MB Saucy Side: Twilight Anniversary (Grayson)

When did darkness become alluring?

This thought occurs to you as you lie in bed, blindfold over your eyes, and wait.

There’s a reason that children, even the ones who pretend to be brave, are afraid of the dark. There’s no way of knowing—not for sure—what lurks in the twisting black, and infant imagination creates faces and claws from that nothingness. Draw the blanket up to your neck, the childish subconscious warns. Don’t be taken unaware.

Since falling in love with Grayson and having that love returned, the fictious monsters of your youth have been replaced by equally thrilling possibilities. You can’t see his hands creeping up your leg, nor anticipate them sliding down your waist. Each touch in the darkness feels unexpected and somehow forbidden despite the fact you’ve been together for decades.

You love Grayson in the light. You love the way his eyes crinkle at the corners with laugh lines, and how the creases at the edges of his mouth speak of the life you’ve lived together. You love his hands—less calloused, now, then they were when he was still a member of UCRT, but no less tender and reverent as he caresses your skin. You love running your own hands over the scars he’s gained from past missions, and you love pressing your lips against each and every one in gratitude that he came back to you. You love the silver in his hair.

But in the darkness . . .

In the darkness, your relationship still feels new. You close your eyes, and memories of how Gray used to look—tan skin still smooth and golden-brown hair untouched by time—flood your mind. How his blue eyes used to look at you so uncertainly, first because he never believed that you could be his, and then later because he couldn’t truly believe that you actually were. That uncertainty has vanished over the years, replaced by a quietly confident knowing that you're more than his dream. That knowing gleams in his eyes. You love the way Grayson now looks at you, but sometimes you miss the hesitant wonder.

The darkness makes everything feel new again.

Gray’s lips brush against your navel, and you arch off the mattress with a gasp. His tongue trails a path upwards, teeth nipping over the most sensitive parts of your skin. Despite having been together for years, you’re unable to predict his next move on nights like this.

He bites your earlobe and gives it a gentle tug, his hands grasping yours and fingers intertwining together.

“Happy anniversary,” he whispers, voice taut with restraint.

You blindly lean forward, and he catches your lips with his own. The intensity of his kiss is familiar, but the force with which he restrains your arms above your head is new. The combination of the two is perfect. Both of you forget to breathe, another familiar sensation—neither you nor Grayson ever fully left the desperate newlywed stage of your relationship.

He nuzzles the crook of your neck, his stubble scratchy enough that you know there will be a mark tomorrow. You’ve had many such marks over the years. The color of his stubble now matches his first name, but the marks he leaves on your skin remain the same hue.

“Happy anniversary,” you repeat, your legs curling around his. “May we have another thirty more.”