Prompt 3: Uncharted Territory
Title: Uncharted Territory
Author: jadeddiva
Format & Word Count: Drabble, 251
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: #3, Human Behavior by Bjork
Warnings: Implied sexuality and sensuality.
Summary: There’s no map to human behavior. There is no map, and a compass wouldn’t help at all. Post HBP. No spoilers.
Author's Notes: I just sort of ran with this. Concrit welcome.
There are valleys and plains to her body that he doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of exploring, hidden pathways and intersections of nerves (the delightful shiver when his lips touch her wrist), constant changes which no cartographer could accurately map.
The glare of a streetlight outside her window traces the curve of her hip, and his hand draped across it. This is all uncharted territory, being in a relationship and being with her. He doesn’t deserve her, this woman who makes him into a poet and a lover and human - things he’s not entirely sure he’s ever been before and wants to be so desperately now, for her and with her.
Come morning (a few short hours, really) she will greet him with open arms and he will wonder (not for the first time) why. He can think of numerous reasons why she should be afraid, some of which have nothing to do with the moon. He can think of numerous things to tell her, most of which he’s said before and none of which seem to matter.
she is a rock a mountain steady when he needs it. she is a storm a tempest when he deserves it. she is the tide, always returning in spite of the moon.
He kisses her shoulder and she stirs but remains asleep, and he is more grateful to her (for her) than he will ever truly be able to say.
This is uncharted territory, which he will never tire of exploring.
Author: jadeddiva
Format & Word Count: Drabble, 251
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: #3, Human Behavior by Bjork
Warnings: Implied sexuality and sensuality.
Summary: There’s no map to human behavior. There is no map, and a compass wouldn’t help at all. Post HBP. No spoilers.
Author's Notes: I just sort of ran with this. Concrit welcome.
There are valleys and plains to her body that he doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of exploring, hidden pathways and intersections of nerves (the delightful shiver when his lips touch her wrist), constant changes which no cartographer could accurately map.
The glare of a streetlight outside her window traces the curve of her hip, and his hand draped across it. This is all uncharted territory, being in a relationship and being with her. He doesn’t deserve her, this woman who makes him into a poet and a lover and human - things he’s not entirely sure he’s ever been before and wants to be so desperately now, for her and with her.
Come morning (a few short hours, really) she will greet him with open arms and he will wonder (not for the first time) why. He can think of numerous reasons why she should be afraid, some of which have nothing to do with the moon. He can think of numerous things to tell her, most of which he’s said before and none of which seem to matter.
she is a rock a mountain steady when he needs it. she is a storm a tempest when he deserves it. she is the tide, always returning in spite of the moon.
He kisses her shoulder and she stirs but remains asleep, and he is more grateful to her (for her) than he will ever truly be able to say.
This is uncharted territory, which he will never tire of exploring.