luck for the night - rl.

44. a flight to catch.

And suddenly, I woke up exactly where I wanted to be. So many mornings, maybe even more than I'd ever realised, I had woken with this emptiness in my chest, this feeling that something was off.

For years, I thought I was better off alone, and thought that a life without romantic love suited me. For years, I had been wrong. Because opening my eyes, the warmth of Remington pressed up against my back, arms slung around me, I did not understand how I could have ever woken up feeling happy without him close to me.

Besides his warmth, I felt something else wrapped around me. Tightly. Opening my eyes, I couldn't help but smile. Because instead of wrapping just himself in the sheets, as I had seen Remington do multiple times, he had done it to both of us. "A giant Remington Rylin burrito," I muttered to myself.

"What?" A voice behind me said, definitely more awake than me.

"You're awake?" I asked, knowing he was more prone to waking up late than me.

"It's hard to sleep," a soft peck against my neck, an unintended sliver of hot air wafting over my skin, "when you are this happy."

Warmth bloomed in my chest. I made him happy. I made him happy. But then immediately, I felt the now well-known sensation, the darkness building up within. I pushed it away as much as I could, taking his hand into mine, my lips making the words without thinking about it, even if they were a bit embarrassing.

"So what did you say?" He repeated.

"I said, a giant Remington Rylin burrito..." I paused. It was a very silly thing to say, definitely instead of 'good morning'.

"So what does that mean?" Remington grinned, lips close to my head.

"The first night," I started, mind drifting off to that day, "or more, the first morning. I woke up freezing, and when I turned around I realised why. You had wrapped yourself in the sheets. So I called it a giant Remington burrito."

"I do have that tendency, yes," Remington answered, and even if he was still behind me, I knew the smile that played around his face. Small, playful. A spark in his eyes.

And when I turned around, I saw I was right, except that there was also a soft pink haze on his cheeks. I loved seeing that, as if our accidental kiss, where I had seen his whole face get red, finally overruled his 'no blushing' policy. "I like it when you blush," I admitted.

"I like seeing you blush too," he said with a smile, "definitely that soft linger on your cheeks when I fuck the shit out of you."

My eyes widened, his words starting a fire in my lower belly. "What did you just say there?"

A corner of Remington's mouth lifted, mischief in his eyes. "You heard me."

"Maybe." My hands went up into the mess of his hair, one landing at the nape of his neck. "But I think you should repeat it. Just to be sure."

But Remington did not use any more words. Pulling me in, pressing his lips to mine, he, we slipped into a different tongue, a language we both knew by heart. Not one spoke with words, they did not matter anymore. All that mattered was a groan, a slip of the breath. A crease in the brow, a gasp, a tilt of the hips, a fingertip wandering over burning hot skin.

He manoeuvred himself on top of me, hungrily kissing me, as if there was nothing else to worry about than him and me, me and him. Or maybe as if there was everything to worry about, and he wanted to forget about the outside world.

He pulled back for a second to catch his breath, dark eyes on me. His breath was gaspy and uneven as his hands roamed my neck, my chest, tugging at the hem of my shirt, which had ridden up quite a lot.