A/N: This was inspired by a fanfic my sister wrote, over on LJ. It had a thing to do with hair, etc., so I figured I'd see what I could do. I'm not sure where snow and shopping came into it, but oh well, it was probably my subconscious telling me to buy things for my friends. Honestly, I'm terrible at it.
Disclaimer: Zanzibar, and Malta, then Singapore, then Fiji, then Hong Kong, then the screen goes dead, the cat's put out, then the phone's unplugged, the lights go off, the milk gets cancelled, the gas is disconnected and- no. Not mine.
Her hand is a perfect fit for his. Her skin is soft and her fingers small, so it glides across his wrist until it nestles in his. And he can feel every smooth line, every crease, every dimple, and her tiny little fingertips as he cradles her tiny little hand. Neither one of them dislikes the feeling, so they continue to allow it as they walk down the busy, albeit frosty, street. Before long, their arms have fallen into the simple rhythm that they have both assumed whilst walking steadily along the bustling sidewalk, and a blue/brown sleeve loop is swinging back and forth slightly as they step.
The sensation feels so natural that he runs his thumb up and down across her knuckle, and it doesn't go un-noticed by him that she smiles slightly. Only when she slows their walk does he notice that they're now in a square of some sort, and that there are various snow-topped canopies sheltering stall owners. She moves to one of them and he walks by her, offering back up that is not necessary. When she moves her hand slightly, he lets go altogether and instantly misses the warmth he had been holding. Picking up a star-shaped, glass ornament, she examines it whilst he examines her.
A crack in the misty sky allows a string of winter sun through the clouds, and it burns down onto them. He turns to her, about to speak, and abandons all thought when he sees. She's engaged in conversation with a young boy running the stall, a smile spread across her lips and a cliché rosy glow in her cheeks. The sun is illuminating only her, making her hair ignite in the rays and turn every shade of brown imaginable. It's amber and bronze and cinnamon and tan and russet and chocolate and terra-cotta and umber and hazel and copper and mahogany and dusky and sepia and-
It drives him crazy, the sight of her on fire like that, so once she's bought the ornament and they walk around some more, he makes sure that either his hand is in hers or resting in the small of her back. She never objects, just allows a small, knowing smile to grace her features until she next speaks.
The sun never imprints itself on her quite like that another time, but the light still catches in a curl or two every now and then, and his breath hitches in his throat every moment it does.
Simply because a hand just doesn't seem quite enough, and he can't get the fiery image of her out of his head, when they return to the car and place several bags in the trunk, he backs her up slowly and gently against a side door and kisses her. And before he knows it she's kissing him back and he knows they've gone past the point of no return, but he doesn't care. After all, when he's got a woman whose hair can do that in the sunlight, kissing him and being held in his arms, who'd want to turn around?
Note: Review if you see fit! Oh, and people asked for fluff so I gave 'em it. More depressing stuff to come.