Work Text:
“I had a dream.” The thought had sparked like a flame and fell from Fanny’s lips before she had more than a single thought to catch it. Too nervous to look at John, lying in the grass only a couple lengths away, Fanny turned her gaze back up to the bright blue summer sky. The long blades of grass swayed just at the edge of her vision as a bumblebee, happy and fat, floated along above her.
Fanny risked a glance to her side, only to see John already looking in her direction. Her face, long warmed by the light of the sun, grew even hotter as she quickly turned her gaze back up to the sky, waiting to hear what John would say.
After a moment, he finally spoke.
“Must you keep me in suspense about the nature of your dreams?”
Fanny couldn’t help but smile. Though she didn’t expect to begin her plan so soon, she’d already rehearsed at great length what she’d say next.
“If you insist.” She said primly, as if it were something she’d never considered doing at all. “I suppose I shall tell you.”
“I was walking through a great field, so big and wide that I couldn’t see the end no matter how long I walked. It was not so bad a field, though. Hundreds of beautiful wildflowers sprung up wherever I walked, and I would often stop and smell them.”
“A lovely dream indeed.”
“But that was not even all of it! After a while, I came upon the figure of a man lying in the grass. For a moment I thought him dead, but under my touch he stirred as if brought back to life.”
At that, Fanny reached out a hand in John’s direction. He was lying far enough away that should he choose, he did not have to reach out and reciprocate the need for touch. He put his hand on hers in response, and though Fanny had hoped that he would, the feel of his fingers tracing hers was still surprising. She wasn’t used to this, the fleeting touches that came from the man she’d come to love. Traditional courtship didn’t offer much in the way of touches, yet John never give his out sparingly. She shivered every time his fingers ran along hers, the way he touched her as if she were glass beneath his fingertips, so beautiful and easily broken.
John ran his fingers along her knuckles, and she sucked in a quick breath before continuing. She still couldn’t look at him, instead focusing on a large fluffy cloud peeking into the corners of her vision. “We walked together, for a while, my hands never leaving his for fear that should I let go he may drop to the ground again.”
John’s fingers never stopped their light wanderings. They slowly found their way over the mountains and valleys of her knuckles before traveling back the way that they had come. Fanny found that when she gave her hands freely, John was always loathe to let them go. She didn’t mind in the slightest, the slow tracing as she spoke feeling more reverent than anything she had seen in any place of prayer. He worshipped her in his own small ways, making his love far more profound than most men could even dream.
“And then?” John asked softly, so softly that Fanny finally gained the courage to turn her head and look at him again. Her heart had not known such beauty as the way that John looked at her from where he lay in the grass. The sun caught his eyes, making them bright against the dark hair that framed his face. The outdoor air was good for him, giving his complexion a healthy color that he often lacked by virtue of being in his study all day. The way his mouth lifted made her smile in return, making it impossible to look away.
“Soon we stopped, and looking at him I became convinced that the touch of my hand was no longer enough to keep him alive. So I took a step closer, and then—”
“And then?” John’s eyebrows rose, but the high spirits had not yet left his eyes.
Fanny turned her head back to the sky with a well practiced sigh, “I’m afraid I cannot remember.”
John was quiet a moment before letting out a loud laugh. “Minx!” He called out, giving a small tug on her hand before rolling closer, now lying on his side, their hands still clasped together. Fanny turned her head slightly so that she may see his face. He looked down on her, smiling. “I do not believe that for a single moment.”
Fanny sighed again, doing her best to suppress a giggle. “I do not know what else there is to say, besides lamenting how unfortunate it is that my memory fails me. He was quite handsome, and should I find the faculties to remember I am sure it would be an even more pleasant dream to cherish.”
“If you do not wish to torment me any further, tell me,” John leaned in a little closer, his voice lowering, “Was his jacket torn? Was his hair dark?”
“Dark and wild with a mouth full of poems.”
“Then perhaps I can help you remember.”
Within a moment, Fanny’s great plan found its goal as John leaned in and pressed a kiss against her lips. He was always so gentle, always a bare brush against her mouth to start, but even that sent her stomach to her toes and a heat to her face that she had never previously known. She smiled into the kiss, and John drew back for only a moment before he came back to kiss her again. Then he kissed her once more. It was only after a fourth time, his lips soft and pink and feeling like home against hers, that he finally drew back, the mirth still in his voice as he asked, “Does your memory still fail you, my little minx?” He finally let go of her hand, but only to use his elbow to hold himself up and run his fingers through her hair, just a couple strands having found their way free of the knot on her head as she lay in the grass.
Fanny’s mouth stayed open for what felt like a dozen heartbeats before she could even find the voice in her to speak. “You are always so helpful, Mr. Keats, and for that I thank you. I can now recall it was you who I found in the field, and the kiss we shared while I was dreaming paled to the way it now feels when I am awake.”
John smiled as he looked down at her, brighter than where the sun sat somewhere in the sky. His fingers gently moved from her hair to her hairline, then down along her face onto her jaw. She turned her face into the touch, eyes fluttering briefly closed.
“Though it may have been you I found in that field, now it is I who without your touch will surely fall and die.”
“We are dreamers, it seems. The lot of us.” John murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her nose.
“And it has made the waking so much sweeter.”
John pressed his nose to hers in agreement, a soft breath shared between the two before he leaned in and kissed her once more.