Fic: Mine to kiss, to care for, and to love, endlessly.
Title: Mine to kiss, to care for, and to love, endlessly.
Prompt: Marshmallow
Pairing: Louis/Zayn
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2k
Warnings: none.
Summary: In other words, Louis touches the things Zayn feels and creates, looking for traces of Zayn there.
This was written for 1directionelite.
Louis curls her fingers around the hem of the jumper she's wearing, a soft breeze wafts through her long hair, and she shivers in place, curls her toes around the warm sand under her feet and sighs. She looks back towards the snug inn, and notices she's out here on her own. Zayn, unlike her, hated waking up early. Zayn valued her sleep more than anything, and that's that.
She props down on the sand, hugging her legs against her chest. Zayn's sketchpad slips open on the sand, papers spilling out, and Louis catches them before the wind whirls them away and she has to chase after them. She opens the sketchpad in her lap, runs her fingers over the scratch of lead against the white canvas. Softening, thickening, softening.
Zayn sketches Louis, her sisters, and everywhere they stop at and she makes it look like an entirely different world.
Louis follows the pattern of thickening pencil, and it feels funny under her finger after a while, but it translates like a swarm of words.
Words. Louis's good with those. Sometimes. Louis believes things she can touch, things that don't feel like they're going to slip out of her fingers like rays of sunshine.
Zayn however, she jolts down things, and scratches lines and circles on paper, and they don't make sense to anyone but to her; spilled out right out of her artistry psyche. It's the happiest Louis ever sees her in; a smile that tugs each sides of her lips up, eyes softening, humming sedately.
Louis grazes her fingers over the things Zayn feels and creates, looking for traces of Zayn there.
Zayn draws the sea, and their old hood. She draws the times they spent out in the pool, and she uses one colour at a time in the pad she carries with her everywhere. She says, painting is different, when Louis asks her why she packs one colour only, she only needs one colour when she's seeing the whole world with Louis. You're my all colours, she would say, and Louis would scrunch up her nose then pull her in for a lengthy kiss.
The distinct whiff of salt and sea, fills up the air, and Louis stretches down on the sand, hugging Zayn's sketchpad to her chest, the other arm folded under her head. She closes her eyes, and lets the sound of ocean and seagulls unwind her stretched legs.
If she hears someone's feet padding softly against the sand, she doesn't open her eyes. She has to appreciate the fact that the person had gone through the effort to act subtley, after all. She knows it's Zayn, the way she folds her legs as she sits down, the way she brushes Louis's fringe with two fingers, and the way her lips feel pressed against her skin.
Louis smiles, eyes closed, uses the hand she has around Zayn's sketchpad to tug Zayn down, her fingers demanding against the nape of Zayn's neck. "Hi," she breathes, and Zayn smiles toothily, hair falling to either sides of her face as she leans down, meeting Louis with a soft whisper of a kiss.
Louis props her head onto Zayn's lap then, and Zayn sings.
Zayn sings all the time. She sings when she draws. She sings in the shower. She sings when they're making breakfast. She sings before she goes to bed; she sings all the time. Louis would find it annoying only she doesn't. She loves the sound of Zayn's voice.
Zayn has a lovely voice, it's raspy and raw when she's just had a smoke, but soft and lulling all at once, and Louis thinks she haven't head anything lovelier, sweeter.
"Slept good?" Louis asks, eyes fluttering open.
"Great." Zayn says, when she's completed tramping over the tune. "Breakfast?"
"Well, unless I have to help with anything, yes." Zayn rolls her eyes, tapping her palm over Louis's cheek.
"Don't worry, you won't have to move a muscle." At that, Louis perks up, throws her arms over Zayn's shoulder and buries her face at the side of her neck.
"Baby, you're the best."
"I hope you don't expect me to carry you inside," Zayn says, standing up, pulling Louis up with her anyways. Louis's really light, that Zayn worries sometimes. But then, Louis fills herself up with candies and unhealthy crap, and refuses to share with Zayn- and Zayn thinks it's really odd.
"You love me too much." Louis says, pumping her hip against Zayn's as they make it back to the inn.
"Sadly," Zayn sticks out her tongue. "I do."
"Sadly." Louis echoes, as if to mull it over. "And there I thought you were the poetic, artsy or whatever, one."
"Shut up, Louis." Zayn throws an arm over Louis's shoulder, securing the brunette in a headlock . She presses a kiss to her head, then lets go of her. "Race you there,"
The wind strikes against their faces as they run up towards the inn, bare feet padding against the sand, then the cold concrete. Zayn makes it first, but Louis swears it was her who'd won. When they spend five minutes arguing, they race up to their room and Louis uses the advantage of the narrow stairs to climb up before Zayn, pushing the door to their room before Zayn as well.
Louis lies down on the couch while Zayn shuffles around in the kitchen. She's been in there for an hour, and Louis's stomach growls. "Zaaaaayn," Louis whines.
"It's ready! Hold on!" And it's the tenth time Zayn has said that today, Louis's keeping count. This time Zayn does come out of the kitchen though, with one big plate in her hand. She looks too proud with what she's carrying that Louis perches up on the couch to peer into the plate.
There, sits two round waffles sandwiched around chocolate chips, bananas and marshmallows.
Louis hops up excitedly, making grabby hands at the plate which Zayn still doesn't set on the table.
"Seriously, really, you're the fucking best." Zayn grins proudly, and Louis presses her lips onto hers, deepening the kiss. "Mm, you taste good." she mutters, running her tongue over Zayn's bottom lip swiftly.
Louis knows Zayn has a habit of eating while cooking and she always calls her out on it, but this time she smiles sweetly and thinks about maybe later, finishing up Zayn's pack of marshmallows before she beats her to it.
-
Louis has a hand over Zayn's eyes, the other curled around her fingers. She's tugging Zayn out of the inn, outside, to the beach. It's dark and the cold night has taken it's toll. Zayn shivers and Louis moves her thumb in circles over Zayn's palm.
"Where the hell are we going?" Zayn asks, but she's letting herself get dragged further, eyes sealed shut, following wherever Louis's taking her. "It's too cold,"
"I am not going to murder you then throw your body into the ocean, if that's what you're worried about," Louis says. "I'd say you're too good to realise something so life-changing just now."
Zayn bites her bottom lip, "I am just saying, it's cold."
"We're almost there, don't worry." Louis tightens her grip around Zayn's fingers, tugs her forward again, and keeps walking.
The sand feels cold under her toes, and as Zayn curls her toes around the sand she tows up her feet for another step and sand spills around their ankles. Louis giggles, and Zayn starts to feel the place getting a bit warmer. She’s about to open her eyes but Louis cries before she does.
“I know what you’re thinking, but patience is a virtue, or whatever.” Zayn huffs, and Louis stops to press her lips against the side of her lips. “You can open your eyes now.”
Zayn flutters her eyes open, and Louis stares for a second at her ridiculously long lashes casting a shadow over her cheeks. Zayn looks around in awe, brown eyes wide open and glinting with the illuminated reflection of flickers from the fire Louis made.
“You’re so fucking crazy!” Zayn cries, laughing all the same. “I think there’s a big fat chance we’ll get in trouble if someone saw.”
“Do you not like it?”
“I love it!” Zayn throws her arms around Louis, pulls her closer, then slides them down to her waist lifting her off the ground and twirling her against her own thin body. “I love you!” she shouts again, and Louis grins, tossing a leg up over Zayn’s hip. Zayn hooks her grasp around Louis’s thigh, her fingers are so thin and they dig into Louis’s skin and it’s so pleasant.
“Love you too.” Louis murmurs against Zayn’s jaw, flicks her tongue from behind her teeth to get a smack of Zayn.
The bonfire flames rise up with a roar when they huddle up next to it. Zayn pulls Louis closer so that her head is resting against her shoulder. Louis sinks her teeth in the exposed skin of Zayn’s shoulder when they go quiet. It’s teasing and amatory, and Zayn starts singing.
She sings all the time, every time. And she still wonders why Louis never asks her to stop. So Zayn sings, her fingers intertwining with Louis’s own. Louis’s fingernails are stubby and chewed, but Zayn adores them. She brings Louis’s hand up to her lips and presses a swish of a kiss over her knuckles.
Louis giggles, and pushes Zayn away playfully. “You soppy, soppy, girl.” She says, while laughing and Zayn pinches her nose.
Zayn thinks Louis’s laugh is possibly, her favourite sound in the world. It rings through her ears like a beautiful song, an inflection of blissful delirium. It’s Zayn’s favourite sound, definitely.
Maybe she’s too soppy after all. But it’s Louis. Louis makes her crazy. Louis makes her do all the things she once deemed herself not brave enough to do. Louis calls her things like ‘brave’ and ‘kind’ and Zayn thinks its Louis. Probably Louis, completely, fully, Louis who makes her all that.
She squeezes her eyes shut and breathes out, Louis is ripping open a marshmallow bag, some spill out of the bag and onto their lap and Zayn laughs when Louis scowls at her.
She pokes her own stick into a marshmallow and holds it up in front of her, watching as the vivid flames dance around it. It catches on fire, and Zayn lets out a gasped shriek purging her hand away, tucking it under her sleeve.
“You’re hopeless,” Louis says, trying to catch her breathe between gasped sniggers. Zayn crosses her arms over her chest and looks at Louis, “here, let me show you,” Louis takes hold of Zayn’s hand in hers, pokes the stick she acquires into the bag then holds both their hands up so the end of the stick lies inches away from the fire, enough to heat up.
The white fluff starts crusting at the corners, reddening, darkening, and Zayn’s face flushes in elation, her cheeks grow rosy against her bronze skin. Louis turns to look at her, smiling toothily. She’s once again taken aback at how beautiful Zayn looks and she can’t help but think she’s actually mine. It’s really unconventional for her to still think this; she’s known Zayn her entire life.
She’s known her ever since she remembers. Since she’s cut Louis’s bangs for her on their first day at school; Louis remembers how waggishly it descended over her forehead in a wiggly line. She remembers talking Zayn down and holding her though the night at that awkward age, when Zayn used to get much terrible mood swings than she does now. (And for that, she’s thankful.) She remembers the shows they went to together, and the numerous times they sneaked out to watch all those bands they kept posters of in their rooms. It hits her, at different times, but not like now, not like this.
Zayn was hers for the longest time but it’s different the way it is now. Zayn is hers completely, all of her, in a different a way than ever. She’s hers to kiss, to care for, and to love endlessly -and it feels so good.
“Where did you go?” Zayn asks around a mouthful of marshmallow and Louis shakes her head, and smiles eyes crinkling.
“Right here.”