Rum Raisin 6: Nightfall
Title: Nightfall
Main Story: In The Heart. Now with shiny new introduction!
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Rum raisin 6 (lover), rainbow sprinkles (Clara's parents), butterscotch, fresh pineapple (What are you waiting for? Just surrender here tonight).
Word Count: 1139
Rating: PG
Summary: Lynne and Gary at nightfall.
Notes: Silly fluff for incredibly minor characters, because I can.
The light outside the window was nearly gone. Gary's head rose and fell with Lynne's steady breathing, and every so often her hand would flex in his hair, ruffling it a little bit. He wondered if she was asleep. She was awfully quiet, for Lynne, anyway. He hoped she wasn't asleep.
Not that it mattered that much, he guessed. It had been a long day; a very nice day, but a long one all the same, and he could always ask her tomorrow. It wouldn't really be the same tomorrow, but did the atmosphere really matter?
Well. He was enough of a romantic to think that it did. But Lynne, his wonderful, practical Lynne, had not a romantic bone in her body, and he doubted she would mind overmuch. She would, however, mind being woken up if she'd fallen asleep. He should really get up and tuck her in.
He didn't want to, though. Another reason to postpone It until tomorrow; he'd have to get up and rifle through his clothes to find the ring, and he really didn't want to lift his head from her bare stomach, or take his hand off her leg, or disentangle her hand from his hair. He could just fall asleep right here. Lynne wouldn't mind, he didn't think, and if she did, she wouldn't do anything worse than dump him off. There were worse fates.
Having thus rationalized everything he wanted to do, he closed his eyes and was about to drowse himself into real sleep when Lynne's hand tightened in his hair briefly, and she shifted under him.
"Hey," she said. "You awake?"
"Yes." He rolled over to face her, but didn't take his head off her belly. "What's up, buttercup?"
Lynne made a face at him, which meant she was trying not to laugh. "I didn't say thank you."
"For what?"
She half-shrugged, and brushed his hair off his forehead. "For today. For... everything, really."
Gary shook his head, suddenly feeling rather embarrassed. "You don't have to thank me for today." He'd had an ulterior motive, after all. "I just wanted to pamper you." More like bribe her into marrying him, but he wasn't going to bring that up quite yet.
Lynne laughed, making his head bounce a little, and he grinned in response. "Of course you did. That's why I do have to thank you, you dear, frustrating man."
"Thank you," he said. "I think."
"Yes, that was a compliment." She brushed her hand across his forehead again, then down his nose, across his mouth, over his cheek. "Well. Maybe not the frustrating part. I'm not a patient woman, Gary."
"Never thought you were." He rolled his head to the side and pressed a kiss against her stomach. "Never needed you to be."
Her lip twitched. "I gathered. What with the five years you've been putting up with me and all."
"Putting up with you is not the phrase I'd use." He kissed her stomach again. "Adoring you, maybe. Loving you. Writing bad poetry for you. Never putting up with you."
Lynne's eyebrows lifted. "How come I haven't heard about this poetry... no, never mind, we'll talk about that later. Anyway, five years is a long time to wait, Gary. And I am not, as we previously established, a patient woman."
"All right," he said, mystified. "You're not a patient woman. Is this going somewhere?"
"Yes," Lynne said, and then, uncharacteristically, she hesitated. The muscles under his cheek grew tense.
Alarmed, Gary lifted his head. "What is it?"
She took a deep breath, then said, "Are you going to marry me or what?"
He blinked. "Er. What? I mean, yes, of course."
"Okay. Good. You can buy me a ring tomorrow." She let her head fall back, and ruffled her hand through his hair again.
Gary stared at her for a moment, and then started laughing like an idiot.
"What?" Lynne propped herself up on her elbows, the better to glare at him. "What?"
"I will not buy you a ring tomorrow," he informed her, "because I already have one in my pants pocket. I was going to propose, you know. Today. But then you distracted me--" he ran a quick hand over her stomach-- "so this is really not my fault."
Lynne rolled her eyes. "That still doesn't change the fact that you made me wait so long I decided I had to do it myself." She flopped back on the pillow.
Gary groaned, and rolled back over, buried his face in her stomach. "I refuse to have this argument now," he told her belly.
"That tickles," she said, half-indignantly, half-amused.
"Good," he said, without moving. "Anyway. I'd've asked sooner, but I couldn't come up with a way to ask you that didn't sound stupid."
"Says the man who not five minutes ago admitted to writing bad poetry."
He snorted, and was rewarded with a giggle and a delightful squirm. He'd have to remember this strategy for future arguments. "That's different. I didn't actually have to read you any of it."
"You do now," Lynne informed him. "I'm curious."
Gary rolled back to face her and gave her his best pained expression--he was an English teacher with a twin sister, so it was a very good pained expression indeed. "I don't think so. You might reconsider marrying me."
She sobered abruptly. "I wouldn't. Reconsider, that is. I love you."
"I know." Gary sat up and kissed her, gently. "I love you, too, more than I can say." He paused, let the serious moment turn softer, then added, "I still won't read you my poetry, though."
Lynne, who had been smiling softly, stuck her tongue at him, and pouted. "No poetry at all? And here I thought you were such a romantic."
"Dyed in the wool." He kissed her again. "Anyway, I said none of my poetry. If it's real poets you want, I can give you a quorum."
"Oh, God," she groaned, and squirmed around to rest her head on his thigh. "No T.S. Eliot. Not even Practical Cats."
He grinned. "Not a fan? What about Ogden Nash? XJ Kennedy?"
"No, no," and now she was laughing. "No. Somebody romantic."
"Ah," he said, and cupped her head in his hand, threaded his fingers through her hair. "When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes? Shakespeare."
"Shakespeare's good." She caught his other hand and kissed his palm, then wrapped it in both of hers and settled the whole lot just beneath her breasts. "Go with Shakespeare."
She was so beautiful like this, sleepy-eyed and tousle-haired, and from this point on, completely his. Maybe best not to think of it like that, or he'd get cocky. He was completely hers, then; that was better. "Shakespeare it is," he said, softly. "Sonnet 29."
Lynne closed her eyes, and smiled.
Main Story: In The Heart. Now with shiny new introduction!
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Rum raisin 6 (lover), rainbow sprinkles (Clara's parents), butterscotch, fresh pineapple (What are you waiting for? Just surrender here tonight).
Word Count: 1139
Rating: PG
Summary: Lynne and Gary at nightfall.
Notes: Silly fluff for incredibly minor characters, because I can.
The light outside the window was nearly gone. Gary's head rose and fell with Lynne's steady breathing, and every so often her hand would flex in his hair, ruffling it a little bit. He wondered if she was asleep. She was awfully quiet, for Lynne, anyway. He hoped she wasn't asleep.
Not that it mattered that much, he guessed. It had been a long day; a very nice day, but a long one all the same, and he could always ask her tomorrow. It wouldn't really be the same tomorrow, but did the atmosphere really matter?
Well. He was enough of a romantic to think that it did. But Lynne, his wonderful, practical Lynne, had not a romantic bone in her body, and he doubted she would mind overmuch. She would, however, mind being woken up if she'd fallen asleep. He should really get up and tuck her in.
He didn't want to, though. Another reason to postpone It until tomorrow; he'd have to get up and rifle through his clothes to find the ring, and he really didn't want to lift his head from her bare stomach, or take his hand off her leg, or disentangle her hand from his hair. He could just fall asleep right here. Lynne wouldn't mind, he didn't think, and if she did, she wouldn't do anything worse than dump him off. There were worse fates.
Having thus rationalized everything he wanted to do, he closed his eyes and was about to drowse himself into real sleep when Lynne's hand tightened in his hair briefly, and she shifted under him.
"Hey," she said. "You awake?"
"Yes." He rolled over to face her, but didn't take his head off her belly. "What's up, buttercup?"
Lynne made a face at him, which meant she was trying not to laugh. "I didn't say thank you."
"For what?"
She half-shrugged, and brushed his hair off his forehead. "For today. For... everything, really."
Gary shook his head, suddenly feeling rather embarrassed. "You don't have to thank me for today." He'd had an ulterior motive, after all. "I just wanted to pamper you." More like bribe her into marrying him, but he wasn't going to bring that up quite yet.
Lynne laughed, making his head bounce a little, and he grinned in response. "Of course you did. That's why I do have to thank you, you dear, frustrating man."
"Thank you," he said. "I think."
"Yes, that was a compliment." She brushed her hand across his forehead again, then down his nose, across his mouth, over his cheek. "Well. Maybe not the frustrating part. I'm not a patient woman, Gary."
"Never thought you were." He rolled his head to the side and pressed a kiss against her stomach. "Never needed you to be."
Her lip twitched. "I gathered. What with the five years you've been putting up with me and all."
"Putting up with you is not the phrase I'd use." He kissed her stomach again. "Adoring you, maybe. Loving you. Writing bad poetry for you. Never putting up with you."
Lynne's eyebrows lifted. "How come I haven't heard about this poetry... no, never mind, we'll talk about that later. Anyway, five years is a long time to wait, Gary. And I am not, as we previously established, a patient woman."
"All right," he said, mystified. "You're not a patient woman. Is this going somewhere?"
"Yes," Lynne said, and then, uncharacteristically, she hesitated. The muscles under his cheek grew tense.
Alarmed, Gary lifted his head. "What is it?"
She took a deep breath, then said, "Are you going to marry me or what?"
He blinked. "Er. What? I mean, yes, of course."
"Okay. Good. You can buy me a ring tomorrow." She let her head fall back, and ruffled her hand through his hair again.
Gary stared at her for a moment, and then started laughing like an idiot.
"What?" Lynne propped herself up on her elbows, the better to glare at him. "What?"
"I will not buy you a ring tomorrow," he informed her, "because I already have one in my pants pocket. I was going to propose, you know. Today. But then you distracted me--" he ran a quick hand over her stomach-- "so this is really not my fault."
Lynne rolled her eyes. "That still doesn't change the fact that you made me wait so long I decided I had to do it myself." She flopped back on the pillow.
Gary groaned, and rolled back over, buried his face in her stomach. "I refuse to have this argument now," he told her belly.
"That tickles," she said, half-indignantly, half-amused.
"Good," he said, without moving. "Anyway. I'd've asked sooner, but I couldn't come up with a way to ask you that didn't sound stupid."
"Says the man who not five minutes ago admitted to writing bad poetry."
He snorted, and was rewarded with a giggle and a delightful squirm. He'd have to remember this strategy for future arguments. "That's different. I didn't actually have to read you any of it."
"You do now," Lynne informed him. "I'm curious."
Gary rolled back to face her and gave her his best pained expression--he was an English teacher with a twin sister, so it was a very good pained expression indeed. "I don't think so. You might reconsider marrying me."
She sobered abruptly. "I wouldn't. Reconsider, that is. I love you."
"I know." Gary sat up and kissed her, gently. "I love you, too, more than I can say." He paused, let the serious moment turn softer, then added, "I still won't read you my poetry, though."
Lynne, who had been smiling softly, stuck her tongue at him, and pouted. "No poetry at all? And here I thought you were such a romantic."
"Dyed in the wool." He kissed her again. "Anyway, I said none of my poetry. If it's real poets you want, I can give you a quorum."
"Oh, God," she groaned, and squirmed around to rest her head on his thigh. "No T.S. Eliot. Not even Practical Cats."
He grinned. "Not a fan? What about Ogden Nash? XJ Kennedy?"
"No, no," and now she was laughing. "No. Somebody romantic."
"Ah," he said, and cupped her head in his hand, threaded his fingers through her hair. "When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes? Shakespeare."
"Shakespeare's good." She caught his other hand and kissed his palm, then wrapped it in both of hers and settled the whole lot just beneath her breasts. "Go with Shakespeare."
She was so beautiful like this, sleepy-eyed and tousle-haired, and from this point on, completely his. Maybe best not to think of it like that, or he'd get cocky. He was completely hers, then; that was better. "Shakespeare it is," he said, softly. "Sonnet 29."
Lynne closed her eyes, and smiled.