Heather looked at him--a little nervous, a little excited, a little of everything. He wound his hands into her hair, reverence in every touch of his atoms against hers.
“I’ve got a lot of rough edges,” she said, voice the brush of a butterfly’s wing against his skin. He drew a line with his fingers from the base of her ear lobe down to the sharp curve of her jaw, straight to the throat through which she breathed faintly. Quinn had to admit, the air was a little too thick for him too.
His hand landed there, that delicate spot. A dangerous spot. He would never let anyone touch it--never let anyone graze it. And yet it was there that his hand stayed, his thumb brushing against Heather’s trachea, pointer finger feeling her pulse. She kept her eyes on him as he drew invisible loops and stars--a little nervous, a little excited, and entirely fearless, even as his hand stayed against her throat, a spot she’d surely let no one touch as well.
And yet...
“It’s gonna be tough work loving around all of them.” Quinn met her gaze just as she said it. There was fear in that--those little, too significant words. He wished he could wipe it out of existence.
“I never intended to love around your edges,” he said softly, the same admiration in his eyes in his voice as well. “After all, only rocks can smooth rocks.”
Heather chuckled, the noise her thanks to the universe. She smiled at him--that beautiful, blessed smile which could make empires crumble and kings bow. Her own hand came to his cheek, her thumb laying just below Quinn’s eye as she said, “Or oceans.”
(excerpts from scenes I have yet to write.)