Norman Reedus Imagines

Wolf like me (Norman)

The warmth of your scent surrounds me, lurking in my senses before I'm even fully awake. Beside me, the sheets are cool, and a faded murmur lingers in my head from only hours before. You'd pressed your lips to my ear and told me to stay, to wait, that you'd be back later in the day. The thought both bolsters and bothers me – I've never clung, and I don't intend to start, but some days it's hard to watch you walk out the door, even though you are good on your promises to return later and spend every minute making up for the ones we've been apart. With a listless sigh, I turn over and stretch, four hundred thread count slick and smooth against my skin, and your scent – that mellow citrus and bergamot scent – clings to me and I groan, helpless, as memories flit back to me.

There are dinners by the light of a single taper burning between us, cross-legged on the hardwood, hole-in-the-wall Szechuan noodles and import beer, sticky fingers, empty bottles, and slowly winding tongues. My hips grind into the mattress in remembrance of your firm hands, the way that one time you turned me over on my knees, took up every slick, hot inch you could get inside of me, and fucked me into the floor. The hardwood had warmed under my knees and the side of my face, and I'm sure I screamed and cried so much that I gave your downstairs neighbors something to talk about for days. I ached after, deep in my bones, and in my heart, because I knew that you got me, and I got you, and the missing skin from my shoulder made a tiny scar to remind me of that.

I missed your kiss this morning. I miss your kisses right after we kiss. We've shared hundreds, if not thousands; it's your favorite thing, really, beyond touching or stroking your fingers over any inch of me you can get at. You kiss like you mean it, like you invented it, like you'll die without it, and I remember the first time you kissed me, in the October rain, in SoHo. It was a random street, and we had wandered around after dinner, fingers linked from time to time, and then you pulled me back into a doorway, your hands cupping my face and tilting it up, your body moving so that no one else could see us, and the breadth of your shoulders blocked out the light so there was only sound, and taste, and the electric feel between. The soft gasp you let out makes me weak as I lay here, my fingertips skating over my lips in a poor replacement for your mouth. I miss your tongue stroking mine. I miss your teeth in my bottom lip, and the way you grunt and push your hips into mine, conveying so much more than a chaste press of mouths.

If my lips are your salvation, then your intensity is my drug, and my breath comes faster when I think of the things I've let you do to me. I welcomed each one with an open mind, and you never disappoint, pushing me beyond what I thought my limits were, making me feel a bursting in my nerves and my heart that I hadn't even read about before. I didn't know I'd like the pain you provided as you worked me through one orgasm after another with only your fingers, and I was overused and abused, swollen, slick, and 'so fucking pretty and pink', words that were seared into my brain the moment you growled them. Your eyes had glowed as you looked to me for reassurance, for guidance, and that is what makes me more breathless than when your grip closes over my throat and holds me down to your will.

Fuck this day. It's too damn early, cold and dark, and my bed was warm and smelled like us when I left.

You kissed me goodbye without even knowing it, half asleep and dreaming. God, you're beautiful like that—always, but especially in that deep fuck-induced slumber, serene and hushed, your cheeks and forehead smooth, no worries, following your instincts and what your body knows to do. Yeah, you're always beautiful in all your ways. Sometimes you look at me like you're barely hanging on, a desperation in your wide eyes. Are you scared? Are you going to run? Will you be there when I get home tonight? But then I know you're in this with me. You're always with me, and you know I'm with you. Your acceptance, your surrender—it swallows me whole. It blows my mind the way you bend and twist and buckle. You succumb to my every whim, and you love it. I think you need it, and so do I.