#i sighed too

They were dancing around one another. Months of it, getting closer, then farther, never quite touching, and never quite moving away far enough that they weren't with one another. It was on the cards, written on the wall, but it was a wall on an apartment that they were going to buy together, at some point in the future. They weren’t quite there yet. 

She wondered what it might be like to be with him, hand clasped in hand, one on her hip, one on his ribs. To be lead by him, or maybe do a little leading of her own. He had a bad habit of letting his stubble turn into a light beard, and she wanted to be the attentive one to catch the problem before it began. She wanted to wake up next to him and run her hand over his face and know that yes, today is the day she gets out the razor and makes him clean. 

He wondered what it might be like to have her under his thumb, a waltz, a tango. Alternate steps, rising and swelling to the music, before it diminished into something altogether placid, calm and tranquil once they were both spent against the sheets that clung to them like satisfaction. They’d pant, his a deep, slow movement that made his chest swell. Her’s a little faster, more spontaneous. She was always more spontaneous. It made his surprises all the more surprising. 

She got a little closer. He got a little closer. He thought what it might be like to wrap a hand around her throat. She thought what it might be like to feel him come inside her. A little closer. She wondered what the word ‘Mine’ might sound falling from his lips like an atom bomb. He mused on the mewling she’d make when she was gagged, teased and unable to get away. A little closer. A blindfold. Marker pen scrawling 'Slut’ across her stomach. A little closer. A languid, morning-gravelled voice ordering her on what to wear that day. Her in the kitchen. Him in the kitchen. Cooking together. Watching Tv together. A little closer. 

She stepped on his toes. He didn’t mind. They laughed. A little closer.