I'll wait for you (Dayasco)

The resolution

The air in our apartment was thick with the silence of the aftermath. Daya was quiet that night, his usual booming laugh replaced by a somber stillness. I knew he was probably terrified to speak, afraid of saying the wrong thing after our fight earlier. The hormones, however, were not so merciful. They were wreaking havoc, leaving me sore, tired, and prone to tears over nothing.

I pulled myself out of Daya's arms, where I'd been nestled all night, and shuffled towards the bathroom. The familiar scent of lavender and vanilla hit me, the scent of our shared space. On the counter, Daya had arranged all of my makeup brushes into a perfect heart. My throat tightened, tears welling in my eyes. How could I have been so horrible to him? He was so pure, so innocent.

He'd left out his Bio-Oil on the counter, a reminder to me of his own vulnerabilities. I picked up the bottle, the smooth glass cool in my hand, and carried it back to the bed. "Come here," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.

He crawled over to me, his big frame filling the space beside me. The familiar warmth of his body, the way his chest pressed against my back, calmed the storm within me. I tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head, the familiar sight of his bare chest sending butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

I turned him around, the sight of the butterfly tattoo on his chest always a marvel. I splashed some Bio-Oil onto my palm and gently began to massage it into the small, raised scars on his spine. The touch was light, almost reverent, and his breathing quickened. I wasn't sure if it was fear or excitement, but his body was tense, a stark contrast to his usual easygoing nature.

"You're okay, baby,"  I said softly, my voice a balm against his anxiety. "It's only me." I kissed the top of his spine, my fingers tracing the line of the scars. "You have such a pretty body, baby," I whispered, admiring the way his muscles rippled beneath my touch.

After his back, I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my face in the crook of his neck. His scent, a mix of colonge and fresh laundry, enveloped me, grounding me in the present moment.

He stood up, with me still on his back, and we walked to the kitchen, a silent agreement forming between us. The atmosphere was relaxed, a stark contrast to the tense, hostile air that had hung in the apartment earlier.

He reached for me, his arms wrapping around me from behind. His touch was gentle, his kisses light, peppered on my neck. My breath hitched, the familiar ache of desire blossoming within me. The hormones were at it again, whispering their urgent plea.

"Please...please touch me," I whispered, the words escaping my lips in a shaky breath.

He gently caressed the sides of my chest, his hands tracing the curve of my ribs. They slid down, his fingers settling on my crotch, a tantalizing tease through the fabric of my clothes. He kept his hand there, the warmth of his skin radiating through my clothing, while his lips trailed along my collarbone.

"My pretty girl," he repeated, his voice husky with longing. "Ugh my pretty girl."

I shuddered, the compliments and the hold he had on me fueling the fire within me. He let go as I finished cooking our dinner, his touch and his words leaving me trembling with a newfound confidence, both in my body and in him.

The fight was still a heavy weight in the room, but as we sat down to eat, the silence wasn't so much a void as a shared understanding, a promise of mending the cracks in our foundation.

My body felt like it was burning as we finished eating. My chest on fire, and sensitive as all hell, even my top rubbing over it was overwhelming me.

Daya pulled a blanket out of his tv unit, bringing it over to me. "Take it off if it's bothering you baby, you can have this to cover you up," he said softly handing me the blanket. A smile crept across my face as he sat back down beside me.

I pulled my top off slowly, Daya gasps quietly, his eyes admiring me. I leave the blanket beside me leaning back into him, his bare chest against my back.

He tucked his arm around me, setting his forearm just under my chest, giving me some support. I let out a content sigh, my body relaxing into him, almost melting against him.

Daya's touch was soft, a gentle caress on my bare back, his fingers tracing patterns over the delicate curves of my ribs. I felt utterly safe, a feeling that i craved daily.

"It's getting late," he said, his voice husky with sleepiness. His gaze met mine, and I felt a rush of warmth flood my cheeks. "Time for bed?"

I nodded, a contented sigh escaping my lips. He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, and stood up, offering his hand.

"Come on, sleepyhead," he said, his fingers intertwining with mine.

He carried me to our bedroom like a child, his arms strong and comforting. I closed my eyes, reveling in the feeling of his warmth against my skin, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a soothing lullaby. He laid me down on the bed, his touch lingering just a beat too long as he tucked the blankets around me.

"I'll be right back baby," he murmured, a smile playing on his lips.

I waited, my heart thumping in my chest, anticipation tingling through me. The door creaked open, and Daya slipped into bed beside me. I turned, pressing close to him, the familiar scent of his cologne filling my senses. I hooked my legs over his, his arms automatically tightening around me, his hands resting on my hips.

"You feel so small," he murmured, his voice a rumbling bass against my cheek.

"I am not, I'm a tall girl," I retorted, a playful smile tugging at my lips.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. We started to talk, about random things at first, about the movie we'd watched, the plans we had for the weekend. But the conversation inevitably drifted to something deeper, something that had been unspoken but swirling between us like a silent current.

"You know," Daya said, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "I always forget I'm your first,"

My breath hitched. "What do you mean?"

"The first person you've been with," he elaborated, looking at me with an intense gaze. His blue eyes were pools of warmth and understanding. "How come you never got with anyone in high school or anything? Your certainly pretty enough,"

I stopped, my thoughts swirling. It was a truth I hadn't shared with him, a secret I'd kept hidden even from myself for so long. "It's complicated," I finally whispered.

"How come?"

I took a deep breath, the words spilling out of me like a dam breaking. "I'd just never been comfortable with my sexuality before... not in the sense that I knew I was in the wrong body. I always knew I wasn't a gay man, but I was a straight girl. But before I transitioned, it wouldn't have been fair to get with anyone. It wouldn't have been right."

I felt a tear trace a path down my cheek, but I didn't wipe it away. The words, spoken aloud, felt like a weight lifting from my chest.

Daya reached for my face, his thumb gently brushing away the tear. "I'm glad you waited," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm really glad I was your first."

I felt a warmth bloom in my heart, a feeling of pure joy. "Me too," I whispered, nuzzling into his chest.

He held me close, his arms a safe haven. We were both silent for a moment, the only sound the gentle rhythm of our breaths.

"I love you," he said, his voice a soft murmur against my hair.

The words, though simple, held a depth that resonated deep within me.

"I love you too," I whispered back, before closing my eyes and trying to get some sleep.