Allison can't for the life of her care about the couch, or the air, or the world, or anything, anything, anything, that isn't the way her peel of laughter, all earned delight and overly blurry satisfaction, and how her face tucks against the side of his head and shoulder, all damp with sticky sweat, as his words become basically just another vibration, like his laughter, through the chamber of his chest moving directly into her skin.
She might be boneless still, but Luther is anything but weightless, and yet it's overwhelmingly pleasant to have him be the only world, consuming her air, her skin, gravity. It's not like she could ever put it into words any morehow than never trying to explain or defend how she exists with almost perfect clarity of knowing who and what she is in the second her fist connects with someone's face. Or the second their eyes turn smokey white.
This, too. Just as much. With Luther's too-long limbs and teasing mouth, letting her get away with it, in this too-small space, what rarely happens with him having more than enough bed to choose falling more to the side of her than on her (years of training, of control, of not being afraid of her being hurt in the field, of her being easily broken by anyone or anything, but not wanting to be the one hurting, or even inconveniencing, her), and Allison gets to enjoy that rareness of it.
The heavyweight of him defining her bones and the cushions beneath her, more she could never lift, would have to roll, that is all that filling up her mind with the pleasant arrogance and wholly simple delight. Making it hard to focus on things like how he's gone soft inside her, or that she's going to need another shower, they both will, and whatever comes next.
Next isn't important. Only Luther, everywhere, everything, around her is important right now.
That she gets to stay there a little longer, her face in against his shoulder and neck. To just let the vibrated rumble that pretends she's even thinking about, and not that her brain barely has enough cohesion to afford thinking more than yes and good and: "Mmm. Never."
Is it possible to tell if she means 'she'll never tell him when he starts crushing her,' or that she'll 'never in her life given in and announce something is getting the better of her,' or if 'she's never going to let him move away even so ever again?' Not entirely, but maybe it doesn't need to. It's all of them. It's everything, it's more, and it's nothing. She's never had to be logical about the way the magnet of her entire existence fit into him, and for this few seconds, she can just get lost in it, just be this part of her, of him, of them.
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She might be boneless still, but Luther is anything but weightless, and yet it's overwhelmingly pleasant to have him be the only world, consuming her air, her skin, gravity. It's not like she could ever put it into words any morehow than never trying to explain or defend how she exists with almost perfect clarity of knowing who and what she is in the second her fist connects with someone's face. Or the second their eyes turn smokey white.
This, too. Just as much. With Luther's too-long limbs and teasing mouth, letting her get away with it, in this too-small space, what rarely happens with him having more than enough bed to choose falling more to the side of her than on her (years of training, of control, of not being afraid of her being hurt in the field, of her being easily broken by anyone or anything, but not wanting to be the one hurting, or even inconveniencing, her), and Allison gets to enjoy that rareness of it.
The heavyweight of him defining her bones and the cushions beneath her, more she could never lift, would have to roll, that is all that filling up her mind with the pleasant arrogance and wholly simple delight. Making it hard to focus on things like how he's gone soft inside her, or that she's going to need another shower, they both will, and whatever comes next.
Next isn't important. Only Luther,
everywhere, everything, around her
is important right now.
That she gets to stay there a little longer, her face in against his shoulder and neck. To just let the vibrated rumble that pretends she's even thinking about, and not that her brain barely has enough cohesion to afford thinking more than yes and good and: "Mmm. Never."
Is it possible to tell if she means 'she'll never tell him when he starts crushing her,' or that she'll 'never in her life given in and announce something is getting the better of her,' or if 'she's never going to let him move away even so ever again?' Not entirely, but maybe it doesn't need to. It's all of them. It's everything, it's more, and it's nothing. She's never had to be logical about the way the magnet of her entire existence fit into him, and for this few seconds, she can just get lost in it, just be this part of her, of him, of them.