thanks for the tag @fiannans@thedastrashand@starsandskies@knuttydrawsand@noire-pandora <3 It seems I only have time for short writing spurts lately. Been a busy week, been working non stop preparing for an interview, but I did manage to get this for a prompt I have in my box <3
Lydia is a celebration. As he dances, or tries to anyway, he finds her his own brand of intoxication. How does she know he loves the way the little whisps of her hair hit her shoulder? How does she know he loves it when she pushes her hair away from her face, revealing that small and tantalizing widow’s peak at the top of her forehead that’s almost a crown? Her sleeves fall off her tanned shoulders, her embroidered corset cinching in. He gulps at the valley, sighs at the closeness of her. She doesn’t take proper form anymore as more couples and some singles scurry to the floor to dance, pressing them in. Lydia pulls him closer, too concerned with him than proper form. He’s always more concerned with her than proper form.
before this I had a line about her “sticking to him like honey” and I really liked the imagery, lol.
