She holds him close, for all the times they were torn apart, all the times the world turned its' back on them, all the times they could only count on each other. They hold each other close or they don't do it at all. Even for a moment, before or after or in the middle, he knows he will feel her arms around his shoulders, her breasts against his chest and thighs around his waist. He will fuck her whatever way she wants, front, back and sideways, and she will hold him close, even if only for a few seconds.
Tonight she pins his hands above his head, their fingers twined, because that's all he can stand these days. Spread out beneath her, belly up, while she grinds her clit over the underside of his cock, trapped between them inches from port. She hovers over his mouth, breathing heavy while she pins him down. Her hard nipples graze his chest, strands of hair brush his cheeks, unruly curtain turning light into fire and he's no longer afraid, not when she waits for him there.
The heat stops, almost on the tip of his cock, just beyond his reach. God, you're tiny, he thinks, and her forehead touches his. She lets go, flattening his palms on the cool pillow.
"Nothing." Fingertips tickle his skin until she pushes her hands under his shoulders. He's free and she whispers, "hold me."