The Salt on her Pillow
Pairing: Speed/Calleigh
Word Count: 196
Spoilers: Lost Son
Notes: For Medie’s first line challenge.
It takes little concentration to summon the memory of her hands on him, skimming lightly up his chest to push his shirt from his shoulders.
Even less to remember how his lips would turn up in a smile, even as they voiced mock-protest, accusing her of only being interested in him for his body. She always used to tease him right back, asking him if he had a problem with that, and his response was always the same. “Not at all,” he would say, pulling her close, fitting his lips to hers as his busy hands worked at her clothes. His stubble would be rough against her skin, and part of her would be calculating just how much makeup she was going to have to wear in the morning to cover it up, but she’d be lying if she said she really minded that much.
And now, she’d give anything to have that to worry about. Would give anything to have him here beside her, his arms around her, her clothes and his littering the floor.
But he’s not here, will never be here again, leaving her with only memories and the salt on her pillow.