"Tonight, we're the scent of your long black hair, spread out like your breath across my back." Sea and the Rhythm, Iron & Wine

(break)

Sylvie's laugh trilled over the gardens, and she pressed close to him. Hal tucked her close also, their movements to move closer synced. Her lips were quirked, some of her lipstick already coloring his own.

Her eyes slid up the starry sky, head tilted all the way back as to look at the moon. The path was fully illuminated, the tears hiding only some pockets in shadow. She was lit in a glow that spoke volumes to him.

She looked like a goddess. Hal would be damned if he took his eyes off her just for one second, just relinquished her touch.

His fingers sought out hers, distracting her attention from the moon. Her eyes softened in an instant, flickering over his face, as if memorizing it. Their fingers melded together, her dainty little pinky finger curling around his.

He brought her hand to his lips, the position almost uncomfortable. Almost. But not quite.

"The moon's almost full," he murmured, letting their twined fingers drop.

"I'm so lucky you're not a werewolf."

"I think not. You can lock me up one time a month, and you'll be safe if I don't get out. This, what I am, is a full time thing."

"Yes. But I'm here. And you're clean."

Hal sighed, stumbling off the cobblestone past as he held her even closer. They fell over a bush, her laugh echoing again. His arms slipped around her, sheltering her into his chest as they fell. He'd be damned if he was around, and she'd get hurt.

Joy wrapped around him again at another, if slightly muffled, giggle, telling him how much she felt safe. Safe. Safe with him.

"You are such a klutz."

"I am not."

"You are."

"What if I desired to fall?"

"You did no such thing."

"I did."

"Such a precious liar."

She grumbled to herself, head gently nudging against his chin. Hal's chest rumbled with a held in laugh, fingers stroking languidly over the silk of her shift. He would rather touch her skin, but; no matter.

No matter.

The night blurred together, random bursts of conversations carrying on till the late night. The sun's shine was just peaking out over the hedges, when she finally fell asleep.

Hal heard the most interesting things from her in her more drowsy moments. Something about pie, and ways she'd kill Lady Sophie if she moved her hips around like that in front of him again. He just smiled, and kissed her forehead, making comments here and there.

"I wish we could have children," she'd whispered, hands plucking down the white cotton shirt he had on. "And don't criticize me; I know I sound like a ditz."

"You don't," he'd answered, finger whispering over her smooth cheek. "Would he be as perfect as you, I wonder?"

"Typical male, wanting a boy."

"What do you want, may I ask?"

"A boy."

Hal shook his head, kissing her forehead at the thought of it. He probably should take her inside, being that he was becoming her only warm source, as things began to really dew over.

Just as he moved, she woke up, brown eyes cut in a glare. She sighed, snuggling back into his chest, hair slightly wet as it brushed his other hand. How in seven hells was she not cold? And being politically correct, he wasn't the warmest person out there.

"Move, and I'll stake you," she threatened, the statement not sounding all too endangering.

"Can we not continue this cuddling on the bed? Where those delightfully warm pans have been all night?" he murmured, coaxing her up.

"Well, it appears I've made a deal with the Devil," she yawned in agreement, allowing him to pick her off the ground.

He held her with an arm around her back, holding her legs off the ground with a grip under her knees. Sylvie rested her head under his chin, plucking at a particularly wet spot on his cotton shirt.

"I drooled, didn't I?" She sniffed. "Damn, I hate that."

Hal laughed.

"It's your fault!"

"I highly doubt that."

"I suppose I should say sorry."

"Maybe."

"That's not the correct answer."

"What is the correct answer, might I ask?"

"'Oh, Sylvie, you are so perfect, I love you. I do not see any fault in your saliva, and in fact welcome it on my beyond adorable shirt.'"

"Should I really say that?"

"Yes."

"Oh, Sylvie, you are so perfect, I love you. I dare not see any fault in your saliva, and in fact welcome it on my beyond adorable shirt."

"You added sass in there."

"It is a certain specialty of mine."

"Maybe you should try theater. It seems to suit you."

Hal shook his head, rounding a slight corner in the garden. The large manor was in view now, Greco-Roman marble pillars supporting the grand house. Their bed was on the top floor, right where the pretty curtains where. Sylvie would claim over and over she'd sewn them herself, but Hal had gotten to the bottom of the mystery.

For one, Sylvie couldn't sew. Secondly, the serving women, though not taken to him, appreciated Sylvie, and had helped her make them; meaning that their seamstress probably had been the culprit in making them. Sylvie may have hovered over her shoulder, and maybe that one jagged stitch was hers, but…

Hal smiled slightly, looking down from the window.

"You should take a bath," he fussed, eyeing the leaves in her hair.

"I suppose it was cold out there," she mumbled, ignoring his statement.

Hal walked up the marble steps, his slightly damp shoes clicking on the steps. There she was, deflecting again. He opened the double oak doors, entering the one on the left.

An early waking maid was sweeping the floors, and she greeted him as he passed, waving hello to Sylvie.

"You are taking a bath," he said sternly, giving the maid a look.

The maid nodded, dipping out of the room, down the steps that lead to the boiler room.

"I hate taking baths without you, Hal," she whispered, nuzzling deep into his shirt.

"I don't want to ask them to fill a tub larger than yours."

"Commenting on my size now. Hal Yorke, you're just making mistake after mistake."

"Sylvie. I was not commenting on your size."

She cleared her throat, fixing him with a gaze as he set her on the floor of her bedroom. "What do we say?"

"Oh, Sylvie, you are so perfect, I love you. I dare not see any fault in your saliva, and in fact welcome it on my beyond adorable shirt."

"Can you tweak it a bit?"

"Sylvie, you manage to be beyond perfect. Your love for me, keeps me sane and clean. And I could never thank you enough."

"That was actually genius. I think I'm drooling again."

Hal leaned close, kissing her softly, tongue slipping languidly into her mouth. They broke apart, and he listened to that soft escape of breath.

"I find that the drool is non-existent."

"…Damn you, Hal."

He smirked lightly, plucking at the corner of her dirty shift. The maid came in, plucking oils, and herbs from their cabinet, nodding at them both. Hal took that as the fact that the bath was done.

"Take off my clothes," she murmured, covering his hand briefly with her own as to slip the shoulder of her shift off.

Hal tugged the other strap off, somehow managing not to just rip it from her skin.

"If you weren't so dirty, I'd make love to you," he taunted, dropping a feather light kiss to her lips, then to her neck.

It was a declaration to him and her that he could resist it now. Because of her. His love.

Her arm slipped around his neck, hand fumbling in the remaing buttons of his shirt. Hal kissed along her jaw, reaching for her other hand that couldn't get the buttons off. His shirt fell to the ground, and he smiled into the kiss, enjoying her hands in his hair.

"I suppose you'll be washing me, my Lord."

"I will, my Lady."