Work Text:
The yarn is white and bright against the needles.
It reminds Raleigh of fresh snow.
He works the yarn, laying down the first row. He gently shifts Mako in his arms. She moves without thinking, adjusting herself with her eyes firmly on the book she’s making her way through. Normally he can knit blindfolded, his fingers long since having memorized the stitches. But this his first time knitting something so small and it has to be perfect.
She turns the page as he guides the needles through the yarn. Her body is pressed along his left side, her warmth seeping through him. Her legs are thrown over his right thigh, her toes tucked in the blue socks he made for her almost a year ago. She adjusts her head on his shoulder and flips to the next page. The tank he wears is as black as her hair, the blue of her hair bright against it.
"That’s small," she says, not looking up.
She can hear the stitches, how the needles click together and then pause when he starts a new row. Usually there’s an extended period of time when they click together, but now it’s short. He’s making something small. Raleigh makes a noise of confirmation in his throat that sends a pleasant vibration through her shoulder.
She adjusts her head against his shoulder, feeling his heart beat in her ear. She likes the sound of his heart. It’s steady, consistent. Usually it’s a good deal slower than the needles, but now she can feel it just a bit faster against her cheek. She glances up to see him frown, his brow drawing together. To her amazement he unravels two stitches and then starts them up again. Raleigh never takes out stitches.
She looks up at him to see his eyes are focused on his work. There’s a wrinkle between his eyes that only gets there when he reads too long or focuses too hard on a task. Mako leans up and gently presses her lips to the line of his jaw. His eyes flutter before he turns his head and captures her lips with his.
His arm tightens around her upper back. She loves the way he tastes. Sweet, like the hard candies he’s addicted to. It’s grape this time and she can almost see the purple on his tongue. He kisses her warm and soft but makes no move to push things further. Instead he pulls back, resting their foreheads together.
"You know," he says and his voice is rough, “this will go a lot faster if you tell me what color."
Her eyes open and meet his. She can feel his heartbeat quicken and fights whether to glare or grin at him. His heart is racing because she’s looking exasperated and like she’s trying not to smile. It’s all the confirmation he needs and before he can stop himself he kisses her again. She kisses him bag, her legs tightening on his thigh as they kiss. He drops the yarn to wrap his arms around her properly as her book drops so she can drag her fingers through his hair.
"How did you—?" she questions.
"You’ve been holding your stomach for two days," he said, “it was a guess."
She laughs because she can’t not. He grins back at her and pushes her back, pressing her into the bed. He pulls back and looks down at her. He shifts and one of his hands slides up to her stomach, as if he can feel something even she can’t yet. Her heart feels like it’s going to burst as he smiles down at her and she rolls her eyes, her grin not falling.
"It’s too soon," she says to him with a laugh, “there’s no way to know."
He grins and kisses her again.
"Pink," he says and there’s no room for argument in his voice.
He’s half right.