Stories

Story – Sunday Morning

Finally a piece of new writing after almost 2 years!  Just a short and sweet one to get back into the swing of things, about a boy and a girl.  Forgive my rustiness.

Sunday Morning

Damnit, she’d forgotten to close the curtains again.

She tried to roll over and block out the sharp white light streaming through her open window, but she was already blinking and awake.  Sunday mornings, in her opinion, were for avoiding adult responsibilities and staying in bed as long as humanely possible, and this disruption to her normal routine was a severe annoyance.

She ran her hands through her hair, feeling the tangles and bumps on her scalp, before giving the blankets a frustrated tug to her chin.  The man next to her shifted, stirring at the disturbances, and she quickly pulled the curtains shut to block out the impending daylight.  After a few moments of uneven breathing, he settled facing the wall.  As weird as it was, she liked watching him sleep.

From this angle she could see the delicate ink on his shoulder blades, black lines and curves that trailed across his back like a pair of wings.  He really was a work of art all over, a modern David.  She’d never tell him in person; she tried to come off as though this little pairing of theirs was carefree and worry-free, when the truth was she had fallen deeply and utterly in love with him months ago.

He brought out the best in her, that was certain.  The wings on his shoulder blades were only a shadow now compared to their first meeting, when they had glowed with a magnificent aura and surrounded him with a kind of light she’d never experienced before.  It had reflected off his teeth when he laughed, and shone in his eyes when they met for the first time.  She had felt the strangest tugging from within herself, as though she was being flipped inside out, and she’d been both terrified and exhilarated by it.

We were a different species – no doubt about it, she thought as she traced the small rounded lumps concealed beneath her hairline.  As his wings had shrunk, so had her spikes and terrors.  He often said that she brought out the best in him; she had physical proof that he did the same for her.

Her fingers wandered to his shoulder blades and ghosted over the dark ink, gently so as not to wake him.  They didn’t get many moments like this, peaceful and simple.  Maybe she should wake up early more often, see him like this more often.  Maybe she should get up and make him breakfast.  Maybe she should tell him how much he means to her, before undressing and holding him tight.  Maybe they should go on a nice lunch date, somewhere south for a change.  Maybe-

“Love?” murmured a sleepy voice.  A slender, tanned arm reached out for her and she obliged, crawling towards his open embrace.  With her head on his chest and their synchronised breathing, she felt herself being lulled back towards sleep and she smiled.  Maybe she’d get her lazy Sunday morning after all.

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