By Harmony Sunsinger.
Kissing him is like riding a rollercoaster. I feel like I'm skyrocketing upward, going higher, higher, higher... HIGHER. And then our lips part, and he sits back, and gravity sets in. Nasty thing, gravity; after a few seconds of Cloud Nine, my feet hit the ground, sometimes rather roughly, and the ride is over.
Even after having been married to him for what seems like ages, I still wake up to what amounts to as a frequent rollercoaster ride. He kisses me in the bed; he kisses me in the shower; he kisses me while I'm working; he kisses me while I'm holding our baby daughter. He kisses me wherever, whenever, and when he does, his eyes always laugh at the way I fan myself and fight my severely weakened knees.
When we first met, our kisses didn't amount to this. They were usually simple, sometimes fiery, and ALWAYS passionate.
THESE are our Rollercoaster Kisses.
The first time he ever gave me a Rollercoaster Kiss was when I was in the hospital, right after he'd returned to my life and actually become a figure in Shippo's. He sat with me for just a while, locking the door so that we could have some alone time. My soon-to-be-ex husband, my two best friends, their kids, Shippo - hell, he even locked the doctor out - just to spend some quality with lil ole me.
Did Inuyasha care that my arm was broken in more than one place? No. Did Inuyasha care that I had probably the worst head injury that I will have in my entire life? No. Did Inuyasha care that I was hopped up on more morphine than someone my height and weight and BMI should probably be able to handle? No.
He laid down with me in the hospital bed, ignoring my groans and giggles at being squished. I was, after all, drugged out worse than a junkie.
"This is perfect, you know?" he asked me in a low, soft tone that was very similar to his trademark growl.
I nodded, smiling, into the bend between his neck and his shoulder. "Mm, hmm."
Then he turned over and kissed me. Soft lips met dry, cracked ones, and I inhaled slowly, breathing him in. I was in a haze from the drugs, but, right then, he broke through the fog, scooping me up and flying up with me so high that I could almost touch the moon.
Figuratively, of course. Or not.
He pulled back from me, breaking the kiss at a snail-like rate. It was breathtaking, the slow, easy trip back down from the high his kiss gave me. I leaned back in the bed, snuggling closer into his embrace with a satisfied smile on my lips. He smirked down at me. "Why you grinning like that, girl?"
"Doctor won't like it," I mumbled as sleep started to settle in; I was content for the first time in several years. My body felt like powering down beside my long-lost love right then.
"Doctor won't like what?" His chest rumbled as he spoke, and it just made me more happy to hear - and feel - it.
"Doctor won't like me riding rollercoasters with a broken arm..." I was just about asleep.
I felt him chuckle. He kissed my forehead before whispering, "You say the cutest things when you're on morphine."
And I slipped into dreams about rollercoasters and kisses and a strange mixture of the two.