Elien;
It's slow. That's what I remember most.
We don't rush. We couldn't, even if we wanted to, because my back protests when I bend and his hands are shaking too badly to manage the buttons. He laughs at himself, a thin, wrecked laugh, and I take his wrists and kiss each one and do the buttons myself.
His coat falls... Then his robe. The scars on his chest are the ones I remember, and some that are new. I touch every one. He closes his eyes and lets me.
"You don't have to do all of this," he says, as I kneel awkwardly at the edge of the bed to take off his boots.
"I want to." I answer breathlessly, and he looks down at me in worry.
"You're carrying a child. You're exhausted."
"I'm aware," I answer, and his face goes a bit grim.
