Chapter 11 Coup de Grāce
I write sometimes.
Against the nape of her neck were delicate wafts, the warmth paced by breath. Against her rib was a recurring inflation, the pressure depressed by respiration. Against her lax shoulder blade was a rhythmic pulse, the beat pumped by life.
Morrigan stirred as she gently awakened with a slender toned arm lazily tucked in between her arm and stomach, a pleasing scent drifting toward her nostrils. Shivering slightly from the cold of dawn, she pulled the blanket she shared and draped it around her torso better.
It was already morning, a desaturated yet vibrant glow slipping into her tent and soothing her sentiments. The storm had finally passed and her unease had finally ceased.
She froze for several synchronized heartbeats, pondering on her position – amorously fastened with Ophelia. It would've been a foolish act to partake in, had she never gone on this journey with her and endorsed herself to be indulged. She would've easily dismissed it as unnecessary touching.
But if someone were to remind her now...
"Hey…" Ophelia suddenly interlaced her fingers with Morrigan's, burying her nostrils in the depths of her dark hair and cradling her body cozier into a fused quotation mark. "Go back to sleep," her lips cooed to an ear lobe.
Morrigan gasped from modest surprise, her hair follicles sensing the patented smirk take shape. Intrigued, she tilted her chin enough to spectate on its charm.
The rascal was positively delighted and inched in for a peck on the lips. The witch had slapped the widening smirk away innumerable times for stolen smackers in the past – but now she inched in for another – preferring to kiss it away instead as the blonde shifted for her convenience.
In the centimeter within their separation, she reveled in Ophelia's unyielding smile and established it as the first trait she adored about her.
That ambrosial smile which was sometimes adorned with hidden mischievous intent but always assured comfort and security.