oh *wow*! That was *beautiful*! A sleepy question and an open palm call you closer, a muttered protest at your absence warming, evaporating the remnants of rain-cold doubts. You pull off clothes that carry mountain air, the damp of mile-high clouds, and you crawl inside the future praying he'll never taste the salt of your hesitation.
no subject
A sleepy question and an open palm call you closer, a muttered protest at your absence warming, evaporating the remnants of rain-cold doubts. You pull off clothes that carry mountain air, the damp of mile-high clouds, and you crawl inside the future praying he'll never taste the salt of your hesitation.
You choose hope.
Damn! I *love* that!