He's too dear, and she's too tender-- his motions, hers, all melt into one. A high sound escapes her, and she falls for the second time into abandon, her body seizing around him. Her fingers scrape, her back arches, and it's all she can do to muffle herself, mouth pressed against his brow, lips bitten.
She moves with him until she can't think anymore. A momentary escape, an island of blessed nothingness, and she comes back to herself, panting for air. She moves some of the thick blankets they've amassed, just trying to get more air on her skin.
She lets her head loll back, sinking deeper into the bed. "Cor blimey," she murmurs into his salted skin, "don't think I'll be getting up ever again."
It takes time for his own thoughts to coalesce. Wearied and worn through by contentment, all he can offer is a slow start, the toughened edges of his thumbs sliding down across her sides as he relocates by the barest of degrees, chin tucked to her scarred and bespeckled shoulder.
“Would you,” he begins, a halting, hushed murmur, “then say I have read enough?”
That book all but forgotten by now, knocked somewhere to the floor.
It's not a beautiful laugh, more throaty and deep. She turns her head to kiss his brow, to pet at his hair and hold him close. This strange man, all hers, and she revels in it.
"You have, you have." She lies back, still catching her breath. "Don't get smug. It's too handsome on you; I'll be distracted for days."
“You would be distracted regardless.” Noah counters, leaning into the kiss she affords him with all the pressing need of a touch-starved hound. At odds with the image he otherwise cuts from stern features and harsher stares, made docile in her hold, her assurance— her adoration, for a man that has never known the luxury of it otherwise.
At times, he wonders if she remains certain that his loyalty will fade.
Warm breath wafts over him as she laughs. Jone holds him close, like the precious, beloved thing he is.
"'Cos you're lovely," she murmurs into his hairline. "Don't forget that."
She isn't thinking of her death and his agelessness. She thinks of how he'll one day tire of her-- it feels unlikely now, but it's distinctly possible. Not inevitable, but... not unheard of.
"The more you speak of it," He murmurs, the words almost lazy for his listlessness, and lacking in bite regardless. "The more tempted I become to remain in armor."
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She moves with him until she can't think anymore. A momentary escape, an island of blessed nothingness, and she comes back to herself, panting for air. She moves some of the thick blankets they've amassed, just trying to get more air on her skin.
She lets her head loll back, sinking deeper into the bed. "Cor blimey," she murmurs into his salted skin, "don't think I'll be getting up ever again."
no subject
“Would you,” he begins, a halting, hushed murmur, “then say I have read enough?”
That book all but forgotten by now, knocked somewhere to the floor.
no subject
"You have, you have." She lies back, still catching her breath. "Don't get smug. It's too handsome on you; I'll be distracted for days."
no subject
At times, he wonders if she remains certain that his loyalty will fade.
He never asks.
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"'Cos you're lovely," she murmurs into his hairline. "Don't forget that."
She isn't thinking of her death and his agelessness. She thinks of how he'll one day tire of her-- it feels unlikely now, but it's distinctly possible. Not inevitable, but... not unheard of.
no subject