Oneshots (18+)

Cherry Blossoms on a Sunday Morning

AN - Prompt: Tattoo worship. Primary focus should be on the tattoo. Sensuality, erotic, love are the emotive keywords.

As always, this is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real-life people or scenarios is possibly intentional, but you'll never know. Just kidding. Enjoy!

I was never one of those "church on Sunday" people. I never had any practice atoning for my sins. I never knelt at the pews to pray to a deity I could never see or believe in.

But this Sunday... Oh, this Sunday has found me on my knees, whispering prayers into your sleep-warmed skin. I can't resist the call. I never could. Twenty years of give and take, of secret affairs. Of blatant exclamations of love, shouted into a void all our own.

You turn toward me, the sheet slipping down as your body moves, subconsciously seeking... Searching for something neither of us could give for so long. Love. Acceptance. Devotion. A steadfast, sure thing. Something that has never been touched by time, no matter how that same time has aged us.

You still take my breath away.

My eyes take you in, devouring the slopes and curves of your skin unabashedly. A slight quirk to the corner of my lips as your arm slips forward to curve beneath your breast and rest your hand on the mattress. In doing so, you bare the first of many tattoos that adorn your body—one I remember with stark clarity the first time I saw it.

I smile slightly as I reach out, gliding my fingertips along the branches that curve up your side and across your ribcage. Flashes of another time flit across my memory, of long nights spent tangled in sheets with our phones turned off. Stolen moments hiding from the world in the darkness of your older sister's apartment while she was out of town as I explored every inch of that tattoo.

Suddenly, I'm struck with an intense need to know if it tastes the same as it did back then. If the floral scent mixed with the light salt of sweat is still as addicting as before. If your body will respond to me as it did when I traced every inch of that ink with my tongue, lips, and teeth. And my smile grows as I realize... I don't have to wonder. I can find out right now.

So, I lean forward, my left hand sliding over yours to lock our fingers together and hold your palm to the mattress because you've always been slightly ticklish in the mornings. My right hand slides down your hip, along the back of your thigh, before curling around the bend in your knee. I guide your leg up over mine, relishing in the feel of your soft skin gliding against my own as I press closer and lay the first of many kisses to the sensitive skin at the base of the lowest branch marked permanently into your skin.

You stir against me, arching slightly into my touch as your breath comes out in a shuddering gasp when the tip of my tongue glides along a design that's etched as permanently into my memories as it is into your skin. I'm exalted, baptized in the taste of you, bathed in the heady scent of your arousal as I nip lightly with my teeth at each blossom before pressing my lips lightly to soothe the slight sting. My hands tighten against your body, pulling you closer as I whisper my prayers of salvation into the only thing that has ever soothed my soul. You, always and only you.

Your hips rock toward me, seeking friction to assuage the ache that's increasing between your thighs as I reacquaint myself with the only piece of art that has ever made me feel. And I cannot deny you a thing because this is my atonement, not yours. So even as I count each dip of your ribs while chasing the cherry blossoms that have haunted my dreams, I slide my hand back up your thigh and dip my fingers into your heated, dripping wetness from behind. 

The moan that escapes your lips as I sink two fingers inside you transcends the most beautiful chorus. Your free hand slides from beneath your pillow to curl around the back of my neck, fingers tangling into my hair as you hold my mouth to your skin and rock yourself back onto my hand, forcing me deeper inside you. The angle is just perfect enough to press the tips of my fingers directly into the spongey, ribbed patch of skin that causes your hips to quicken and the volume of your cries to increase in a desperate attempt to chase your release. But I know you won't get there without a little extra help.

I pull your other hand down between us, my fingers still entwined with yours, and press them to the swollen, hard bundle of nerves that will take you over the edge and cast you into our very own version of Heaven. I feel you tighten your grip in my hair and pull as we circle your clit in counter rhythm to the rocking of your hips as you fuck yourself on my fingers. And for the first time since we started, my mouth is pulled away so you can look at me with eyes hooded with desire.

"I need..." you whisper, your voice stuttering as my fingertips press particularly hard into your g-spot.

"I know..." I whisper back, lifting my chin, offering the very last of me to the altar, which is you. 

And as your lips meet mine in a kiss that steals the breath from my very lungs, I feel your back arch hard, and your walls clamp down on my fingers as your body approaches the precipice. You gasp my name into my lips, breathing life back into me before letting out a sharp cry as the last flick of our fingers against your clit forces you over the edge. 

I continue to stroke my fingers gently inside you, coaxing you through the waves of pleasure until your body settles against mine once more. And as your breathing evens out and your grip on my hair relaxes to soothing, gentle strokes, I gently rest my forehead against your breast bone. My eyes slip closed once more allowing me to pretend, for one more moment, that my absolution was found within the boughs of a cherry blossom tree.