Aftercare

 I arrived one hour later, but still he hadn't finished the work. He didn't even noticed I had arrived. Every two seconds I could hear a heavy breathing and your tongue clicking. That wasn't very optimistic.

You were so deeply focused that I didn't go interrupt. Turned my back and began to walk to the kitchen, but then you said, still looking fixely to the computer monitors: "I'm, sorry. It doesn't seem like we're going anywhere tonight."

I nodded with my head. I wasn't disappointed, but rather sad about the stressful working situation he was in, and I couldn't help not a bit. I opened a bottle of wine and proceeded to cook some dinner. Was almost finishing when he came to the kitchen and served himself a glass.

"Did you make it?" - I asked.

"Nope. But its useless to keep insisting right now. I'm tired."- he answered.

"I see." -I went by his side, touching his glass with mine, with a tinkle. -"Come sit on the couch". Bebi o resto do vinho e comecei a massagear as costas dele. The heavy breathing was now from relaxing, and I could feel his shoulders getting softer as I squeezed them.

He closed his eyes, raised his head. I smiled, recognizing that expression I had so many times seen throughout the years and that  had the power of bringing to sight again the young boy that had grew into that bearded man. He sips the wine. I press my breasts against the back of his neck, he smiles and leans his head to his favorite pillows.

A comfortable silence. I'm not trying to guess what he's thinking, nor caring about any thoughts in general, absorbed and happy with my occupation at the moment. 

Happiness is sometimes so very tangible.