{v} niles.
You Will.
→ She didn't have to call him that, and she didn't. She didn't.
A/N: This little ficlet ties in with the plot of season eight; Daphne begins overeating as a way of coping with Niles' expectations of her in their new relationship. That point may be a little cryptic, however, as this is written from Niles' perspective. Totally intentional, I swear.
Fandom: Frasier.
Characters/Pairings: Niles/Daphne.
Rating: K+.
Word Count: 212.
~
She'd tasted of sweet potato crisps, of honey, and soy, the fifty-fourth time he'd kissed her; and a whiff of her, a breath of her, a lingering scent that played upon the bridge of his nose, filtering through the rise and fall and the quiver of his nostrils, was just the same. He might have called it peculiar, or perhaps even foul, but it was the feel of her parted lips against his, her steady heartbeat beneath his hand, gripping his attention-
He'd coaxed her head forward, then, fit her into the crook of his neck.
"Oh. Oh, Daphne," he'd said, and she'd pressed herself a little closer. "You're magnificent."
The clang of the pot was a sharp and startling sound. Niles found his arms dangling, useless, at his sides, while Daphne bent down to pick it up from the floor and set it in the sink. She quickly twisted the knob of the tap and let the water beat down, and the grit began to writhe away. "I am so sorry, Dr. Crane!"
Niles opened his mouth. ". . ."
"-your brother, I mean," she cut in, and it made sense, for this was Frasier's kitchen and that was Frasier's pot.
Daphne pulled out a towel and began to dab at the dish, and Niles watched.
The apartment was still.
→ She didn't have to call him that, and she didn't. She didn't.
A/N: This little ficlet ties in with the plot of season eight; Daphne begins overeating as a way of coping with Niles' expectations of her in their new relationship. That point may be a little cryptic, however, as this is written from Niles' perspective. Totally intentional, I swear.
Fandom: Frasier.
Characters/Pairings: Niles/Daphne.
Rating: K+.
Word Count: 212.
~
She'd tasted of sweet potato crisps, of honey, and soy, the fifty-fourth time he'd kissed her; and a whiff of her, a breath of her, a lingering scent that played upon the bridge of his nose, filtering through the rise and fall and the quiver of his nostrils, was just the same. He might have called it peculiar, or perhaps even foul, but it was the feel of her parted lips against his, her steady heartbeat beneath his hand, gripping his attention-
He'd coaxed her head forward, then, fit her into the crook of his neck.
"Oh. Oh, Daphne," he'd said, and she'd pressed herself a little closer. "You're magnificent."
The clang of the pot was a sharp and startling sound. Niles found his arms dangling, useless, at his sides, while Daphne bent down to pick it up from the floor and set it in the sink. She quickly twisted the knob of the tap and let the water beat down, and the grit began to writhe away. "I am so sorry, Dr. Crane!"
Niles opened his mouth. ". . ."
"-your brother, I mean," she cut in, and it made sense, for this was Frasier's kitchen and that was Frasier's pot.
Daphne pulled out a towel and began to dab at the dish, and Niles watched.
The apartment was still.