AN: For Tina because you've been bugging me to write it. This is all your fault!
Sara Sidle is amazing. She can go from wild and passionate lover to doing chores in the matter of minutes.
Standing here, barefooted in her kitchen, drying my hair, I watch her emptying the dishwasher. It's the simplest of actions yet somehow, seeing Sara do it is special, almost intimate.
I can't help smiling as the normalcy of the situation makes me forget about the doubts and insecurities we had to fight to get here. And now, finally, she trusts me to observe her, guard down, completely at ease. And I love doing just that.
It's sweet that even in her own home she moves with that hint of awkwardness, like she doesn't know where to put her limbs.
To me she gives off the most fascinating sight, her lanky body moving from dishwasher to shelf, her back constantly turned towards me, her washed-out jeans clinging loosely to her long legs, barely hinting at the perfect curves the worn fabric covers.
Quietly I pad in her direction, watching myself mirrored in the kitchen window.
Not for the first time it occurs to me how different we are, in appearance, posture and built.
Where she's lean I'm slightly more solid.
Where's she's dark I'm light, where she is almost gangly I'm walking with more of a stride.
Sneaking my arms around her waist I smile at our reflection.
Through all our differences we are still perfect.