Knock On Wood (1/1)
Title: Knock On Wood
Fandom: Prison Break
Character/Pairing: Fernando Sucre/Maricruz Delgado
Word Count: 689
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None, but I have borrowed a bit from episode 2.05, "Map 1213."
Summary: A spoken charm to bring good luck and to avoid tempting fate is the last item on the list of things that Fernando Sucre needs, but he knows that it can't possibly hurt.
Author's Note: Prison Break and its characters have been manipulated here without the knowledge or consent of 20th Century FOX Television. I am not affiliated with the show, its production companies or cast members and no copyright infringement is intended.
The robe is one that he has seen before, leading him to believe that it's an old favorite of hers even though the Caribbean blue dye is still bright, rather than faded. But when he reaches out to run his hand down one of the sleeves, the terrycloth is soft and well-worn under his fingertips and only serves to lure him closer.
When Fernando buries his nose just inside the collar of the modest garment, it smells anything but modest.
It smells of Maricruz. Captivating, charming, irresistible Maricruz.
In one breath her distinct essence fills his head; the subtle fragrance of Ivory soap overshadowed by the saturating, seductive scent of the essential oil blend she dabs between her breasts and behind her ears. Spanish Gardenia and notes of tuberose and Geranium leaf and something else faintly spicy and floral that he can't put a name to.
In a second deep breath, his chest expands as his heart swells and his lungs inflate and he smells everything else; her waving brown hair, her supple café au lait skin, the candied sweetness of cinnamon on her breath as she kisses him, and it's all so real and cloying that he can practically taste her in his mouth, warming and numbing his tongue more effectively than a shot of Jose Cuervo. And far more delicious.
His mouth is nearly watering by the time he looks up, alerted to reality by the sound of church bells pealing in the steeple's rafters and Fernando is so taken by the lusty tolling that he almost doesn't hear the voice coming from behind him.
But he would have sensed her presence even if he hadn't.
"Fernando?" she asks again, his name sounding like warm honey pouring from her mouth. "Did you hear me? What are you doing in here?"
He turns to face her and is awestruck, jolted by her beauty as if by lightning, and in an instant his tongue has gone dry and as useless as a wad of cotton stuffed between his teeth.
"You're not supposed to be in here," she warns him, propping her hands on her nearly non-existent hips.
He smiles at her then, taking one tentative step toward her and then another until that scent of hers is no longer in his head and is instead surrounding him, hanging heavy in the air. Even October in Mexico feels like a sultry summer and Fernando is vaguely aware of his skin prickling below his pressed and starched shirt with beads of sweat.
"Why not?" He finally asks, reaching out to her with both hands, yearning to touch her even as she shrinks back, frowning at him until he drops his arms uselessly at his sides.
"Because!"
"Because what?"
"Because it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, Fernando, don't you know anything?"
He wants to take her pre-marital woes seriously, to abide by the archaic custom, but instead all he can do is laugh. A loud, full-bodied ripple of laughter that seems to form as deep as his solar-plexus as he closes the gap between them for the second time. This time she doesn't back way.
"Eres incorrecto," he assures as he clamps his hands down gently on her wrists, drawing the backs of her hands to his mouth so that he can press solicitous kisses to her knuckles. "I promise."
"How can you be so sure? The last thing we need is more bad luck," she warns him, her voice quieter now, only faintly reproachful. "Especially on our wedding day."
"Because," he explains, turning her hand to kiss its palm and each of her fingertips, "We've had enough bad luck in the past, mamí. Things are different now. Our luck is changing."
"Knock on wood," she amends, reaching out to tap her knuckles against the doorframe that they're standing in, though her eyes are soft and doe-like as he leans in to touch his lips confidently to hers.
"Knock on wood," he agrees softly, reaching down to smooth his fingertips over the heavy swell of her belly, subtly draped in the white satin sheath of her dress.
Fandom: Prison Break
Character/Pairing: Fernando Sucre/Maricruz Delgado
Word Count: 689
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None, but I have borrowed a bit from episode 2.05, "Map 1213."
Summary: A spoken charm to bring good luck and to avoid tempting fate is the last item on the list of things that Fernando Sucre needs, but he knows that it can't possibly hurt.
Author's Note: Prison Break and its characters have been manipulated here without the knowledge or consent of 20th Century FOX Television. I am not affiliated with the show, its production companies or cast members and no copyright infringement is intended.
The robe is one that he has seen before, leading him to believe that it's an old favorite of hers even though the Caribbean blue dye is still bright, rather than faded. But when he reaches out to run his hand down one of the sleeves, the terrycloth is soft and well-worn under his fingertips and only serves to lure him closer.
When Fernando buries his nose just inside the collar of the modest garment, it smells anything but modest.
It smells of Maricruz. Captivating, charming, irresistible Maricruz.
In one breath her distinct essence fills his head; the subtle fragrance of Ivory soap overshadowed by the saturating, seductive scent of the essential oil blend she dabs between her breasts and behind her ears. Spanish Gardenia and notes of tuberose and Geranium leaf and something else faintly spicy and floral that he can't put a name to.
In a second deep breath, his chest expands as his heart swells and his lungs inflate and he smells everything else; her waving brown hair, her supple café au lait skin, the candied sweetness of cinnamon on her breath as she kisses him, and it's all so real and cloying that he can practically taste her in his mouth, warming and numbing his tongue more effectively than a shot of Jose Cuervo. And far more delicious.
His mouth is nearly watering by the time he looks up, alerted to reality by the sound of church bells pealing in the steeple's rafters and Fernando is so taken by the lusty tolling that he almost doesn't hear the voice coming from behind him.
But he would have sensed her presence even if he hadn't.
"Fernando?" she asks again, his name sounding like warm honey pouring from her mouth. "Did you hear me? What are you doing in here?"
He turns to face her and is awestruck, jolted by her beauty as if by lightning, and in an instant his tongue has gone dry and as useless as a wad of cotton stuffed between his teeth.
"You're not supposed to be in here," she warns him, propping her hands on her nearly non-existent hips.
He smiles at her then, taking one tentative step toward her and then another until that scent of hers is no longer in his head and is instead surrounding him, hanging heavy in the air. Even October in Mexico feels like a sultry summer and Fernando is vaguely aware of his skin prickling below his pressed and starched shirt with beads of sweat.
"Why not?" He finally asks, reaching out to her with both hands, yearning to touch her even as she shrinks back, frowning at him until he drops his arms uselessly at his sides.
"Because!"
"Because what?"
"Because it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, Fernando, don't you know anything?"
He wants to take her pre-marital woes seriously, to abide by the archaic custom, but instead all he can do is laugh. A loud, full-bodied ripple of laughter that seems to form as deep as his solar-plexus as he closes the gap between them for the second time. This time she doesn't back way.
"Eres incorrecto," he assures as he clamps his hands down gently on her wrists, drawing the backs of her hands to his mouth so that he can press solicitous kisses to her knuckles. "I promise."
"How can you be so sure? The last thing we need is more bad luck," she warns him, her voice quieter now, only faintly reproachful. "Especially on our wedding day."
"Because," he explains, turning her hand to kiss its palm and each of her fingertips, "We've had enough bad luck in the past, mamí. Things are different now. Our luck is changing."
"Knock on wood," she amends, reaching out to tap her knuckles against the doorframe that they're standing in, though her eyes are soft and doe-like as he leans in to touch his lips confidently to hers.
"Knock on wood," he agrees softly, reaching down to smooth his fingertips over the heavy swell of her belly, subtly draped in the white satin sheath of her dress.