Music
...
Thursday 13th December
There is music playing softly in the background and there are presents in various stages of the wrapping process spread across the coffee table. There is wine in the glasses, candles that have burned low as the evening passed into night, and a rich, warm, enticing atmosphere.
They, however, are completely oblivious.
It was his idea; a mid-week refuge from the real world, a repeat of the fabulously successful fireside evening from a few nights ago. She readily agreed.
She still agrees. As she lies on the blanket, gazing up at him and watching the shadows created by the flickering flames play across his skin, she completely, wholeheartedly agrees.
With the very tip of just one finger, she traces the edge of his beard. It's a faint, delicate caress, and he can't help shutting his eyes as his other senses take over. She sketches his eyebrows, his eyes, slowly down over the ridge of his nose and he feels his breathing alter, his pulse start to quicken. He hears her softly whisper his name, so quietly it is almost lost in the rich ambiance and character of the music washing over them, surrounding them. She maps the outline of his lips while her other hand slides across his back, over his shoulders; her fingers igniting that first wave of heated need, slowly building a blaze of powerful, consuming desire. Thoroughly ensnared in the storm of emotion, he looks down at her, losing himself in the endless, infinite depths of the eyes that are suddenly a dark cobalt blue as they focus earnestly on his own.
It's warm, very pleasantly so, and the smouldering logs are crackling nearby. He can just detect a faint trace of red-wine in the air, along with the distinctive, warm aroma of the open fire and the alluring, seductive scent that belongs to her. Her fingers are tangling in his hair, threading through the thick strands and teasing the nape of his neck. He leans down, brushing his lips gently over hers; slowly, intensely and infinitely passionately, luxuriating in the heat of her skin against his own.
When he pulls back, her eyes catch and hold his, ensnaring every single fragment of his attention and it's a moment so filled with resonating intensity, with such strong, powerful emotion and pure, elemental adoration that it quite literally steals the breath from his lungs. Her hair is dishevelled – entirely his fault – and strands of it are in danger of poking her in the eye. He brushes them away, his fingers tender, lingering over her temple. He feels as much as he sees her smile, and then he can't see her at all as she pulls him to her, her lips seeking his yet again.
They are lost. Lost in a tangle of limbs and desperate, searing kisses. Lost in wandering hands that seek and explore, rouse and excite. Lost in words and whispers, promises and secrets. Lost in passion and need, in love and in lust. They are lost; firmly, permanently and irreversibly lost in each other.
In the quiet, intimate warmth of the room around them the fire is still blazing, the candles keep burning and the music continues to play, but they are still entirely, blissfully oblivious.