Summary: Eh ... silk? Meaningful stuff?
A/N: I did a fic meme, and Gabri requested 'Mara, romance', and then (unofficially) requested 'Luke, silk'. This was the result (edited down).
Feedback is always appreciated. :)
The breeze is cool against my
skin, weightless. Save for feeling the patio stone beneath my feet, I could be
flying, ungoverned by gravity. I stay that way for several breaths, holding,
I open my eyes. The odd, broken horizon of this place is still jarring, but I’m getting used to the mountains and the odd curve. Besides, all that is spread before me is shades of dark colors, muted grays and greens that are soothing. A strange place, but a good place; a good home, nothing too familiar to either Luke or I. It is a home of our own, not on Yavin IV or Coruscant, places that are not ours and will have memories of other places and times.
I fold my arms, feeling the silk of my nightshirt. It feels good against my skin, a luxury that I have not had in years. I wonder why Luke thought of giving me this, something so extravagant, so light on my skin …
I am settled within myself.
Luke walks up behind me, silent but creating little waves in the Force, a reaction to his presence. He places his arms around me, hugging lightly, then lightly lets his hands caress the silk as I shift, reaching behind me. Then his hands duck under my shirt and run up my bare skin –
“I like this much better,” he whispers into my ear.
I turn around within the circle of his arms. One of his hands settles on the small of my back, and with the other he traces my lips.
“Why don’t you smile?” he asks softly.
I push his hand away. “I don’t need to smile.” And I kiss him, feeling his irrepressible smile. I sigh and bite his lip lightly.
He pulls back, cocking his head. His eyes flutter shut. “You feel … content,” he decides.
“You feel like you,” I retort and kiss him again, pushing and he gives.
I stumble through the door with him, running my hands under his shirt, pulling it off and he does the same to me, brushing the back of his hand against my skin like it’s precious, and tearing off the silk with singular impatience that does, in fact, make me smile. He kisses my neck as we walk together, and I want it to go farther.
I feel his passion, his desire, and it’s not something so simply physical. He lets out a breathy sigh when I touch him just the right way, when I push him onto the bed. He falls and looks up at me, nothing here about dominance or struggle, and smiles. He pulls me to him.
There are no smiles now, but that doesn’t matter, it never did. He gasps my name, and I can’t even speak.
There is passion.
All thought is stripped away. There are no barriers, just actions and reactions, desires and wants, and I want to answer all of his. His hands run through my hair and then clench painfully, without thought, but I just look at him, and then this utterly overwhelms us.
There is no simple happiness in his eyes as he looks at me.
There is serenity.
This I love, I think, and curl up next to him, breathing hard and sweaty, and I feel his every harsh inhale and exhale, slowly calming to something steady and quiet. He runs his hands up and down my back, over my shoulders and elsewhere, careless soothing motions. I close my eyes. I feel contentment and peace, and this is everlasting, more than a brief happiness, more meaning than a smile.
“I love you,” I whisper to him, opening my eyes and placing my fingers across his lips to stop any reply, to stop the automatic response, because this is me giving.
He smiles, but there is more than a smile in his eyes.