Pairing: Li Shang/Fa Mulan
Theme: #9, dash
Warning: Extreme fluff alert.
Note: I may reshuffle the chapters into some kind of order at the end. For now, this one can fit in anywhere after Mulan and Shang are married.
Disclaimer: All characters, etc. from the Disney movie belong to Disney.
The afternoon was quiet except for the scratching of her brush on the paper before her. She stopped for a moment to sweep away a stray lock of hair that had fallen over her forehead. Taking up the implement again she continued writing.
Shang watched his wife as she worked. He loved the way she looked when she was concentrating; intense, intellectual, soft red lips pursed tightly as she wrote, wrapped up in the thoughts that she couldn't get down on paper fast enough.
She had a beautiful hand at calligraphy. And unlike most other girls in her village she'd been educated. Her father had spared no expense for his only daughter and she'd studied calligraphy with a fine master. She knew several styles and had taught him several minute nuances of the art that he had never known before.
Unable to help himself he stood and padded over to her quietly. She was attempting to draw the horizontal lines for the next character she intended to create but, suddenly sensing his presence, she jumped startled. Her elbow jerked and the brush skipped, ink smearing off course.
"Aw, I'm sorry," he murmured with a low chuckle as he glanced over her shoulder. "I made you mess up your dash."
Mulan set the brush down and turned to him with a frown, her lips drawn into a cute little pout. "I'll have to write the whole thing over now."
He lifted her hair and bent down, kissing her neck amorously to appease her.
"That won't get you off the hook so fast," she replied, her voice laced with just a hint of mirth underneath the annoyance. "I've been working on this all day."
"I just love the way you look when you're concentrating," he murmured between nibbles.
She turned her body all the way around to face him and he leaned in, intending to scoop her up into his arms and lift her off the chair. But she held up a hand.
"I have ink on my fingers," she remarked, showing him. Other than that, she made no effort to discourage him.
Shang began to laugh. "Were you doing calligraphy or finger painting?"
A mischievous glint flashed in her eyes and before he could react she'd dipped her fingers in the ink and had made prints on his bare chest.
"Aw, I'm sorry," she cooed devilishly. "I messed up your chest."
He pulled her to her feet, not caring that she had ink all over her hands now, and scooped her up into his arms to carry her off to the bed.
"You are going to get it now."
A short while later, as they lay on the bed together, heated bodies cooling, he rolled over onto a side to gaze at her.
"So, what word were you writing when I so cruelly made you mess up?"