He is in awe of her. Her life, her blood, her body. So many intricate processes all seamlessly flowing. He thinks it may be the most beautiful symphony ever composed. The pounding of her heart. The whoosh of her blood. The even slide of breath. She sleeps, and he marvels. So many delightful pieces. So. Incredibly. Breathtakingly. Soft. And warm. And soft. He thinks softness may be at the heart of all that's good in the world. A mother's embrace. A baby's downy head. The brush of a lover's lips. A thousand things humans crave and relish.
He is irresistibly drawn to his favorite spot. The very softest. Fingers gliding without intention following the path of his eyes. The lightest of caresses. His hand shakes with the intensity of his need, and then his lips are following the fingertips along the path his eyes first blazed. Nothing has ever felt better than this. He is so consumed he doesn't realize she's awake until she pulls her arm away, rubs the sleep from her eyes, and shoots him a disapproving glance.
"Baby, what are you doing? This is like, the third time you've woken me up this week. That spots really ticklish y'know…"
He looks sheepish, possibly slightly apologetic, but not even a little sorry.
"But that's my favorite…"
His eyes trace the path his fingers long to follow, from the bend of her elbow to the dip of her underarm. She notices his attention, and tucks herself back under the blankets, rolling away from him with a huff.
"Edward, baby, sometimes, even for a vampire, you are incredibly strange."