S1 E7 - Dancing in the Dark
She waits for him in the beach house…nestled in the big wicker chair in the middle of his 'living room'… sipping white wine… and dreaming with a lazy smile that flashes in the dim light. She listens to the wash of waves on his beach… soothing and hypnotic. She watches the palm fronds wave languidly in the gentle breeze through the opposite window. She watches Harry hunt for his supper in the rafters overhead… stopping every so often to bob his head at her. She toasts him with the wine goblet but he stays in the rafters and she soon loses sight of him as the light fades… fades…
When it is full dark her ears sharpen and now she sits up, taut with expectation.
Finally, she hears the sound she's listening for. A motor… coming closer… closer… then shutting off. A quiet door slam. Her heart speeds up. She doesn't hear footsteps… but, of course, how could she? Sand makes no noise. She DOES hear the soft 'snik' of a key in a lock. She sets her goblet down and waits as patiently as she can… which isn't very patiently at all.
She hears him open the door, hears the tiny click as he flicks the light switch. The dark remains. Another pair of clicks. Still dark. She smiles. She can swear she hears his frown before she calls out, "Don't bother. I unscrewed the bulb."
He is quiet for several moments then his voice drifts softly up, "Now, why would you do that? I'm liable to break a leg."
She stands slowly, hears the slip slide of silk as her dress falls into sleek drapes around her legs. She knows he hears it too as she whispers, "Come to me." He does… sure footed and swift… up the stairs where he pauses briefly… almost like he's sensing the air around him.
"Here," she whispers and she hears his own clothing make tiny sounds as he approaches, soft stretches and chuff of cloth on cloth. She holds out her hands and a solid warm weight meets her fingertips within the instant. He stills. "Would you like some wine?" she murmurs.
"I don't NEED wine," he murmurs back, his hands finding hers and running gently up her arms to rest upon her shoulders.
"I know," she chuckles, "Neither do I but I like the dreamy feeling it gives me." Her hands drift over his chest, gently exploring all his hills and valleys.
His voice is low and intimate, "You give me a dreamy feeling ALL the time… here… at work… day and night… all the time…"
His sighs are most welcome as her hands slip inside his jacket. "I know, mon cher, I know. I'm sorry if I distract you from your work."
"I'M not!" he says loudly then hushes once more, "I'm not. Never. Not now."
She steps in close, finds his mouth, and kisses him. His hands are on her back now, making slow circles on bare skin.
"Are you wearing the red dress, dear?" he drawls against her temple, hands dropping lower.
"Yes, I am," she purrs into his ear, hands also dropping lower.
"I wish I could see it," he mouths against her cheek.
"You don't need to see it… you need to dance with me." She makes a small movement and gentle quiet music begins to play. Her hands go back up to encircle his neck and her cheek is against his shoulder with the rush of thankfulness of someone who is finally home at last.
"I see... dancing in the dark, are we?" One of his eyebrows is probably elevated.
She sighs happily, molding herself to his landscape, breathing deep and swooning, "Yes, we are… or, at least, I am. Care to join me?" His body is already swaying in perfect union with her, his thighs firm and hard, his hands soft and gentle.
"I AM joined to you… don't you know that?" he chides with mock severity as he circles her, just a male presence, warm and dense and smelling of wind and sea and lime. He hums along with the music, it's one of his favourites… melodic, instrumental, mesmerizing, and very very long. A man can accomplish a LOT during this song… and he has! Yes, he certainly has.
Resting his chin atop her bent head, breathing deep the perfume of her hair, he murmurs, "What brought THIS on? Usually you jump me in the dark. It keeps my senses sharp… not that I'm complaining, mind."
She chuckles, "Oh, I dreamed I was dancing at Solly's show but the light was so bright that I couldn't see who I was dancing with… so I thought I'd try the dark. The dark is nice, isn't it?"
His arms tighten around her, "Mmm-hmm, it makes all the other senses so much sharper…"
She drags in a lungful of night air, "Mmm." She runs a tongue tip up his throat to savour his taste. She presses herself hard against him… all the better to feel everything he has to offer AND to listen to his heart as it speeds up in the depths of his body, "You're so pretty…"
"Camille!" he chides in earnest, "How many times do I have to tell you? I am NOT pretty!"
"As many times as you like but you will still be wrong! That's the only thing saving you from a savage mauling right now… I can't see you! Your eyes, your smiles, your dimples…"
"I do NOT have dimples! They are merely… creases on my face! And…"
"… and your blushes! Don't forget those! I dream about those too!"
She can feel the heat of his cheek against her temple and smiles. He's blushing right now! Oh, how she wishes she could see THAT! She cherishes his manly blushes. "Do you remember the time I decided to follow your blush to its source? Wasn't THAT fun?"
He ducks his chin to her shoulder, "Oh, lord, don't remind me! I wasn't myself for days!"
"Non," she kisses his flushed cheek, "you were mine." She kisses his jaw line, his throat, hot skin meeting her lips, "Maybe it's time I went exploring again? Perhaps I missed something?"
He sounds a bit breathless, "I don't think that's possible. I'm sure you missed nothing!"
Despite the deep absence of light she knows precisely where the bed is. She claims it's pure luck. He claims she has a sixth sense for being bad and she has never denied it. She angles him towards their ultimate destination and they continue to dance to the gentle rhythms. She even manages to recharge her goblet on their way past the coffee table. Some small domestic skills need no light at all to perform.
Once they reach the bed, she lets the music play out before slipping a hand down to turn off the play list. Some large domestic skills need no light AND no musical accompaniment.
Truly gifted artists make their own music.
END