Say Something -In Progress Slow Updates

Adventures In Shaving Cream at 6 am

Bridge, 5 AM, 5 Days Later

Dev's phone alarm has been ringing for a while, but it's fairly low, and he's not hearing it. I stretch and roll toward him. He's lying on his back, looking utterly beautiful, of course.

Those lips.

I rub my thumb over those lips, and he grins with his eyes closed, then reaches for his phone with one hand and my wrist with the other. He does that magic thing he does with those gorgeous lips, a combination of soft kissing and sucking and an occasional beard scratch.

I shiver.

He stops.

I want to tell him to keep going, but I don't. Instead, I pull my hand away and I reach for his crotch, like every morning for the last five days. But today he doesn't make himself available. Today he pulls my wrist back to his mouth.

"I'm pretty sure that was a good shiver," he whispers. "Greenlight or redlight?" he murmurs as he kisses my wrist again and blows on the dampness his tongue left.

I don't answer. He licks and blows again. I shiver.

"Greenlight or redlight?" he insists.

I don't answer.

"Redlight, then." He lowers my wrist. I reach for his crotch again, and he murmurs a soft sound of pleasure.

Despite the fact that I'm rubbing him, I feel extremely disappointed and not at all inclined to give him the daily handjob that I always offer. I try to figure out why.

Why do I feel suddenly so ill-tempered?

I try to ground myself in my body and feel sensations like Marley suggested.

Oh. 

That's why.

It's not ill-temper. It's frustration. Because I'm feeling a growing tingle of need, and I want him to keep touching me, even though I couldn't figure that out a moment ago. But now I've decided. I want to be touched and kissed. I want to make out.

"Dev?" I say softly.

"Yeah, baby?"

I smile at the way he calls me that. When we were younger, and he was more DevBlu and more universally casual, he always used to call me that. After we were married, after the crash and the funerals and the move to Mallerton, it was always "darling." "Baby" didn't seem to suit those hallowed halls, and he was too buttoned up in his Italian suits.

"I like that," I say.

"What?" He opens his eyes and looks into mine. We're lying on our sides, and since I didn't give him a green light, he's not touching me, only being touched. He still manages to focus on me attentively, despite the fact that he's quickly hardened to a rod that I'm now pumping slowly in my hand. "This?" he puts his hand over mine, and we stroke together. "I like it, too."

"Not this. I mean, yes, this, but, I like the way you kiss my wrist. A lot. It feels good. It really does something to me."

"So why no green light?" he murmurs. "Don't you want to feel good?"

"I didn't say red light," I whimper.

"You didn't say green," he counters softly with a chuckle.

"Dev, don't tease me when I'm..." I fade away.

"When you're what?"

"When I'm turned on like this," I confess

"Ah," he rests a hand on my hip, now. Rubbing softly back and forth over my soft cotton sleep shorts. "So...yellow light?"

"No. Green. A green arrow." I point to my lips.