Since I apparently can't go a single chapter in a longer story without getting stuck and needing a distraction…another short one shot. Mild steaminess at the end.
At first she loves the freedom he brings, the new things he teaches her, the confident, self-assured way he makes his way in the world as if it is nothing that he does the impossible every day. He is new and exciting and she loves every minute with him for the sheer novelty of it.
He loves her enthusiasm first, the sheer joy on her face for – well, for everything. Focused and determined, he sometimes forgets to look around and be amazed. She reminds him why he struggles for life, and he begins to love her for that.
She loves the quick flash of expressions across his face; he has never had to hide his emotions from anyone, and he can go from concerned, to thoughtful, to serious, to laughing so fast it makes her head spin.
She especially loves his smile, broad and quick, the easy way it comes and how slow it is to go. She can see his life has not been easy, but his humor has never left him, and she loves that.
She loves it even more when he begins to smile at her.
He loves her courage, the cheerful way she is game to try anything, all the more amazing because her way of life and her family have done everything to drive it out of her. He is impressed at how spectacularly they have failed. There is nothing she won't do, and along with the courage, he admires her supreme confidence in her own abilities.
She loves his odd habits, the way he never sits or sleeps with his back exposed if he can help it, the conversations he has with Belt that never seem one-sided, the way he talks with his hands as much as his rapid-fire words, half of which he made up.
He loves her quick mind, the way she can look at a situation in an instant, intuit a plan, and act on it in the span of a few heartbeats. He loves her questions, the way she doesn't let him get away with answers that are vague or inconsistent, and maybe he loves her questions a little bit more because the sound of her voice is becoming increasingly necessary for him.
She loves the way he never even considers that something might be impossible; every obstacle they come across is just a problem he hasn't solved yet. She loves that having a solution isn't necessarily enough for him, that he is always looking for a better, faster way.
He loves her laugh, in all its forms. He has labels for them all. The mischievous giggle, which means she is up to something. The excited squeal, when she finds or tries or he shows her something new. The belly laugh, when she thinks he is being funny or weird. The rare, quiet chuckle that makes him curious to know what she is thinking.
She loves his voice, especially when he speaks to her low and soft by the fire after the family has gone to bed for the night.
He loves the color of her hair and the way it shines in the light.
She loves his eyes, so dark they are nearly black in full day, but gleaming deep brown where the light from the fire flickers in them.
He loves her hands, small and strong. He loves the surprisingly elegant taper of her fingers that reflects that mix of strength and grace he finds so appealing in her.
She loves the soft way he touches her, just a brush of fingers here and there whenever he finds an excuse. Used to tough love and rough handling, she finds his feather-light touch strangely compelling.
He loves her lips, especially the way they curve into a small, shy smile when she catches him looking. He doesn't expect them to be soft when he finally gives in and tests them with his own, but they are, and he can't get enough of them.
She loves the look he gets right before he kisses her, the way his eyes flash with something she has never seen before.
He loves that she is not afraid to kiss him back.
She loves the feel of his hand wrapped around hers, the way he reaches for her now without even thinking about it and tangles his clever fingers with hers.
He loves the freckles spattered across her nose and over the rounded peak of her shoulder.
She loves the breadth of his shoulders and the line of his neck.
He loves the muscles packed on her compact frame. There is not an inch of her that doesn't ripple with muscle and the engineer of him appreciates the beauty and efficiency of the system as much as his carnal instincts appreciate the firm lines and sinuous motion.
She loves his muscles too. He is no Crood, but he is no weakling either, and it does not bother her that the muscles wrapping his wiry frame lay long and flat instead of bunched and corded. She has always loved that he was different.
He loves the way her body curves and how she fits so nicely against him.
She loves that he wants to spend the rest of his life finding new reasons to love her.
He loves that she agrees.
She loves the excitement in his face as he shows her the place he has made for them; she loves even more the way his jaw drops to the floor with her dress.
He loves the way she arches into his touch.
She loves his gentleness, the sense of awe as he explores her body.
He loves her eagerness, though it means he has to stop her from taking a knife to his only pair of pants. He loves the way her hands move over him as if she is trying to take everything in at once, thrilled to the core to realize she wants him as much as he wants her.
She loves it when his gentleness begins to give way to something else, something passionate and primal and possessive.
He loves the way her eyes widen, dark and dilated, when she growls at him and he growls back.
They love each other fiercely, because life is short and the night is long and dark.
They love each other tenderly, because there is wonder in the fate that brought them together and the morning light is soft and gentle.
They love each other long, because the true joy is in the journey, and theirs isn't over yet.