For Scripps, Dated 12/31

[madeofstories]

Grace very distinctly remembers the events of New Years Eve one year ago.

Dressed up in clothes from another era, they all rang in the new year in a way that she can only describe as magical. And Grace's last moments of the previous year were spent with someone she didn't anticipate would be as near and dear to her heart now as he is.

This year, they've been plunged into a different place altogether, one that Grace has found equally as magical as the month has worn on. And tonight, it feels as if there is magic in the air all over again, as Grace pulls her scarf more snugly around her neck. She's waiting in Times Square, where she's supposed to be meeting Scripps tonight, but so far, she hasn't spotted him.

Perhaps she should have been a bit more specific as to which corner she'd be nearest to.

Comments

[turnedtoproust]

He falters back, trying to keep his head up and his attention on Grace, he wants to watch her. This is his first time, he wants to have a mental image that he can hold onto as long as he can. "Grace," he murmurs again, amazed and wondrous. "This is...you make me feel..."

So good.

[madeofstories]

Grace is lost in him and it's wonderful, the sound of her name on his lips so lovely that she thinks her heart may burst. She wishes that she could live and breathe this moment forever.

"Donald," she calls quietly, and she's almost there, but doesn't want this to end just yet.

[turnedtoproust]

He almost feels like he ought to bestow the name on her. No one else uses it quite at all these days, but the way she says it makes him want to selfishly decide that no one else can use it. "Yeah?" he whispers back, eyes wide and filled with desire and delight.

[madeofstories]

"Donald, I think I'm going to..." she says, and cuts her own sentence short when she hits a particularly pleasing spot, mouth falling open in a quiet cry. Grace's initial worry had been that he might be the one to be finished too quickly, but it seems as if she may end up the one who cuts things short without wanting to.

[turnedtoproust]

How he's managed to outlast her, he'll never know. Maybe after all those days on his knees with God, his prayers are finally being answered. Or maybe, maybe, watching her give in to pleasure is what his body needs before he, too, crumples and gives in to nothing but pleasure and the overwhelming sensation of everything at once.

"Fuck!" he blurts out, once more, this time awed and spent.

[madeofstories]

When it hits her, her legs buckle and she very nearly tips over and falls off of the bed as she calls out his name again. Her heart is racing and her head is swimming and it's all more lovely than she ever though it'd be.

Grace is left atop him for a long moment as she catches her breath, and she's finding it difficult to contain a pleased smile.

[turnedtoproust]

He reaches for her out of a need and habit, always needing her to be close to him. He wraps his arms tighter around her waist and buries his face into her torso, breathing in and letting the world around him vanish as his thighs quiver from the strain of his current position.

[madeofstories]

Grace rolls off to lie next to him on the bed, wanting to be closer to him than is possible when she's still all the way up there. He's warm and smells amazing, and even if it's the same way Donald always smells, it's made all the more wonderful and special because of tonight.

[turnedtoproust]

Scripps shifts onto his side, one arm wrapped around her waist. "This isn't awkward, is it?" he murmurs. "You don't want me to go shower off before I come back to bed?" This is the first time and he's not really eager to fuck it all up because of how they ended it.

[madeofstories]

"It's okay," Grace says, and she laughs softly as she lies against him. Grace doesn't even want to think about moving at the moment, content to stay there for ages, clinging to the last bits of pleasure.

"And don't you dare go anywhere," she says, and tips her head up just a bit so that she can press a soft kiss to his chin.

[turnedtoproust]

"I wouldn't dare," he swears to her, wishing that he could sign it in blood to really show her how serious he is. "Honest," he whispers, bowing his forehead down and adjusting so that she's as close to him as physically is possible.

[madeofstories]

"Perfect," she says, and even if she wanted to, she wouldn't be able to move the grin from her face. Grace is absolutely where she wants to be right now, completely happy.

"Do you feel any different?" she asks.

[turnedtoproust]

"Bit sore," he admits, with a sheepish grin. "I'm glad that I got to do it with you," Scripps says, pressing a kiss to her temple. "And I hope to do it again with you, and again. And then possibly again."

[madeofstories]

"I'm just sorry that we won't be able to come back here again," Grace says, realizing. The island always returns to normal, eventually, and when New York disappears, so will the hotel and the room that holds such a wonderful memory for them now.

[turnedtoproust]

Scripps inhales deeply and looks around. He's grateful to the location for the first time, but he wants it to remain that. "It means that our memory is going to remain preserved," he murmurs. "Nothing will ever touch this night."

[madeofstories]

"Mmm," she responds, agreeing, "You're right. I suppose we'll have to take albums full of mental pictures, then."

Grace wants to be sure that nothing is forgotten. Not the feel of him there, or the softness of the bed, or the way that Donald's hair is wonderfully mussed.