She stretches limbs sun-starved from travels in the Black, her head tilted back to the warmth, the sky and the sage-scented afternoon wind, thin streaks of cirrus clouds above.
“Hey, albatross. You flyin’ off without me?”
Straightening her neck, she looks at him standing beside her, clothed now, buttoned up, but he hasn’t smoothed his hair and the heat is still in his cheeks and eyes, a pretty glow. She puts her palm on his chest, over his heart, pressed close to feel the beat. “I’m glad you let me in.”
“Let you?” He snorts, but it’s soft with amusement, it doesn’t cut. “More like I gave you a finger and you took the whole hand.”
“I didn’t,” she says, a smile stealing out, widening, and then, “I’ve taken more,” her palm sliding, pointedly, down a suspender strap to the waist of his trousers. “And you enjoy it.”
His brows rise. “Ain’t the only one.”
“No.” She draws in a breath, an echo of sensation going through her. “We should’ve done this before. Long ago.”
“Long ago,” he reminds her, “we couldn’t have.” He pulls from her touch, bending to pick up the blanket, shaking it out, bits of grass and flower seeds scattering. “Things were —”
“Problematic,” she fills in and to follow his example, clearing the spot, she grabs her boots, meaning to carry them, her toes digging into the crust of the earth. “You weren’t ready.”
He startles, opens his mouth, but reconsiders the words before he speaks, ending with quirked-up lips. “Maybe I wasn’t,” he says. “Guess I should be right grateful you were patient.”
She nods, grave outwardly, but not inside. “Yes, you should.”
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Date: 2010-01-15 11:39 pm (UTC)“Hey, albatross. You flyin’ off without me?”
Straightening her neck, she looks at him standing beside her, clothed now, buttoned up, but he hasn’t smoothed his hair and the heat is still in his cheeks and eyes, a pretty glow. She puts her palm on his chest, over his heart, pressed close to feel the beat. “I’m glad you let me in.”
“Let you?” He snorts, but it’s soft with amusement, it doesn’t cut. “More like I gave you a finger and you took the whole hand.”
“I didn’t,” she says, a smile stealing out, widening, and then, “I’ve taken more,” her palm sliding, pointedly, down a suspender strap to the waist of his trousers. “And you enjoy it.”
His brows rise. “Ain’t the only one.”
“No.” She draws in a breath, an echo of sensation going through her. “We should’ve done this before. Long ago.”
“Long ago,” he reminds her, “we couldn’t have.” He pulls from her touch, bending to pick up the blanket, shaking it out, bits of grass and flower seeds scattering. “Things were —”
“Problematic,” she fills in and to follow his example, clearing the spot, she grabs her boots, meaning to carry them, her toes digging into the crust of the earth. “You weren’t ready.”
He startles, opens his mouth, but reconsiders the words before he speaks, ending with quirked-up lips. “Maybe I wasn’t,” he says. “Guess I should be right grateful you were patient.”
She nods, grave outwardly, but not inside. “Yes, you should.”