‘Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.’

– Emily Dickinson

On nights like this she loves to watch the morning break. Occasional glimpses through windows reveal an ever lightening sky, from deep midnight blues through pinkish greys to the brightness of dawn. Sunlight that she has seen easing over the horizon now blazes through the windows to flood out any pretence that it is still night.

She watches the day emerge on the wards too. This may be an obscene time to be awake on a Saturday, but wards do not recognise weekends and the breakfast trolley clatters around as usual, distributing tea and toast or miniature boxes of cereal.

Yawning and rubbing her eyes, she hands over and heads home, floating slightly in the post-nights contradictory haze of exhaustion and vigilance. Having warmed her at dawn, the intensity of the rising sun now hurts her eyes and she yearns for the dark softness of her bed.

The house is sleeping when she unlocks the door. Trying not to disturb the silence, she sits in the kitchen and eats enough to ensure hunger pangs wouldn’t wake her until the evening, before heading upstairs as sleep starts spreading soft tendrils up her back that tempt her into its promise of oblivion.

The heavy curtains still cover the windows of their bedroom and the darkness steals over her as soon as she opens the door. He is sprawled across the bed, covers in disarray and still sleeping. Stripping off her work clothes, she slides under the sheets beside him and is overwhelmed by his warm and comforting smell. As she inhales his scent deep into her lungs, she can feel the adrenaline pumping through her fade as even the animalistic instincts that have kept her going through the long and unnatural night shift know that she is home.

Suspecting that she will be cold against his sleep-warmed body, she hesitates from settling in too close, but her weight on the mattress has roused him and he pulls her closer, enfolding her in his arms and nuzzling the base of her neck. The tenor of his breathing does not change as if he were still asleep, but as she wriggles backwards, his cock begins to stir against her soft arse. Wondering out loud if he is awake, she is greeted by incomprehensible husky murmurs, but his hands move with more purpose as he draws out a dormant lust that has rested throughout the night apart.

Tilting her hips towards him, she parts her legs wide enough so he could slide deep inside her. With him still woozy from the night’s sleep and her exhausted from her night’s exertion, they move at a relaxed and sedate pace. Their bodies fit together with long practiced ease and slowly, simply, the familiar stretch of him deep inside her coaxes her towards a release that she did not know she craved. His fingers tease her clit in lazy circles and the tensions of the night that she carried heavy on her shoulders melt away in the mounting pleasure they elicit from each other.

Afterwards, as their bodies quiet, she finally yields to sleep, her mind and body satisfied. His arms still wrapped around her, they sleep together for a short time until his day begins.

Soon he will wake. Soon he will disentangle himself from her and silently rise. She might be subconsciously aware of the sounds of him around her, the sound of the shower breaking into her dreams or her eyes tightening at the sharp light as he dresses, but she is never unduly disturbed. She will sleep on and on as he goes about his own Saturday, until she wakes again in the evening and goes through a reverse morning, showering and dressing as the light dims and twilight darkens the sky.

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