you are my life, my love, my only
A/N: I feel like i'm following a pattern: fluff, angst, fluff and now angst again lol I swear I'm not doing that on purpose, blame my mind.
She loves his hands. How they feel on her body, smoothing over her tighs and stomach, pulling her closer and warming her skin. The way her shoulders fit perfectly into his cupped palms, fingers pressed against the hard jut of her scapulae. She loves to watch the way he moves them when he talks, sweeping his words along with a theatricality that can only be hereditary. She loves to listen as he types, the keystrokes firm and sure, the story of them pouring from the tips of his fingers.
She loves the way he loves her, deeply and without reservation. How it feels to wake up in his arms, secure and safe, her body warmed by the heat of his. He pulls her out of herself with his wry observations, lightens the load she carries with a well-timed joke or inappropriate innuendo. She loves the way he's almost shy at times, hiding behind his boyish charm when he's nervous, his eyes shining with poorly hidden need as he patiently waits for her to return his love. She loves the way he scooped her off her feet the first time she said it, a joyous laugh bellowing out of his lungs.
She loves his chest, the broad expanse of it. The way his heart thunders under her hands as he claims her, her name rumbling around inside the cage of his ribs. The soft pattern of his breathing, deep and contented, when she rests her head on him, her body curled into the cove of his side.
She loves the way they just work together, like their minds are connected. He challenges her. He understands her, stands by her side no matter what.
She loves his mouth. The soft pout of his bottom lip, how it slips easily between her own. The way he breaks her apart with the glide of his tongue and pieces her back together with the beauty of his words.
She loves him. His generous heart and quick mind. His endless capacity for compassion and forgiveness. She loves his arms, his waffles, the way he hums in the shower. How he looks at her like she's the only woman he ever wanted, ever loved, and she finds herself believing it.
She needs him to look at her like that now. Needs him to open his eyes and smile, let the sound of his voice drown out the steady beeps of the heart monitor, the mechanical click of the machines that stand sentinel around his bed. Needs to feel his limp fingers tighten around hers, the life coming back into his too still body.
She loves him.
She needs him to live.