Just some post wedding intimacy on the Jolly Roger, because I just couldn’t help myself and I woke up with a much needed desire to write…
His dream is like a wave, cresting and crashing as it heads towards the shore, sand and shells churning in its wake but never quite hitting the beach before it recedes. When he wakes, frustration still bubbles at the edges of his consciousness as his fingers dig into the mattress beside him where his new bride should be. He blinks his eyes to adjust to the darkness, the candles he’d scattered around the room after their nuptials now all pools of hardened wax. Pushing back the coverlet, he crosses to an old trunk and pulls out a pair of old linen pants, not wanting to go in search of Emma in his current state of undress.
He finds her quite easily, but allows himself a moment to take her in. The complicated braid she’d worn earlier has fallen loose, allowing golden tendrils to dance in the breeze along with the worn fabric of his sheet she’s wrapped around her like a cloak. She could be mistaken for a spectral, or an angel, some benevolent spirit come to grant his every wish and guarantee a lifetime of happiness.
But something has drawn her from his bed on their wedding night and he aches to soothe whatever might be troubling her mind. So, he crosses to her quietly, making enough noise to be certain she hears his approach. She turns with a smile as he draws near enough to touch, easing a bit of his nerves as he draws his hand around her waist and presses a kiss to her temple.
“Hello, my wife.”
just let the waves guide us…
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