The Season of Us

Winter (her)

She was waiting for the snow, but it never came, the winter chill encapsulating her in a frigid state, the winding biting cruelly against her skin. She makes her way back to her apartment in Seoul, her living room littered with fairy lights to celebrate the holiday. Running a bath, she lights the room with candles as she settles in the steaming tub, the fragrance of lavender permeating through the air. Her mind drifts to him, as it usually does, his presence monopolizing her heart and mind, his love for her coursing through her very veins though she is alone.

She recalls when she would wake up to the warmth of his embrace, how his mouth would flutter kisses against her bare skin, how his slight stubble would generate a friction against her thighs as she writhed against him. He would look up at her, with pure devotion, his eyes shining tenderly, though his mouth worshipped her with sinful caresses. Her hands would wring against the sheets, knuckles a blinding white as he devoured her. Her fingers would then wrap in his hair, pulling him into her heat, until she fell into her rapture, succumbing to feeling nothing but him.

He would feel proud, a small smirk blooming on his face as she found her ecstasy in him, but when he saw her image in front of him, the flecks of pure lust obscuring her dark pupils, his mouth became dry, the tantalizing view of her heaving chest, her lips swollen as she tried to silence her pleas to him leaving him entranced, until he had no choice but to heed to her every command.

She remembers how he felt when he pressed himself inside her, the way his pelvis would grind into hers, how his breath was hot in her ear. His breathing, the warm tendrils of air started even, then slowly morphed into a ragged pace as he reached his undoing, his pouty lips fluttering tender kisses along her jaw. Some days she would cradle him after, his comforting weight against her breast, as she would run her fingers through his hair. But most days, she would settle against his chest, the vehement need to have their skin melting into another, only to ignite another flame deep inside her, as she took control of his pleasure thereafter.

She would create a soft fist around him, handling the velvety flesh with ease, watching the sweet contortion of his features under her hooded lids. She would try to take him in her mouth, though he always denied her thus far, as he would pull her up and settled himself inside her molten heat. She became bolder in her actions, speaking her love for him in his ear, watching his perspiration trickle down his neck like a wicked waterfall. And then she would hear it, that strangled cry, the low growl that she would coax out of him as she ran her fingers along the breadth of his chest.

Suddenly the water in the tub seems too hot, her skin scorched and feverish against the deep chill of the night. Wrapping herself in a plush towel she dries herself off, and pulls out a sweater of his that she stole from him the last time they were together. The cloth was supposed to smell of him, his faint musk, the olfactory sensation triggering the memories and warmth that his body provided. But over the past six months without him, the scent faded, the depth of his baritone voice and breadth of his smile slowly fading in the recesses of her mind, only to be left with a sweater that was too baggy, the article of clothing drowning her completely.

She looks out to the window and awaits the snow once more, knowing that when it does fall, she knows he'll be watching it too....

A/N: disease is now spreading fast. My day off and my mind wanders here. LOL hope you aren't getting sick of it