By Dan'yu
Drabble #10: BeautifulHe was still a child the first time he thought a girl pretty.
His mind abuzz with memories, he could remember the way she held his hand when they played together, and the warmth it caused in him; the odd ways his stomach knotted when she smiled at him.
Entwining his hand through long, ebony hair, he kissed her, felt the warmth of her body as she pressed into him, creamy pale skin smooth and silken beneath his fingertips as he touched her.
He felt her body pinned beneath him in the highest point of ecstasy, felt her trembling in his arms as they lay together in the aftermath, bodies damp with perspiration and heaving with bated breath. He brushed away the long strands of hair clinging to her face, taking in her flushed but wary face. He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, and finally her lips, whispering fervently how beautiful she was.
She looked away from him, shy, denying, shaking her head to refute him. He only smiled and repeated his admission; kissed her once more, tasted salt against her lips, felt the moisture falling from her eyes falling on his heated skin.
She cried silently as he kissed her, as he made love to her once more, as he called her beautiful again and again.
She clung to him as they rode out the last waves of pleasure that came with climax, sliding down bonelessly together against the tangled sheets, sated and exhausted. She pressed a hand to his face and studied him silently, her eyes tracing over every contour of his face, committing to memory gray eyes so dark with passion they were almost black in the night, sweat-soaked hair falling limply against his forehead, his flushed complexion, and she whispered to him, a soft smile playing at her lips.
"No, Haru. You're the beautiful one. Everything about you."
He opened his mouth to argue, but she quietly shook her head, pressing a finger to his lips to stop his speech. "But thank you, love. No one's ever called me beautiful before."
He teasingly kissed the finger against his mouth, gathering her in his arms and maneuvering them both under the blankets for a good night's rest. He would lie awake that night, staring blankly at the lackluster ceiling, feeling her head nestled against his shoulder, her breath slow and steady as she slept curled up against him.
He made a silent promise to himself, to tell this girl as often he could just how beautiful she was. He had always thought her pretty after all, and nothing could dissuade in his mind just how beautiful she was, inside and out.