Tokens | PG13 | Bridges of Madison County
Title: Tokens
Fandom: Robert/Francesca, Bridges of Madison County
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 757
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: It seems like every time I watch BOMC, I come up with another idea for a story. This past viewing, I came up with three, but the others can wait for another time. I'm hopelessly devoted to this couple. I hope you like these little drabbles. Stay tuned…a full length fic is in the works :) Let me know what you think!
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Robert covers Francesca's hand, enjoying the feel of it beneath his own. He's never experienced anything like this before, not even with his first wife. He can't stop touching her. Could it be that she's softer than other women? Skin is skin, he reminds himself, but hers…
It's different because it's hers.
He tries not to think about the fact that he will lose it soon.
He watches her through the dusky, smoky haze as she sways in her seat, her body matching the tempo of the moody blues playing in the background. He wonders if she ever dances with her husband, if this is the first time she's been out to a place like this.
He likes the thought of this being something she's never done, that he's the one to have introduced her to it. It makes Robert feel like this experience is explicitly their own, unshared by anyone else. It also makes him unspeakably sad. She deserves to dance, to be held close.
Robert would do it every day for the rest of his life if he had the chance.
The silver medallion presses against his chest, the metal warmed by his skin. He likes the feel of it, likes the way it lands just over his heart. It feels secure. The solidity of the medallion seems to give him some semblance of hope. It's as if having something of hers anchors him to how he feels about her. This token of his lady's affection is something he can always carry with him.
He touches the band of silver around his wrist and, before giving it careful consideration, pulls it off. Francesca is not looking at him: her gaze is fixed on the saxophone player as he blows a mournful melody. It's not until he slips the bracelet around her wrist that he realizes how bad of an idea it actually is.
She jerks her head back to look at him. Their eyes meet briefly before she looks down at the bracelet. The smile that graces her lips is a sad one and Robert already knows what it means. She passes her thumb over the broad silver band, caressing it as she did his hand just minutes ago. She studies the way it looks on her wrist, the way the silver sets off the olive tones in her skin, the way it feels against her flesh.
"I would never be able to explain this to Richard," Francesca says softly. He almost doesn't hear it over the thrum of the music. "I can't keep it. I want to, but--"
"I know. I thought--" He leans back in his chair and pushes his hand through his gray hair, taking it away before she can put the bracelet back. "I wanted you to have something of mine" He takes a healthy swallow of beer. "To keep with you."
Francesca eases herself from her chair and circles around the small table, stopping in front of him. He turns and folds her into his body. She feels so good against him that he sighs. She presses her face into the crook of his neck and kisses him there. He holds her tight. He doesn't want to let her go. His heart pounds a little faster at the thought of the impending finality of their relationship.
She leans back and cups his face in her hands. "I already have you. I don't need anything else."
"But you won't, not after--"
She silences him with a kiss. He can taste the sadness on her tongue and resolves not to bring it up again. He doesn't want to spoil the remaining time they have left.
"That's good enough for me," she whispers, her lips brushing against his. "It has to be." She kisses him again and, while her mouth is slanted over his and her tongue is brushing gently against his own, she eases the silver cuff back onto his wrist. She clasps her hands in his, her fingers weaving effortlessly with his own.
With his free arm he holds her close and she does the same, her finger teasing the hair at the back of his neck. He rests his hand on the curve of her waist, pressing the length of her body against his own.
He feels the medallion press flush against his chest by her breasts. It occurs to him that he'd take this singular moment of having her in his arms over some material token any day…
…not that he plans to give it back.
---
Fandom: Robert/Francesca, Bridges of Madison County
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 757
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: It seems like every time I watch BOMC, I come up with another idea for a story. This past viewing, I came up with three, but the others can wait for another time. I'm hopelessly devoted to this couple. I hope you like these little drabbles. Stay tuned…a full length fic is in the works :) Let me know what you think!
-
Robert covers Francesca's hand, enjoying the feel of it beneath his own. He's never experienced anything like this before, not even with his first wife. He can't stop touching her. Could it be that she's softer than other women? Skin is skin, he reminds himself, but hers…
It's different because it's hers.
He tries not to think about the fact that he will lose it soon.
He watches her through the dusky, smoky haze as she sways in her seat, her body matching the tempo of the moody blues playing in the background. He wonders if she ever dances with her husband, if this is the first time she's been out to a place like this.
He likes the thought of this being something she's never done, that he's the one to have introduced her to it. It makes Robert feel like this experience is explicitly their own, unshared by anyone else. It also makes him unspeakably sad. She deserves to dance, to be held close.
Robert would do it every day for the rest of his life if he had the chance.
The silver medallion presses against his chest, the metal warmed by his skin. He likes the feel of it, likes the way it lands just over his heart. It feels secure. The solidity of the medallion seems to give him some semblance of hope. It's as if having something of hers anchors him to how he feels about her. This token of his lady's affection is something he can always carry with him.
He touches the band of silver around his wrist and, before giving it careful consideration, pulls it off. Francesca is not looking at him: her gaze is fixed on the saxophone player as he blows a mournful melody. It's not until he slips the bracelet around her wrist that he realizes how bad of an idea it actually is.
She jerks her head back to look at him. Their eyes meet briefly before she looks down at the bracelet. The smile that graces her lips is a sad one and Robert already knows what it means. She passes her thumb over the broad silver band, caressing it as she did his hand just minutes ago. She studies the way it looks on her wrist, the way the silver sets off the olive tones in her skin, the way it feels against her flesh.
"I would never be able to explain this to Richard," Francesca says softly. He almost doesn't hear it over the thrum of the music. "I can't keep it. I want to, but--"
"I know. I thought--" He leans back in his chair and pushes his hand through his gray hair, taking it away before she can put the bracelet back. "I wanted you to have something of mine" He takes a healthy swallow of beer. "To keep with you."
Francesca eases herself from her chair and circles around the small table, stopping in front of him. He turns and folds her into his body. She feels so good against him that he sighs. She presses her face into the crook of his neck and kisses him there. He holds her tight. He doesn't want to let her go. His heart pounds a little faster at the thought of the impending finality of their relationship.
She leans back and cups his face in her hands. "I already have you. I don't need anything else."
"But you won't, not after--"
She silences him with a kiss. He can taste the sadness on her tongue and resolves not to bring it up again. He doesn't want to spoil the remaining time they have left.
"That's good enough for me," she whispers, her lips brushing against his. "It has to be." She kisses him again and, while her mouth is slanted over his and her tongue is brushing gently against his own, she eases the silver cuff back onto his wrist. She clasps her hands in his, her fingers weaving effortlessly with his own.
With his free arm he holds her close and she does the same, her finger teasing the hair at the back of his neck. He rests his hand on the curve of her waist, pressing the length of her body against his own.
He feels the medallion press flush against his chest by her breasts. It occurs to him that he'd take this singular moment of having her in his arms over some material token any day…
…not that he plans to give it back.
---