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Vi despises mornings—unless they’re like this. Caitlyn gasping against her neck, knee hitched up over her hips as she half-lays atop her, hand fisted in Vi’s loose top, grinding against the soft packer she sleeps in. Vi traces the line of her spine through her own sleep shirt, hiking Caitlyn’s knee higher for a better angle, a dream in stunning, sun-washed warm tones, canvas their sheets. She doesn’t know how long they’ve been doing this, time slipping from them both within the gilded frame of the curtains of their bed, only knows Caitlyn wants more.
They both do.
Bookmarked by wreckedmaseratl
22 Apr 2025

