Disclaimer: Don't own, everything belongs to Libba Bray!
Dance
Gemma&Kartik. She is his remedy to cloudy days and nonbelievers.
It's an effort not to jump, not to jump. He repeats it to himself like a mantra, hoping the words and their dwindling meaning will stay stuck. If he ever needed composure, now was the time.
She stands in the doorway, shirt hanging on her delicate frame two sizes too large and too long—his shirt. She stretches her arms and yawns—don't jump. Her hair is a tousled mess and he wants to run his hands in it again, the feel of the soft strands through his fingers.
She finishes with a satisfied sigh and he feigns sleep, sinking back into the covers. She doesn't realize and tip-toes to the side of the bed. He finds the pad pad pad of her quiet steps comforting. She leans over him slightly, and he can feel her warmth, feel her hair brush against his neck and collarbone, smell the flowers in her hair, the sweetness on her skin.
She brushes back the dark curls from his face, letting her fingers linger a bit longer as they trace. Back and forth, back and forth, the features she knows and loves so much.
Relaxing is inevitable and he melts with her touch. Don't jump.
She leans in closer—he is enveloped in warmth and her sweetness—leans in and kisses him softly. But her lips are generous and reach his temple, his forehead, nose, and chin. He wants to kiss her back so badly. Kiss her everywhere.
She recedes and he misses her already. She is his remedy to cloudy days and nonbelievers. There is space and he is ready to close it.
Don't ju—Impulse is too strong and he's already reaching out to grab her, dragging her over effortlessly. She gasps, surprised then laughs and he loves the sound.
And then their lips are together, they are really kissing and it's amazing. Sealed together utterly inseparable and unbroken. He can hear the song, feel the dance. His heart beats against hers—rushing, pulsing, living—it is there. They are in sync.
This song, this dance, he wants to be locked in it with her forever.
He opens his eyes and her expression is immersed. He pushes wayward strands of hair from her face.
He realizes they are nowhere near perfection—or if they will ever be—and it is a broken chant now, but this is where he is happy.
.
.
.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Even if it was sort of messy. First AGATB fic, hope I didn't butcher the characters too much. Review and tell me how I did? :D