"Who says cigarettes aren't still sexy?" Wren thought to herself with a silent smile. She was lazily watching Quinn's back rise and fall while simultaneously watching his reflection in the dresser mirror beside the bed. Secretly she watched him over her arm covering her face lying stomach down on the bed. Her curly brown hair hiding her intent stare in layers of long locks covering her face.
Quinn's back was etched with tiny scars, paper thin ones that were more dominant in the summer when his upper body tanned from outdoor labor. She'd known him for 6 years. Longer than anyone else she could think of, and she still didn't know what had made those scars.
On his upper right shoulder was a small tattoo of a clover. The same tattoo was replicated on his right upper chest. His chest was clean of hair except around his nipples that were kissed brown inside the blonde hairs. A dusting trailed down his lower stomach to where it ended beneath a pair of green silk pajama bottoms. Well-toned yet thin arms resting elbows on well formed, wiry legs, his head bowed showing only the tips of his blonde short hair. Long fingers pressed to his temples, right hand holding a cigarette fresh lit.
He raised his face to the glowing stick, full lips taking the end between them. He had amazing olive green eyes. Wren could see them even in the dim lit room. His cheekbones were high like the natives of the land, and his nose turned up at the end like a mythical creature. He was always a wonder to observe. Especially in these late private moments when he crept into the house passing the boarding rooms and slipping inside the two rooms that made up Wren's entire universe.
She should let him know she was awake. He had come this time without dressing. She felt his coat's weight on the end of the bed, the slight damp from the cold making an odd feeling against the blankets. Something troubled him. His hands were shaking against his hair.
Slowly and stealthily she moved her hand across the bed reaching to touch his thigh. His leg tensed and released under his fingers as he looked over his shoulder into the dark blue eyes. They were so blue that most people thought they were black. Blue like a night sky. Tonight they were just how he loved them the most, quietly searching; full of what could be called love and most importantly acceptance.
Wren raised her upper body from the bed, slipping closer to her late night visitor. She ran her fingers over his jaw, and the light night stubble that was growing there. She used her other hand to slip the cigarette out of his hand and into the glass bowl beside the bed. Slipping her arms around his waist she guided him to the bed. Covering them both with the blankets and cradling his back to her stomach in a spoon.
Holding tightly to Quinn's waist, Wren stroked the hairs on his lower belly, her lips warming the skin of his shoulder blade. He was still shaking. Silence lulled the room, and Wren held tightly.
Slipping her hand below the loose green fabric, she circled her fingers around his warm limp shaft stroking it lightly. Slowly it awoke to her touch, filling her palm in its slow rhythm.
Quinn reached for Wren's hand, pulling it out of his pants and turning to lie facing her on his side. His arms pulling her close to his chest and holding her there in a long hug. Rolling her to her back and tucking his head into her neck where he sucked at the notch at the base of her throat. His hand tugging at the thin panties she was wearing.
She cradled him with her legs, raising her hips to let him slide down her underwear, then opening them around his thighs. He made a sound like a groan or the beginning of a sob. His face against her neck, she thought he might be weeping.
Moving under him, she shifted to where she could feel his arousal touching her mound. She stroked his back with her nails, a slow soothing trail back and forth. He sobbed again.
Leaning up on one elbow, he pulled down his pants, then settled between her legs again. His hardness grazing the close cropped mound of her sex. Wren put a hand in his hair, pulling his face to hers. Those deep blue eyes searching but not asking. Patience those eyes had. Loving those eyes showed. It was why he was here, what he needed.
He took her upper body in his arms, cradling her upper back as he covered her again. His cheek pressed against hers, he reached down and guided himself home.
She was not completely ready for him. The feeling hurt for an instance, and she let out a sharp cry holding still under him. He hadn't noticed. He was pressing himself into her in a continuous rhythm, driving towards something she could not see.
Her body recognized its lover and began to make a smoother entrance for him. Wren wrapped her legs high around his waist, and moved her hips to meet his own.
Holding to her shoulders, Quinn began to move harder inside of her. His movements more determined. She felt his fingers pressing into her skin in an urgency that she did not understand and his breathing became shallow. He buried his head in her shoulder, sucking on her collarbone the sobbing sound coming with his faster stride.
With the faster pace, he became frustrated. At what, Wren did not know. He was not himself tonight, her gentle lover. He seemed to be racing some inner demon and needed to find a way home. Love and a slight fear of this new sensation took over and she hung on, stroking his arms, his hair, and his sides.
