of travelling and hiking.

You bring it over and open it on the bed. I settle in behind you. You open the list in your notes app that we made of films we need to see again. We scroll down for a while until we choose Virgin Suicides.

You lie down and I position myself so I can see the screen, perched on my right arm for some extra height.

“This is actually my dream night,” I say softly, aware of how close my mouth is to your ear.

You lean your head back so I can kiss you, before we both turn back to the laptop.