A lot of things in life are less than subtle but some are. Lex is the king of subtlety and it never fails to leave me trembling in expected pleasure when he does one of his little moves. I know I have nothing to fear when it comes to his presence looming over me. He’s the sweetest and gentlest of souls when it’s time for a bit of private life. Out there in public or when he’s dealing with clients or cases he’s different, he’s focused and strong-minded but when I finally get him to relax and open up when we’re in the privacy of our home, he wouldn’t even think of harming a fly.
When he’s in the mood for more than just watching a movie side by side, even if it’s just for cuddling, he’s subtle. He’ll shift the way he’s sitting, as if he’s opening himself up to me and I’ve learned to read his cues more than well. Our first decade together turned out to be something of a disaster. I couldn’t read him at all, he was so, well, delicate about things. It’s hard to imagine him being delicate but he was. It was just a mere slight shift, a half-brush of his fingers over my arms. That was all the invitation he’d offer and if I didn’t take it within a few minutes of the other he’d retract it.
At the restaurant earlier, the simple, almost invisible brush of his hand on the small of my back was one of those things. If it had been at the beginning of our very open relationship I would have missed it, it was barely felt. But now, when he does it, it tantalizes me, it sets my nerves on fire and brings me to a slow warmth that soon turns into a burning boil. He’s the only one who can bring that kind of reaction out of me. To the point where I’ve been absolutely celibate while we’ve been apart these last years. I suppose I am a bit like Pavlov’s dog.
As we walked inside, there was another touch, this one knuckles to knuckles as if to tell me that he’s glad we’re back home, back to a world that is slightly more private. He doesn’t really initiate private things. He won’t hold my hand unless I reach for his first though he’ll briefly touch his fingers to mine. He won’t invite me to his bedroom but he’ll let me know by a well placed ghostly touch that he wants me in his bed. There are so many things and I don’t really know where to start, I suppose it doesn’t matter.
My heart flutters sharply every time he approaches me as I anticipate something, nothing and everything. I expect the unexpected and I admit to rarely being disappointed.
His eyes are hungry but I know that like every other time, there is not going to be any rush, it will be a slow dance that will leave me always craving more once it is done. I can never get enough of him, even when all we do is spend an evening settled together on the sofa, watching whatever there is to watch on television.
When morning light begins to show itself somewhat from the sides of the heavy curtains in his room, it finds us nestled, absolutely tangled together along with the bed sheets. There is a desire still deep within me, I feel as I can never be sated when he starts to sway me into his world of desire and pleasure but I ignore it for the time being. It feels good to be back in his arms and I know there will always be a next time. I think we’re bound in a way that is somewhat endless. He might see other people while we’re apart and I don’t fault him for it. When we’re together I’m the only one he has eyes for and that’s just what I want.
I can’t bring myself to see anyone else when I’m on my own and he’s in another city, on another continent. I’ve tried a few times but I find them all too brash, too quick to jump to action. I miss the subtlety of his motions, of his invitations. I suppose he’s broken me to the use of others and I’m rather sure that despite that he has lovers while we’re apart, they must not last long. It took me a decade to be able to decode his signals and that was a very long time ago, I don’t know that he has the patience to go through that again. It’s with that in mind that I consider myself absolutely lucky to have been the first one he stayed with long enough to be understood. I don’t think I would have had a second chance at getting closer to him if I hadn’t, essentially, won him over.
Briefly I think back to the night before and I laugh softly. I should have expected him to come find us. There had been a tell-tale sign but I just hadn’t seen it then, hadn’t noticed it I’d been in a bit of a strange mood since he’d told me he wasn’t coming with me to show them the yacht. It had put me off and I felt almost like a punished puppy but there it had been, that drift of fingers along my hip, my back. The brief kiss. I should have noticed.
He shifts slightly beneath me and I move to kiss his lips in apology for waking him. He’s not much of a morning person when he can afford to not be and we were up late into the night so I’ll let him get some more sleep. This is a comfortable spot as it is and I wouldn’t let anyone else have it. I feel like I fit just perfectly against his side this way, the way our legs are tangled together, the way our breathing is almost perfectly even, despite that I’m awake and he’s drifting back off to sleep.
I want to believe that this is it for me, forever more and for eternity. Some people would probably think me crazy to want to spend an eternity with the same guy but they just haven’t found that one person to love to the end of the world. Those are words that we haven’t spoken, words that might never be spoken but it’s just one of those things and it doesn’t matter. I can see it in his eyes, in the way he holds me, in the way he touches me as if I was precious and he needed to be careful not to break me.
He can be rough as he needs to but never with me. I’ve seen him with other people and I’m just the lucky one who gets to be pampered and I cherish every single second of it.