Fic (1/1) R/L, G - "No Words for It"
- Title: No words for it
Summary: Just a little piece about what our two favorite people
might do in the middle of the night
Disclaimer I don't need one, do I? I mean, I don't even mention
the characters' names!
He lies in bed, one arm thrown up so his forearm rests on the pillow
over his sideburned head. His eyes are open, squinting at the
ceiling. He breathes slowly, flaring his nostrils a little with each
She lies in bed, on her side facing the window. Her hands are curled
by her cheek. Her eyes are open, looking out the window at the
waning moon. Absently, she slides the edge of one thumb genly up and
down her cheek.
He slips out into the yard of the mansion, closes the door almost
silently behind him. He moves quietly on bare feet across the
cobblestone walk and onto the lawn. He wears only his jeans and the
dogtags that glint softly among the hairs on his chest. He slips
into the woods.
She emerges from the kitchen with a cup of hot chocolate in her
hand. Her slippers slap gently down the hall, then she is out the
door with a soft swirl of the robe around her legs. She takes a seat
on the low brick wall that divides the patio from the lawn, swings
her legs up atop the wall and crosses them at the ankles, leans back
against a square pillar. Gazing out into the woods, she sips her
Crouching in a tree's shadow, his forearms on his knees, balancing on
his bare toes, he watches a fox as it passes. He can smell the blood
from its recent meal. He can hear its breath blowing in and out of
its nostrils. The fox turns its head and locks eyes with the man.
It pauses to sniff the air, then continues on its way.
She sets her cup on the wall near her feet. A spider is making its
way across the wall, and she places her hand in its path. When the
spider reaches her hand, it reaches with one leg for her pinky finger
and begins to raise a second leg. Before the second leg gains
purchase on her skin, the spider drops lifeless to the wall. Gently,
by one leg, the woman lifts the spider with her thumb and index
finger and places it in her palm. She moves it about with one
finger, examining it.
The man walks out of the woods and crosses the lawn to where the
woman sits. When he is ten feet away, she hears him and looks up.
As he draws nearer, she lifts her hand with the spider on it, holds
the palm before her lips, and blows. The spider flies from her palm
toward the man's chest. His right hand snaps it out of the air and
he looks at it, then raises an eyebrow quizzically at the young woman
"I used ta be so scared a spiders," she says quietly. "When I was a
kid. Now I'd really like ta have one crawl all over me, jus' ta feel
He sits on the ground, leaning against the wall on which the woman
sits. His head settles against her robed hip. He whistles
softly. "That'd be one lucky spider."
She reaches out her hand, the one that killed the spider, and brushes
the tips of the man's wildly tousled hair. He turns his head and
blows softly on her wrist.
She smiles down and him, shaking her head, then returns her gaze to
the woods. He closes his eyes.
They are everything to each other, and they are nothing. They own
each other, and yet they are completely free. They can not explain
it, but they know it to their cores. They can meet every night, or
weeks can pass in between it's always there waiting for them. It's
theirs alone, and it makes them both so happy and so sad, as love
will to us all.