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And comfortably share silence [Jonna/Hannu]
Title: And comfortably share silence
Fandom: A Redtail's Dream
Characters/Pairing: Jonna/Hannu
Rating: 15+*
Length: 600 words
Summary: Let me be calmed, then, calmed by your silence.
In the evening's light, they share a moment, and few words.
Other: I have been reading too much of Pablo Neruda's poetry, and craving summer sunlight.
Prompt in the challenge: #15, "Silence".
*Nota bene: Not sure on the rating. It might be a little higher than strictly needed.
And comfortably share silence
In the evening's light they return to Hannu's house.
They step inside. Press the door shut. Slip off their sandals. He sinks to one knee, ruffles at his dog's ears, unclips the leash. Jonna walks, barefoot, to the kitchen.
The blinds are down to keep the heat out, but the sun sneaks in anyway, a dusty golden glow against the coverings. She takes lemonade from the fridge and sets it on the counter. Cools her warm fingertips on the chilled pitcher. His footsteps follow her.
As she reaches to open the cupboard, Hannu leans against her and rests his head on her shoulder.
"Tired?" Jonna asks, tilting her head to look at him.
"Yeah." The answer is almost a sigh.
He coils his arms around her. Jonna sets the glasses on the countertop and waits for him to say something else, but he doesn't. They both know that he was in bed too late, and that he was up early, and that their long walk in the sun has left him dozy and content.
She doesn't mind the warmth of his body against her, even with the heat that slips its fingers into this dark house. His hands move slowly, unable to decide where to go: along her hip, or trailing at her side, or flat over her stomach. One slides upward and stills over the curve of her breast. Her eyes flutter shut.
Jonna thinks about saying something, then decides against it. If she draws attention to it, he'll stop, and she doesn't want him to. She's told him more than once that she likes being touched. His hands are gentle, soft, not grasping. They match the kisses he grazes to her bare shoulder, against her neck, light as an afterthought.
For a while, she thinks about turning around and leading him, silently, to his dark bedroom. Of sinking onto his bed and pulling him close to her, giving herself over to his hands, his mouth, his eyes. But she knows that if she moved, if she tried that, it would be just like speaking: the moment would be gone, and he'd pull away, acting like he hadn't done anything in the first place.
Anyway, it doesn't matter. Hannu's room would be stifling at this time of day. If they tried it, they'd just end up sweaty and uncomfortable. She knows it.
Jonna waits. Sweat beads on the pitcher. The lingering heat from their sunny evening walk has her feeling heady and warm and languid and patient. Summer seconds are slow as minutes, and that's good, she thinks, because she's happy to stay here, like this, drinking every moment of it.
Eventually, Hannu sighs, and lets his hands drop. He lifts his head, and moves away from her. She pours him a glass, still and steady, and he takes it with murmured thanks.
They drink it out on his front step, drenched in the evening light. Ville sits by their feet, nuzzling at Jonna's hands and vying for attention. She indulges him, scratching behind his ears, smiling at how he never stops wiggling.
Hannu is quiet beside her, his head on one hand, his silence soft and content as the arms that held her in the dark.
The glass clinks against the step as he sets it down. He leans against her, sighing, as if he could breathe in the sunlight.
Jonna stills. Waits. Listens. Then she closes her eyes, the better to savour the sun on her face, the shape of him beside her, the soft fur under her fingertips.
The silence they share says what he doesn't.
Fandom: A Redtail's Dream
Characters/Pairing: Jonna/Hannu
Rating: 15+*
Length: 600 words
Summary: Let me be calmed, then, calmed by your silence.
In the evening's light, they share a moment, and few words.
Other: I have been reading too much of Pablo Neruda's poetry, and craving summer sunlight.
Prompt in the challenge: #15, "Silence".
*Nota bene: Not sure on the rating. It might be a little higher than strictly needed.
And comfortably share silence
In the evening's light they return to Hannu's house.
They step inside. Press the door shut. Slip off their sandals. He sinks to one knee, ruffles at his dog's ears, unclips the leash. Jonna walks, barefoot, to the kitchen.
The blinds are down to keep the heat out, but the sun sneaks in anyway, a dusty golden glow against the coverings. She takes lemonade from the fridge and sets it on the counter. Cools her warm fingertips on the chilled pitcher. His footsteps follow her.
As she reaches to open the cupboard, Hannu leans against her and rests his head on her shoulder.
"Tired?" Jonna asks, tilting her head to look at him.
"Yeah." The answer is almost a sigh.
He coils his arms around her. Jonna sets the glasses on the countertop and waits for him to say something else, but he doesn't. They both know that he was in bed too late, and that he was up early, and that their long walk in the sun has left him dozy and content.
She doesn't mind the warmth of his body against her, even with the heat that slips its fingers into this dark house. His hands move slowly, unable to decide where to go: along her hip, or trailing at her side, or flat over her stomach. One slides upward and stills over the curve of her breast. Her eyes flutter shut.
Jonna thinks about saying something, then decides against it. If she draws attention to it, he'll stop, and she doesn't want him to. She's told him more than once that she likes being touched. His hands are gentle, soft, not grasping. They match the kisses he grazes to her bare shoulder, against her neck, light as an afterthought.
For a while, she thinks about turning around and leading him, silently, to his dark bedroom. Of sinking onto his bed and pulling him close to her, giving herself over to his hands, his mouth, his eyes. But she knows that if she moved, if she tried that, it would be just like speaking: the moment would be gone, and he'd pull away, acting like he hadn't done anything in the first place.
Anyway, it doesn't matter. Hannu's room would be stifling at this time of day. If they tried it, they'd just end up sweaty and uncomfortable. She knows it.
Jonna waits. Sweat beads on the pitcher. The lingering heat from their sunny evening walk has her feeling heady and warm and languid and patient. Summer seconds are slow as minutes, and that's good, she thinks, because she's happy to stay here, like this, drinking every moment of it.
Eventually, Hannu sighs, and lets his hands drop. He lifts his head, and moves away from her. She pours him a glass, still and steady, and he takes it with murmured thanks.
They drink it out on his front step, drenched in the evening light. Ville sits by their feet, nuzzling at Jonna's hands and vying for attention. She indulges him, scratching behind his ears, smiling at how he never stops wiggling.
Hannu is quiet beside her, his head on one hand, his silence soft and content as the arms that held her in the dark.
The glass clinks against the step as he sets it down. He leans against her, sighing, as if he could breathe in the sunlight.
Jonna stills. Waits. Listens. Then she closes her eyes, the better to savour the sun on her face, the shape of him beside her, the soft fur under her fingertips.
The silence they share says what he doesn't.