Adoration (Patreon)

9.5.22

I tell you I love you as we tangle our naked selves together atop my creaking couch. Your body is warm, and soft, and your arm is wrapped around me in this blissful embrace as we recover from our intimacy a moment earlier. I kiss your face and tell you again and again, squeezing you tight to my chest, that I love you, I love you, I love you. You make soft, happy sounds at each, a light smile tugging at your lips, your eyes fluttering open only on occasion.

It’s a big feeling, I tell you. Being in love with you. I’m so desperately fond of you.

You tease me about my choice of words--I am quite fond of you, you playfully jab. I do simply adore you.

I beam. I do, I tell you. I do adore you.

And in a breath, I press my forehead to yours, and breathe, I hope it’s not too much to say, but… I can’t wait to marry you one day.

You hum, the beginnings of a delighted smile pulling across your features, squishing your cheeks, drawing crows feet by your eyes. I gaze at you for a time, taking in every inch of you, before I ask, What is it? What are you thinking about?

Your smile grows. That I want to kiss you.

The couch is not large, and already we are tightly pressed together, but I attempt to move ever closer. You shift after a time, let out a declaring “well,” before I laugh and shift my arms to grip you and keep you from leaving.

You can’t leave now, I say. You have to kiss me first.

Oh, you hum, having moved to face somewhat away from me, but now returning. I meant on our wedding day, but I can kiss you now, too.

My head swims and I feel a deep desire to curl up in a ball under the blankets and wiggle happily until the big feelings are no longer devouring. Until I can think again, of things other than marriage  ceremonies and gentle kisses, and oaths spoken beneath the sky.

But then again, the way the words you uttered make me feel is something I never truly want to end. A warm, familiar safety. A gentle kind of love. One that holds my hand when we drive any distance. One that curls soapy fingers in my hair to wash the weekend’s grime from the strands. One that sleepily kisses me in the morning and tells me I am loved.

My arms tighten around you once more and I press you into me, and you let out small sounds of joking protest and claim your death has come for you. I tell you, No, you’re not allowed to die. We have a cabin to build together, I say. I will be terribly mad at you if you die.

You laugh. If I die, you’ll never speak to me again?

I’ll bring you back just to be mad at you.

And never speak to me again?

Oh, no, I couldn’t do that.

Yeah?

It’d be punishment for me, too, and I’m not into that.

You howl with laughter. I point at you. You are not allowed to bring any recent examples to mind, I declare. You are still laughing. You shake your head.

No? Not into that? Are you sure?

You rise and stretch. I watch you with a smile, watch the sun’s gaze glint across your skin, highlight the muscles flexing beneath; watch as your golden locks fall upon your shoulders as gentle and as smooth as silk. I am enraptured by you.

That night, I dream of rings.