~The Brandons~
Colonel Brandon sits in his chair by the fire, watching the flames' shadows whispering across the new chair beside his own. The light, delicate fabric is soon to hold his beloved, who plays at the pianoforte across the room. The closing notes float by him and, after a few moments' silence, he hears Marianne walking towards him.
He turns and sees the young girl smiling faintly at him.
She studies his features, half shadowed by the firelight. Though she has grown used to them already, she'll know them better shortly, as their marriage commences. The conviction behind his brown eyes warms her heart, and she watches a small smile play about his lips.
"Will you join me?" he murmurs, glancing towards the small new chair.
She smiles mischievously, and he wonders at her until she approaches and sits herself on his lap.
She raises an eyebrow at him; he quietly chuckles and gathers her closer. Her feet come up on the chair, one of his arms holds her against him, and the other rests about her knee.
Marianne burrows against him, one hand playing at the buttons of the flannel waistcoat that she had dismissed so long ago. She watches intently as his thumb idly strokes back and forth over the fabric covering her knee. When she glances up at her Colonel, she finds his eyes warmly upon her.
Her fingers leave the cloth for his chin. He smiles at the touch, and she begins to lightly kiss his jaw below his ear.
His skin is almost rough beneath her lips, but she snuggles closer, and trails her fingers along his neck, moving her kisses to his cheek.
He makes a low sound like a hum, or a sigh, which she feels more than hears. She smiles shyly, biting her lip, and he smiles too.
Then his hand leaves her knee to capture her chin and hold it for a proper kiss. He is gentle, and his fingers slide their way into her curly locks.
He watches her as he kisses her, admiring the long lashes spread across her light skin. He lets her go, and watches her open her eyes only to close them and pull him back.
Her hand lies against his heart, and soon she lays her head against his chest to see if she can hear the beat as well as feel it. His arms lie once more about her, hugging her close.
She begins again to play at the buttons and his cravat. As it loosens, he gives a remonstrative, "Marianne," in a low rumbling voice which does nothing to deter her. She slowly undoes the knots and buttons at the top, and his fingers recommence their caresses, this time at her waist.
He will not take her tonight to satisfy convention; he is settled on that. However eager she might be, he will not consummate the match until he feels-knows-she is ready. Marianne is not yet ready for children or, indeed, him.
He sighs once again under her ministrations as her fingers find his collarbone. Never mind consummation. He is content to sit and wait for her to discover.
Marianne blows out the candle beside them and continues to work at his buttons.
fin
A/N I wrote this a couple of years ago, so it's very simple, but I sort of like the mood it lends. All comments are welcome =]