Title: And She Was Smiling At Me.
Warnings: Homosexuals are gay. ::struggles not to snicker:: Oh and FLUFF!
Author's note: Just a little one-shot about me and my girl. True story, but… it makes me smile and it's something I want to remember.
You know what's just not cool? When you're walking with your girlfriend on this beautiful, windy Autumn day and you've got your black trenchcoat flowing in the wind and your combat boots are clomping along poetically and she's squeezing your hand every few seconds and you've got this great intense vibe going and then…
Then you trip on your own damn trenchcoat.
And she laughed at me. First thought, fucken bitch. Second thought, yeah, that's why I want to be here with her. Because I don't like nice girls, I like sassy, naughty girls who play hard to get and then purr and proposition. Yeah, girls like that.
But no matter how uncool it is to lose your "spooky" vibe, it can get cool. It can get damn cool.
But she laughed, oh, she'll pay, and she knows it too as I grab her hand again and pull her down to the ground with me. She's a fighter, my girl, Mon. She's a fighter. And she proves it as s he tries to wrestle against me, pouting those beautiful lips, that pout that I have wet dreams about and damn if she doesn't know it. Pouting those that perfect pair of ruby red lips and glaring up at me in mock anger.
"Oh, you," she whispers, fondly and angrily all at the same time. Fire and ice, like everything good in life seems to be.
"Oh, me," I reply, like the ass I am. She grins and leans up to kiss my nose.
"That's what I like," she shoots back, sliding out from under my pin. I watch her slither out and then scoot back to a large oak. She crawls over by me and leans against me. I don't move so she reaches up and drapes my arm around her shoulders. "It's your job to keep me warm," she explains.
"Oh, it is?" I tease back, the laugh in my voice that always seems to be there when she's around. Always there because… she makes me happy. She makes the ferocious bulldyke in me want to giggle. Damn, I didn't know that was even possible.
She doesn't respond and I realize it's because… she doesn't have to. We don't need to always talk. The older I get, the more I like to be around those people who chatter incessantly, just because it means I don't have to carry the whole damn conversation and I don't have to think and I'm not so uncomfortable. And I don't need that escape with her. Because she makes me think, makes me feel, and she makes me so damn comfortable around her.
And I realized that it's because no matter how silent we are, we're always talking. She's the one my heart and soul confide in, as lame and cheesy as that sounds, that it.
So we can just sit here, not really talking. Not really touching, just being together and being happy.
Because it's enough.
It's enough because she was leaning against me, my arm around her and my trenchcoat was sprawled out and my boots were looking cool so I'd got my vibe back and the wind the blowing around, making leaves literally dance around us and I looked over at her and…
And she was smiling at me.