Here we go, some more for you. Now I better do some homework. :P
Enjoy!
…
She is giggling against his lips, and now he is giggling too, tiny shakes rippling through the bed. Their arms and legs are so entwined, so connected, he can barely tell whose is whose, but he doesn't care. He can smell her hair, soft and freshly washed against his face, her body wrapped around his as they roll along the bed, entangled together as one. They can no longer remember who started kissing who first, but it hardly matters. All that does is that, in that moment, they're happy.
…
The night has slowed down from an explosive beginning to a sluggish end. Adrenalin long-gone, energy sapped and eyelids begging to slide shut, they lie on the old couch in front of the fire, wearing nothing between them but a lovely warm blanket. He feels her slipping into sleep on top of him, feels the edges of tiredness beckoning at the corners of his own mind, but stops to pull her forehead to his lips and leaves them lingering there.
He pulls back only to whisper a quiet 'I love you' into her soft skin, before his grip slackens and his head rolls back, and he is overcome with welcoming darkness.
…
He hasn't washed in god knows how long, he hasn't slept (willingly, at least) and he hasn't eaten, besides the dinner that needed to be forced down his throat the night before. He feels disgusting and helpless amongst the cleanliness and order of the hospital, while before him on the bed, ghostly white, she sleeps. His head is buried into her hand, clutched desperately between his two larger ones, his rough, chapped lips murmuring useless words into her fingers, brushing against the too-cold skin.
'Please,' he says, over and over again.
…
It was a cliché to say she had never looked more beautiful to him in that moment, because in actual fact, she has never been more physically disgusting, covered in sweat, muck, and tears. But in her arms she holds something precious, a sleeping baby, a newborn, and it was his, they were both his. He kisses the soft head of the infant first, seeing, from the corner of his eye, the peaceful look upon his wife's face. He then reaches up to kiss her, her lips wet and new tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. She is happy, and that is what makes her beautiful to him.
…
She laughs, face pink, mouth grinning, as the snowball hits him square in the face. He blinks, then with a mock roar of rage, he suddenly launches himself after her, armed with a handful of retaliation snow. They chase and end up in a heap of limbs on the ground, the snow seeping in. Soon, it turns from a fight of snow to a battle of lips, although neither party quite remembers when the change occurs.
…
He laughs at the sight of her, covered in mud, bruises and humiliation. She glowers back at him, forcing stiff limbs to cooperate so as to walk closer to him, evil intent in her eyes. Before she can so much as open her mouth angrily, he cuts her off, stepping forward to claim her with his arms and lips before she works herself up too much. Funnily enough, she forgets why she was angry in the first place when they finally part.
…