Stolen Moments	Home - Previous- Next
He looks so fragile sprawled out against the pillows like that; head tilted back, eyelashes fluttering in response to some dream, thoroughly kissed lips parted, pale skin dotted with the freckles that are as sure a sign of Weasley blood as the red hair. I run my hand down his side, entranced by the darkness of my skin blending with the paleness of his. He stirs in response, murmurs something too low for me to hear, then settles back into his trusting slumber. I trace the dark hollows beneath his eyes with a callused thumb. He works entirely too hard, proving himself over and over again in the hopes that one true untouched word will pass someone’s lips and fall onto his ears. There’s so much potential lurking within him, so much possibility, so much ability, yet he wastes away in the confines of “safe”. Once, just once, I wish he would cast off the respectability, throw away the expected, and let the wild creature within free. I chuckle softly at that thought, propping myself up on an elbow to study his for once unguarded, sleeping face. Him being here, in my bed, in my arms, that’s him doing just that, casting off respectability, throwing away the expected. That should be enough for now. One day his spirit will break through. No one will know what hit them when it does. Except me. A content smile curls onto my lips. I lean in and nuzzle his throat, breathing in that sweet scent that seems a very part of his soul. He tastes just as wonderful. Pale throat bared to me I can’t help but nip at the skin, wanting to leave a mark there that tells anyone whose eyes linger that he belongs to someone. Fingers thread through my hair, gently pulling me away from my nibbling, reminding me yet again how deceptively strong my lover is. “Mm, don’t. I don’t want to answer questions.” My eyes drift to the window. Weak moonlight paints the floor, sliding in through half opened curtains, but behind that the early morning is fighting to rise and banish the moon. Soon I’ll have to wake him so he can return to his own bed before the rest of the house comes alive. Then the sun will rise, another day will begin, we’ll smile politely over breakfast, perhaps exchange a greeting, and this moment of tenderness will be tucked away for another midnight. I pull him back against my body, face buried against his shoulder, and his arms tighten around my own, his head tilts back and he smiles blearily at me. “Love you, Charlie,” he breathes. I feather a light kiss across his lips. “Love you too, Perce.”
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