I dig my toes into the fabric, feeling the catch of the material through my socks and trying to focus on that instead of the clawing need in my chest.
It doesn't work, but I knew it wouldn't.
I try again anyway, digging my toes in harder, curling them and pressing down into the soft cushion of the couch. I'm sitting on the arm of it, my back to the desk against the wall but I can hear the tapping of keys. I know he's still there. Still working on something or another that needs to get done. It's important to him, therefore it's important to me.
But the need doesn't care. It's like a feral animal in moments like this. A small, mostly harmless one, but one that's pissed and confused about being caged when she knows just what she craves and how to get it. The feeling rattles me, and I can't always resist cracking open the cage.. Knowing the wily little fuck will escape when I do.
So I do.
I crack open that cage, and she bursts forth. My body moves on auto pilot as my toes uncurl and my legs stretch out before swinging to the floor and I stand. I am removed from the automatic motions of my body as I move with fluid grace across the room. I am never this graceful when I am in control, but she is. She is a tiny, feral thing- pure need in motion. She reads like prey, her size and submission seeming to ask you to do as you please with her. But in this she is twice-over the predator. First, me. She set me in her sights and played the game until I relented, and released her. Now, him. She is his prey on most days, but when he doesn't want to play, she has no problem taking on the role and challenging him to give her what she craves. She is already willing, caught, but she must catch him to make any use of it. The prey, provoking her predator. But she knows she can, and the confidence in that gives her the grace to move us forward swiftly and silently.
She moves us to the desk, across the room in barely a breath and at his back. My hands settle on his shoulders, and the only sign that he is surprised by my presence is the brief tensing of his muscles under my hands. But the surprise falls away quickly and he has an admonishment for my interruption ready on the tip of his tongue. It never makes it out though because as he turns his head just slightly to meet my eyes, he sees.
He sees her in my eyes.
"Daddy."
Her need drives my voice up an octave, but it also somehow takes on this persuasive pouty lilt that always leaves me shaking my head a little.
He turns away from the screen and his work to face me, my hands falling from his shoulders as he does so, and takes me in. Takes in my tall socks, short shorts and too-big t shirt. His assessment catches at my mouth and the shift is nearly imperceptible but she doesn't miss it. Her victory is assured when his eyes take on a sharp hungry gleam and he meets my gaze.
He sighs. Reluctant, but committed. His words reflect the latter but his tone is all the former- a challenge. A choice.
