The Wedding - The Night - The Newlyweds

He's never been much of morning person. He prefers nighttime; it's quieter, darker, calmer.

And he's certainly never thought that sunlight streaming though the window at the break of dawn could ever be so beautiful.

Maybe it's because there's a pale-skinned redhead with eyes like amber curled up beside him, and the light is shining along the curve of her back and he can't help but stare. Maybe it's because he's happy, for once, so he's seeing things differently than he had before.

The room is warm, just like her body is against his own, and he can make out the distinct sounds of her light breathing as she sleeps, continues to dream or daze.

Somehow within the sake of thirty-six hours, give or take, he's managed to change a good half of his whole life.

Two days ago, he'd been dreading going to somebody else's wedding. Yesterday, he was attending his own. It's a brutal contrast but he wouldn't change it for the world.

Turning over onto his side, he rests up on his forearm, slipping his hand beneath his pillow and moving his free one to her waist.

He doesn't remember her skin being so soft, so light, so undamaged. He doesn't remember her shaky breaths as she dreams, the small kicks of her feet as she shivers.

But he doesn't think he ever took the time to take those things in back then. Maybe they hurried things, maybe they wanted to, maybe they were supposed to.

He doesn't believe that things happen for a reason; that kind of faith is all down to her. He doesn't believe in miracles, in fate, but he also acknowledges that he once refused to believe in soulmates.

Maybe some things are truly meant to be, but he would never lay his future down in the hands of a supposed higher power. He refuses to, can't.

But he can respect her for it. Now that he's thought about it, over sleepless nights and casual daydreams, he can see how she would want to believe that He could have answers. It's like some sort of really jacked up safety net, one that you can't see or hear or feel.

It's just that he likes the proven side of things, not the mysterious did-it-actually-happen side, not the let-me-trust-some-potentially-fake-book-to-make-all-my-decisions side. He likes Darwin. He likes evolution. He likes chemicals, reactions. He likes blood, and guts, and doctors saving people. He likes if it's supposed to happen, it'll happen's. He likes making things happen. He likes the idea of them, her. He likes, loves, her.

He can believe in love, despite the fact that he can't see or hear it. He can feel it. It's not concrete; it's just his own jacked up version of faith.

His hand on her waist moves across her flesh, slipping up and across the outline of her ribcage, pads of his fingertips marking her skin as he moves back down, thumb sweeping the curve of her back as he grips her body securely.

"Hmm." She mumbles in her half-slumber, doing that kicking thing again and pushing her bottom into his front slightly, earning an unseen smirk on his face.

Without moving his body an inch, he tightens his hold on her waist, cradles her bones protectively.

"Morning."

He smiles then, watching as she slowly turns over, sleepy glossy eyes and sprawled hair across her pillow. "Hey."

April stretches her shoulders, pulls the falling sheets up to cover her breasts again. She supposes they're on a whole other level of intimacy at this point, but... still. It's new (again), kind of strange, and it may take a while to get used to.

Jackson moves across to kiss her, hand falling from her body and finding the space beside her head to lean on. Forehead pressed to hers and lips dancing against her own tenderly, he smiles, bright eyes scolding her own.

"Hi." She blushes, moving a strand of hair from her face with one hand and lifting her chin slightly to push her lips against his own, moaning a soft cry when he slips his tongue past her bruised barrier, left thumb caressing her jaw as she grants him entrance.

Her eyes stay shut tight, her small hands finding the back of his neck to pull him down and closer, into her, inviting him to invade her space.

Jackson pulls away after a moment, nose gently touching hers and noticing up close the way her long lashes touch her cheeks when she blinks.

"How did you sleep?" His voice is low, almost mute as to not break their shared peace.

The trauma surgeon bites her bottom lip, eyes his face up and down before she rests her gaze on his chest, "Great." She digs deeper, batters her pink flesh, "You?"

"Same." He admits, casually running a hand through her locks before cupping the back of her neck, bringing her into his space.

She smiles at that, quickly moving her hands to his chest to push him backwards as he rolls over. His hands run down her sides, fingertips dancing along the edges of her back, pressing into her skin softly, marking her as his once again.

The new level of intimacy she'd been uncertain about just a few moments ago has broken and she feels no need to cover herself or bare shame as she straddles his waist, chest before him and eyes shifting over his naked body.

"Damn it."

She perks her head up then, dragging her hazel eyes back up from his lap to his face. She licks her lips, traces his coloured skin with her soft hands.

She feels like a blank canvas beside him, like a drawing that hasn't quite been finished.

He's wider, larger, greater. He's had things, done more, been someone. He's drawn, just as she is to him.

"Damn it." Jackson repeats with a quiet laugh, leaning his head further back into the pillow beneath him as his rougher hands sketch her creamy flesh, absorbing every freckle and perfect fold.

"What?"

"You."

She shifts against his lap then, digging her nails into his sides, gripping his steady body as she shuffles forward, right where she wants to be, right where she wants him to be.

"Me?" April bats her lashes again, unable to take her eyes away from his face, suddenly amazed by the scar on his forehead. She leans across and lifts a finger up to trace the marked flesh, springing back suddenly when she feels his mouth against her chest.

Her reflexes lead her to hold him there, hands clasped around the back of his head as he trails his lips between her breasts, jerks her when he flicks a nipple with his tongue.

"Oh, God." Her eyes shut, hands tighten and she bites her lip again, slicing her padded flesh.

Her fingers tap along the base of his neck innocently when he moves across her chest, nibbles at her other breast with his edged teeth and swirls his tongue around her perked pink flesh.

"Jackson."

"Hmm." He groans, moving himself into s sitting position and pressing his palms into the swell of her back, keeping her upright against him, keeping her close.

April swallows a breath, sweeps half-opened eyes down his toned back, tightening her stomach muscles as he continues to nip and lick and kiss at her chest. "Stop."

And he does. Because she asks him to, because she wants him to, because he's not an animal and he's gonna let her take control of things if she needs to.

He pulls away, though by doing so he drags his lips up her neck, tongue teasing her carotid and sending a whole new round of shivers down her spine.

"Can we just-" She doesn't finish her sentence, only looks down and chews her lip.

He obviously catches on because he nods without a single word and allows her to move, pushing his legs apart to grant her space.

His hands find her thighs, thumbs stroking along the intimate insides as she leans back, reaches for his erection and slowly slips down onto him, carefully arching her back while grasping his shoulders.

"Unh..." Her eyes close again, and he's beginning to notice it more than he did before, and her bottom lip crinkles when she tugs the flesh between her teeth, simultaneously biting the insides of her cheeks.

He slides one hand down her back, slipping past her bottom so he can make sure he stays with her, in her. His other hand travels down her back so slowly that she almost forces him into going faster, and his knuckles turn white from gripping her side so tighter as he rounds her back with his arm.

Keeping a steady pace and rhythm and grip along his shoulders, she feels her breathing start to eradicate when he shifts faster, goes deeper, buries himself in her like he'd found a hiding place. She feels a pain in her back, a tightening of some sort when he holds her, hands rough and possessive. She doesn't mind. She likes it, loves it, loves him.

Her legs wrapped around his frame start to tingle after a few moments and it takes a good few more thrusts on his behalf for her to sob out, chest heavy and breaths rapid.

Against her own will, she finds her hands scraping his skin, marking him as her own and leaving him dented, bruised from her love. She arches, moans, has to throw her head down against his shoulder to bite his muscle to stop herself from screaming.

On his end, his hands have started to shift, and he allows himself to lie down, dragging her with him and moving her legs so she rests above him, hands to chest and thighs to sides, intimacy still pressed wildly against his, heated still being satisfied.

He cups the back of her neck with one hand, pulling her face over his, passionately smothering her sinful cries and silencing her with a tongue past her lips.

"Jacks-" She pulls away, leans back with a panting of her chest and finally moans aloud, hips shuffling back and forth against his, feeling him swell deeper inside of her, the muscles of her body clenching when she feels him empty, release into her desire, her own cloud nine.

"Come on, baby."

It's the dragging of his fingers across her creamy thighs that does it, that betrays her, that hands her to him on a silver platter.

It's because of the way he grunts, mutters her name over and over again when he reaches his climax that she gives in, tightens around his everything and folds into his body like a cold shiver.

She falls forward onto his chest when she orgasms, hands still in place and she feels his arm wrap tightly around her frame, bringing her home, bringing her to him, as if they could be any more connected than they already were.

Her lips part against his caramel skin, and he copies, pressing butterfly kisses along the curve of her shoulder, arms wrapped around her back like clothing, feeling her bones and muscles beneath his touch like a gift from God himself.

He doesn't believe in all the things that she does, but he can believe in this.

He can succumb to the idea of giving yourself to someone forever. He can agree that maybe some people are truly meant to be together.

But he won't believe in a higher power, that miracles happen, that life is a gift; he doesn't need to.

He has her. And that's enough for now.