E-mail: angelchildr@freaky.nu
Rating: PG
Summary: Two people and words.
Series: "An Affair of Words" - Part 1
Distribution: http://penned-insanity.freaky.nu/ (My site) or ask.

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I sat there in the semi-darkness and listened to the scratch of his quill against the paper. He was writing again. Hunched into the soft circle of lamp-light, I could practically feel his thoughts carve their way onto the page. I knew that if I looked over I'd see his dark head bent over the desk, the ink flowing onto the page in that odd looping script of his that I often teased looked like a woman's hand. He'd always smile back at me and say that at least his writing was legible, unlike mine.

Sometimes he shared what he wrote with me, sometimes he kept it for himself. I relished what he shared and respected what he didn't. Everyone is allowed to have their personal secrets. Even him. Even from me.

The scratching of the quill stopped and the new silence pressed into me. I looked over to where he sat and saw his silhouette framed against the golden lamp-light. He had paused, bringing the ragged end of the quill to his mouth as he thought on his next words. A brief smile trembled on his lips before his head bowed once again toward the page and the quill resumed its movement.

I let a smile of my own cross my face as I watched him. He was beautiful like this. Our evenings, as quiet as they were, never bored me. After dinner we would exchange a brief kiss and he would come up to the library. Depending on his mood he would either go directly to his desk or linger for a while with a book. I would take a short walk in the garden and then, once the sun had fallen, join him in the library.

Most of the time I would choose a book of my own and we would spend the evening in silence until we retired. Sometimes we would put down our books and talk of whatever things crossed our minds. But some nights he wrote, and those were by far my favorite. He would write, and I would watch, and neither one of us ever tired of it.

Lost in my thoughts, I did not notice when his quill paused again. It wasn't until his soft voice beckoned me back to reality that I realized he'd stopped.

"Love?"

I blinked to clear my thoughts, looking over to where he still sat dark against the back-light of the lamp.

"Hmm?" I responded with a soft smile, leaving all the words of this night in his hands. He joined me on the couch, one hand holding his paper, the other resting lightly against my leg.

"Shall I read it for you?"

I smiled and nodded, then curled myself against him in the way we always sat when he read his work to me. After a moment of settling ourselves, he began, and I let the rhythm of his words fill me.

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