It's a lazy weekend morning, the kind where the light filters in through the curtains but you don't really mind-you've been asleep for so long that you're ready to wake up. It's the kind of morning where your body stretches of its own accord and you rise to the surface of consciousness slowly, pleasurably. As your ribs creak and your legs extend all the way, your toes find somebody else's limb. Your brain registers that this is a rather manly leg, which is connected to a manly foot, also being explored by your curious toes. You hear a muffled 'Hmmm?' from the other side of the bed and chuckle into your pillow. You finally open your eyes to see a golden red mop of hair sticking out from under the white duvet on the pillow next to you. Your still sleep-fogged brain catalogs everything that you can see about the shape next to you: one very long lump underneath the covers, the hair peeking out haphazardly, and an arm lying softly on your stomach. As you wake up a little bit more you realize that you can't really remember what day it is, only that last night pretty much rocked your world. You still felt great from the numerous orgasms he had given you. You grin to yourself as you remember how you had returned the favor. God,that had been amazing.
'What are you smirking about?'
He has managed to extricate his upper body from the covers and is now facing you, looking sleepily at your face, which is split into a wide grin. You hear his voice, which you would describe like….well, like nothing else in the world really. This morning it sounded like fog, thick and rich and dark and heavy and everything you loved rolled into one gorgeous, sonorous sound. A little deeper from sleep (if that was even possible), you register that your boyfriend had just asked you a question.
'Oh, nothing much. Just remembering all of the…mindblowing details of last night. Probably the best night of my life'.
He laughs at that, a deep, rolling sound from far back in his throat.
'You say that every time, you silly girl', he says affectionately, smiling at you.
'Yeah, well, you keep topping yourself', you reply, grinning back up at him and snuggling into his chest.
You both lie there for a few moments, just enjoying the quiet, enjoying the time you get to spend together, feeling each others' heartbeats through the skin of your chests. Your breathing syncs itself: when you breathe in, he breathes out. When you breathe out, he breathes in. He softly kisses the top of your head and then, breaking the silence, he says in a soft voice, 'Hey'.
'Hey what?' you murmur back.
'Just sit up for a moment'.
His request is quiet and sweet, but there is a gravity to his tone which makes you obey without asking. You prop yourself into a sitting position and let the sheets pool in your lap, your naked chest bare to the air of the room.
'Wait right there', he utters in that same tone of soft solemnity. In the dim light you see him get up and open the curtains before moving to the dresser to grab something. As he moves you admire the muscles rippling under the skin of his back, the breadth of his shoulders, the sharp 'V' of his waist. He is strong but oh so gentle, and you can see that gentility (mixed with just a hint of mischievousness) in his face as he turns around. You can never get enough of that face and now here it is, dappled in the new sunlight of the room, those incredible eyes admiring you. His body was obscuring your view and you can't see what he has in his hand until he comes back and sits crosslegged on the bed, in nothing but his boxers, his hair mussed adorably. His eyes are completely serious now, all mischief gone, as he holds out what is cupped in his palm. It is a tiny, beautifully carved wooden box. The intricate pattern carved into the top is a leaf, so detailed it looks like it could be real. The wood of the lid is so thin it is almost translucent, and there are even tiny, delicate veins running through it.
You look back up at him, speechless, and as he cups your hands around it he says, 'I've been wanting to give this to you for a long time. I've just been waiting for the right moment'.
'Benedict, I….it's absolutely gorgeous', you manage to breathe out. You are completely at a loss for words. He smiles softly at the look of wonder on your face. Then the light on his face changes and you swear you can see his irises darken as that deep voice whispers, 'Open it'.
With shaking hands you swing the tiny latch open and inside, on a bed of cotton, there is a ring. Your world stops. He knows you so perfectly. You never wear gold, so the band is silver. You work with your hands, so the jewels are embedded in the thin metal so the ring won't snag on anything. You are both against diamond trafficking, and the violence that accompanies it, so it is studded instead with three tiny emeralds, your favorite. You think you've stopped breathing. You look up at him wordlessly as he takes your face in his hands and says, in that soft, impossibly beautiful voice, 'Darling. Will you marry me?'
You can't breathe and all you can do is look at him. You didn't realize there were tears running down your face until concern crosses his features and he brushes one away with the pad of his thumb.
'Oh sweetheart, why are you crying?'
You rest your forehead against his as you manage to whisper, 'Because the prospect of spending my whole life with you makes me so happy there's not room for all of it inside of me'.
He pulls away to look you straight in the eyes as he utters the words, 'I love you'. He's said it a thousand times before and it still manages to make you feel as if you will never be sad again. It's like a thousand drums inside your heart at once, it's like you're flying, it's like there is sunshine in your soul, it is like all of these things and none of them and it is the best feeling you have ever experienced.
Those long fingered hands reach into the tiny box and pull out the delicate silver band. He takes your left hand and kisses each finger before sliding the ring onto the second to last one. You twine both your hands with his and as you tilt you face up to his, the light saturates his features and you murmur against his lips, 'I love you, Benedict'.