That's how we spent the second day in bed together. Looking, and planning, and imagining how our wedding would go. I tried hard to match the descriptions that Quill gave me, but I wasn't as gifted in drawing ink as I would have liked.
And then the ink would smear on the edges of the paper as we got handsy with one another, inky handprints staining onto our skin that no amount of scrubbing would take them off until we summoned the maids to draw baths for us. Though we both wanted more, we kept to only intimate touches, as my condition continued on.
The third day we were in bed, it snowed. Quill and I looked out at how the snowflakes dropped from the sky, the heat that Quill gave off keeping me warm. This time, I was certain that it was natural snow, but still, I clung to him a little bit closer.
