stl: barber, 'adagio for strings'
He was her asylum; in the shadow of his arms she could afford to fall apart while he painstakingly stitched her back together, one shattered piece of her story at a time. Some days he would question her motives-- when she would sneak in and mold herself to the contours of his body-- and others he would let sleeping dogs lie. Today, she could taste the questions forming on his tongue as she kissed him. Today, she would give nothing away. Let him read it in the fine print of her skin, if he wanted answers. Let his fingers dance along the raised Braille her body offered him.
Today, she had no tragedy to divulge.
She smiled against the smooth skin of his neck before pressing her lips firmly there, lacing her fingers in his hair. In the dim afternoon glow, beneath the ever darkening thunderheads, he melted into her touch, conforming to her every wish. Gently, she pushed and he responded, stretching himself along the damp earth while her mouth and hands darted around every exposed inch of flesh. He had never known such intimacy as this-- she pulled from him emotions long since buried as he drank up the intoxicating affection she was serving.
Today, she had only a fairytale to write.
Mindful of the silence, they shed the confines of their clothing. His eyes burned with a passion for knowledge, a need to understand but she would offer him nothing except her soul, should he be so inclined as to take it. She wrapped her arms around his torso, pulling him painfully close as the rain kept meter with every stroke, every wave of euphoria. She dug her nails into his back, drawing jagged lines, writing the musical notes of this dance that would fade before her very next breath. She had waited for far too long for this moment, the very second that she could turn herself over to him completely and without restraint. The world blurred into an oil canvas of vibrant green and deep umber and rich grays.
Today, she had finally read the beginning of 'Happily Ever After.'