Best Friends (& a side of sex)

'Morning, sunshine.'

She twisted, fingers probing her scalp.

'Tell me you didn't ejaculate into my hair last night.'

'Wouldn't dream of it. Though… Exhibit A - '

You tapped a pearlescent streak on her lower back.

' - and Exhibit B.'

A glint near her hairline. [1]

[1] 'Aim' undersells it. Last night was less a targeted strike and more a Jackson Pollock session across her skin. Stain #1 ended with her pressed against the shower wall as you sprayed load after load over her face. Stain #2: the final piece of the day; Exhausted beyond belief, you came across her back, and the both of you collapsed from exhaustion. It's really a miracle the rest came off relatively easily.

She groaned.

'It's crystallizing. Like sea salt.'

'Adds texture.'

You nuzzled the nape of her neck, inhaling lilac and sex.

'Stay. Five more minutes.'

'Your semen is petrifying on my skin and you want to cuddle?'

'Yes.'

Your hand slid down her stomach.

'It's proof.'

'Of what? Your inability to control your own - '

'That we wrecked each other so thoroughly last night.'

Your thumb circled her navel.

'That's hot.'

She snorted.

'You're disgusting.'

'Your disgust sounds suspiciously like pride.'

'Fine. But if this gluey patch near my ear isn't coconut oil, I'm bleaching your favorite jeans.'

'Of course.'

'Lay back,' she said, still facing away from you, legs curled and slotted against your knees. 'I wanna see something.'

You gently rolled onto your back, sinking into the pillow. She turned, entering your periphery with sleep-gleamed eyes and pink lips.

'Try swallowing,' she said, moving closer.

You swallowed. Her lips found your neck right in the midst: a wet kiss to your Adam's apple. The sensation lingered.

'Why'd you do that?'

'Why not?'

Why not. Those two words contained everything: why not when you're curled against her like this, why not when you're deep inside her, why not when you're breathing in the sweet scent of her skin.

She shifted back, still within the circle of your arms, her hair tickling your forehead.

'I'm all sore. No thanks to you.'

'I was adjusting to your needs. And your needs... are an acquired taste.'

You snuggled upward, her hair now feathering across your chest, almost ticklish. She had no defense.

'The champagne was a nice touch.'

'Which bottle?'

She tilted her face up, eyes still heavy but alert.

'Don't pretend there weren't multiple bottles. I counted at least three.'

'Two and a half. The third was already open.'

'Because you opened it.'

Gawon turned over completely, facing you now. Goddess. Goddess. You didn't say it aloud, but she probably knew what you invoked with each gulp, each strained touch, each unfettered breath. [1]

[1] The thing about thinking "goddess" repeatedly during sex is that it's simultaneously the most embarrassing and most accurate thought possible. Like yes, technically we all know about oxytocin and dopamine and whatever chemical cocktail makes you temporarily insane, but that doesn't explain why her particular face makes your brain short-circuit into worship mode. Modern therapy would probably have words for this - "idealization" or "projection" or some other term that completely misses the point that sometimes a person just is that magnificent and your brain is simply reporting facts.

A comfortable pause; No awkwardness anymore, just the luxury of looking.

'Details.'

You brushed a strand of hair from her face and planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

'How's your head?'

'Fine. I switched to water after the first few toasts. Unlike someone.'