A/N: Written for an anonymous Tumblr prompt which read "Erik loves Christine's curls, and likes to gently twirl them around his finger. She doesn't understand why, but likes how interested he is."
His fingers are soft in her hair, gentle, stroking her curls with infinite tenderness. She could fall asleep, here, beneath his touch, her head pillowed in his lap and face turned into his stomach, nuzzling him as he softly hums. She cannot think of a better place for a nap, in fact.
He is infatuated with her hair. It has become his favourite pastime, of late, to read to her or sing to her and entwine his long fingers with her hair, caressing it ever so gently. She cannot understand this particular infatuation of his - if anything her curls can be most infuriating - but she indulges him in it nonetheless, pleased that something so simple can bring him such enjoyment.
Her eyes slip closed against the candlelight, and she breathes deeply of the scent of him, warm and heavy, wending itself through her veins. She sighs and stretches briefly, getting closer to him, every muscle heavy and comfortable as the tension bleeds from them once more, his soft humming and softer touch washing through her.