Title: Thunder
Rating: K
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Just have a little fun, every now and then.
Summary: Fluff. At night. During a thunderstorm.
A/N: B/G heavily implied, but not mentioned, this came to me during a - you guessed it - thunderstorm, like there are so many this year. Hope you'll enjoy. Many thanks go to ShadowSamurai83 for the beta.
Thunder
She's embarrassed and he has a hard time keeping his amusement concealed. It's not altogether successful and under different circumstances, his ears would be ringing with the tongue lashing she'd give him. But outside the forces of nature are battling each other, heat and cold coming together, clashing and mixing. It's not unlike them and he thinks that the comparison isn't too far off - when they clash, they put a thunderstorm to shame.
They don't do so now, because - surprise, surprise - she is afraid of them. It's a long-standing and deep-seated fear, stemming from early childhood and God knows what outwardly forgotten memory. She couldn't say what is worse - the loud noise or the eerie light effects. One makes her jump, the other makes her shake.
She doesn't like it, the way it overturns her generally known persona. It's so pointless compared to the things she's seen and endured. She should be stronger than this, but she isn't.
In the past, the demands of the day, of the job and pure bloody determination made her suppress that fear, but now in the dark night and the comfort of their bed there's no need for her to hide.
Except that she does.
She all but crawls into him, attempting to make herself as small as possible, invisible almost.
It makes him smile.
It also pushes every shred of protective instinct into overdrive. Every time she jumps, then shakes - and she does that a lot - he simply tightens his hold on her. There's something in him that expands, something that swells, grows and warms. It's not just affection, because he's hopelessly in love with her anyway. It's also not just his male ego being stroked, because she could do that much more easily and quickly and so much more hands-on.
No, it's something primal, something ancient, older than civilized society.
Maybe it's even something genetic.
He is big and strong and fierce, and she is small and slight and fragile.
The difference appeals to him, because she can't gloss it over by the force of her personality and intellect. Physically he almost dwarfs her and the implications do a whole lot for his attraction to her. Which she knows. And plays on.
Naturally, she'd reject the mere notion of being the helpless little woman, or even pretending to be, but outside there's a constant race of lightning and thunder and all bets are off.
Instinctively she seeks protection from him and this instinct stirs every available one in him.
Her slight body is burrowed against his larger one, her curves and hollows moulding around his plains. She's warm and fragrant, soft and mostly smooth. His hands move gently, hypnotically, over her back and her arm. She's still shaking, her skin covered in goose bumps, so he kisses the top of her head tucked safely beneath his chin and keeps the soothing motions up.
The eerie natural light from outside bathes the bedroom into sudden light and then darkness again. The edges are sharp and harsh, the colours cold.
He likes the show, because it corresponds with his mercurial nature.
Most of all, though, he likes it because it gives him moments like this.
Thank you for reading. Commentes would be greatly appreciated.