It takes a leap of faith

Amalia

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stop thinking so much

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Her hands continue to caress his skin, a thoughtful expression on her face, a brow raised behind his back. The tattoo, it seems, is another piece of a puzzled past, knowledge given simply and plainly with his usual marked economy of words. It is fascinating, how generous he can be in action, giving and giving again and again, loving and tending to her. At the same time she has never met anyone who guards their words so jealously, each statement measured and precise, letting things hang in the balance, unsaid. It reminds her of her mother, the taciturn woman who kept everything in, driving a wedge between them with her silence, both of them too stubborn to bend. Will it happen with him? It is something she fears, something else, because of course she does not have enough on her mind, because all she needs now is to drown beneath the past, the water rising up and up and up-

Or perhaps it is she who will fall down. A squeak of surprise is all she can manage before her body is largely submerged, pressed down by his far greater bulk as he leans against her. Surprise, and then a hearty laugh ripples through her compressed chest, a little muted by his weight on her diaphragm but rich and amused nonetheless. There's something comforting about the feeling of a body pressed to hers; her knees rise up to hook beneath his arms, and she lets her fingers trail to his upturned face, dancing lightly across his nose, the apples of his cheeks. She holds onto it as long as she can before the need to breathe becomes too much; coughing a little, Amalia pushes his shoulders, hoping to get him off her belly so she can inhale a much needed breath.

Say]"You're huge!" she exclaims once she catches her breath, laughing playfully, her arms around his shoulders, falling against his chest. She lets her lips linger on the curve of his neck, kisses placed in a rising thread, up his nape and over his ear, distracted once again. The feeling of hair makes her nose crinkle a little, his beard tickling on her skin. "Do you ever shave?" she questions idly, between the ministrations of her lips and tongue.

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you're breaking your own heart

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