Title: Candlelight
Summary: It's a distance he isn't sure if he wants to close.
Prompt: July 22nd / Bawdy
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He wakes up earlier than usual, the sky still dark and quiet. The mid-winter moon hangs low and it will be a few hours till the sun rises. There is still time before he has to wake and he shifts slightly, his arm stretching to space he has come to call hers.
Only to find nothing. Sitting up, he observes silently the rumpled covers on her side, the faint impression of her body. His wife had been waking up earlier than him, but he didn't think it was this early. There are faint flickers of light across the room, creeping through the cracks under the door, and he slips out of bed to follow.
It's the powder room and he can make out the faint shape of his wife to his left, the full-length mirror in front of her. The window behind her remains dark and the only light is the small flame beside her, giving her enough light as she washes her face. He can make out the outline of a silver jar, her hand slipping into cup water, the soft strands of her hair.
It's unexpectedly intimate—he has yet to decide if he wants that—and he turns to go.
"You're awake," she notes, surprising him, her head still facing the mirror.
He stops. "Yes."
"It's early."
"Yes." He takes a few steps closer to her, until he can make out her expression in the mirror.
Now she turns her head slightly, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. For a moment he can see it, the amused expression she gives to her handmaids so freely, the chuckle that's bubbling inside. Then she turns back to the mirror, ignoring him as she runs her fingers through her hair, removing some tangles as she did so.
A hand gathers her hair, pushing it to the side before it curtains her shoulder. A few stray strands lie on her exposed nape, her brush pulling them together as she combs her hair. She's facing the mirror and all he can see are the edges of her shoulders, the smooth planes of her neck.
She's not being seductive right now but his mouth goes dry all the same.