He tilted her head up to meet his eyes. It was a hollow gesture, the blindfold wrapped around her he

He tilted her head up to meet his eyes. It was a hollow gesture, the blindfold wrapped around her head making any gaze of her’s redundant. But he did it anyway, because it was an instinct, and he didn’t often deny those.  Her brow crinkled, furrows that creased, deepened, became canyons right in front of him. Sometimes he was struck by the melancholy of their relationship, that constant pendulum swing from left to right, between pain, pleasure, fierce passion and laconic comfort. It felt like it should be exhausted. And that feeling itself was enough to tire. He stared down at her, and she couldn’t stare up at him. He leant down, planting a kiss on her lips. He felt them curl into a smile under him, a warmth that washed over him in a very physical sense. Her arms strained against the bonds that he had tied her in, seeking to embrace. Here he was, restricting her in every way that mattered, tying off her warmth, her passion, and her love. It was that bondage that made it clear to him.   The knots went first, picked by fingertips with a measured care that had each falling away as if to a rhythm. Freedom with a dancebeat, tapped out against his fingernail, plucked as each knot was slowly unravelled. Her arms free, they went instantly to him, caressing his face. He smiled, slowly.  The blindfold lingered, and he hestitated with it, waiting for that beat to kick in in his head, for the timing to be just right. Moments ticked by expectantly, each wondering whether it might be the one, before the one came along, and he started to untie that knot, too. She blinked, eyelashes fluttering as if trying to woo him. But it was too late for that, he’d fallen for her a time ago. Instead she just stared up at him, and he stared back.  “Thank you."  It didn’t matter which one of them said it. -- source link

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