Disclaimer: I do not own Devon Hamilton Winters or Hilary Curtis. They are property of Y&R. Lord knows if I did have some ownership they would be on more and believably so if you get my meaning.
"Can you imagine being on some kind of soap opera serial and being on just once a week?" Devon screamed aloud, turning an unfinished The Restless and the Young off his iPad and tossing it on teal carpeted floor. "That is nonsense!"
"No," Hilary giggled, closing her laptop and setting it on the desk next to lukewarm strawberries and whipped cream that lost its whip. "Who would vote to have you off screen- my hot, young, well-built businessman? Writers would put you on everyday even without dialogue. And possibly without a shirt. Probably no pants."
Her long lashed brown eyes teased silken wine colored sheets, knowing what lie beneath.
"Are you sure you'd want that, Hun?" He asked, matching her mischievous glint tat for tat, already naturally reaching for her.
She hit wall of naked iron chest playful like a minx cat. Feminine gaze admired silent lion head tattoo resting on luscious golden brown hue of virile bicep. She would never tire of kissing him and kissing him and kissing him. All over, beckoning skin glistened from earlier strenuous exertion and light of dripping passionfruit scented candles.
"I can take it," she purred, coyly brushing masculine feline's thick lined mane. "Just like I'm sure you could handle me with any other man- on screen."
"Psssh." He took her satin manicured fingers and stroked individual bones. "I can just hear those cows mooing for you."
"Shut up or I'll poison your Christmas fruitcake!"
He grinned and shook his head.
"Why does it bother you so much?" She asked, keeping languid eyes from succumbing to easy temptation.
Humor died a little death when his chestnut irises deepened.
"My grandmother made me watch soaps with her from time to time. I always thought it odd to rarely see anyone that looked like us. Much less be a part of a huge romantic storyline. Soaps thrive on romance."
"Us? You mean?" She gestured towards her dewy mahogany forearm imprisoned by coaxing rivets. He nodded.
"Now there's this huge attractive pairing on the most watched daytime soap opera in America and they're not an actual couple."
"Oh."
"The actors are gaining interviews, covering soap magazines, and everything, but on this soap, they're barely on! Once a week is nothing for the fans to applaud."
"Ridiculous!"
"On top of that, the pairing bickers a lot and the woman who is pretending she doesn't love the man whose heart she has ripped to shreds is onto the next- some white prosecutor named Winston."
Hilary snorted at the name.
"You sound invested," she chortled.
"I am invested. I need to invest in something besides you." He kissed the side of her neck and tasted pulsing jugular. "The man looks a bit like me. Dresses sharp. A three piece suit kind. The girl is adorable. Plus the actress who plays Jordan on General Hospital is pretty cute."
"Don't you dare!" She protested, hitting him again in faux jealousy. "I will not tolerate you crushing over soap actresses. Is that why you like that ridiculous badly written The Young and the Restless so much? You want that actress in your pairing?"
"It's The Restless and the Young," he corrected her, chuckling and holding her close. "You're the only woman for me, Honey. None of those soap opera actresses can take that away. My heart is signed, sealed, delivered with your signature on top."
"Tell me more about the man who dresses like you."
"No!"
"Hmmmph!" She massaged his upper arms and stared into his charming handsome face, admiring mole at his philtrum and above his fine brow. "I'm glad we're not in one. They probably wouldn't write us right."
Soft goatee nuzzled column of her throat, pleasing scattered nerves. In nestle of promised bliss she almost neglected to hear his muffled question. For now, her heart hammered desires shut out faintest hint of pin drops.
"What do you think our portmanteau would be?" He asked.
"Portmanteau?" She pulled away and raised a lovely arched brow. "You want us to combine our first names together like Brangelina?"
"Yes."
"Ha! We will be better than Brangelina." She put her finger to her chin and furrowed those lovely brows, thinking of their unique name. "We would be... we would be... Delary."
"No."
"No?"
"I don't like that."
"Why not?" She threw a pillow at him and stood out of bed, hurt by his rejection of her good name.
"Too much like dairy with an unnecessary L in between."
"I didn't say Deary though."
"Doesn't matter."
"Well, what do you have as our portmanteau, Mr. Billionaire Playboy?" She crossed her arms against her chest, scowling in silk eggplant negligee enhancing lush radiance of seductive lithe figure. Her small bare feet dug into the richness of expensive carpet, plush and inviting to ease amusing thoughts.
"Hey!" He threw pillow back and she almost suffered a wardrobe malfunction, cowering from the fun. He hid immediate ravenous hunger for sweet dessert under humorous guise. God, she was so beautiful, he could swoon like an enthralled schoolboy. "I resent that. I am far more than my good looks and fat bank account."
"I know. I know," She agreed. Her grin allured him like fragrant vanilla and hibiscus perfume still coating territorial marked cream pillows. "So tell me. What will our squish name be?"
He laughed before responding.
"I think Hevon is perfect."
"Heaven?"
"No. Hevon. H-E-V-O-N."
"I only get one letter?" She picked up the pillow and threw it back. Unfortunately, he caught it in a talented clasp. Her full crimson lips pouted.
"Yes, but you come first," he said, coming out of the sheets and crawling towards her. She held a sigh at his graceful movements, waiting for him to come closer. "I like the name because it is incorrectly spelled but is pronounced perfectly for a word meaning paradise, an otherworldly bliss. That is how I feel about you, Hilary. I feel like a man walking on clouds whenever I'm with you. Whenever I'm around you the impossible seems possible."
He spoke to her like a true, honorable man. Not a player spitting game.
She smiled and smiled, blushing brighter than a bride-to-be. And she knew something about that.
Memories sung of trailing down, holding violet bouquet, of fine tailored navy blue suit, gray vest, navy blue tie, and pocketed orchid handkerchief snugly capturing finesse of all her body would ever know, of fresh exotic matching orchids dancing in her swept curled updo, of intricate form fitting Italian lace flown into Paris, floral wisp fabric whispering whilst traveling way pass enchanted walkways, of his patient fingers unclasping rowed creamy white buttons tracing her back, of splendid white chocolate frosted raspberry filled cake decorated in springtime sugar flowers consumed straight after hours of loving, of them finally being more than traveling lovers fleeing from hometown troubles...
"Devon, whenever you talk to me like that, I love you more and more," Hilary confessed. Devon stole her hand and filled her with electrical currents as his soft, pliant mouth kissed her palm. "You're my whole world. It stops spinning whenever I'm apart from you in only a second. Lord knows I've made huge mistakes, but falling in love with you was never one. No matter what has been said, I will never regret us."
Pink elephant in Tuscan's thousand dollar per night hotel room opened his mouth and spilled nasty guts to young discovered lovers.
"Neil was a mistake," Hilary whispered, kneeling down and cupping Devon's tortured face. "The biggest mistake."
"Don't dwell on that," he said, caressing hand earlier kissed, looking down at sparkling eternal band and clasping it with his own gold ring, symbolic echoes of a fresh start. Plane crash used to haunt him, seeing her in the snow, that massive wing crushing his insides. He would have died without her.
Once she was out of the mend, they fled together. Neil annulled the marriage, making sure Hilary had nothing.
Devon, however, gave Hilary the only world she needed to survive on, the sustenance to make them both feel more alive than ever before. Honeymoon flashbacks stirred his mind. Africa landscapes. Real life lions and lionesses and cubs running fiercely in the serene wild. She reminded him of the sleek sophistication of seemingly coy gazelles. Slow and peaceful frolicking until danger approached and they set off in a runner's dance that appeared so beautiful, so sensual. They toured safe places of the continent him holding her protectively, refusing to leave her out of his sight. They loved all over Europe indoors and out, in hot waters, on gentle rocks, atop smooth grasses. She showed him China and Japan treasures. He adored listening to her speak foreign languages in precise articulation, exciting and invigorating his dedicated fervor.
Neither of them felt eager to return to Genoa City. Not yet. Not when every day and night, the glow stayed inside their joined skins, pulsing and granting magical seeded beginnings.
"I just... the way he looked at you, Devon. I still remember it. I can picture it."
"I don't care about that right now. I love you, Hilary. Now us- you and I- we're a couple, Sweetheart. We're the real deal."
"Like soulmates huh?"
"Yes." He took his turn, taking her face between palms. Sweeping fingers sifted through heavy curtained mass of raven black hair. "We'll get through this madness together. That's what husbands and wives do to weather the storm. Together Hilary."
Her heart couldn't resist skipping a beat.
"Once a week?" She asked, smiling like a crazy woman in love.
"Huh?" Devon stared in a daze. He then burst out laughing and pulled her down onto the bed, onto his lap.
She joined him in merriment, unearthing joyous sounds that reached his attentive ears and melted his devoted heart anew. His fingers dug into her tumbled mass, massaging scalp and roots.
They laid down together, him above, her below his weight, laughter dying. Sparks flying.
"Once a week?!" Devon growled. "Let me show you once an hour!"
"Show me! Show me!" Hilary squealed in between kisses and frantic touches.