I love the feel of the Chief's hand, tightly grasping mine through mittens. He's so much taller than I am, but our hands are just the prefect height for holding, like two puzzle pieces, we just fit. We talk and laugh and wander through the city streets. Languidly we explore ideas between politics and love and everything that just might fall between. Sexual promises whispered into the wind, curling along the spine, sending shivers through the body.Sometimes I'll twirl away, dancing with the leaves on the chilled air, and he always smiles, laughs at how adorable it is (Or that is my story. He's probably laughing at how ridiculous and absurd I look twirling around in circles while meandering down residential streets. But I will continue to pretend its adorable and not absurd). And sometimes the warmth from his knowing gaze is too much to pull away from.
I particularly love the darkened walkways, abandoned so late at night, chased indoors by the cool wind. I love how these darkened walkways are the perfect place to draw him close, and feel the warmth of his breath. To press my lips to his, and shiver from the sensation of warmth despite the autumn chill. To watch his eyes alight with surprise and delight at something so potentially public, the rush of maybe getting caught daring him to draw me in again, hold me just a little bit closer, a little bit harder. Steamy thoughts warm you up quickly when entangled with the Chief in darkened places...
And when you eventually get home, frozen through and through with rosy cheeks, you get to do the very next best thing on cold October nights... curl up on the couch with a movie, the fireplace, a steaming mug of hot chocolate and marshmallows and the man who warms your heart.
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