Choking On Sapphires

31 Hands

You've seen him wince too many times tonight. It's making you chew a sore spot in your cheek as you watch his small tells, a lip twitch, a stretching and clenching of a hand giving away his pain. You felt partially responsible, and you were to some extent. Being physical with the man wouldn't be anything new, but what you wanted to suggest you weren't sure he'd be up for.

You knew he'd love it if you could get him to relax, which is something you've found he had a very hard time doing. The sex had helped his mood noticeably, as well as yours. You weren't sure if it was the good mood you were forthputting now or getting to see Alfie in full form as he sauntered into the bathroom naked on occasion in the morning that had the girls that worked for you in such a cheery state. You knew if you had to listen to you and Solomons have sex and weren't a participant, the enviable performance sounds would have done exactly the opposite of that for you.

Because of those romps together, and with no help from your preference for hard and fast, your poor Alfie has found himself a bit worse for wear. You knew he'd also been working late this week, he was worn down in too many ways to even give you his usual cheekiness at this point in the evening on a Friday night. Instead, he sat in his pajamas, glasses under roaming eyes as he read. This was interrupted yet again with a grunt as he resituates himself in the seat. You knew what would help him feel better, you even more willing to do it for him, despite how tiring you did find it. You sigh and frown at the man that isn't shining as brightly as he usually does sitting across from you.

"Alfie?" you lilt out, your sweet call to try to set a willing mood.

"Mmmph?" is your grunted response.

"You're hurting again aren't you?" you ask, making his nose wrinkle as he didn't want to talk about it, already feeling less than for not feeling up to his preferred Friday night habit of fucking you.

"Eh." he gruffs out, giving you that hesitancy as his mouth opens and closes, eyes sliding over to you in an angry pout.

You rise and move to sit next to him on the couch, one foot on the ground, the other leg tucked under you as you place your hands gently on his thigh. "I'm certain I could make it hurt less if you're open to me getting my hands on you." you look over at him with those big doe eyes, asking things of him with their appearance.

He narrows his eyes at you, rest of his face neutral. "That's what's caused this flare up I'm in now." he says in a gritty, deeper voice, eyebrow cocking at his obvious tone.

You slump your shoulders. "I don't mean like that," you say with a scrunched up face, brows heavy, showing your disapproving expression clearly. "I'm trying to help, not make it worse." you say, an easy going smile back on your face as you look away from him as you speak.

"Then fuckin' what, Gen?" he says with the impatience in his voice. His aggressive finger picks at a spot of dry skin by his ear, his psoriasis flaring up, giving away how stressed he was. You frown at the cranky man beside you.

"Stop picking." you order, taking his hand and holding it down gently with yours. "You're nearly a mess, Alfie." you sigh, your eyes that aren't as scolding as he expected them to be meet his. "Let me take you to bed with other purposes besides sex, and let me get my hands on you, work all that stress out of you." your tone is polite and asking, not commanding.

"What ya wanna do that for? Ya can just leave me be now, Genevieve." he grumbles. My goodness he was sore in ways besides physical with you this week.

"You know I'm not going to," you say in a non-threatening but obvious way, your doe eyes now giving him a small hopeful smile that breaks his resolve. He never thought softness would be his weakness. But he did so very badly, knowingly or not, need more softness in his life. "And you know I'm good with my hands." you say playfully, nudging his leg with yours.