It was during times like these that she struggled with finding something to say. Too much to see beyond the blurriness of her vision, too many vowels and consonants to choose from, and there was a light bursting behind her eyelids and she decided she'd let him figure out what to say and she couldn't focus anymore -
"Fuck," he panted from above her, shoulders gleaming with sweat under the light. One or maybe two dimples winked at her from the corners of his mouth and she knew he was everything: soft and hard and joy and sadness and beauty and life.
She fought to find her breath and tried not to laugh at the disarray in his hair or the relief in his smile.
She failed.
"I can see you laughing at me," he said, his warm weight settling heavily against her tingling skin. She could still feel his fingers dancing over her, through her hair and where she needed him most. She could see the unbridled pleasure in his face when her body embraced him, quaked at his touch.
"I'm always laughing at you, remember?" She couldn't help but tease him, watching him and smiling and counting his teeth as she tugged herself closer.
His eyes glinted, glee folding in his cheeks. "Oh, no, you don't," he admonished gently with a firm kiss. "Now is not the time for laughing."
"What time is it then?" she asked, fingers tangling in the inky strands at the base of his neck, her lips tracing the line of his jaw, the smooth skin below his ear.
"You. On top."
With one last press of his lips against hers, his tongue silky and stubble rough, he rolled her in one smooth motion so that all she could see for a moment was the wide expanse of his chest, the dark hair leading down, down, down his stomach and to where they were still joined.
And then his lips were upon hers again, and a tight fluttering grew in her belly as she felt him hardening within her. She ran her tongue over his bottom lip, felt the jerk between her legs and reveled in how his arms tightened around her.