Simon didn't do aftersex talks. Hookups stayed that way—In mornings, he stayed silent as they slipped away, finding their things, letting out hushed breaths, exchanging awkward words, and finally the click of the door that announced leaving.
Or sometimes when he could no longer wait for them to leave. He asked rather bluntly if he could drop them home or get them breakfast on their way home.
So it was surprising when he found himself kissing you in the morning dawn, twisting against the sheets, legs all tangled.His mouth endlessly hungry to get as much taste of you—nibling, biting, smiling into the sleep soft skin. Pressing you underneath him as his hips rolled and he fucked you again, the again of many agains.
It's even more surprising when he listened like a scared deer, as you murmured this and that on the small couch snuggled with him. Empty coffee cups and crumb smeared plate on the table. Because he was afraid going out meant losing you—that if he breathed too hard, looked at the door too long, you might remember to leave him.
“So I got it,” you snorted, nose pressed against his naked bicep—“Just to wash my back. God I love burning my money sometimes.”
Simon played with your hair, all messed unlike last nights lustre. He loved this. He loved the sound of your laughter, “I can't reach my back, because...well because.”
You chuckled at him. Ofcourse. Big man.
“I can do it for you.” you said then, “You know what, let's take a bath, I feel like I stink.”
“Ya' smell sexy darling.” Simon said. He wondered if this is what it should be all about.
“Shut up, do you have those all in one like most men?”
It turned out Simon actually didn't do things like most men. Like he was honest.
“They were on sale,” he said, a bit nervous to sit naked in the tub. His knees shot up at awkward angles, looking awkward—too big—and he didn't know why he let you see all the pieces. Bedroom naked was different than this. He felt your hands gliding across his shoulders and it made his heart quicken.
Was he ugly? Was he disgusting?
In this bright yellow light you could see him all, his threads, the fading red slashes, some already silver.
You said nothing about it. Later.
“Good deal honey,” you touched the knot at the back of his neck, “And aloevera...smells nice too!”
“I know the place, would get it for you...if ye’ like it.”
“Thanks.” you ran your fingertips there before the soap foamed loofah smeared white in bursting small bubbles. Back and forth as he talked, mostly replied, hesitant, rather fast. Then his shoulders relaxed and words eased into calm.
You grinned. Making V on his soaped back
“What is it?” you asked, pouring water now and his skin glistened under it. Shoulder balls looking like rubbed orb.
“Love.” Simon said. Wasn't it?
Who would sit here in the water with him and wash his back and speak sweet nothings, if not love.
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