I remembered the taste of caramel on my tongue as I finished my cinnamon roll up in a hurry.

I remembered the smell of the laundry detergent the hotel used on their sheets.

I remembered glimmers of light from the bedside table, which was made of glass and thus reflected in objects all around us.

I remembered the sensation of his stubble against my cheek.

And I remembered the gentle sound of metal cutlery against porcelain as we somehow moved our dishes out of the bed.

And I topped him.

Somehow, I topped him.

We didn't talk about it. Didn't speak words of agreement. But the communication was crystal clear. What surprised me was how natural it came to him, standing up on all four, offering himself to me.

I remembered feeling insecure.

"I have never done this before", I whispered to him.

"Me neither", he said.

And there was a deep understanding between us as I took him from behind, a deep understanding that happened between two people who loved each other and tried something together for the first time.

Tobirama was nervous. Oh, God, he was so nervous, and it made me want to eat his heart with a spoon. I had to stretch him for an hour. Very, very gently, I caressed his insides with my finger, until finally, after many, many soft words from my part and an ocean of trust from his, he started to moan in pleasure instead of discomfort. It egged me on, and I became more forceful with my finger, more obscene until he started making lewd noises.

Coming into him was like sliding into butter, my own eagerness wetting me to make it more comfortable for my lover. It took us a while to learn to move together, but as we did, he started to enjoy himself to such an amount, he took himself to the stars.

And he grabbed my hand and took me with him.

"It's not enough..." he murmured.

And I immediately understood. That was the beauty about switching roles, I would think afterwards; that you would create a greater understanding for one another that would connect even more strings between your souls.

Which was why I leaned forwards and started giving him a hand-job while simultaneously thrusting.

"How about this?" I asked and bit a chunk of the skin over his sculptured back muscles.

"Yes!!" he screamed.

He came like a flower in my hand, opening itself up to spill its nectars. When he was done, he slumped down, and I pulled out. Tobirama immediately turned over.

"Izuna, what about you, you-"

"Shh", I interrupted. "We've been at it for an hour and a half. You're exhausted."

"But-"

I forced him on his back and straddled his abdomen. It was rock-hard.

"Do you trust me?" I asked, took his hands, pinned them down softly to the mattress, entwined our fingers.

Tobirama looked at me, lips glistening. I suddenly blushed. God, what had just happened?

But my lover seemed completely at ease with this new situation. He nodded tiredly.

"Then let me take care of you", I said.

He gave in. He lay back, closed his eyes, and I sat off and laid down next to him, taking him into my arms. I caressed his head, kissed the top of it over and over.

And we talked. For a long, long time, we talked. About what we had done during our years apart. About people who had hurt us. About what made us move to Wellington. About our families. About what we wanted from each other, and which obstacles we expected to come across, and how best to solve them. He told me about how much it had hurt him to be scrutinised in media, to be labelled as cold and unapproachable while he himself knew it had been because he'd mourned. I told him that I was afraid to live in the shadow of his late wife's ghost. He didn't try to convinced me I wouldn't, instead he was quiet for a long time, before softly exploring where those feelings had their source.

Finally, I felt Tobirama starting to jerk in my arms, meaning he was slowly drifting off asleep. I had never had anyone fall asleep in my arms before. I found it painfully adorable, especially with a man like Tobirama, who was so much bigger than me, so competent, so confident, one of his tailored suits hanging off a chair in the luxurious hotel room, his watch that was worth more than everything I owned put together on the bedside table only inches from me.

When Tobirama relaxed, it was as if my own soul allowed itself tiredness, and I felt my eyelids become blissfully heavy.

I remembered the taste of his skin on my tongue.

I remembered the smell of his aftershave on his neck.

I remembered the snowy whiteness of his hair providing a beacon of light to anchor me to the world of sleep.

I remembered the soft sensation of his chest rising and falling rhythmically, slowly.

We fell asleep to the sound of metal cutlery against porcelain.