A/N: Nothing to say really except inspired by AFI's song Prelude 1221 and it takes place post AWE. More procrastination work and yes, I am still going to work on Breaking Ties, never fear my friends. This is a tad more descriptive then usual, but I hope it came out alright.
Read & review?
Disclaimer: Maybe in the land of unicorns and goblins...
Kiss My Eyes and Lay Me to Sleep:
He prefers seeing her this way.
Kissed by the golden drops of sun that melted onto her marble-smooth, tan body, she's curved idyllically beside him, fitting impeccably along his firm, well-toned figure. Her flushed rose petal lips emit small, feathery, light breaths of air that make her chest rise and fall slowly, rhythmically in sync as she inhales silently. She's angled towards him on her back, one hand resting on her stomach, the other curled into a diminutive, limp fist by his chest. He can see her eyes moving sporadically beneath her lids; restless and uneasy, as they always are on nights like these.
He sighs sympathetically - does she ever sleep peacefully?
Frowning, he already knows the answer.
Moving a hand beneath the covers, he places it on her hip and soothingly, his thumb begins making circular motions on her silky skin. The feeling of her body beneath his hand is addicting - her cool, smooth skin contrasting greatly against his calloused, warm palm. His thumb glides around her hip-bone languorously and it is then that he notices that those slight lines of apprehension that were once scattered across her face have begun fading.
He'd rather see her more like this - the naïve, young woman she was when he had first met her, rather then the grown-up, crestfallen woman she has become.
With satisfaction, he observes as her eyes stop rolling, and she heaves a sigh.
A few minutes tick by as he gazes at her - most of the few nights that he spends with her are passed by in this fashion when she falls asleep.
His hand ceases its motions on her hip, and begins to slide up her side with familiar comfort, his palms almost seeming to mold along her downy-soft skin. His eyes follow his hand intently, making each move precise and deliberate with a purposeful intent. A part of him thinks it's perverse or perhaps even nefarious to do such things to her while she tries to sleep, but he cannot control his instincts. Daringly, he allows himself to skim over a breast and trail the pads of his fingertips along her collarbone. Her sleeping form gives a pleasing twitch, but she surprisingly remains slumbering.
As his hand continues its journey along her unclad body, he begins to muse over the situation they find themselves in whenever they see one another.
He finds it so intriguing that her demeanor is so casual and indifferent when he is sometimes there, as if she is not even that satisfied to have him of come and perhaps a part of her isn't. She has told him countless times before that one day is never enough for her and that she loathes every minute that is stolen by Father Time implausibly fast, because after he leaves, she will once again be alone.
And it breaks him to know so.
Sometimes he'll ask her to sail away with him and he tries, he tries so hard to persuade her to do so, but she always shakes her head no. He knows she would plead him to stay, but she does not have the heart to do that, to ask so much from him, for him to throw away everything he has fought for just for her. She would never put him in that situation, and he is thankful she understands.
A wry smile makes its way to his lips, a slightly humorous idea coming to mind - perhaps he could just steal her away.
His grin falls.
She would then most likely just murder him... again.
Albeit... he does know that if it weren't for that other man, she would more then willingly sail away with him.
Nose wrinkling, his free hand clenches slightly and he silently curses that other man, her husband, for her promise to that chap is the sole reason she will not leave now, nor will she ever. He admires her for her loyalty, but he also repulsed by it - he selfishly wants her for himself and him only, and he had half expected her to concede to his wants; but he had doubted her, and she had always surprised him by disagreeing to his terms.
She just simply will not break her promise.
He has tried countless times before to pry that obstinate shell away from her heavily shielded mind, and sometimes he is certain one day it will fall away, and other times he isn't. He's self-seeking in his ways, callously tugging at her heart strings with irrepressible desperation and longing, but she is strong and no matter how much it hurts her and causes her trouble, she can always turns her head.
He is almost certain that that is his punishment by some unknown deity for his acts of adultery with the woman - never being able to have her entirely and wholly forever.
A frown pulls on the corners of his lips; he hates thinking of this, especially when she's there to distract him from the accursed aforementioned thoughts.
Determinedly, he brings his hand to her forehead and runs his fingers through her hair before swooping down to her and kissing her lightly on the mouth. When he pulls away and licks his lips, they taste of something sweet - vanilla with a hint of mango, perhaps? He enjoys the flavor nonetheless, and brushes his lips against hers once more before running his thumb across her cheek.
He truly believes her to be the most beautiful woman he has ever been with and he murmurs that to her, even though she is asleep. He'd rather say these things when she is lost in the realms of sleep - it's easier for him to say comments of that nature then, and he enjoys the fact that she will wake later and tell him of what she heard in her 'dream'. Sometimes she awakens and recollects that his dream form tells her that he loves her, and he never corrects her.
Nor does he ever say it aloud to her.
His fingers begin to trace the outline of her lips. It is almost a mutual agreement between the two - they never speak of their adoration for the other, but they each know of it, spoken through the broken smiles, clouded eyes, and heart wrenching kisses they make love. They both know that it would be even more difficult for the both of them to be separated if they spoke those three words to the other.
It is such an odd relationship - at one point in his life, he could of said he wouldn't have minded watching her get run through with a sword before his very own eyes. That was when she had betrayed him in the worse way imaginable, with both selfish and skillful planning, she had strategically managed to send him to his death.
And then in another time period all together it seems, he would have gladly just ravaged her blindly, his mind full of entirely immoral and indecent thoughts. Oh, he thought of her insane that one faithful afternoon when they shared a conversation about curiosity - he was anything but a good man then, nor was he a good man now, for that matter.
It is so unequivocal that everything he is doing at that very moment is just wrong.
He knows he should not have ever even contemplated visiting her.
He knows that it's wrong of him to even think of her the way he does.
He knows that he should not be lying in her bed at that very moment with her.
And he is completely and utterly aware of the fact that a pirate should never, ever feel the way he does towards her.
Yet he does.
He becomes lost in his own thoughts, staring at her face in a trance, his thumb still caressing her cheek with the uttermost veneration when her mouth gives a twitch. Slowly and groggily, her eyelids lift revealing a set of two perfectly shaped hazel crystals, still hazy from sleep. Blinking a few times, she holds back an eager smile and instead places a musing look on her face. Arching an eyebrow, her eyes flash down to his thumb questioningly.
Taking his hand away, he grins at her sheepishly.
"It's difficult to sleep when you can't keep your hands to yourself," she points out, tilting her head so she looks up at him, a thoughtful look still carved into her features.
"And it's rather trying for me to keep my hands off of you," he tells her naughtily, conveying his point by splaying a hand across her collarbones and brushing his other hand across her cheek, then into her hair.
He smirks mischievously and slickly leans down to her and captures her lips between his in a kiss, not harshly, but just enough to make her tense a little, and then relax. She kisses him back, elated when his rough lips move in sync with hers, slow and passionate. When she pulls back, her head falls back onto the fluffy pillows beneath her - her golden tresses splay across the cushions, the light of a single lit candle cascading onto them and bringing out the subtle hints of light blonde and brown.
A content smile warms her lips as she presses her lips to the underside of his exposed wrist, allowing her mouth to linger a while longer then necessary. When she pulls away, his face is centimeters from her own, his eyes suddenly far darker then moments before - black, even, like a cloudy midnight sky.
Ever so slowly, his eyelids fall and his lips are against hers and she's in a heavenly position ecstasy once again.
It is a purposely deliberate and tender kiss as they both express their desire for the other in one of the few ways they know possible. She pulls him atop of her, a thrilling shiver traveling up her spine as his unclad body presses onto hers; his weight is seemingly nothing, yet his touch is heavy and divergent with affection.
He draws his lips from her languorously and as gentle as newly born bird, his head tilts up and the side of his nose brushes against hers as he inhales deeply, his eyes shut - the action is served with the uttermost reverence and intimacy, and she feels her heart swell with emotion.
Her own eyes fall shut, her hands moving to cup his face; she makes an effort to run her thumbs along his features as slowly as possible - she climbs the smooth and steep bridge of his nose, before running underneath his shadowed eyes, and falling down the steep cliffs of his cheeks, imprinting every line, crevice, and angle to her fingertips and palm.
Her hands then drift away like fog and spread onto his chest, making their way down to his stomach, his muscles tensing when her fingers ghost over his skin. He groans softly, and when she opens her eyes and finds him looking down at her mysteriously, it takes her a moment to place the look - it is desire and longing that is hidden beneath the adoration in his gaze, and she sees from the reflection of her own eyes in his that she wants it too.
She leans upwards with sudden ardor and kisses him deeply on the mouth, her tongue quick to play with his chapped upper lip, her eyes heavily lidded shut. With great effort and skill, she manages to whisper wickedly between his lips, "Have me."
It only takes those two words to spark something inside him and in a moment he is kissing her back, rough with enough vigorous, bruising power to make her lips swell proudly. His hand falls from her collarbones to her waist, wrapping about it tightly in a both a protective and heated manner.
Pulling away, his head ducks down to the very bottom of her neck and ever so slowly, he begins to run his tongue languidly up from the base of her neck. Her breath hitches considerably and her head turns, exposing more of the flesh to his exploring mouth.
When he reaches that spot right below her ear and behind her jawbone, he goes over it several times with his mouth, nipping and playing the soft flesh. It is a merciless deed he is sure, but he grows satisfied with his act when she moans loudly, her hands running up to clench handfuls of hair from his black mane and he finds himself aroused by this.
She begins to feel that twisting and jerking in her stomach, the odd sensation that is accompanied with a nervous yet eager anxiety. He never fails to do this, to completely undo her until she is nothing more then clay in his hands, her systems struggling to keep up with the overwhelming surges of emotion that are always bound to overflow. Every brush of skin, every kiss feels like it's for the first time, and she relishes this.
She holds back a tremble, now bothered by what he is doing to her, for she is certain she can make him feel as helpless and weak to her touch as he makes her feel. Confident with this thought, she pulls her body away from his mouth and presses her lips to his chest, showering him with burning open-mouthed kisses.
A smile touches her lips when she sees his eyelids flutter shut and feels the deep rumble of a growl in his throat, and it is a pleasing reward indeed.
He murmurs her name heatedly, his hands moving further down her body at a tantalizingly slow rate. When they reach her thighs, he pries them apart gently and caresses her upper legs with the tips of his fingers. Waves of heat wash over her feverishly and she is so anxious that she pulls her lips from his, her eyes silently pleading him to continue.
He smirks lightly while his hands latch onto her hips. He brushes his lips against hers once more and quietly whispers her name, and then he presses his hips to hers and thrusts into her.
As if on a queue, her blood begins pounding furiously through her veins, her heart racing against her breast. With each time he pushes back into her, she can feel that pressure begin to build inside of her right behind her naval, eager to be let out. Noises that she rarely believes she is capable of making emit from her mouth, - moans, shrieks, gasps - creating a melody of their own for him.
Her back arches upwards until her mouth is by her ear, and through her chaotic, laborious breathing, she manages to repeat his name over and over again, sounding like a desperate prayer. When his actions begin to grow faster and swifter, that pressure gets heavier and heavier, and she feels as if she might just break from the weight of it.
Unconsciously, her nails graze his shoulders, driving him off the edge until with one last thrust, they both collapse limply within one anothers arms, their chests heaving for breath, each having found their release within the other at the same moment.
They lie there, sticky and damp with perspiration, in complete silence - save for their heavy breathing and the harmonious bells ringing in the most whimsical nature in their heads. He slides off her limply a few minutes later, but only to resume his original position beside her. However, this time he lies down fully and pulls her possessively towards him, his arm snaring across her abdomen; and burying his in the crook between her shoulder and head, he sighs.
She places her own hand over his, feeling completely at ease now and relaxed, like a bone-thin famished dog having been fed enough fare to last him a lifetime. His breath against the back of her neck soothes her even more, making her snuggle even closer towards him.
"It's a shame not every evening can be spent like this," she murmurs quietly, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand.
He says nothing, but she knows he feels the same when his embrace tightens.
No more words are exchanged and with that, they both drifty easily into a restful sleep.
She should not have let this surprise her.
When she awakes the next morning, he is gone, the only trace of him being the wrinkled blankets and sheets beside her. Staring around blankly, she tries to push down the wave of emotions that are making her throat close up as if a giant lump were there.
It would begin again, and she knew it.
She would wait yet again, for his next arrival.
Her hand falls loosely and brokenheartedly to the spot where his body once lay; it is devoid of any warmth or feeling, and the fact that he has left once again hits her harder this time. Her eyes dart slowly, almost as if she were in a trance, across the wood floors, but the only items there are her scattered clothes, tossed away in a heated moment of passion.
She feels alone, but she numbly stands, gazing around her room again. Dazedly, she dons a long white shirt that reaches her knees, smoothing it out with her hands and glances back at the bed. She places a hand on the creamy white quilt, and tugs at it gently, though it holds. Frusterated, her movements grow more vigorous, however, something startles her when she begins to do so.
Genuinely startled, she drops the blanket and glances around her feet. Seeing nothing, she hesitantly strides around the bed and gets to her knees, positive she heard something fall to the ground. She pulls up the bed skirt, and sees a glint of something metallic and without a thought she reaches out and grabs it.
She perches on the edge of the bed and opens her hand.
It is a ring.
And more importantly, she has never seen it before.
With a shaky breath, she brings it to her face and peers at it closely - it has a gold-white band with an emerald gem in the center and tiny letters circling it, words. Her hand visibly trembling, she brings it closer and her eyes carefully glaze over the carefully crafted letters:
For a dear Swann, who has stolen a Sparrow's heart.