Winter Waites (Aster Valley 0.50)

Our fingers danced softly with each other while the golden light from the fire flickered around the room. The music on my speaker had stopped a long time ago, and I enjoyed the quiet of his company. It didn’t take long, though, for our hands to wander. I couldn’t stop wanting him. It was like a hunger that didn’t end no matter how much of him I was able to nibble on.

We fucked on and off all night long. Frantic frotting in front of the fire. Sensual blow jobs in the kitchen while scrounging for a midnight snack. A long, slow fuck in the shower in the middle of the night. By the time we finally fell asleep in a heap of tangled limbs, I was half-dead.

I woke up the next morning to an empty bed. The sun was blasting through the window where I hadn’t thought to close the blind the night before. I’d expected to feel… sated. Happy. Relaxed. Happily well fucked and ready to tackle some work today.

But something was off.

I got up and looked around, noticing all of the signs of our time together. Winter had left the therapy putty tub on the kitchen counter, but that was the only actual item he’d left behind. After putting some coffee on, I wandered back into the bedroom and stared at the pillow squashed up next to mine. We’d slept in each other’s space all night. Our bodies had fit together like two halves of a clam shell.

My body felt oddly untethered today. I kept wandering around in circles until the coffee was ready and even then, I wasn’t quite sure where to put my hands.

It wasn’t until I wandered back into the bedroom that I saw the piece of paper on the floor by the bedside table.

Gent,

Would it be presumptuous of me to offer to bring pizza over tonight after work? We have a therapy appointment scheduled regardless, so please let me know if I’m crossing a line. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I’d really like a repeat of last night if you’re up for it. If so, hydrate and stay limber ;-)

Winter

I beamed like a rookie opera singer hitting a high note on the first attempt. Another night with Winter. Yes, please.

Knowing he would be coming over at the end of the day somehow gave me the energy to get to work. I relished the distraction from imagining him naked again, wondering what positions we would try and how many times I could make him come.

As I jotted down notes for a new song, I was surprised by how easy the words came. I hadn’t written new music in almost a year because of the hectic schedule recording and touring. It was nice sinking back into the rhythm of following my thoughts in a jumbled collection of scribbles and riffs.

I wrote a song about my mother, about the time she’d gone against my dad’s wishes and bought me the guitar I’d wanted for my birthday. When Dad had frowned at the expense, Mom had winked and told me I could grow up to be just like Bob Dylan.

“Seeded Dreams” was almost complete by the time the knock came on the door that evening. I’d spent more time fiddling with the melody than I should have, and Winter noticed right away.

“What the hell did you do?” he blurted, reaching for my swollen hand. I leaned past him to close the door against the cold air and snuck a kiss to the warm skin of his neck while I was at it.

“Hi,” I murmured into his delicious scent.

“Hi,” he said, looking at me with worried eyes. “Were you playing guitar? I told you to take it easy.”

I took the pizza box from him and set it down on the table before turning back and clasping his face to give him a real welcome kiss.

“Mmpfh,” he hummed into my mouth. “Mmhm.”

We kissed for several minutes. By the time we came up for air, our bodies were pressed so tightly together, you wouldn’t have been able to fit a slice of oxygen between them.

“You taste better than any pizza could,” I told him. “Fuck I can’t stop touching you.”

Winter’s face was flushed pink, and his eyes were glassy. He looked debauched and he’d only been here a few minutes.

“Eat, then fuck?” I suggested with a grin.

He nodded and fell down into the nearest kitchen chair. “God today was a thousand hours long. I couldn’t wait to get out of there.”

“Challenging cases or…?”

He sighed and reached for the pizza box. “No. I have two patients who try my patience. It’s actually a husband and wife who decided to have carpal tunnel surgery at the same time. Their appointments are booked together, and they bicker with each other the entire forty-five minutes. Today they turned their bickering at me and ganged up on me to tell me how I was doing everything wrong. Apparently they’d been watching ‘the Google.’”