[SE] sky full of song

Amalia I took the stars from my eyes, I made a map He laughs at her, and the girl laughs back, her narrow cheeks coloring a delightful shade of rose as she buries her face against his neck, inhaling deeply from his scent. His beard tickles lightly on her forehead, her nose; she nestles against it, looking for the soft skin underneath, her cheek grazing gently on his neck. There is nothing in her experience to prepare her for this, no lesson passed on by wiser women to tell her how to navigate these waters: only him, and his warm blue eyes, and his dizzying smile, and his laugh reverberating through her hands, and his arms wrapped tight around her waist. There is no guide on how long this will last, so she clings to it desperately, afraid to move, to break the fragile, beautiful bridge which has spun its way between them. All she wants is to remain in his embrace, where the world is warm and the girl is safe, where somehow against all odds she has found someone who wants her, who wants her, who wants her. Ah, but no perfect moment is forever, and as Deimos draws her back she agrees, reluctant, her fingers still clenching at his shirt as though to tie herself to him, prevent his attempt to let her go. Even the inches that separate them are fearful, a great expanse in the wake of such intimacy: but Amalia looks up and catches his smile, wild and jubilant, confident and caring, and somehow, inexplicably, for her. Her right hand travels up his chest, fingers gentle against his beard as he lowers his lips to her ear, her name a reverent whisper on his tongue. Each kiss sends a shiver of heat shooting down her spine, electric, elating, so very unfamiliar and yet so natural, so right. By the time he reaches her other cheek her hand is on the back of his neck, tangled loosely in the long dark hair, the other still on his chest. Her eyes have fluttered shut once more; she does not need to see the world. Her world is right here. He speaks again, and now it is her turn to laugh, incredulous, her fingers tightening on the back of his neck. What an absurd question for him to ask, as though she has a say in the matter, as though there could be any doubt. Her other hand rises now, trailing to his face, cupping it gently as she takes a moment to pull back and look up into his eyes. With the wondrous blush of youthful romance the girl continues to laugh, her dark eyes glittering, her body shaking as she reaches up to press a soft kiss on his lips, not skilled or confident but fervent, ardent, aching through her smiles, woefully unsure but confident he will not let her fall astray. It is an answer unspoken, the only thing she can think to say, too scared to voice her real answer: Yes, and yes, and yes. Letting her face fall against his, she closes her eyes once more. "I don't... know what I'm doing," she confesses quietly against his skin, "Or how this happened, or why... why you would want me." Pulling back slightly, she slides her hands back down his arms, looking at him with vulnerable affection, her heart poured out and placed on a platter, an offering from a girl who cares so deeply yet does not freely give herself away. "But I'm yours, Deimos, if you do. I... I have nothing to give you, but I..." And she sighs, a deep and shuddering breath, her head dropping down again, hands reaching up to cover her face as she laughs, unable to do anything else, fantastically happy and horribly terrified that she will awake to find this all a lovely dream, or an elaborate joke. And I knew that somehow I could find my way back