Yes, this story has sexual content. Hence the title. "Afterglow." So only mature readers, please.


The gentle buzzing from the alarm clock slowly awoke him and he groaned, draping one arm over his eyes. It was too early. He began to doze once more, then furrowed his brow, squinting out from beneath his arm, eyeing the time on the clock. 1:00PM. He furrowed his brow. Since when did Emily let him sleep -this- late? He turned his head to the right to see his wife fast asleep beside him, her hair in disarray on the pillow, delicate eyelids shielding bright eyes. Smiling, he reached over, brushing a strand of hair behind her shoulder, his fingers lingering against her skin. She shifted in her sleep, making a tiny mewling noise and burrowing her head further into the pillow. She had always complained that, in the morning, she looked absoultely horrid. It was one of the rare times when she had no makeup on and her hair hung down below her shoulders, her clothes hung loosely from her body-if she even wore clothes at all. He would only laugh and tease her. Because that was when he loved her most. When she was Emily, without the false image. And, as selfish as he might have sounded, she was his. His wife.

He pillowed one arm beneath his head, his eyes taking in every detail of her face. From her tangled hair, to her slightly upturned nose, and to her mouth. The same mouth that had nearly driven him to the brink of insanity only five-had it only been five?-five hours ago. A smile touched his lips. He had been gone for several months and the night before had been his first night home. They planned on making it special, and indeed they had. They had made it special nearly till morning, craving one another, desperate kisses, slow kisses, gentle kisses, soft caresses, moans and sighs, the scent of sex and the flowers he had brought home with him, now sitting on the nightstand behind the alarm clock. The scent had been intoxicating, a mixture of her vanilla perfume, the sweet smell of the dahlias sitting beside them and her strong musk. He had never known he could feel this about another human being after having been hurt by the human race so badly before.

Momentarily, he wondered if he should wake her up. She hated sleeping in. It "messed up the entire schedule for the day." Today, he thought, would be a special day. She wouldn't mind. No. Today, they would sleep in and wake up in the evening. They had nowhere to be for the next month or two. He leaned forward, gently kissing her forehead, tasting the faint traces of sweat from the night before. For four years now she had been his entire world. The reason he awoke in the morning and the one thing that cradled him in his sleep. He had loved her from afar for so long and now she was his. Again, he sounded possessive and he shook his head. He wasn't possessive. He was proud. That was it. Proud that she had accepted his ridiculous proposal two years ago. That she had had tears in her eyes when she agreed, throwing her arms around his neck and nearly knocking him to the ground. Proud that he was able to fall asleep beside her and wake with her every morning. Proud that she knew he existed.

It had been a long journey to get to the point they were at now. He had watched her cry so many times before, felt that pang of guilt when she cried because of his hurtful words. It had taken so long for them to convince the other that pain was not what they longed for one another. But he would relive them. Because he knew they created what they had now.

He ran a hand down her side, dipping down across her waist, curving up over her hip and halting before the blanket obscured the rest of her body. She did not, of course, have the image of a "perfect" body. Her waist, from the front, appeared rather wide as a result of her hips. Her ears stuck out a bit more than some. She had the "extra" skin women often carry in preperation for whatever children they have in the coming years to prevent stretch marks. But she prided herself in it. She did not fall into the crowd of models, yet she was anything but average. Often times, she had teased him, telling him that they matched. For he was anything but model material. With a soft, rounded face, almost boyish in its innocence, his tiny, deep brown eyes and infectious grin, he was not the epitome of a GQ model.

A car rumbled to life nearby and she jerked a bit, her eyes fluttering open. She stared at him for a moment, a slight film over her eyes, her lids half-closed before she finally awoke. A tired smile met her lips and he returned it, brushing her hair back from her forehead. She made no move towards him, her eyes still focused on his. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers. A soft sigh escaped her lips and he slid his body over hers, deepening the kiss. She did not push him away, instead wrapping her arms around his neck and tasting the inside of his mouth. They loved one another once more that morning, names whispered towards one another, "I love you's" breathed desperately in the height of the long moments.

He collapsed onto her, quickly rolling off and lying beside her. She turned onto her side, laying her head on his chest and letting out a shaky breath. No words were spoken between them and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her close.

Beside him, the alarm clock buzzed once more and he made no move to turn it off, instead kissing the top of her head and shutting his eyes, the gentle buzzing lulling him back to sleep.


Quick note: I don't consider this story about "sex." It's about creating a love between one other person that you can only share with them. Sure, you can have sex with many many people, but there is only one person who you can make love to. And I think that's beautiful.