On reunions…
Sometimes reunions drip with lust, and not much else. You’re finally occupying space again with a body whose proximity means “get ready for orgasms” to yours. Pheromones seem to hang in a cloud above you both, and he presses into you, seething with the frustration of every time he masturbated thinking about you, each time he reached down to his cock and wished your head was blocking the way. His hello kiss is full of tongue and teeth, mimicking the waxing hardness you feel through his jeans. It’s dizzying, delicious. He doesn’t care much what you have to say; he wants to occupy your mouth in other ways. It’s all very low-stakes and purely erotic, and somehow that’s what makes it hot.
Sometimes reunions are joyous and fun. Like you haven’t seen your boyfriend in a couple weeks and it felt like too damn long for both of you. He hugs you like it’s been months, like he’s been waiting for you– not just your body, not just the orgasms he knows are going to happen. You inhale richly, smelling each other’s mingled scents of detergent and skin and breath and shampoo and other things all intangible and sweet that have become shorthand for contentment. Things suddenly feel more right now that you’re touching, even if you’re just holding hands. There will be fun, and conversation, and hysterical laughter. Also, there will be really amazing orgasms. This one is both hot and warm.. and pretty bloody cool.
Both of these are much, much better than the “I fucked you once, have been avoiding you ever since, and now here you are, looking as horrified as I do,” reunion.
