I find her story is kinda peaceful and I like her style of writting.
Title: Cold mornings
It's not even seven o'clock. Too early to be awake, too late to get to bed. You are already up. Work is demanding everything from you. And yet. To you it seems like you are still sleeping.
The curtains are still closed. But it doesn't matter. They have the same colour as the night sky anyway.
You yawn. Stretch. And lean against the fluffy sofa. Shuffling, and then you are not longer alone in the room.
“Morning” Ohno yawns.“Morning” you respond in kind as you slouch further down the sofa.
“Short night?” “Short night.” The other nods. And watches your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes lock. The clock keeps ticking. You swallow. And then you are already up on your feet.
“It's really cold outside for June.” you say randomly while striving forward towards the make-up table. He gets up the second you arrive there.
“My hands were -are- freezing.” There are only a few millimetres between you. You look up. And then he's already turning you around. And before you know it your sitting comfortably on the wooden make-up table. Tubes and brushes find their way to the floor as he presses into you. Presses you against the mirror behind you.
Your legs wind around his waist. You press your foreheads together. Breath him in.
“You are cold.” “So are you”. And then his hands worm around your cheeks. His thumbs drawing circles along the curve of your eyes. You lean into the touch. Smile. Feel how warmth his slowly starting to spread where his hands are touching you.
He presses further. Another small tube finds its way to the floor. And you respond. And kiss him.
It's feverish and hurried. Arms, hands are pulling the other closer, closer. Your legs are tightening around him. He gasps into your kiss. You chuckle and whine. As his left hand pinches your cheek. You want to protest. But now he's kissing your neck. Lifts your shirt and trails his nose along your collarbone. And so you stop thinking. And surrender to the warmth. Press further and further (into him).
Minutes later, with both of your shirts gone. And your trousers tangled somewhere around your feet. You are resting your forehead against his shoulder. His hands drawing little stars on your back.
“Are you still cold?” he asks in a soft voice. Small lips against your ear.
You don't answer. But tighten your hold around his body. Your gaze drifts to the dark curtains. You smile and press against him. He happily obliges. And responds in kind until your are pressed flush against one another.
There is only you and him in that little room. The slow ticking of the clock on the wall. Your heartbeats and those dark curtains that shield you from the outside. Here it is only you and him. He kisses your forehead. And you know he is thinking the same.
It's seven thirty. And the coldness has disappeared. You are ready to wake up.
**End**
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