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The Morning of That Day

Title: The Morning of That Day

Author Eglantine_br
Rating R (Het.)

Characters Amy/Bush

Word Count 1330






The Morning of That Day






“Hello Will.” She said from the
level of his feet.




Looking down, of course he could see
her. How had he missed her? She was a clear shape against the open
night. She was sitting on the step, twisted to look up at him now.
Her white dress shone. She was smiling at him. He could hear that
with the soft breath of her words.




“Amy.” He said it weakly.




“Yes, Amy,” she said, and she was
laughing. She always seemed to be laughing at him. “I like Amy
much better than 'Miss.' “ She said.




“Are you going to sit?” She did
not seem surprised to see him. And Will felt he understood why. He
felt now that he had known she would be here. He had not known, and
yet-- He sat, careful inches from her.




“Could you not sleep, Will?” She
asked.




“No.” She was imagining him
sleeping, he realized. The thought made him flush.




“What about you?” Will said.




“I'll sleep later.” And he imagined
her sleeping, and it was like a hand stroking him from the inside.




“I like it here at night.” She
said, “It's quiet. Not busy with talk as it is during the day.
No—stay.”




She put her hand on his arm. He could
feel it through the thin shirt. She leaned very close, and it seemed
easiest to put his arm around her. This he did, and she fit under
there very well. They sat together, quiet. Her feet were bare too,
and she slid the near one over to his so they touched along the
sides. This brought her leg alongside his.




“You are not cold, Will?” She
asked. “You are shivering.”




“No, not cold.” His mouth was dry.




He could not think what to say then. He
supposed she might think him dull, compared to the easy talking lads
she surely knew.




But she was warm against him, he could
feel that she was relaxed, comfortable under his wing. His heart was
pounding, his trousers were pounding too, in truth. But perhaps she
did not know that.




“I like to come out here sometimes
and sit. I like to look at the stars.”




“I do that at sea sometimes.”




“I suppose--” Amy said, “You must
know all about them, the proper names and all.”




“Yes,” Will said. “We have to
know those things.”




“Teach me,” She said.




So he began, and she sighted along his
arm, and asked him questions. He told her about nights at sea, when
he had watch and was alone, and the way the ocean was, flat but
alive, all around, and the darkness under the stars.




He told her about shooting the sun, and
finding noon, and ratlines and shrouds, and skylarking. She listened,
her eyes on him, her smile for just him. She asked him questions, and
they were good questions. She told him about her life too, about
summers she spent at Fawlty Towers. About her uncle Basil Fawlty,
(Who sounded like a scrub,) and her cousin Ed, (who was very
absolutely a scrub,) and her cousin Basil Hall.




“What is that one?” She asked,
pointing out over the edge of the bluff. “That bright star?”




“That one is a planet.” Will said
“That is Venus.” And he realized that they had been talking for
hours. He was not tired, not at all. He had never felt so awake.




“Venus, oh -- like the goddess?”
said Amy. She gave an interested little wiggle, right where she sat
“I've seen pictures. Ed has an art book. She-- does not wear very
much”




And she leaned in and kissed him again.
Her mouth was soft and warm, and she was much closer this time. This
time he knew what he wanted to do, he pulled her in against his
chest. He let his own mouth open to hers, and oh, that was-- and he
he was touching her hair, and he could feel her breath now. She was
so warm.




Her kisses were over his face now, his
nose his eyes his ears, his neck. He was weak and new, he could only
hang on, and let her have her way. His hand was down to the dip in
her back, and he felt her heart over the drum of his own




Kissing and kissing, and kissing, it
felt like eating when he had gone hungry for days. His hand, was on
her breast now, and his breath rasped in his throat. The cloth of her
dress was thin, and he could feel how soft she was. He thought maybe
she had not noticed before, and would be angry now at his touching
her there. But she arched close and said “So nice Will.”




She slid her hand up under his shirt,
all along his back, on his skin, and her touch was gentle, and no one
since mother, and this was not that. It felt so good. He heard
himself groan




And they were facing each other now.
She was kneeling on the step between his knees. How had this
happened? Will did not know. He was breathing heavily now, and she
pulled back a little to look into his eyes. She looked in his eyes,
and she took his hand, and she moved it to where her her bodice fell
loose on the top of her breast. He was touching her skin, and now
they were both making the small sounds that puppies make.




“I'm sorry about my freckles,” She
gasped.




“They are beautiful, he said. “You--
you are so--”




“I try to wash with milk, but they
won't go.”




“Beautiful.”


“The hedge.” She was panting in his
ear. “We can lie--”




He scrambled after her.




So close, he was so close against her,
and he knew now that she could feel the hardness of him, and she was
strong, her arms around him.




“Will? ” She was looking up at him,
and her hand was on his face. “If I write to you, will you write?
From sea?”




“Yes, yes Oh...”




And for all his worry, he did know
what to do.




Sliding skin was its own astonishment,
and she shuddered under him,




“Amy, please can I, Amy please?”




His voice felt high and rushed. His
throat was swollen, everything swollen now. He was right there,
right against, and she said yes, and he jerked forward like a mule
pulling a log. She held his back, and she moved under him to show him
how.




And now he knew, and he would always
know, and it would always be this. It would always be this, with her
voice in his ear, and the morning coming and the sunrise over them.




When it was done she scrambled her
dress down into place. He scrambled his trousers and shirt to
something close to right. Fawlty towers was still asleep. Small birds
were just beginning to stir, and the gulls out over the bluff.




She took his head in her lap, as if it
belonged there. She stroked his hair back, and smiled down at him.
The dawn wind came cold off the water, and they were both chilled
now, but they were holding hands and neither of them wanted to move.




“My ankles are cold.” Amy said.
Will rolled over to cover them, and kiss them. And this made her
laugh, and they were both laughing then and could not stop.




“No point in going to sleep now.”
Will said, when they could breathe again. “I think I'm too tired to
sleep.”




“Coffee.” Amy said. And they went
in to find some.
















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Comments

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
zantosjipyp
Nov. 4th, 2011 11:31 am (UTC)
Hmm, that?s some cool information. I would search on Google to find other relevant articles. Actually, I came across your blog on Google Blog Search. I?m going to add your RSS feed to my reader. Continue posting please!

bauhiniakapok
Sep. 20th, 2016 06:57 am (UTC)
Well, they are being naughtier than Saphronia and Christopher, but one can't help loving them anyway.

Poor Amy, fretting about freckles. Freckles are seen as something to be gotten rid of here in China too. I think it's rather Victorian of them. I get freckles after the first sunning of each summer, and had a galaxy of them when I was pregnant. I didn't think much about them, but a local friend who saw me during the freckle stage and again when Baby was out and freckles were gone said, "Your skin is much more refined now." As far as I could tell, the only difference was the missing freckles. I feel compelled to reassure local friends who have freckles - "In America we think they are cute." I am sure they don't believe me, but I try. I am a Freckle Ambassador.

Edited at 2016-09-20 07:46 am (UTC)
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )