Today’s writing was more dialogue based than anything and mostly journal based for a story without much direction right now. A sampling of eyelets waiting for something to be laced into. Quoting my moleskine (and, allow for something a bit NSFW, though no terrible language is used.)
“We’re not going to do anything today. Okay? Behave for once.” she said, a twinkle in her eye, not believing a word she’d said herself, but sticking to the courage of her conviction.
“No problem,” he smiled. “Want to watch a movie? I rented a few yesterday.”
“Sure. I’ll sit on this end of the couch.”
“It’s cold out. I could use your warmth. Come on. We’ll just cuddle,” he spoke, his voice convincing you before you were convinced. She’d decided when they met that he was dangerous. Dangerous with a capital D, dangerous to her well-being and health, though she loved and savored every moment.
She gave him her look; her lips pursed, eyes narrowed chin turned slightly toward her right shoulder, down toward her collarbone. He’d known when he saw it, he was either in trouble, or he was in trouble. He’d called it simply ‘the Look.’ Look with a capital L, for it became it’s own proper noun, it’s own place between and with them. “Come on. I mean it. We’ll just cuddle and watch this. It’s called Four Weddings and a Funeral.”
“Watch yourself,” she said, eyes still narrowed melting into the space under his right arm.
“No, I’ll watch the movie.”
Forty-eight minutes later, damnable movie turned off mere moments into it each lit a cigarette, unfurling from their oneness to become two once more, the moment they’d regretted more than their initial moments together. “Damn you,” she replied.
“How was this my fault? I only wanted to cuddle?”
“You’re you,” she answered, her voice the sing-song of a joyous sexual afterglow. “It’s always your fault.”
“Oh,” he agreed with a nod as he inhaled.
“Smoke that cigarette. All the way down, too. Then we’ll cuddle.”
“For real this time?”
She smiled her smile, a full toothed but somehow shy, reserved smile. The smile she used for select few people, the people who really knew her, the people who could see through her.
“Not the whole time, probably.”
“Want the movie back on?”
She snuffed her cigarette, his snuffed moments prior with the Look from her; always too short, always wasting precious tobacco.
“No,” she said, moving in for a kiss she’d decided she’d never wanted again earlier, a kiss she didn’t want to live without.