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Hi, I'm back with another OS! This is in Gauri's POV, drop a line if you like it! Also let me know if you finally understand what Gauri's issue is! Hope it's not a sensitive topic! Also, I tried toning down the hotness a bit(as per the rules here).
A loud crash wakes me up quite rudely just minutes after I finally fall asleep. I try to look around clearly with bleary eyes for the source of the commotion while murderous thoughts rush through my head.
I finally locate the source: my husband. Who is quite busy searching, more like throwing things from the cupboard to the floor. His back is to me, hands flicking paint bottles from their neatly arranged shelves. Its pathetic, and I'm not in a mood to help him, so I shift my legs a little, settling in deeper and watch him.
"Gauri!" he turns towards the door to yell my name and I wince at the loud voice before realising that he doesn't know of my presence on the bed.
"where the hell did I keep them?" he mutters angrily.
"I need help! Oh, where are you? Gauri?!" he again yells and this time I growl back,"Not 2 floors away, for sure."
He turns back abruptly at my voice, and looks around the room quite comically before I finally take pity on him and ignoring the protests of my inner muscles, sit up.
"You were there the whole time?" he asks,astounded.
"yes, and if you hadn't been too busy being a hurricane, you would have also noticed the fact that I was asleep. Quite soundly," I reply icily as I feel another cramp.
"I was too busy and it looked like a pile of pillows on the bed. I honestly thought it was Zahara's idea of a pillow fort," he says hastily before turning back and throwing more bottles on the floor. I roll my eyes at it, "What are you searching?"
"Yes, please help me! I need those colours. The ones Soumya brought last week. I need them and I need them now?" he turns back towards another shelf and I supress a groan.
"Can't it wait?" I finally say when he sends a set of paintbrushes clattering to the floor.
"No, I've got a fantastic muse and I just have to paint it," he slams the door of the cupboard before continuing, "Please help me."
"I'm busy resting. And your painting can wait," I tell him as I cover my face with the blanket irritatedly.
My husband doesn't even seem to notice my presence. Its a heartbreaking thought and I feel a giant wave of anger surge through me.
"Gauri, please! Help me. I need to paint and it has to be with those colours." he pulls the blanket from my face and stares at me with Doe eyes. I feel a tug in my heart even though my brain screams out the fact that he has turned on the Doe eyes because he needs my help. Eventually, my cramping muscles and an over-cautious brain wins and I refuse to move by closing my eyes hurriedly.
"It won't work on me," I say with closed eyes. "Go and ask someone else for help."
He strokes my arm, "there's no one would help me. Only my twice-a-bride can help me."
My eyes snap wide open; both at the jolt that runs through and his words,"tell me you didn't just use that card ag-"
"I did," he cuts me off smugly a stupid smile on his face. I stare at him angrily, controlling the nervous fluttering of my heart.
"Admit it, I was wronged. I looked like a chipmunk next to you," he says in a wounded voice.
I see right through it.
"Utter rubbish. And anyway you looked as good as ever," I sit up hurriedly.
"It's not! You got to be a bride twice! And I got to be a groom just once! I wasn't even dressed properly! I sure as hell didn't look handsome. You're saying that because that's what I want to hear," he continues the overacting.
"And that is exactly why you are not allowed to spend long hours with Rudra!" I tease back. "
"The fact remains that I looked an idiot at my own wedding. The very first one at that!" he continues to stare at me.
"If it makes you feel any better, I didn't enjoy it one bit the first time," I retort.
"It doesn't and it is still in unfair to me!" he gives his head a toss and I cannot help but smile at the little hair flip.
"A part of me really wants to strangle you for waking me up so rudely while the other part can't stop fangirling over that little man-bun of yours," I grumble and swing my legs around to get up and search for the damned colours.
"Yay!" he says excitedly while I use his lanky body to stand up.
"why, oh why did I marry an artist?" I grumble to myself before snapping at him,"make yourself useful."
He hurriedly starts the search again. "Without creating a mess!" I add when he haphazardly heaps bottles together.
"honestly, sometimes I'm quite convinced that I'm not the mother of one. I actually have two kids," I say with frustration as I take in the mess that our room is. And it is true, sometimes Omkara does act worse than our 3 year old daughter.
"Found 'em," I turn around moments later with the damned colours clutched in my hands only to have him send his most radiant smile flashing at me. My heart does a backflip at it but right another instant, he smacks his lips against mine in a sultry kiss. I fumble at the unexpectency only to find his arms holding me flush against him quite steadily.
His fingertips slide feather light caresses on my arms and my lips soften under his. I sway closer to his body, a shiver of pleasure running though me. Finally, I'm the one who breaks the kiss after a long moment. It's almost worth it, getting out of the comfortable bed for some stupid colours, I think as I take in his overjoyed face. The thought quickly flees my mind as I feel another twinge of pain.
"Now go away. I want to rest," I push him away from myself and walk over to the bed with tired feet. He follows me, dropping a lingering kiss on my head with a hushed thank you before leaving.
I'm almost asleep when I hear the footsteps and the telltale click of the door opening. I don't open my eyes not even when I feel him settle down beside me on the covers. A moment later there's the sense of something hot under my tailbone immediately followed by relief. I turn around slowly, feeling overwhelmed.
"How did you..." I leave the sentence incomplete as I lock eyes with him.
"We'll, I've been married to you for five years," he slips an arm around my waist.
"Thank you," I smile softly.
"Are you still mad at me?" he questions at my lack of appropriate response. I'm feeling too relieved to complain about the lost-and-found paint, the hot water bag he has slipped under my back doing its job. But I decide to cash in on the opportunity and tease him. It isn't often when he is on the wrong, after all.
"I can't understand why I married a man-child," I say grumpily.
"Because you love him," he tightens his hold on me.
"Surprisingly, my hippie-husband, that's the truth," I mumble.
"Sometimes, I find it hard to believe that someone like me could get a woman to love him," his fingers trace a path down to cheek before he continues, "I love you." He ignores when I shudder under him and then lets his lips do the talking, in little kisses that send sparks racing through me. He nibbles on my shoulder and I shudder involuntarily in his arms prompting him to turn me over to face him. "You know that, right?" he asks, lips against my cheek and I feel heat creep up as his hands rake up my dress with soft brushes.
"Yes," I manage to reply back, hoping he doesn't notice my blush. But I forget the first fact about Omkara: he notices almost everything, atleast about me.
"After 5 years of marriage, I can still manage to make you blush. That's quite a feat, isn't it?"he smirks at me, adjusting his weight on his hand.
"I'm not blushing. It's the damned Mumbai heat," I shove him lightly.
"Liar," he doesn't move an inch.
"It's true," I try again in a small voice.
He doesn't reply as he pulls back to look at me. My breath hitches in my throat a I take in the look in his eyes just before he moves to cover my mouth with his own. My fingers find his hair, latching on to them out of habit. His other hand covers my neck as he breaks the kiss and a moan leaves my lips.
"There's the proof," he says smugly leading me to smack his shoulder.
"We also happen to share a child," he runs a finger down my cheek slowly before continuing,"and here you are blushing at the smallest touch."
"I wish I could change that," I admit, embarrassed.
"I don't," he whispers and adjusts the hot-water bag under my back, changing the position ever so slightly. "Is that better? And no, nothing is more important than my unwell wife. The muse can wait."
I hum in response, still heady with his kiss. It does feel better though, the hot water doing its job of easing the cramps. He takes it as my sleepiness,"i'll leave you to rest."
I hold on to his hand as he sits up. "Stay."
"You were resting," he turns back to look at me.
"And I'm inviting you to join," I hold on to hand.
He smirks at my words, a mischievous glint in his eyes that prompt me to jerk his hand away. I watch as he lies down again before taking my chance to slither up to him, adjusting myself against him. He stays still, until I stop wriggling, and encloses his arms around me when I finally settle down.
It's peaceful and it is home, I realise as I send a silent prayer of thanks.
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