Muhafiz-E-Khan (Tere Bin MeeraSim FF)

17 - Baseerat

Contains smut towards the end

The alarm wasn't even needed, their eyes already awakened with the rising dusky sun whilst they remain knotted. Her glowing face rest onto of his sculpted chest inside the mountain of a cosy comforter, right besides his gently beating heart, full of contentment.

A warmth radiated, practically engulfed her like a cocoon of comfort and yearning, a welcome haze that numbed all of their worries and reality. Murtasim's open hand stroked through her open hair, a wayward mess that haven't been given a thought throughout the night of wonderment.

When she pulled away, the thin shirt hung on by a single button, enough so that when he pulled the collar, he saw a painting of stark red on her flesh; the shade of passionate and inflamed love marred the flesh just below her clavicle. ''How are you going to cover that?'' Murtasim asked in his raspy morning breath, blinking slowly as she came into focus.

''Dupatta pehn lungi,'' she answered in a hushed tone. (I'll wear a scarf?)

''Meerab Khan Karachi mein dupatta pehne gye?'' He questioned as if the notion was wholly unfitting, before placing an ointment-like kiss over her sensitive neck that pulsed with affection. (Meerab Khan will wear a dupatta in Karachi?)

''Meerab Murtasim Khan,'' she corrected, pulling him up so that their noses barely grazed each other, embarking on a tantalising teasing.

''Acha hai sunne mein. But just don't say it outside this room,'' he reminded, feeling her knee lift so that it caressed his naked legs beneath the comforter. They were a hot sticky entanglement; the night had been a catharsis unlike no other. (It sounds good when you say it.)

The sensation was too easily seductive but at entirley the wrong hour. ''We have to get up. Khateeb fajr ke liye uthta hai,'' Murtasim groaned lightly, awakening beneath the white fluffy comforters. (Khateeb will wake for morning prayer.)

''You can say you were in the gym,'' she whined, open palms feeling his bare flesh.

''I prefer this work out better,'' he moaned, hauling Meerab up so that she was ontop of him again, her weight resting on his rock hard stomach.

''I'm not even tired,'' Meerab retorted, leaning forward to stroke over his jaw as if to cherish the moment.

''Jhooti.'' His hand luxuriated over her alabaster thighs, yet still balmy from beneath sleeping the thick comforter, basking in the calm before reality struck like the chime of midnight, a deadline until the cloak was lifted. (Liar.)

''This jhooti said get out of my bed,'' she whispered with playful abandon before pressing his lips onto his, slowly and greedily tasting his soft lips, her hair blanketing him until he pushed himself up to get out of the mess.

The white of his shirt was completely apt on her frame despite belonging to her husband's taller athletic frame. Murtasim did up two more button before stepping out stark naked.

With the arrival of morning, a couple grams of modesty had returned, making her wheeze at the sight. Without a care, her husband pullled his discarded boxers up his legs and then pulled her wrist so they entered her closet together, as if he needed a tour guide.

But his bare feet on the cold tiles halted on seeing the same teddy he had witnessed years ago in innocence, but streaked in black. He leaned down to pick up and Meerab was expressionless. It seemed so small in his hands again; a profound visual reminder of the time that had lapsed, lost in agonising separation.

The wool had worn out and the pink dye faded, threads frayed undone. ''You cried into it?'' Murtasim hushly asked, almost in a lilt of hurt or of failure for not being at her side when, on the rare occasion, she fell weak.