Joanne Suggwell One Shots 3

Winter Sun

Her fingertips start with his face as the wintry sun rose through a gap in the expensive curtains. They trail gently along his forehead. Over thin grooves that gave evidence he had been deep in thought more than once in his life, and passed bumps and troughs that unashamedly belonged to small scars from moments of daring or, perhaps, simply teenage skin- the reason she did not care. Along his brow bone past unkempt eyebrows, that contorted with both impression and expression when he was awake and down.

Down.

'Til her finger flipped and the back of it now caressed his cheek. Past the three moles, that were already etched into her memory and gently over the paper-thin, eyelash speckled skin under his eyes. Her petite hand stopped at his nose, so her thumb could get involved; it stroking nothing in particular, just making a gentle back and forth on his city worn skin that hadn't seen proper sunlight or fresh air in a while. It found, they found, as they continued on, her thumb doing most of the work, patches of dryness, dotted in between the silky smooth where an expensive moisturiser had clearly worked. Now, as her hand, in its loose bunch, each finger curled to a degree, moved a little lower, her littlest finger got involved, his lips grasping its attention as hot air passed from their slight part. It wasn't enough, though, and soon her hand flipped once more, her thumb able to explore more, as the hand it attached to settled under his chin, some small amount of stubble tickling in the process.

His lips were soft, if a little dry from sleeping, and moved every so often as he slept. She noticed, as her thumb rested for a moment, the location of the warm air was not from between his lips, as her little finger had foolishly assumed, but from his nose, centimetres above. It matched her own in pace and rhythm; calm and slow. Peaceful in the Eden of the waves of soft cotton they laid on.

Soon, it was time to move on. Palm flattening as it left his chin and settled nicely on his sternum, fingertips allowed to explore the vast expanse of skin. They didn't wander far, simply running the course of his collarbone or the crook where her head would lay should they be flipped in their current position.

Her hand used to this place. It was now resting where it frequently did, when her own body succumbed to sleep. When her fingertips didn't crave a continuation of their exhaustive exploration.

Down his sternum more now, strong, defined by muscles that had increased in stature, they went, along for a while, fingertips equally exploring the soft expanse until...

His hand.

She smiled. Her fingertips were allowed to momentarily explore the callused and scarred skin along each finger until they were stopped and pulled back to his chest. There they met their counterparts and pushed, so her fingers now intersected his; interlocked together. For the first time since her expedition began, her movements truly stilled, his chest putting in the effort. Rising and falling as she embraced the quiet; the rest of her body, that may have been slightly out of sync, slipping back into its harmonious rhythm. Pure peace in the moment, as sunlight danced in and illuminated his skin.

Their skin.

The slight contrast in their tones. The way his hand was bigger than hers, stronger, more proportionate and worn. Worn in a way that reminded her there were years of work before his current job, that left him with the very calluses her fingertips had pleasurably explored for just a moment before. The sun exposed their differences, in the simple connection her mind had found comfort in- in their locked hands that were a symbol of their relationship.

She lay there for a while, peaceful in the stillness, until the inevitable happened and they itched to discover more. So... she drew his hand to her own lips, and pressed a kiss there, before relinquishing her grip, letting his hand fall on the opposite side of his upper chest, by her head, so she could keep kissing. Her own hand didn't stay though, it's eagerness far more than the rest of her body in its meditative calm.

On they went over smoother skin, together this time, so they could cover further. They ran over hidden muscle and along squashy parts too- where they settled. It wasn't enough though... she hadn't appreciated it enough. They returned to his ribs and her index finger took time to run the grooves, first between the ribs and then along the dips in muscle. This was just how she liked it; his body. Not too defined, but enough to satisfy a craving for outward strength. She liked how she found parts with less definition, were she could feel more and indicated he was human like anyone else.

Except, to her, he was perfect. And really, she defined that thought not on the skin she had explored in the moments since waking, but the deeper exploration of him. Or rather. His conscious. His mind and quite probably his soul. The two things she had been exploring long before her fingertips were allowed. The two things that pushed her to her aforementioned conclusion.

"Your perfect," she voiced in such a quiet whisper, closing her eyes, as his hand moved slightly and stroked her cheek- sleep, which had been hard to come by recently in the busyness of their life, regaining the control it had lost to the winter sunrise only an hour before, "and I love you."

Bit of a different one today- purely description. How did you guys like it... I'm interested to know? Also, I'm curious whether any of you can guess from what period of their relationship is from- any guesses?

Hope you're all well,

H xx