better man/worse than nicotine » arthur ketch

twenty-one: it's all too good to be true.

i've lost control and i don't want it back.

Nights with Arthur Ketch might be my favorite thing on the planet.

            When we're done with our rendezvous of the night, and we've cleaned up and calmed down. When we're lying in bed next to one another, and I'm running my fingers through his hair and he's smiling over at me. When we're laughing the last of our small buzz away, and he's lacing his fingers with mine and I knock my feet against his. When we're trying not to stoke the fire and smiling because we might actually be the definition of crazy as we lie here, holding one another.

            I can remember teasing him about cuddling. And now it's one of my favorite ways to spend time with him.

            It is clear that he doesn't hold many people – let alone hug many. Every hug I receive, it is clear I am the only one. And every time he holds me through the night, it's clear he has no intentions of letting me go.

            It's scary, or it used to scare me to think about, at least. That he might actually love me so much that he will protect me to the ends of the Earth. And that I can feel in my bones...I will do the same for him.

            Love is a scary, scary thing. Something I never truly experienced before. And how odd it is that I am falling in love with a man my brothers despise. With a man that is the definition of "so wrong, it's right" for me.

            As I lay awake, a few minutes before his alarm is scheduled to go off, I study him. I've done this many times before. I haven't had many nightmares since I met him, but I also don't sleep much. Instead I spend the time relishing in the feeling of being in his arms. I watch him as he sleeps, as creepy as it sounds. I run my fingers through his hair over and over again.

            He takes in a deep breath, turning his head to kiss my wrist before he opens his eyes, finding mine.

            This. This is a sight I will never take for granted.

            "Morning," I whisper.

            "Good morning," he murmurs, reaching up to lace his fingers with mine. Somehow, he makes hand holding seem intimate. Which, with him, I suppose it is. "Did you sleep?"

            "A couple hours," I nod. "My knee is starting to bother me again."

            He gives me a look, kissing the back of my hand. "I told you the doctors at the base can help. I am sure it can be fixed."

            I smile softly. "I know. Maybe one day."

            He sighs, but it's gentle. "Are you going to come with me today?"

            "I think so."

            He smiles again. "Good."

            And as if on cue, the alarm goes off, signaling his time to get ready. I whine in protest, shutting my eyes. I hear his little chuckle, the rare bit of laughter I can bring out of him. I immediately smile, opening my eyes to see his face.

            We get dressed together. It feels so domestic, in a way. The bathroom door never shuts, the amount of intimacy we share is too great for doors to separate us. He kisses my shoulder while I try to hook my bra. I turn my head to kiss him fully. We waste time against the bathroom counter, making out like too teenagers in love.

            I break away from him to grab a new pair of jeans, tugging them on while he brushes his teeth. I find one of my nicer blouses and shrug it over my shoulders, buttoning the front as I make my way back into the bathroom. He combs his hair in front of the mirror, our eyes catching one another's in a small moment. We laugh.

            There's not a single care in my body.

            I help him tie his tie, though he knows perfectly how to do it. I like doing it myself, getting distracted by his hands on my hips. I tug the tie to remind him of the night before, but all that does is ignite the flame we tried hard to tame earlier this morning.

            We waste more time against the bathroom counter.

            And it all feels so right.