Okay, so for anyone who's wondering, the smulphabet is a collaborative fic project by misunderstood beauty, Ros, mollyina, nonsenseandmischief, White Rose Withering and jancis. It's slightly strange and possibly perverted, so if any of that bothers you, look away now. Otherwise, read, enjoy and remember to review!
Oh, and after Christmas, we've divided up ownership of Harry, Ruth and their possessions between us, so fingers crossed we all get everything on our lists. But failing that, we own nothing. Looking at this, it's probably just as well.
A is for art... (mollyina)
"I didn't know you could draw."
She lowers her pencil and turns to face him.
"I can't, not really."
Harry comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist; he knows from experience that trying to argue with her is a waste of time. She tilts her head reflectively at her half-formed sketch before lifting her hand to fill in some of the detail. Her shoulder moves as she shades, stopping every so often to consider her work. Eventually she leans back in his arms and smiles.
"Isn't this a bit Ghost of us?"
"What?"
"You know…the bit with the clay, art and romance. Except you're not dead and I'm not Demi Moore and…"
She trails off at the blank look on his face. She knows he's behind the times, but this is shocking even for him.
"It's a romantic classic, Harry."
He shrugs. "Sorry. Other people's romances don't interest me."
He gets the reaction he's looking for. Ruth turns to face him.
"No, I suppose not. Still, you can always learn from them."
"And what" he breathes "did you learn from this Ghost?"
"Never to launder money through company accounts" she answers seriously, and then, leaning closer. "And of course, that art" she bites her lip, wrapping her arms around his shoulders "is a sensual experience.
One hand strays to the pot of strawberry jam he brought in for breakfast. She dips her index finger in the jar and brings it up, proceeding to press it against his chest and move it to mark a tiny heart.
He takes her sticky fingers to his lips, running his tongue across the tips and then linking his fingers through hers.
"Look" he tells her sternly "at the mess you've made."
"Come into the kitchen" she replies, slipping out of his arms "and I'll help you clean it up."
He stands for a minute, dazed and ecstatic. At the start of their relationship, he'd never have guessed it was in Ruth's nature to be so – brazen.
Not that's he complaining, mind you.
Harry follows her into the next, noticing three things simultaneously. One, she's sat on the countertop by the sink. Two, she's wearing only one of his old work shirts. And three, she's holding an open jar of peanut butter in her hand, sliding her fingers through it and licking her lips.
Harry walks up to her, pushing her backwards on the countertop, so one leg rests either side of him and her back is to the wall, but manages to refrain from touching her. Instead, he takes the jar from her with one hand and uses the other to undo the top button of the shirt, exposing shoulders and the merest hint of cleavage.
"I thought you didn't want any more mess?" she asks, batting her lashes at him.
"You mess with me" he answers, raising his fingers "I'll mess with you."
Any reply she might have made is halted when his fingers brush the skin just under her collarbone. She tries to feel what he's drawing, but the agonising slowness of his movements confuses her.
When he finishes, she looks down and smiles at the three upside-down characters. H4R, scrawled graffiti-style on her skin.
"You have terrible handwriting" she notes, and leans over and into him to snatch up a bottle of chocolate sauce. She opens the cap, holds it against his chest and squeezes, watching as it runs down his skin in rivulets, dancing and dribbling and forming patterns of its own accord. Eventually she starts to draw, but he can't make out the forms – a trapezoid shape, some rectangles, circles on top.
"Us?" he asks, and she nods as she continues. She's made herself taller, but they are still recogniseably them, stick-arms joined across his stomach. Her work of art is still trickling down over his skin and onto the waistband of his trousers. He gestures to them.
"These are going to get ruined."
She quirks a brow. "And how could we possibly avoid that?"
He gets her meaning and obliges, kicking them off and sending them skidding over the tiled floor before turning back to her with a wolfish grin.
"You know, that shirt isn't going to do much better."
"Well, it's an old shirt. It doesn't really matter."
That gets her a dirty look.
"Anyway" he reaches for another button and uses both hands to coax it open, exposing blank canvas. "I might need some more room to draw."
Ruth looks up at the cupboard above her head and back at him.
"Icing. In there. Lots of colours."
She holds her breath as he reaches up and retrieves the box, carefully selecting two tiny tubes, a red and a green, left over from last Christmas.
"Close your eyes" he murmurs. She rolls them first, but obliges.
He starts with the red, making swirls and waves and wild curves before trailing the green down her body, unbuttoning as he goes, and back up. The icing is cold, and she gasps brilliantly every time it touches her skin. He picks up the bottle of chocolate sauce, still resting on the countertop, and uses it to create highlights, defining his masterpiece.
When he moves back to survey his work, she smiles warily.
"Can I open my eyes yet?"
"If you want."
She blinks for a second, readjusting to the light, and the image before her comes into focus. Ruth looks at Harry, who smiles and moves back towards her, placing his hands on her waist.
"A rose for a rose."
"It's beautiful."
"So are you."
And finally, he moves to kiss her. Strong arms wrap themselves around her, claiming ownership, pulling her to him. After a moment, she moans and pulls away, pouting up at him through lidded eyes.
"You're going to ruin my rose."
He kisses her again, pushing his body against hers, smearing both of their artwork into meaningless blotches.
"There. Ruined. Now" he pauses to lick a spot of peanut butter off her shoulder "you said you'd clean me up?"
She reciprocates, darting her tongue out and over the original heart, savouring sugar and strawberries and skin.
"Mmm, I did. Though not just yet. Harry?"
"Ruth?"
"Will you do me another rose? Tomorrow?"
He returns to her lips. She tastes like art.
"I promise, you can have all the roses you want."