Sorry's Not Enough: Romance/Angst, PG-13
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- I’m sorry. -
Your eyes light up the second I step through the door of your apartment, that bright blue gaze so warm and loving and happy. I’m barely able to set down my duffel before you’re across the room and in my arms, hugging me tight, pressing your face against my neck even though you have to lean down to do so; breathing deep and just holding me, letting me hold you, neither of us having to say anything. You smell the same no matter how long its been, that clean smell of soap-you shower if you know I’m coming, though you never say it I can tell-and only a hint of cologne masking the musky, familiar scent that’s purely you, and I can’t help but revel in it. Revel in being here with you, finally.
It’s been so very long.
- I’m so, so sorry. -
You pull away long enough to press your lips to mine, and god but it feels good. Your mouth is like wet fire and I curl my fingers in your hair as you kiss me, unable to help the moan that rises in my throat. Soft and gentle, urgent and insistent, just that little tinge of desperation-I lean back and you smile at me, though I can see the pain in your eyes before the masking grin falls across them.
You take my hand and tug me toward the dining room, chattering all the way, and I feel some of the tension in my shoulders relax with the sound of your voice flowing over me like a soothing caress. I slip my arm around your waist and lean against you as we sit down to eat the meal you’ve prepared and natter away like old women, exchanging jokes and stories and gossip; locker room rumors and playful jabs. By the time we hit dessert we’ve exhausted all of those subjects and over Merlot and tiramisu we talk about ourselves and each other, about coaches and friends and rivals and points. We talk about how screwed Calgary is now and how much we hate Tampa, and commiserate over not being taken for what we’re worth.
We talk and talk and as the talk finally dwindles down after the third glass of wine you fiddle with your fork and avoid my eyes and softly ask how Krista and Ava are doing.
- I’m sorry. -
I force my voice to keep from cracking and tell you calmly that they’re fine, that Ava’s walking and talking and that Krista recently found a new delight in a rock-climbing facility near where we moved to in Boston. You nod wordlessly and smile, and to keep from seeing the ache in your eyes I lean in and kiss you-tasting rich wine and sweet chocolate and the softness of your lips. You respond easily, wrapping your arms around my neck, pulling me in closer, desperately closer. I sigh into your mouth and rest my hand against your chest and from the kitchen, somehow, we make it to your bedroom. It’s neat, as usual, homey and welcoming, and by tacit agreement we fall into bed together, gentle touches and soft caresses easing the night along.
When we make love it’s slow, and tender, and your body is so hot and so tight that I move with an almost intense carefulness, not wanting to hurt you-never wanting to hurt you. You wrap your arms around me and press your face into my shoulder and I kiss every inch of you that I can, thrusting languidly, running my hands over your bared skin; feeling you tremble beneath me. I come with a groan and you with a whisper, and the blankets are soft against over-sensitized skin as we tangle together, exchanging kisses and endearments and soft touches in the dark. My body and my heart, my soul eases with the sight of your smile, open and loving, the months of accumulated ache and emptiness finally filled. The moon and stars shine through the curtains and they play light across your skin as you curl up against my chest, murmuring incoherently as you succumb to slumber.
- I’m sorry, Kris. -
I stroke your back as you sleep, needing to touch you after so long apart. Needing to feel you warm against me. I can’t help but notice the blank circle on the wall where you removed the clock, stowing it away, out of sight, as if to deny time itself, and smile sadly. You almost seem to sense my despondency, shifting closer, nuzzling closer, mumbling in dreams. I pull you close and kiss your forehead, looking at the window, at those obscured celestial bodies of light.
I only have a few days here, and I know we’ll make the most of it, as much as we can. Only a couple days, whenever time permits it-and whenever Krista permits it. That she even does is a blessing in and of itself, her love for me as strong as my love for her, her equitable attempts to understand a grace like no other. Krista is nothing but supportive, so long as I remember, after these times, that I have a loving wife and a beautiful child to return to. And I can’t, and I won’t-I love them, love them as much as I do you.
But they aren’t the ones with broken smiles and shattered eyes.
I know you don’t regret any of our time spent together. I know you understand, that you accept the arrangement, as chaotic and fleeting as it can be. We’ve been with each other almost since day one and we’re not going to give up on each other any time soon.
Except, I’m losing you.
You’re my home. You’re my safety, my peace, my heart. Krista and Ava are as well, but you-you’re so special to me. I can’t live without you; I can’t breathe without you. I need you so badly that I think I’d be crippled if I were ever denied you, and I thank god every continued day you keep loving me. You’re a part of me that I can’t even think of losing, and even as everything else goes in a different direction-I always come back to you.
And every time I come back, I see that you’ve broken just a little more inside.
The long absences, the extended periods of time with no contact, sometimes barely even time enough to get in a phone call. The brief interludes we have together. They’re not enough, not nearly enough, not nearly what you deserve, and it hurts you. But it’s all that we have, and so you take it. We both take it.
And so you hurt.
I love you, Kris.
- I’m sorry. -
-
- I’m sorry. -
Your eyes light up the second I step through the door of your apartment, that bright blue gaze so warm and loving and happy. I’m barely able to set down my duffel before you’re across the room and in my arms, hugging me tight, pressing your face against my neck even though you have to lean down to do so; breathing deep and just holding me, letting me hold you, neither of us having to say anything. You smell the same no matter how long its been, that clean smell of soap-you shower if you know I’m coming, though you never say it I can tell-and only a hint of cologne masking the musky, familiar scent that’s purely you, and I can’t help but revel in it. Revel in being here with you, finally.
It’s been so very long.
- I’m so, so sorry. -
You pull away long enough to press your lips to mine, and god but it feels good. Your mouth is like wet fire and I curl my fingers in your hair as you kiss me, unable to help the moan that rises in my throat. Soft and gentle, urgent and insistent, just that little tinge of desperation-I lean back and you smile at me, though I can see the pain in your eyes before the masking grin falls across them.
You take my hand and tug me toward the dining room, chattering all the way, and I feel some of the tension in my shoulders relax with the sound of your voice flowing over me like a soothing caress. I slip my arm around your waist and lean against you as we sit down to eat the meal you’ve prepared and natter away like old women, exchanging jokes and stories and gossip; locker room rumors and playful jabs. By the time we hit dessert we’ve exhausted all of those subjects and over Merlot and tiramisu we talk about ourselves and each other, about coaches and friends and rivals and points. We talk about how screwed Calgary is now and how much we hate Tampa, and commiserate over not being taken for what we’re worth.
We talk and talk and as the talk finally dwindles down after the third glass of wine you fiddle with your fork and avoid my eyes and softly ask how Krista and Ava are doing.
- I’m sorry. -
I force my voice to keep from cracking and tell you calmly that they’re fine, that Ava’s walking and talking and that Krista recently found a new delight in a rock-climbing facility near where we moved to in Boston. You nod wordlessly and smile, and to keep from seeing the ache in your eyes I lean in and kiss you-tasting rich wine and sweet chocolate and the softness of your lips. You respond easily, wrapping your arms around my neck, pulling me in closer, desperately closer. I sigh into your mouth and rest my hand against your chest and from the kitchen, somehow, we make it to your bedroom. It’s neat, as usual, homey and welcoming, and by tacit agreement we fall into bed together, gentle touches and soft caresses easing the night along.
When we make love it’s slow, and tender, and your body is so hot and so tight that I move with an almost intense carefulness, not wanting to hurt you-never wanting to hurt you. You wrap your arms around me and press your face into my shoulder and I kiss every inch of you that I can, thrusting languidly, running my hands over your bared skin; feeling you tremble beneath me. I come with a groan and you with a whisper, and the blankets are soft against over-sensitized skin as we tangle together, exchanging kisses and endearments and soft touches in the dark. My body and my heart, my soul eases with the sight of your smile, open and loving, the months of accumulated ache and emptiness finally filled. The moon and stars shine through the curtains and they play light across your skin as you curl up against my chest, murmuring incoherently as you succumb to slumber.
- I’m sorry, Kris. -
I stroke your back as you sleep, needing to touch you after so long apart. Needing to feel you warm against me. I can’t help but notice the blank circle on the wall where you removed the clock, stowing it away, out of sight, as if to deny time itself, and smile sadly. You almost seem to sense my despondency, shifting closer, nuzzling closer, mumbling in dreams. I pull you close and kiss your forehead, looking at the window, at those obscured celestial bodies of light.
I only have a few days here, and I know we’ll make the most of it, as much as we can. Only a couple days, whenever time permits it-and whenever Krista permits it. That she even does is a blessing in and of itself, her love for me as strong as my love for her, her equitable attempts to understand a grace like no other. Krista is nothing but supportive, so long as I remember, after these times, that I have a loving wife and a beautiful child to return to. And I can’t, and I won’t-I love them, love them as much as I do you.
But they aren’t the ones with broken smiles and shattered eyes.
I know you don’t regret any of our time spent together. I know you understand, that you accept the arrangement, as chaotic and fleeting as it can be. We’ve been with each other almost since day one and we’re not going to give up on each other any time soon.
Except, I’m losing you.
You’re my home. You’re my safety, my peace, my heart. Krista and Ava are as well, but you-you’re so special to me. I can’t live without you; I can’t breathe without you. I need you so badly that I think I’d be crippled if I were ever denied you, and I thank god every continued day you keep loving me. You’re a part of me that I can’t even think of losing, and even as everything else goes in a different direction-I always come back to you.
And every time I come back, I see that you’ve broken just a little more inside.
The long absences, the extended periods of time with no contact, sometimes barely even time enough to get in a phone call. The brief interludes we have together. They’re not enough, not nearly enough, not nearly what you deserve, and it hurts you. But it’s all that we have, and so you take it. We both take it.
And so you hurt.
I love you, Kris.
- I’m sorry. -
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