A/N: This is my first piece of fanfiction. The scene just came to me and played itself out in my head one night and I had to write it down. Reviews, both critical and non-critical would be much appreciated.
Fortitude
The sun is streaming through a gap in the curtains and it glows softly on his bare back. She's watching him sleep again. She can't see his face. He's lying on his front with his head facing away from the windows, his left arm dangling down over the side of the bed. But there's still a very subtle rise and fall of his torso as he breathes and it puts a delicate smile on her face to see him so relaxed and steady, his breathing movements as regular as the gentle rhythm of petit waves on a calm sea.
Unable to resist, she quietly wriggles over and places a gentle kiss on his left shoulder blade. Her hand rests on his skin where the sun has warmed it. He stirs, eyes closed and smiles. "Mmm."
Her own smile widens and her exhale from the expression strokes softly over the spot she had just kissed. "Mmm. You're warm." She says and lifts herself so her breasts and stomach are lying over his sun-heated skin. Her mouth is at his ear and she breathes against it and makes mellow sounds with her lips that always make him giggle. He turns his head and buries his face in his pillow and she laughs and adjusts herself again to make room for more butterfly kisses on his back.
Suddenly, he moves underneath her, his arms wrapping around her waist as he turns onto his back and settles her back on top of him. He finally opens his eyes as he looks up at her, smiling through them, those pale green circles that in moments like these, seemed to go back into the depths of the Earth and she falls through them into it. "Good morning."
She tears her own eyes away from his and leans down to kiss him. Their lips are slow and lazy. She traces the outline of his mouth with the tip of her tongue and then tilts her head, tossing her hair back and out of the way and looks at him again. He hasn't re-opened his eyes. "You're still half-asleep." She observes.
"It's okay. You're on top so you can do the work."
She laughs and takes a playful swipe at him with one of her hands but his eyes are open again and he's caught it before she's moved it far from his chest. He catches the other one too and they grin as their fingers interlock and they wrestle gently with each other, their arms moving back and forth. He quickly moves before she can blink, as he always does when he's playful. She swiftly finds herself on her side of the bed again, lying on her back with him settling himself between her legs. He kisses her long and firmly and then releases her hands which thread their fingers through his soft tawny hair as he trails his tongue downwards, through the space between her breasts, over her belly button and lower.
A while later (time doesn't matter on days like these), they've somehow ended up at the other end of the bed, with their heads where their feet should be and him on his back again, not yet having pulled out of her from moments ago. He brushes her hair back from her face which he cups with his hands, stroking the soft skin with his thumbs. They smile at each other and she runs her hands over his torso and lifts herself up and off him, coming down to rest on her side. He mirrors her position and they gaze at each other.
"Are you hungry?" He asks.
"I can wait."
He moves his arm to trail his fingertips up and down her arm.
She looks like she's thinking and he asks what.
"Spain."
He turns and brings her back on top of him again. She rests her chin on his chest and looks at him expectantly.
"Where in Spain?" he asks.
"Hmm. Madrid." She picks the first place that pops into her head.
It was a game that they played. She would name a place, a country, somewhere she hadn't visited but which he, in his extensive travels over the last century, had. He'd tell her about it, his stories and experiences. The culture, the history, what to see and do, where and what to eat: all the things he'd show her when he took her there one day.
"Madrid."
"Yep." She grins and waits.
He strokes a hand slowly and gently over her hair. "The best time to be in Madrid is during Easter. Spain is a highly religious Catholic country and the celebrations of Easter are spectacular. It's warm too. Not the intolerable heat you get in the summer. Just right."
"Like spring-time here." She comments.
"Right. It's a beautiful city. Like most other places in Europe, there's lots of history. Lots of beautiful architecture. Madrid only became Spain's capital in the 1500s. Some of the must-visit architecture, like the Palacio Real, wasn't built until the 1600s.
The best place to eat is a little place called Botín, in the Calle de Cuchieros which roughly translates as "Street of the knife-cutters". It's considered to be the oldest restaurant in the world; it opened in 1725. The food is beautiful. It's right next to the Plaza Mayor where there are lots more great restaurants but they're more expensive than others just because they're in the Plaza Mayor. But the Plaza is a great place to sit and chill out in the evening with a jug of Sangrilla.
If you want to go shopping, you go to the Gran Vía. It means "Great Way". All the shops you could ever want are there."
"How many times have you visited?"
"Twice. First time was in the 1940s. During the Second World War. Spain wasn't really involved, but being so close to France, everyone knew everything that was going on. It was like watching a game from the sideline. People were coming into the north of the country through the Pyrenees Mountains, trying to escape France. I went back there in 2007 with Lexi to see a Rolling Stones concert. One of the best gigs I've ever seen."
"The Rolling Stones are so old!"
"They're legends. I need to educate you on them. We also discovered a little chain restaurant called "El Museo De Jamon". It literally means "Museum of Ham". The Spanish produce amazing hams, entire legs of them. This place had them strung up all over the walls. They hang them there to let them mature. You can buy a whole leg of ham if you want. They range in price from around fifty euros to over two hundred. The black-hooved legs are the best and the most expensive. It did great, simple food like baguettes and filled croissants and tapas for just one euro. We had breakfast there each morning of the four days we were there. Despite it being so close to the Plaza Mayor, it's really cheap."
"Sounds like an interesting city. Old hams. Bands that play there that are nearly as old as you."
Elena lets out a shriek as Stefan grabs her and they're at the head-end of the bed again before she can blink. His hands are all over her, tickling her in those spots he knows can drive her wild. She's shrieking and laughing and trying to keep a hand over her mouth to quiet the sound but also trying to get words out. "Stop! Stefan! Stop!" She chokes out through her laughter. "I-can't-breathe! Ah!"
He's grinning. "You need to be quiet. Jenna may be at Alaric's but Jeremy's still next door."
"Then-stop! Stop!" Her sides are aching because she's laughing so hard.
He stops tickling her and grabs her hands, pinning them above her head and kissing her hard. When he pulls away a little and frees her she puts a hand to the side of his face. "All these places you've seen."
"You'll see them too." He says it with authoritative finality as he looks deep into her eyes. She knows there's a subtle hint in there about Klaus and the battle she must fight, that he promises her he will make sure she wins. That they win. All of them. Together. She lifts her head to kiss him and puts a hand on the back of his head, pulling him down to her, going back to their loving refuge. That place where it's them and only them, in light times and in dark. That place they can always go back to no matter what or where or when. That place which is theirs forever.
The sun is still streaming through the curtains. There are clouds idling in the sky, lingering and casting shadows on the ground. No weather has been strong enough to push them on. But they don't block out the sun. Not yet.