Work Text:
clink
The warm sunlight burned a little in your eyes as you slowly woke to the sound of the cup gently hitting its saucer. A page crinkled and cracked as the long finger of the reader turned to the next in the book.
“Apologies for waking you. My grip just isn’t the same these days,” a polite smile, the edges of his lips curling at the corners ever so slightly. A nod as his eyes darted away from you, turning back to his book.
Shivers ran through your skin, your elbows propping you up halfway. Blinking eyes let in the soft light, as another light clink of the teacup, half emptied of its contents, was the only sound in the quiet and still garden.\\”What do you mean, grip isn’t the same these days,” you asked, your voice groggy, thick, and full of the deep weight of sleep. Your face contorted with the confusion that slipped across your mnd, anxiety finding a chink in your armor, a hole in your defenses that you had finally let down.
He chuckled softly at your momentary panic, gentleness hinted in his eyes as they turned to you. He showed his hand - a slight tremble visible through his fingers. “It happens every so often. Just need some sleep,” he shrugged as he pulled his hand back to the book, as though obtaining needed sleep was the simplest thing in the world. “I haven’t been sleeping much these days. The dreams, you know,” he murmured with a gaze that looked a million miles away.
You shook your head slowly. “I really don’t know because you haven’t told me anything about your dreams. They been keeping you up?”
Another chuckle, one tinged with sadness and what might have been a hint of world weary exhaustion and despair. “I suppose you could say that,” another wistful look on his face, his voice barely above the whisper of the breeze passing through the quiet garden. “Shades and shadows of the past come back to haunt me at night. Or any other time that I try to close my eyes. Day or night.” Another shrug, his eyes sliding back into the present with a soft shake of his head, his slightly trembling hand holding his book as he reached for the teacup once again.
Your hands crushed the blades of grass, leaving green stains along your palms and fingertips. The smell of clean dirt wafted into the air as you pushed yourself up, gripping his hand in yours, steadying the quivering cup. You leaned against his leg, your chin resting on his thigh as he lifted the cup from your steady hands to his lips. His eyes drifted down to your earnest expression looking up at him, anchoring the both of you to the earth where you were sitting.
“Why don’t you tell me what shades and shadows tear at the corners of your mind and weigh so heavily upon your shoulders?,” you hummed softly. “I may not actually fully understand or have all the answers, but…,” you paused and trailed off as he slid his book shut, choosing to comb his fingers through your hair.
You purred in contentment, leaning into the movement of his hands, almost forgetting about the teacup you were holding until he stopped his motions and you straightened, placing the delicate cup back into its place on the saucer with a sheepish grin and a blush that played delicately on your cheeks. You missed the grin that passed his lips, the soft light that chased away the shadows that reflected in and around his eyes.
“Oh, my Thread,” as he began stroking the top of your head with one hand and lifting your fingers to his lips, kissing them gently, affectionately appreciative of the picture of bliss reflected on your face. “Just be. Be here with me,” he rumbled in his chest, leaning forward and kissing your forehead. “Let me drink you in, let me breathe you in,” as he placed his head against yours, his eyelashes fluttering against your skin, his hand still moving across the top of your head, fingers combing through the tangles, his warm breath entangling the two of you further.
When you leaned further into his body, the sound of teacup clinked against its saucer and the fingers on the top of your head disappeared as a gentle memory of a thumb grazing your jawline and the hint of lips on yours. Your eyes blinked open to the sunlight drifting through the green foliage and hitting your tired eyes.
“Apologies for waking you…”