It is in the darker hours, when the clocks read too late to be early, and too early to be late. The stars dance to music that only they can hear, and the moonlight casts a soft glow across our bed through the open curtains.
You wake suddenly, sweating from the fear of the night terror that has left you trembling.
A movement to your right makes you flinch, and for a second your heart freezes. You breathe again as you look down, and remember that I am sleeping next to you.
You watch as I mumble, lost in a world you cannot reach, and softly tuck back a lock of hair that has tumbled across my face. Silently you slip from between the sheets, pulling a pair of sweatpants over your shorts, and softly pad from the bedroom we share.
Still shaking and fighting the terrifying images that haunt your mind, you kneel in front of the fireplace, adding logs and a fire lighter. Soon, the dark living room is softly lit, and warmth is fighting with your chills.
You pour a measure of whisky into a glass, and sink onto the sofa, hugging your knees against your chest as you stare at the crackling flames. Your tremors begin to calm, but no firelight or alcohol can erase the things you have dreamt.
In the velvet darkness of our room, I roll onto my side and reach for you. My fingers find nothing but empty space and the damp outline of your bad dream. Waking fully, I look at the faint glow snaking under the bedroom door, and know exactly where you are and why.
I reach for a tee, pulling it down until it meets the edge of the lace shorts that cling to my hips, and soundlessly make my way to the living room.
Standing in the doorway, unseen and unheard, I watch you as my heart aches. I can see the fear in your knotted back muscles, read your terror in the way your hand trembles as it lifts the glass to your lips. I lean against the cool wooden frame of the door, looking at you and wondering what I can do to ease your pain. I smile a little as the memory of other nights like this flood my mind, and I know how I can help you.
You lift your head as you feel a shift in the air, and cannot hide the smile as you see me stood before you. Your eyes travel over tattoos and scars, across the piece of art I have made myself into with your help, until you meet the blue eyes that you love to drown in.
You open your mouth to speak, but I'm faster, and before you can say a word I am bent over you and tasting the whisky on your tongue. The drops of amber liquid left in your glass spill as your fingers abandon their hold and reach for the warmth of my skin. You hear the soft intake of my breath as you pull me to you, and in a moment my weight is resting on your lap, the soft fabric of my tee against your bare chest.
Our tongues are fluent in the language we wrote for ourselves, gentle but insistent, and meant for only us. As I feel your hand slide from my hip and under my tee, travelling over the curves they know so well, a soft moan escapes my lips, and I can feel you smile against them. You stiffen beneath me, and I roll my hips a little to tease you. Your body responds as your fingers find a breast and start to squeeze and stroke.
Moaning as I press myself against you, as you feel the heat you cause, your hands leave my skin for a moment. I pull my face from yours, but my question goes unasked as you grip the edges of my tee and tug them up. Closing my eyes, I bite my lip as your kisses burn their way up my chest. The tee is dropped to the floor, and the warmth of your skin is pressed against mine. For a long minute, all we do is hold each other tightly, our breathing the only soft sound against the crackling flames that paint our skin with flickering shadows.
You whisper my name pleadingly as you feel me lift myself from your lap, planting my feet back on the thick rug. Then you see the look on my face, and it makes you throb with need.
