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Post-coital

He looks at you with a new softness. One that emphasizes his crows feet and makes his eyes shine in the low light. This is the first time he holds your hand. Laying naked in your bed, the duvet bunched up and half falling. His hand is rough and you can feel it in his fingers. Warm and weighty. You lay on him, shoulder to bicep. Forearms touching, fingers in between each other. Your legs are hanging off the side of the bed and they occasionally brush his, hair brushing against your shin. He rumbles a comment. How good it was. How good you were. Something unfurls in your chest, an apple blossom.

Your fingers are sore. A massage owed, sex received.

You lightly laugh, soft and sweet. You look to him and he's already looking at you. His light eyes against his dark hair always seems to captivate you. Your hands are still gently clasped together. He brushes his thumb over yours. Intimate and gentle. The sweat on your back is cooling. He's breathing slower. Coming down from the high, drifting back to earth. The smell of sex slowly permeates the air, soaking the room and duvet in a heady, earthen smell. He laments that he used to last much longer. You nod and goad him into possibly coming back. The blossom shakes. He smiles, accent catching on his vowels. You still have no idea where he's from.

The sharp pinch of latex in the air catches your attention. The condom he wore rests against his thigh, soft cock doing little to keep it from falling. The tip is full of cum. Pretty and pearlescent. He chuckles to himself.

"So much. And I had a wank earlier too."

The condom makes a sticky sound as he pulls it from his cock and ties it off. You shake your head and watch as he goes to the bathroom. You touch the spot he was just in. Warm and sex-soaked. The flower in your chest tilts down.

You sit between his legs, at the foot of the bed. His toes tenderly brush against the base of your spine. Gentle and steady. His other foot brushes idly against your crossed leg. Tender like a real lover. He pulls his phone from his crumpled jeans, insistent that he shows you something. His eyes are still so soft at the edges. Shiny and gentle. He shows you his phone, playing some movie clip. You do your best to pay attention. His knee is twitchy under your touch. You dig your thumbs in around the kneecap and he groans. You keep your eyes on the phone, doing your best to keep them from drifting to his face. But you feel him staring at you. Watching your reactions. Metering your breaths or logging how your hands feel against his kneecaps.

His cock is fully soft. Velvet and musk. His balls rest heavily between his legs. Intimate and personal. How many have seen him like this?

You hope he wants like you do. Familiar and fuzzy. Right on the brink of yearning. You wonder if he feels the same. Between his ambiguous schedule and lack of a family. You hope he cares about you. In the fleeting moments between his cock sliding in and out of you and the sips he takes from his glass. The way his hands cradled your face and how he looked at you in the dim of the pub. But somewhere, no matter how good he kisses you and how good he smells. You will only get what he gives. Right on the edge of his life, where the ocean meets the dock. Where blossoms go to drown.

#personal writing #personal #soft smut #for the guy i might have a crush on even though he most likely doesnt feel the same #for kc