I'm tired and this is as close to fluff as you'll ever get from me...did I get it right? :)


The scar is a mere fleck on her porcelain skin.

He trails tender kisses across the boundaries he'd never cross unless she told him he could. They are naked against the cotton sheets.

Summer air reeks of freedom, of reckless abandon. Privileges treated as necessities, in this foreign country that they say is the capital of light and beauty.

He has never seen one as beautiful as she.

Jenny breathes in the easy texture of the bare night. Basks in the warmth of Jethro's skin.

So tight against her's.

They are almost one, now, and it's only been three days.

Jethro memorizes her. Treating each dip and groove on her pliable body like he would the fine wood of his boat back in D.C.

He wishes he could make a map and label it Jenny, so nothing would ever fade if someday this ended.

She looks into his darkening blue eyes and Jenny is reminded of her youth and the first boy she loved. She kisses his chest lazily, as her eyes tighten around the edges at thoughts of her past.

Of secrets, and lies, and dark.

She kisses his mouth, and his tongue makes her forget.

Jethro threads his fingers through her dark crimson curls and tugs, Jenny moans at the painful pleasure. They roll once or twice, and settle for simplicity and ignorance.

It's one in the morning-

Paris is still awake.