"I'll see you at dinner."
She turned. She stooped. Another turn to face him. "Neal, I'm sorry, but—"
She looked at him, searching, and Neal felt himself flush, as if blood was somehow being drawn up in a direct line from his spine to his face.
"I'm going to kiss you again," she said, very faint. "Just once. But properly. After all this time, I deserve properly."
A step forward. Her face. It was impossible to look away from her face, as flushed as his, both crowded and still. "Kel," he said. He was hoarse.
She was touching him. Her hand over his face, his nose. Her thumb traced his lower lip, the sharp point of one cheek. His hairline, with special gentleness.
His own hand on her skin. A line of freckles under one eye. Her eyebrow and jaw, finely drawn. Her neck, and the fine muscles to her shoulder.
His throat, The softness there sharply different from the rough textures of his cheek in the early morning. The faint, smiling lines around his nose and eyes.
Her name and his, and her lips. His beneath, and prepared. Her tongue brushing his and a shared whisper of laughter. The tilt of her face to his—and their arms: fast around each other. Hard and soft and endless-brief in dull morning light.
I dreamt last night...
A/N: This mini-series is dedicated to everyone who competed so beauifully in rounds 1/C (Raoul v. Neal) and 1/F (Vania v. Lalasa) in Goldenlake's SMACKDOWN. (.). There is some wonderful fic to read, there.
Also, Neal's 'poem' is not mine. It is a wonderful song by Karine Polwart that I have cruelly shackled for my own not-for-profit ends. Listen to it here, if you're interested: (.com/watch?v=GQ1nJNUyH-E)