Oct. 1st, 2007

fighting_mad: (any - asleep)
Isplourrdacartha is cold.

That's the first thought in her mind.

The second is 'sunlight,' and the third (unrelated to points one or two) is '...ow.'

But it isn't like the movies; she doesn't forget where she is and what has happened until she rolls over and finds herself face-to-face with the man of her dreams. She remembers from the first second that she is awake, and it brings a smile to her face despite thoughts one through three.

She slowly opens her eyes.

She is curled on her side in Rial's enormous bed. The curtains are open and the late afternoon sun streams in; the blankets are down somewhere around her feet and she wears only her bra and the first pair of shorts she'd been able to find, which, judging by the fact that they're falling off of her, don't actually belong to her.

Her eyes flick up at a quiet breath.

She is curled against Rial, her forehead inches from his bare chest. His hair has flopped into his face and he breathes slow, deep and even. He looks his age like this; young and carefree. She wants to reach out and brush his hair back, but she doesn't want to wake him, and she settles for smiling like the sun because she is in Rial's bed and they damn well consumated their marriage this morning.

And Force but it was good.

Slowly, carefully she stretches down to pick up the blankets--and she winces mightily as she does so, because that is painful, but a good sort of pain, a satisfied one--and pull them up over the two of them.

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Plourr Estillo

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