(no subject)

[thecoolone]

The thing that takes him by surprise, he realises, is how exquisite Fleur's movements are. Whether or not she tries -- whether or not the effort is conscious -- she's so graceful. Like a dancer, like a feather, like a wisp of smoke, and her silvery tresses span out over the pillow like spun flax.

Even when she sleeps, she's full of poise.

Bill lies by her side, watching: it's a fabulous temptation to reach over and stroke her skin but he doesn't. He doesn't want to disturb her because she looks to be dreaming. Her brow furrows slightly, then smooths out and in her sleep she smiles quietly and lets out the tiniest of giggles.

It's a precious moment for him, and he's so very happy that she's here by his side.

Comments

[leplusbeau]

*Fleur is humming and content and ooooh kissing...*


Aie!


*She giggles and tries to escape tickling hands.*


I give! I give!


*Curling about him, Fleur distracts him with another kiss.*


*panting*
Truce?

[thecoolone]

"The toll for truce is one more kiss."

He's easily distracted; she's already wrapped around him and he's very willing to stop all the tickling. But he loves the sound of her laughter. It reminds him of things from his past, things he can't quite describe in full but things that nonetheless remind him of simple times, of happy times, of gentle times. A distant ship's horn in the night, perhaps, or songbirds gathered in the yard, or...

"Fleur." His eyes meet hers, full of longing.

[leplusbeau]

*Still smiling and kissing him again. 'Lie back' whispered against lips, but Fleur is already in motion, rolling Bill onto his back and settling over his hips.*

Let me.

[thecoolone]

There is something to marvel about when one considers the different qualities of touch: it can be harsh or reassuring, hard or soft, sweet or evil. The simple act of touch can take people to places they've never been or to places they wish they'd never been.

Or to places they can't get enough of and yearn to return to time and time again.

Bill lies back, eyes closed, and it's all about touch. The sense of touch. That soft, reassuring, sweet kind that makes his breath catch in his throat.

Ameera. Imra'a kaamil.