Waiting For Sunday

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{thirty-three}

“And you say you don’t know who these two— intruders were?” We shale our heads as an EMT checks Oliver’s head.

“Do you think there’s any reason why someone— anyone would break in and do this,” he asks, looking around. The one thing that had been odd was that everything of Oliver’s had been broken or tampered with. Mine— nothing, not one thing had been touched.

“Well as long as you’re both ok, then I suggest getting new locks fitted which no doubt your landlord is already on, and we’ll leave you to it. Here’s my card if you think of anything,” the copper-haired detective said, handing over the small rectangular card to Oliver, and turning to leave, his partner in tow.

“Everything looks good here,” the female EMT smiled, “Just a cut, nothing that needs a visit to the hospital,” Oliver thanks her again, his shirt peppered with blood, his blonde her tinted in the same.

“Thank you,”

“Sure,”

She disappears with her partner in tow too and leaves us alone.

“Guess I better start clearing this up, you gonna be ok? You need me to get you anything?” I ask as I begin to stand. I don’t mean to be so passive about it but from the moment the police and EMT’s arrived, Oliver had continued to be quiet, not really talking to me.

“Sure,” he murmurs as he stands himself, walking towards the bathroom. Silence rings out, the only sounds that can be heard are the muffled vibrations from the traffic and life continuing as normal outside and below us.

As I pull out some garbage bags, ready to scoop up the mess than can be thrown in the garbage, arms slowly circle around me. I instantly turn, pooling eyes looking down to me.

“Hey—,” I murmur, pushing the bag away and wrapping my arms around his neck, “Hey— shh, come here, it’s ok,” I promise. Now I’m the cool, calm and collected one.

“What’s wrong, tell me— please,”

“It’s just— I thought when they ran towards you— I thought they would hurt you— and I couldn’t do anything about it,”

“Oliver I’m ok, see— you took care of me, you held me in your arms, you protected me when they’d gone,”

“Exactly when they’d gone, not before,”

“Oliver, you can’t think like that, you’d been hit on the head with something, and luckily they didn’t do a lot of damage, but you still cared for me when it should have been the other way around,”

“I still failed you,” he whimpers as his face nuzzles into my neck. My arms tighten around him as his hands slip down to the backs of my thighs and lifts me, carrying me into the bathroom with him.

“You did not fail me, Oliver Ross, don’t ever think that— please,” I beg, my hands lifting his face to look at me. With red and wet eyes, I circle my thumbs against his cheeks, leaning up and kissing him, pouring every ounce of love I have into the kiss, letting him know that I don’t blame him, don’t think any less of him, he did care for me, he did protect me.

Running the water, I slowly pull at his clothes and undressing him down to nothing but his underwear.

“Why aren’t you getting undressed?”

“Because I’m taking care of you,” I simply reply, hooking my fingers over the band of his boxers, kissing his chest as I pull them down, letting them pool at his feet. Running my hand through the soapy water, I gesture for him to climb inside, cocking a brow when I catch a glimpse of his ass.

“Now sit down, sit back and just try to relax. I know it won’t be easy, but what sort of a relationship is this if I don’t look after you too? It’s not just the men that should be the care-givers,” I smile softly as he mutely sits back, exhaling as his muscles relax and submerge under the water.

With a sea-sponge, I wash his skin slowly, allowing the water and bubbles to wash over his tanned skin, his eyes fluttering closed as he relaxes. Slow, steady swipes over his chest flatten the soft blonde hairs and let bubbles gather, his pecs flexing a little as I continue down to his stomach. His breathing steady, his hands balled into fists as I run the sponge over his stomach. The same blonde hairs that normally sit and curl towards his body, flatten with the water and lead a trail to below his hips.

With one opened eye, he looks at me, smirking, “You can clean there if you want,”

“No you do it,” he sighs before I see his jaw twitch. I roll my eyes, smirking as I lower my hand, slowly cleaning him. I hear the small moan escape through his nose, his jaw twitching again as he stays quiet, but making me jump, his fist pushes up through the water and grabs my wrist.

“Oliver?”

“Come here,” he demands pulling me into the water, my clothes sodden as he pulls me on top of him, his hardening cock, throbbing against my skin.

“Oliver!” I exclaim as his lips find mine, crashing against them in want and need, devouring me as his hands find my cheeks. His tongue swipes against my lower lip, asking for permission he doesn’t need and massages my tongue with his own. A moan escapes us both as his hands slip from my face and down to my ass, kneading desperately at the soaked leggings.

“Off— I need these off,” he grunts as he pulls needily at the waistband.

I breathlessly sit back, water splashing over the bath soaking the bathroom floor, and peel them away.

“Come back,” he pleads as I drop the leggings and underwear to the soaking floor. My legs either side of his hips, I can feel him squeeze and knead at the naked flesh and pull me up and down onto him, hissing as I take his full length.

“Oliv—,” I moan as I feel his hands guide me back and forth, up and down his length. The ache, the need for distraction, for comfort only excites us both as he continues to rock his hips against mine, his mouth latching onto my neck, biting at the skin, not caring if he’s being too harsh. I moan, enjoying the slight pain that comes with it, as water ripples and shakes around us, spilling over the side still.

“Fuck— I,” he groans, “So fucking wet,”

“Oliver I—,” I moan as I feel the same pleasurable burn aching desperately between my legs, and with the heavy pants and grunts breaking free from his heated lips, I feel him pulse inside me, his hips staggering bringing on my own release. As we moan, breathing heavily, the water beneath and around us now cool, his forehead presses against mine, his eyes watering again, “I love you Sunday, you know that don’t you, I can’t ever imagine my life without you, and if you’ll marry me, fuck I’ll make you so happy,”

I sit back, my chest still heaving and look at him, my eyes searching his own as they survey my face, waiting for some sort of response as they fall to my lips, licking on his bottom lip as his brows furrow.

“Sunday?”

I don’t say anything, brushing my fingers through his dampened hair and with a kiss against his lips, breathing against him, I close my eyes and kiss him again.

“Sun please— answer me,” he murmurs against my mouth.

“Yes,”

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