Fic: Comfort and Joy (1/1)
Title: Comfort and Joy
Rating: PG
Pairing: Daniel/Charlotte
Word Count: 505
Summary: Dan and Charlotte's First Christmas. For valhalla37, who requested “Something Holiday-Themed” at my Winter Gift-Fic Extravaganza and for the 15pairings Prompt #12 - Cold. General spoilers through Season 5.
Prompt Table: Here
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: For valhalla37: A little holiday-themed bit of stream-of-consciousness fluff, inspired by the lights on my own tree :)
Comfort and Joy
It's cool outside, though they've both suffered worse, and the very edge of the chill still cuts through the house, lives to do battle with the fire as it dies next to them, all simmering coals and gentle, timid warmth. It's alright, though; it's alright, as the carpeting digs, draws patterns into the skin of his cheek as he watches the subtle flush of the red lights blush against her face, as he reaches across her sleeping frame to pluck a piece of tinsel from where it tickles below her nose, to brush a needle from the branches hung above them from the soft pull of skin at her jaw.
The strands of lights where they peak through the din gleam like a halo around her, blues and greens dancing playfully in her hair; the soft hues like the sunset dazzling against her parted lips as she breathes, heavy and full of pine and peppermint. The firelight catches against the silvery ornaments dangling on the precipices - hanging by threads - with a transitory sort of flicker, scattering the spectrum across her pale flesh, the bare globes of her shoulder gleaming with the aurora, crystals in the still, in the cold.
Bing Crosby's still crooning softly in the background, and the mellow lull of his baritone mirrors the rhythm of her heart beneath his hand as he pulls her close enough to taste what remains of gingerbread and sugar on her skin, the tang of cinnamon and nutmeg that she exhales in gentle puffs, that lingers still on that holly-red mouth. He lets his fingers trace the lilting edges of her tank top, play at the hem near her hips; rests his warm palm where the fabric rides up her stomach and leaves her skin to grow cold, protecting her from the chill, from the world. He studies her face, soft and serene like the angels, and he feels his chest tighten, seize without warning, feels rain gather in the corners of his eyes - sometimes, when he dreams of her, she's cold against his touch; he doesn't understand what it means, only knows that, as long as he's breathing, he will keep the warmth in her, the heat of her alive.
Sleep aches to take him in, but he's preoccupied with the sounds of her breath where they mirror the last crackles of the wood as it bends, breaks into ash against the hearth at his back. He's mesmerized by how precious she is, how strong, and yet, how fragile - the paradox of her - and he can't help but watch her, sparkling like Christmas morning come early, like the first rays of sun on a fresh dusting of snow, wrapped beneath their tree inside his arms; and for the first time, he understands why people make so much of the season, why it matters, what it means.
He’s known that he loves her for what seems like forever; but it’s in that very moment that he realizes that she’s the only thing he cannot live without.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Daniel/Charlotte
Word Count: 505
Summary: Dan and Charlotte's First Christmas. For valhalla37, who requested “Something Holiday-Themed” at my Winter Gift-Fic Extravaganza and for the 15pairings Prompt #12 - Cold. General spoilers through Season 5.
Prompt Table: Here
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: For valhalla37: A little holiday-themed bit of stream-of-consciousness fluff, inspired by the lights on my own tree :)
Comfort and Joy
It's cool outside, though they've both suffered worse, and the very edge of the chill still cuts through the house, lives to do battle with the fire as it dies next to them, all simmering coals and gentle, timid warmth. It's alright, though; it's alright, as the carpeting digs, draws patterns into the skin of his cheek as he watches the subtle flush of the red lights blush against her face, as he reaches across her sleeping frame to pluck a piece of tinsel from where it tickles below her nose, to brush a needle from the branches hung above them from the soft pull of skin at her jaw.
The strands of lights where they peak through the din gleam like a halo around her, blues and greens dancing playfully in her hair; the soft hues like the sunset dazzling against her parted lips as she breathes, heavy and full of pine and peppermint. The firelight catches against the silvery ornaments dangling on the precipices - hanging by threads - with a transitory sort of flicker, scattering the spectrum across her pale flesh, the bare globes of her shoulder gleaming with the aurora, crystals in the still, in the cold.
Bing Crosby's still crooning softly in the background, and the mellow lull of his baritone mirrors the rhythm of her heart beneath his hand as he pulls her close enough to taste what remains of gingerbread and sugar on her skin, the tang of cinnamon and nutmeg that she exhales in gentle puffs, that lingers still on that holly-red mouth. He lets his fingers trace the lilting edges of her tank top, play at the hem near her hips; rests his warm palm where the fabric rides up her stomach and leaves her skin to grow cold, protecting her from the chill, from the world. He studies her face, soft and serene like the angels, and he feels his chest tighten, seize without warning, feels rain gather in the corners of his eyes - sometimes, when he dreams of her, she's cold against his touch; he doesn't understand what it means, only knows that, as long as he's breathing, he will keep the warmth in her, the heat of her alive.
Sleep aches to take him in, but he's preoccupied with the sounds of her breath where they mirror the last crackles of the wood as it bends, breaks into ash against the hearth at his back. He's mesmerized by how precious she is, how strong, and yet, how fragile - the paradox of her - and he can't help but watch her, sparkling like Christmas morning come early, like the first rays of sun on a fresh dusting of snow, wrapped beneath their tree inside his arms; and for the first time, he understands why people make so much of the season, why it matters, what it means.
He’s known that he loves her for what seems like forever; but it’s in that very moment that he realizes that she’s the only thing he cannot live without.