Work Text:
Elysium
If the skies are blue, then what paints the heavens?
He likes to think they're splattered with all the glorious shades of blues and whites and in-betweens, with a good helping of lace and royal frills.
Just blues, albeit heavenly, would be rather boring - and he thinks, appropriate shades of crimsons would do well, crafted into delicate roses, thorny and still bleeding sap.
And pinks, the shade of her lips; yellows, the weave of her hair as she sings and laughs gaily upon an evergreen land; blacks, the shadow of his eyelids as his lips gently press against hers.