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[thecoolone]

"You asked me a question downstairs, Fleur." He sits on the bed, looking up at her. Studying her, really, and he reaches for her hands. "Sit with me. Let's talk."

He loves her fiercely.

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[thecoolone]

He kisses her soft pink lips again, then wraps his arm around her and holds her close.

He's supremely satisfied.

Eyes shut, he settles into the rhythm of her breathing. There is poetry in her eyes, her laugh, her smile.

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

(There is poetry in her soul.)