[ Wakefulness comes slow: first it is scent ( the residual mix of sweat and sex, the mix of cloves and mint that you favor underscored by that smell that's distinct to cigarettes ) and then it is sound ( people moving about with the crunch of grass beneath the weight of feet among other muffled things, the wind outside, muffled voices; ) and then his eyes open and focus, adjusting to what light there is, which leads to the shapes, the hints of color in the tent you two have taken to sharing.
He doesn't move at first. His body feels wrecked, aching in places he didn't know he could ache and as he dimly navigates that threshold of just-barely awake, he remembers the sight of you above him in those last few rounds, the precise weight of your hands as you pinned him down and the way you both came together, again and again, and again.
His skin has cooled now, the oil that you used on him having run its course. That makes him register acutely, the crawling flush up the back of his neck before he shifts over those sheets just a fraction so that he can hide his face in the pillow beneath his head.
That was some... pretty... amazing sex. Um, wow? ]
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He doesn't move at first. His body feels wrecked, aching in places he didn't know he could ache and as he dimly navigates that threshold of just-barely awake, he remembers the sight of you above him in those last few rounds, the precise weight of your hands as you pinned him down and the way you both came together, again and again, and again.
His skin has cooled now, the oil that you used on him having run its course. That makes him register acutely, the crawling flush up the back of his neck before he shifts over those sheets just a fraction so that he can hide his face in the pillow beneath his head.
That was some... pretty... amazing sex. Um, wow? ]