Skin to skin, flesh to flesh. A breathe leaves Aliyah as if it's the last she'll take.

"Just- stop. Hang on." You hear her almost trip out of bed- she needs to clean up, badly,- and her forehead gently rests to the back of your shoulder blade.

"Stop listening to me," She mumbles, her palms coming to slide over your knuckles as she stands behind you, "you've gotta stop doing that," She half-muses, half-coughs. She's quiet, slightly ashamed.

You came over at her request; She cooed so sweetly over the phone, it nearly made your teeth ache. Her soft pleas were accompanied by the rustle of her empty sheets and the mewl of her cat. She murmurs off-hand that Callie, her younger sister, is at some little girl's birthday sleepover. She's alone. 'The bed is empty,' she'd murmur, 'please. I won't be much to handle.' And she isn't; she never is. Just your breath and skin blending her nights into blissful memories... that was enough.

.. if she knew how to express it. She'd let you in, got wine poured... and sat to herself. No move, no prompt action, no signal of what she wanted. Her ginger curls cling to her face as she cups your hips tenderly as she stands behind you.

"I'm sorry, hon. Please. Don't go home." She whispers.

Oh, how her heart aches.