shameless wallow number eight kabillion
[paperweight]*
The duvet is white; the oak is a deep brown. It looks sturdy and sexy, like it grew naturally from her floor and she could spend days lost amongst the pillows, duvet; burrowing her head and the sun slanting to warm the planes of her face and shoulder.
It's her favourite place in the world, it always has been.
And that's before she ever opens her eyes and sees his blue ones across the pillow, smiling sleepily at her.
She still can't believe it. She wants to pinch herself and blink, but she simply grins and closes her eyes, sliding closer and burying her face in his neck, his hand settling at the small of her back. She hears his contented little sigh and answers with her own.
She doesn't know how much times passes, drifting lazily against each other, before she speaks.
'I love my bed,' she says and can feel more than hear his answering laugh. She can grins against his collarbone, mouth open and the rest of her body stretching against his as he rolls half on top of her. 'I really like you in my bed.'
He makes a noise in the back of his throat, agreeing and ducking his head, clamping down on her bottom lip. It feels swollen, red when he finally pulls away, ghosting his nose down her cheek, under her chin. He stops, lips on the pulse beating in her throat and says, 'I like it too.'
She smiles and pulls him closer, maneuvering back on top of him, closing her eyes. Her right leg settles between his and she reaches up blindly to touch his face. Eyebrows and eyelashes, his temple and jaw, lips and the indention above it. She'll never get enough of touching and his hands wandering down her sides tell her the same is true for him.
She's sure that someday, years from now, each morning won't seem so miraculous, but for right now, she has to clamp down on the scream, cry that the thought of those years, real and true and happening, have on her. She's sure that some day she won't want to drink him in with every moment, every pore, but she can't help herself right now.
Eventually, his hands slow on her skin, settling firmly around her and her hand falls to his neck. She presses her thumb against the pulse thudding steadily there, her heart beating counterpoint to his.
She falls back asleep, feeling their pulses hum, lulling her.
*alternately known as an utterly shameless micheal/sara wallow of the first order.
Come on, admit it - you heart me.
Brought to you by this song, the fact that I wanted shameless sap and none of you bitches was providing, and the fact that I just learned FX is having a S2 marathon on Saturday. All seven eps so far. Whee!
The duvet is white; the oak is a deep brown. It looks sturdy and sexy, like it grew naturally from her floor and she could spend days lost amongst the pillows, duvet; burrowing her head and the sun slanting to warm the planes of her face and shoulder.
It's her favourite place in the world, it always has been.
And that's before she ever opens her eyes and sees his blue ones across the pillow, smiling sleepily at her.
She still can't believe it. She wants to pinch herself and blink, but she simply grins and closes her eyes, sliding closer and burying her face in his neck, his hand settling at the small of her back. She hears his contented little sigh and answers with her own.
She doesn't know how much times passes, drifting lazily against each other, before she speaks.
'I love my bed,' she says and can feel more than hear his answering laugh. She can grins against his collarbone, mouth open and the rest of her body stretching against his as he rolls half on top of her. 'I really like you in my bed.'
He makes a noise in the back of his throat, agreeing and ducking his head, clamping down on her bottom lip. It feels swollen, red when he finally pulls away, ghosting his nose down her cheek, under her chin. He stops, lips on the pulse beating in her throat and says, 'I like it too.'
She smiles and pulls him closer, maneuvering back on top of him, closing her eyes. Her right leg settles between his and she reaches up blindly to touch his face. Eyebrows and eyelashes, his temple and jaw, lips and the indention above it. She'll never get enough of touching and his hands wandering down her sides tell her the same is true for him.
She's sure that someday, years from now, each morning won't seem so miraculous, but for right now, she has to clamp down on the scream, cry that the thought of those years, real and true and happening, have on her. She's sure that some day she won't want to drink him in with every moment, every pore, but she can't help herself right now.
Eventually, his hands slow on her skin, settling firmly around her and her hand falls to his neck. She presses her thumb against the pulse thudding steadily there, her heart beating counterpoint to his.
She falls back asleep, feeling their pulses hum, lulling her.
*alternately known as an utterly shameless micheal/sara wallow of the first order.
Come on, admit it - you heart me.
Brought to you by this song, the fact that I wanted shameless sap and none of you bitches was providing, and the fact that I just learned FX is having a S2 marathon on Saturday. All seven eps so far. Whee!