Spring.

It was the scent of steaks charring over an open flame that permeated the four winds, and the far off laughter of children playing some form of tag with some form of rules that were probably foreign to him that settled it for Jake: spring had arrived as he warmed his bare feet in the afternoon sun, the occasional kiss of a breeze sending chills up his back.

Navel.

She wasn’t going to escape this time — he’d caught sight of her navel as they bedside lounged in the morning sun and lunged in with a quick kiss to the upper ridge, sending her into a fit of giggles born of surprise and sensitive skin.

© Michael Raven

Thrall.

He knew he was the rabbit in a snare the moment she showed enough leg so he could witness her absently-not-absently tug at the garter holding up her stockings as if to adjust the bands when they plainly needed no adjustment, then looked into his eyes and asked with a crooked smirk, “Well… What do you think we should do tonight?”

© Michael Raven

Snowday.

It was a snow day and they did nothing much at all aside from drinking warmed rum and watching the snow fall outside the window, one hand occasionally drifting over to lightly clasp the other’s hand before drifting back to steady the mug.