Golden Hour (GarouxReader lemon)

Part 7

I decided I'll keep writing it because I'm really loving this real world, domestic Garou. It's a really lovely change for me and I'm really enjoying writing it :)

~*~

I lie awake the next morning, knowing I'll have to get up soon. Really fuckin' not wanting to.
The sun is just coming up, making itself known through the window. I hold up my hand and catch the light, as if I can hold it in my hand if I clench my fist hard enough.
When I open it, the mark on my hand stares back at me, barely visible anymore. I don't know what the fuck my body is doing, but it seems to heal quicker and quicker which is not a bad thing.
I stare at that pale white mark across my palm and remember. I remember her hands closing around mine, the way she held it under the water, her fingertips tracing over my skin, and I feel this ache inside. This real deep ache that is nothing but fuckin' pain and fuckin' pleasure and I never knew the two could co-exist like that, so intimately.
I slow my mind down, replay everything in slow motion, will my body to remember how she felt standing so close, pressed against me, how her touch felt, the feel of her fingers, her hands...

Her hands, I've felt them all over, time and time again, and still...still it never fails to get to me. Every time I think I can keep my head, keep any semblance of self control, she'll slip her hand under my shirt, playful teasing, runs it down my chest and I can't fuckin' think straight anymore. Her hands do the most wicked, the most sublime things to me. And just when I think I'm going to go completely mad, she'll touch me somewhere I don't expect and push me completely over that fuckin' edge. And I'm in fucking ecstasy. Every time.

I open and close my hand slowly again in the intruding morning light, trying to hold on to the memory of her. But then the memory of what I did after interrupts. I go from feeling the bliss of her touch to the feeling of muscle and broken bone under my knuckles, a completely different type of satisfaction.
I should feel bad for enjoying it. A normal person would, I suppose. But I don't. Every bruise, every scar, every bastard I leave spitting blood is like a step. And I climb higher and higher. Towards what? Towards forgetting. Towards becoming someone I've wanted to be for years. To justice. To make up for all the bullshit. Always aiming for the top of those stairs.
And then what?
I pause.
The answer seems fuckin' obvious, doesn't it? I'll be at the fuckin' top, ain't I just said?
Yes, but then what? It says.
I scowl.
The higher they climb, the harder they fall, it whispers.
Fuck. That.
I ain't ever planning on falling.
Time to get the fuck up. No use laying around indulging in all this goddamn philosophy. It ain't gonna do anyone any good.

"Are you sure you'll survive?" she asks, her small hand in my hair again as I stretch out on her couch later that evening, only at her urging and permission, telling me I look tired. I gotta lie and say it's the old man, that he's a slave driver, but really it's because I ain't hardly slept last night due to my outing. I ain't ever felt bad lying before but now, I feel this stab in the back of my mind when the words, completely untrue, came out of my mouth.
"I guess we'll see when you're back," I say, closing my eyes, savouring this moment. "If I'm dead, you'll have your answer."
She does this smiling little tsk with her tongue.
"Well, I've shown you how to make two different meals now," she says, one hand stroking my hair absentmindedly and her phone in the other as she scrolls through the weather forecast. "The rest is up to you Wolf Cub. Make me proud."

I don't know if I have or not. I try to. I try not to be a fuck up that she regrets taking a chance on, this whole situation was already so tenuous. I don't know if she is proud and I ain't too keen on asking in case the answer hurts a bit too much. But when we're in public, she doesn't walk a step away from me, she doesn't pretend we hardly know each other. Lets me grab her hand and declare to every fuckin' passerby, whether they care or not, that she's mine. I mean...that it's me and her. That this is a place no one is taking from me.