acaronar
(v.) to tenderly draw or pull someone closer – to hold as for affection, comfort or warmth; to fondle, to caress; to embrace, to protect
|Catalan|
He looks at her from across the kitchen counter and feels his stomach drop because she is just so beautiful, so amazingly beautiful first thing in the morning that he cannot put it into words. She is everything he's always dreamed of and more. (Because his type isn't tall brunettes. Not exclusively, at least.) And then she brushes a crumb of bread from her chin and takes a sip of her coffee and he is a goner.
She looks at him and just knows that he is the one. The One. With a capital O. (He's also Trouble with a capital T, given their job situation but that's neither here nor there.) The way he walks into a room, with those skinny ties and cardigans and that smirk on his face that she just wants to kiss away, makes her rethink all of her rules. And then he talks about government and calzones and all she can do is stare at his mouth, wanting to run her hands through that thick hair of his.
When they went back to her place last night, it was purely for work reasons. They wanted to go through other options that did not include shutting down the government. Because she had already asked for fourteen meetings with him and he couldn't take it any more. He couldn't take her look and her voice and the feelings she gave him. Especially the feelings, he couldn't deal with. Not in the office. So he just came over for dinner.
They never talked about work. They talked about everything and nothing, mostly nothing and laughed about things that weren't even remotely funny and it was then that he knew he was screwed. It was when he propped up his foot on the couch that she knew she was screwed, as well. The way the fabric of his skinny jeans stretched against his thigh was too much to bear because she already knew she was in love with that dork. With that stupid, fascist hardass.
And then when they didn't talk at all any more, and the silence settled over them, and they both sat there, wine glasses in hand, she decided she didn't want him to go tonight. Not tonight, not ever. But then he stood up and she stood up with him and it was so awkward, because all she really wanted to do was curl into him on her couch and throw the old blanket over their bodies.
He stretched a little then and she was mesmerized by the way his muscles flexed under his shirt. And he was mesmerized by the way her eyes shone in the dim light, slightly influenced by the wine. He really, really, really didn't want to go home because home was just a terrible hotel but mostly because she was here and he was there, in her living-room and everything felt so damn peaceful that he had to bite his tongue, afraid he might spill out what he truly felt.
"There's a documentary. About something. On TV. I mean, now. I mean, if you're... not... You don't have to go..." She mumbled and he took her stuttering as an invitation and smirked at her. "Are you asking me to stay?" he asked her and she nodded her head and murmured a "yes", without looking up into his eyes and his heart danced on the slight movement and the sound of her voice.
So in the end they watched two documentaries about something neither of them could even tell. Halfway through the first one, her head fell onto his shoulder and five minutes later his arm was wrapped around her, pulling her into his body. She made a sound somewhere between a "hmm" and his name and he smiled at her hair that was tickling his cheek.
He risked it all and pressed a kiss against her head when she settled even more into him and also he thought she had already fallen asleep by then. But she hadn't. She'd been sleepy, yes but wide awake. Because he was here and she was there and he was so, so, so damn close that she could not only smell his cologne and feel his body heat but also hear his heart thump away beneath her ear.
When he woke in the middle of the night, they were both stretched out on the couch, her small body lying half on top of his chest. He grinned and pulled the afghan off of the armrest and draped it over both of them, making sure to give her most of the blanket.
And now here they are, the morning after they spent the night together in the most harmless and innocent way. (He plans on spending more nights with her, innocent or not.) And she is looking as beautiful as ever and even more so. And when she puts down her cup of coffee, he cannot help himself, he goes over to her and pulls her into his arms. "Thank you," he whispers and she responds by curling her hand into his shirt and pulling him closer to her.