As The Music Dies

 

He watched her sleep, intent on the delicate flutter of her eyelids.

She must be dreaming.

He gently touched her face, hardly daring to breath for fear of waking her. Then when that wasn't enough he followed, with aching tenderness, his fingertips with his mouth. She shifted, murmuring something he didn't quite catch.

"Go back to sleep," he whispered, though it was clear she had already done so. He smoothed his hand over her shoulder, down her back, and let it rest, intimately, on her hip.

Like a lover.

It had been only a few hours since she’d fallen asleep, tangled like this. He hadn’t slept at all.

Her head on his chest, her body pressed against his.

He wanted to commit it to memory. It would never be the same between them, this moment was stolen, this moment was a dream….

This moment was perfect…

Absently, he stroked her side. How long could they stay like this? A few more minutes? An hour?

So this was the price of dancing…

          With reckless abandon they had danced. They had both danced… and both known. It had burned last night, between them, scorching their fingers and making them laugh.

Making it impossible for them to back up, or slow down.

It had consumed them last night, turning them into frantic creatures.

And now, in the warm glow of the aftermath, they lay content. Unable to rise and cope with the mess they had made.

Unwilling to shatter the bubble they’d created.

He sighed and rolled over, keeping one arm possessively wrapped around her waist. He would take the moment as long as it was there. To hell with tomorrow.

He pulled the sheets back up from the end of the bed and brushed the hair from her eyes.

Then he kissed her…. and slept at last.