Fic: Delicate
Jul. 2nd, 2008 11:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
starrika(Twilight has eaten my brain).
Title: Delicate
Rating: PG
Summary: Things between Quil and Claire had always been delicate.
We might kiss when we are alone
When nobody's watching
We might take it home
We might make out when nobody's there
It's not that we're scared
It's just that it's delicate
~*~
She was still too young. She was freshly sixteen, but in the dim glow of the dying bonfire, Quil could pretend she was eighteen. He lightly trailed his hand down her bare arm and couldn’t help the fizzle of pleasure as she shivered. They had done this dance before – inching closer and closer, only for life to force them two steps back.
She was still too young. She was not easily swayed, but they’d managed to delay telling her about imprinting until now. It was as if telling her had released a pressure valve. Quil could hardly keep himself from touching her. He leaned over to whisper in her ear, You’re mine. This time, instead of shivering, Claire sighed as if she had just fallen into bed.
She was still too young. She was incredibly sly, brushing her hand over his jeans to remove an imaginary speck of dirt, letting her hand rest for just a second too long on his thigh. Quil barely noticed the last of their party leaving. He slid his arm around her, feeling bold. The look on her face was delicate – hesitant, and far more innocent than her previous actions suggested. It restrained him, even as their lips met.
She was still too young. She was everything he’d dreamed, and Quil forgot all about ages when her arms went around his neck. Claire’s body pressed flush against him, going limp, and when she exhaled into his mouth, it felt like she was melting into him. He wasn’t scared of what Sam would do to him tomorrow. For him, it had always been Claire.
Title: Delicate
Rating: PG
Summary: Things between Quil and Claire had always been delicate.
We might kiss when we are alone
When nobody's watching
We might take it home
We might make out when nobody's there
It's not that we're scared
It's just that it's delicate
~*~
She was still too young. She was freshly sixteen, but in the dim glow of the dying bonfire, Quil could pretend she was eighteen. He lightly trailed his hand down her bare arm and couldn’t help the fizzle of pleasure as she shivered. They had done this dance before – inching closer and closer, only for life to force them two steps back.
She was still too young. She was not easily swayed, but they’d managed to delay telling her about imprinting until now. It was as if telling her had released a pressure valve. Quil could hardly keep himself from touching her. He leaned over to whisper in her ear, You’re mine. This time, instead of shivering, Claire sighed as if she had just fallen into bed.
She was still too young. She was incredibly sly, brushing her hand over his jeans to remove an imaginary speck of dirt, letting her hand rest for just a second too long on his thigh. Quil barely noticed the last of their party leaving. He slid his arm around her, feeling bold. The look on her face was delicate – hesitant, and far more innocent than her previous actions suggested. It restrained him, even as their lips met.
She was still too young. She was everything he’d dreamed, and Quil forgot all about ages when her arms went around his neck. Claire’s body pressed flush against him, going limp, and when she exhaled into his mouth, it felt like she was melting into him. He wasn’t scared of what Sam would do to him tomorrow. For him, it had always been Claire.