The sun was fleeting, unreliable; sad, low against the incandescent orange of the horizion, and he smelled like earth after a windstorm, when dirt and dust spiraled and ghosted along the valance of natural senses. Thus, followed an exhale; warm and breathy, buttery along his shoulder. Buttery akin to the curious details of long fingers, studious in their motion, over the nodules of her languorous curves; the slope of her spine, tickles the curve of her hip, nuzzles a strong shoulder blade, captures a slender leg. The memorization of her anatomy comes and goes, corresponds, yet fights with the fickle ebb of sleep that strains her eyelids; however, it never ceases in matching the gust of late summer wind through the window. The pattern chases the flux of the white draps, which allows in the fading sun and it paints her porcelain flesh a nice ivory, and he is momentarily stuck in his progession; fingers in her hair, which she had recently cut to drift a slender distance below her chin, the end of golden strands brushing just barely over her collarbone and he thinks — with the light of the sunset and the orange of the sky and slumber drawing her away from him — that she is beautiful and this is the end.
right here right now where you're supposed to be
Make you feel like the first time
His lips meet the curve where her neck says hello to her shoulder, and it thrills her to the bone. She is sleeply, but she feels the aderaline and lust and love fill her viens and wake her if only for a few more moments, and simultaneously they are facing each other and she kisses him first. And the pulse that shatters her heart, dead in the center of her breast bone where his fingers come to rest and curl and bring her closer to taste the apple cinnamon of her lip gloss, feels akin to their first kiss and their last. Then, she's pulling back for a breath, for solace; to see with drowsy, flammable eyes that he is still here. His arm around her middle, his thigh between both of hers, naked skin glistening and beautiful and alive.
For the first time in over an hour, he speaks, "Were you sleeping?"
In response, she blinks; crinkles up her nose in that way that tightens his chest and claws at his heart, leaving a terrible longing where the beat used to render rhythmically. So, he does what he always does when she crinkles her nose; he puckers up and kisses the temporary wrinkles until she is giggling and her nose is relaxing and his heartbeat has returned to normal.
"A little," she answers and then her eyes are closing again, basking her in stillness and Elijah's bittersweet presence that is a little too dark, a little to male, a little too hers.
A little too much, and as she was, she is withdrawing. She leaves him alone in the bed, stands to her full height of five foot; offers him a glorious naked canvas, and this is the kind of moment when he wishes he were a painter, a sculpture; something other than a guitarist in a band that has no name, because then he can have her on paper. All long legs, wide hips, pale skin in the winter and peach lips and eyes that bespeak the universe's entirety.
But, he then he remembers he is alone in bed; and that these past fews month have been slow and prolonged and filled with tension and imminent heartbreak. So, he drinks in her naked form a minute more before she disappears into the bathroom, the door shutting behind her, leaving him in hallowed out silence. Next, he's reaching into his bedside's drawer, removing an old pack of cigarettes he purchased a few weeks prior to promising Dakota he'd quit. But, he's restless and addicted, so he pulls one from the pack; rolls the thin stick between equally long fingers, places it beneath the bed of his tongue, cups his hand around his mouth and lights up.
Dakota's leaving the bathroom at that point, and she smells it before she sees it. Her eyes, which have darkened to a sexy little green akin to leaves on a tree during spring, narrow in warning without saying much of anything. She supresses a disappointed sigh, ire buliding up in her stomach; the anger spirals through her bloodstream, leaving her cheekbones blotched in a flush.
