Summer & Sandwiches
Will's fingers softly tug at caramel curls, exciting a soft laugh out of the woman who is nestled safely into his chest. Genevieve's own hands have bunched into his shirt, fiddling and tugging and kneading the fabric, all to graze touches against the warm skin beneath the cotton.
The sky is blue; bluer than he's ever seen it. There isn't a cloud in sight. But, there is a soft breeze, brushing against his skin and tickling his nose. There is some shade dancing across his face and eyelashes, creating dar patterns in the shape of maple-leaves. And then there's Gen, who is grinning up at him with big eyes.
He's content with her next to him like this, with the dogs running about in the background of the scenery.
Will is especially contented when Gen's her right hand drifts to his abdomen, her teal nails ghosting across the fabric, patting the muscles there. He shudders and shakes with joy, sighing. Her hands toy with his own brunette curls before she exhales at the quiet sound of a grumbling stomach.
Gen kisses his chin, his neck, and his collarbone all before sitting up and stretching for the sky, balancing precariously on the hammock.
She's so catlike, he muses, in the way she arches and leans.
Gen shuffles off the hammock, leaving Will swinging in the summer breeze, his book tucked under his right arm and glasses perched upon his nose.
"You want something to eat, Will?"
He blinks. "Yes. That'd be lovely."
He has to tear his eyes away from her slim legs that have become miles long in that sundress. She notices, blushing quietly.
"Come on, loverboy. Quit ooglin'. You're gunna help."
His chest heaves in a happy manner when he remembers how true that is. All those coffee shop dates... They had paid off.
He follows her into the kitchen like a lost puppy, chasing her about and hugging her close. Her Will is being uncharacteristically romantic, but Genevieve doesn't mind. Winston, the newest member to the dog-pack, barks at Gen's excited squeals and Will laughs.
"You're freaking him out, Gen."
"Says you," she musters, her lips dancing against the stubble of his cheek, "Troublemaker. All I wanted was to make a nice tuna sandwich. But, no. William Graham had other plans."
"Other plans?" he asks, swaying softly, "No. This was my plan all along."
With one kiss to her shoulder, the sandwich is forgotten.
