[ darcy had picked the music, something soft and sweet, a woman crooning softly and he had intended to teach her a waltz but things hadn't gone quite as planned, no. instead they sway in an intimate silence, her hand clasped to his and to his chest along with the rest of her, his cheek resting there against her hair. his thumb brushes in slow swipes against the side of hers, in tune to the thud of her heart, his own echoing, slow and steady.
no subject
she smells divine. ]