It's late. You know that, know that you have to get up early, but still you cannot sleep. It's him, you realize. The man lying beside you.

He's lying on his back, one arm hanging off the edge of the bed, head turned toward you. The blanket is kicked off the end of the bed, unneeded in the summer heat, but the sheet is wrapped around both of you, covering to the hips. You watch his bare chest rise and fall slowly with his even breathing.

You love him like this, you think. Well, you love him all the time, but especially like this. Quiet, content… it's a special sleep that comes only after you make love. His hair is tussled from clenching the fine strands in your fists, and that one stubborn lock rests over his eyelid.

Gently you brush it away, then whisper a kiss across his forehead. He shifts in his sleep and you smile.

Lying like this, naked beside him, still feeling the glow of your love making, you feel closer to him than ever before.

As if sensing your gaze and introspection, his eyes slowly open, blink twice, then focus on you.

"Hey," he whispers, and you can tell it's a whisper by the muted vibration where your fingers rest at the base of his throat.

"Hey back," you whisper in return.

He smiles sleepily and pulls you closer, his blue eyes drifting closed for a moment before opening again. "Can't sleep?"

"Don't want to."

He looks confused, and you just smile, knowing he knows not to ask. Instead his hand traces swirls and shapes on your back and you shiver.

You're suddenly so full of emotion that you feel like you can't contain it, and you softly say, "I love you," with your eyes set on his.

As he pulls you closer still and kisses you, you feel him make the ILY sign against your back. You sigh into the kiss and part your lips, inviting him to gently explore your mouth. He accepts the invitation and you moan.

He rolls you onto your back, but you use the momentum to roll again, so you're on top of him. Not for the first time, you give a silent thought of thanks that he won the argument on the size of your bed. You place your hands on his shoulders and push yourself up, pinning him at the same time, although you know he could break away in an instant if he wanted you. You know he doesn't.

Straddling his hips, you study him silently. His hair looks darker in the moonlight, almost brown, but his eyes look brighter, moonbeams skimming their surface, inviting you to fall into their depths.

"You're beautiful," you whisper, in awe of him, not for the first time.

You can see his blush even in the darkness. "You're the one who's beautiful," he replies.

You smile slightly, knowing better than to brush the comment off. He tended to get quite insistent on that point, as the last time he'd made it, he spent three hours listing everything he found beautiful about you. Flattering, but not something you wanted to go through again any time soon. Especially not right now.

Putting that out of your mind, you focus on him once again. The moon and city lights cast shadows on his skin, leading your hands to an exploration of his chest. You lightly caress and trace, following your fingers with your eyes, feeling his eyes on you.

After a while you become aware of his arousal pressing against your thigh and you smile slightly. He smiles back, slow, lazy, and you can feel his contentedness warm your soul.

You lean down and kiss him, and he finally reaches for you again, moving his hands from your waist, to your hips, back, sides, and finally, breasts. Your gasp breaks the kiss, and a slow burning fire ignites from where his fingers gently roll your nipples, and spreads through your entire body. Whispering his name, you shift your hips, and feel his breath hitch.

It doesn't take long before you feel him pressing insistently against you, and you reach down with one hand, grasping him lightly and guiding him into your body. Your back arches and you hiss out a breath.

His hands move back down to your hips and start to gently guide your movements.

A sudden, wickedly playful thought crosses your mind, and your lift your hands to your hair, tangling your fingers in the long strands, lifting them from your neck. His hands fall slack against your hips, and you change your rhythm to a slow grind. With a mental grin, you think that if both of you were clothed, this would be a lap dance. Then you catch his gaze, and the smoldering look in them, and your hands leave your hair as you fall forward, fusing your lips with his.

This time he breaks the kiss, pushing you up again, then leaning forward and taking one nipple in his mouth. You gasp and mumble something, the fingers of one hand tunneling in his hair to hold him closer against you as the other braces against his shoulder. His hands are gripping your hips again, helping you move.

As he switches to the other nipple, you begin to chant his name, drawn closer and closer to the edge. You pull him away from your breasts and kiss him again. As one hand slides from your hip to between your thighs, you tremble. When his fingers brush your clit, you cry out, arching your back.

After only a few strokes of his fingers, you feel yourself fall over the edge, pleasure buffeting you in gentle waves, and you give a small, inarticulate cry.

Just as you begin to come down from your high, you feel him shudder beneath you, and feel his warmth fill you, and another, smaller spasm rocks you.

You slowly collapse onto his chest and kiss him lightly. "I love you," you sigh, then smile contently.

Although you can't see him smile, you know it's there as he wraps his arms around you and roll you both onto your sides, where you fall asleep, still tangled together.