princehonorable | (no subject)

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snow

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He's beginning to feel like there's a chance he'll see the makings of a real bed sometime soon. He says that every morning, but he truly believes it. With every passing day, his legs tremble a little less -- he can manage going a little farther -- and the pain doesn't last so long. He can take deeper breaths, he's remembering more, and it's all coming together to make him feel healed. David thinks he actually might be all right.

That still keeps him pent up in the clinic for most nights, just in case he needs a doctor's help before the morning's out. It gets a bit lonely, he won't lie. So, now, as the evening winds down, he has to start thinking about dinner again. Maybe he'll go to the kitchen and see if he can't strike up some conversation with someone else who doesn't have any plans for the evening.

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"I don't want to be in pain, either," is his instant reply, aware that maybe he shouldn't be joking at a time like this, but it's the easier thing that comes to mind. He reaches out, brushing a lock of her hair back from off her face. "So, maybe we ought to wait?"

"I think that would be a good idea," she says, with a small, nervous chuckle, but she tilts her cheek into the touch of his fingers, smiling fondly. "If we do this - when we do this - I want it to be the right time. And I think we'll know when that is, for both of us."

"So, are we waiting for a doctor's note?" There's, perhaps, a hint of wickedness in his tone as he leans in for a brief, chaste kiss. After all, he's not sure he knows when he'll be fine for these activities because he doesn't actually have any memory of these things.

She's grinning against his lips before the kiss breaks, her cheeks still flushed a healthy shade of pink that she can't completely fault the wine or the warmth in the air for. "Would you actually try to get one of the doctors to clear you for that?" she asks, mildly incredulous. "I don't know if I'd be able to live that down."

Edited 2012-03-25 01:17 (UTC)

"I wouldn't specify that it was you I was asking for?" he offers, but he's grinning himself as he leans in and brushes fond kisses over the flush in her cheeks, grateful for the time they can spend together like this. "It would be more of a general curiosity."

"Yes, and I'm sure they would have no idea whatsoever of who you could be generally curious about," Mary Margaret points out, smiling knowingly at him as he pulls back, though the look in her eyes is fond. "I want to be with you, David. I do. I just want to make sure the timing is right."

David adjusts as comfortably as he can, sliding an arm around her front as he pushes his fingers over the span of her hips, nudging a kiss against her neck softly. "Can you blame me for thinking about it? I might be an injured man with little to no memory, but everything brightens when you're near. And everything...starts paying attention, so to speak."

"David." The blush on Mary Margaret's cheeks at this point could be described as her doing her best unintentional impression of a tomato, though she can't mask the tiny whimper that escapes when his lips brush against her neck, the soft heat of his mouth somehow reverberating in a ripple effect that leaves goosebumps on her arms. She tips forward to find him for a kiss again.

David chases after a kiss, his lips sliding to the corner of hers before he holds her just a bit tighter. "The way you say my name drives me crazy," he confesses, taking in a short breath. "You're the only thing that feels real to me, but I'm starting to experience all sorts of real things."

"Really? Like what?" she asks, a slightly shy grin on her lips as she nudges into him, shrugging her shoulder against his chest. His eyes are so blue as they gaze into hers, and she lifts a hand to gently touch his face, her fingertips moving over the slight scrape of stubble before curling underneath his ear.

"I think you know very well what," is his heated reply, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. Now that he's well-aware that her feelings for him are returned, he doesn't feel half as terrible as he might before. He knows that he wants this and she surely returns his affections. His eyes drift closed and he lets out a soft laugh. "Snow..."

She's beginning to lean into him again when he utters a word - a name, even, judging by the way it falls from his lips with that kind of familiarity - and she pulls back, eyes opening as a frown of confusion appears in place of her original smile. "What did you say?" she asks, head tilting.

David focuses on what he did say and suddenly he's opening his mouth, trying to eke out an explanation. "I don't know," he admits, because it's what came out when he let his defenses down, but he has no good explanation as to why. "It just came out."

"Did something I do make you remember anything?" she asks, looking at him with curiosity and concern all in the same expression. "Are you remembering something right now? Tell me what you were thinking about just then," she whispers, cupping his cheek in her palm. "Close your eyes."

He's about to protest, but then remembers the advice that he's been given. He closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath in order to calm his mind and try to let the thoughts come through. "Now what?" he asks, uncertain of what they're doing.

"What do you see?" she asks, soft, her voice a near-whisper as she lingers close, just close enough to be able to speak quietly and still be heard. "What are you remembering?"

"There's a castle." He can't make out the specifics, but he can see the bigger picture and he sees the castle, but when he thinks harder, it's not a warm or welcoming place. "There's a dungeon. A prison. I think, I'm in it. No, you are." Or maybe they both are. He has the distinct impression of a thought of them both behind those bars.

"Go on," she whispers, her voice hushed and almost exciting in its pressing him to continue, her eyes gazing over his face and the way he looks so intent on attempting to remember what so clearly feels as though it's resting just on the surface. And yet a part of her is almost afraid of what he'll recover, piece by piece.

He swallows back the trepidation that comes out of delving through his uncertain mind to look for answers that he's not sure he possesses. "There's a dungeon and I'm down there. The King is trapping me because I'm not who he says. No. I haven't done what he wants me to do, because I won't, I won't do it, because..."

He opens his eyes, staring at her. "Because of you."

"Me?" She's doubtful, but more significant than that, she's curious. Instead, she tries to play it off as something else, ducking her head and gazing up at him through eyelashes. "Maybe you're not a prince after all, if the King is threatening you."

"Do you really think I could be a prince?" he asks, genuinely curious as he leans in and brushes his fingers over her cheek, cupping her face. "I don't feel very regal."

"I think so," she answers, grinning slyly as she tips her head into the touch of his hand, already beginning to giggle. There is a part of her that means all of what she's saying. "You have the devastating good looks, for starters."

He laughs softly, sliding his hand around her back. "Devastating good looks?" he echoes. "That sounds like you've actually been looking at me and appraising my looks. You really think they're devastating?"

"What?" She chuckles, shaking her head slowly, as if she doesn't recall actually uttering the words. "Did I say that? Maybe I didn't say devastating." There's no denying that he's handsome, though. Anyone with eyes can see that.

"I think you said devastating," he insists, nodding and unable to help the small trace of arrogance that comes with such a designation. After all, she's the one who said it and she's the most beautiful woman he's ever known. "Admit it or else."