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Entry tags:
This Time Forever, SPN, Sam/Dean
Title: This Time Forever
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Length: ~2700 words
Notes/Spoilers: Future fic, AU-ish. Sequel to The Only Time Is Now and will probably make much more sense if you've read that one first. Title borrowed (as usual) from the Grateful Dead.
Also posted to AOOO, here.
It was still dark when Sam's phone rang, but the air coming in through the windows felt and sounded like it was almost dawn. Sam stretched over Dean to grab the phone, murmuring quietly for a few seconds before his hand slid down Dean's back.
"It's Javier," Sam said. "They're heading up to Troncones; do you still want to go?"
Dean could stay and sleep all day, but he'd promised Sam, so he mumbled something that might have resembled a yeah, sure, whatever and zoned right back out, until Sam was poking and prodding him out of bed and steering him into the shower. The water had gone freaky again, so it was just warm enough not to be ice-cold, but after sleeping wrapped up in Sam all through a semi-tropical night, it felt good enough that Dean decided not to bitch about it, especially not when Sam pushed him against the wall and went to his knees.
Sam could wind Dean up and keep him on the edge like nobody else Dean had ever been blown by, but he also knew how to make the blood scream through Dean's veins. Dean braced himself as best he could and hung on for the ride, his hands sliding over Sam's shoulders and neck, strong and solid under him. Sam sucked him, fast and dirty, big hands grinding bruises into Dean's hips, holding him down and making him take it the way Sam wanted it. Dean closed his eyes and came shaking and groaning Sam's name and Sam slithered back up his body, kissed Dean and let him lick the come out of his mouth while he rubbed himself off against Dean's hip and belly.
"Nice wake-up call," Dean mumbled, as they clung to each other, gasping and shivering under the rapidly cooling spray.
"Fastest way I know to get your ass moving," Sam panted, and reached for the soap. Dean would have argued, just on principle, but the water was going freezing fast and he knew the only way he had a chance of getting decent coffee was to make it himself, so he limited himself to a quick one-fingered salute and a good hard smack on the ass. Sam yelped, but Dean escaped before he could retaliate. He kept right on moving and managed to get a cup and a half of coffee down before Sam was pushing him out the door to where the little black pick-up sat waiting for them.
Dean had met Javier before, thought he was an okay kid. Slumming, obviously, but it wasn't any of Dean's business why the guy's family let him hang around and basically do nothing. Dean kind of slotted Javier into the same space as the people he assumed Sam had known at Stanford. Well-educated, lotta money in the background, and Dean didn't have a clue what made them tick. Javier and Dean were never going to be buddy-buddy, but that was as much because Dean looked at the ocean and thought vaguely pretty things instead of whatever it was that made otherwise sane people get out of bed in the middle of the night and drive for miles on not-so-good roads just to be at a break when the sun came up, as it was anything to do with family income. Even with the awesome blowjob Dean was still grumbling a little, mostly on principle, but he kept it quiet enough that it was between him and Sam as they jolted around in the back of the truck with all the surfboards and shit. Sam just grinned that lazy, relaxed smile that Dean couldn't help but think Jessica taught him, because Dean didn't ever remember seeing it before the two of them had been on the road together for a couple of months, and shifted over so Dean could brace himself and not get his knee twisted all to hell and back.
They stopped to pick up one other girl before they wound up the coast. There were a couple of other cars parked alongside the road when they got to wherever it was they were going--which looked like just another curve to Dean--and Sam knew all the people in them, too. They were all polite enough, but Dean--there only for Sam--was clearly not on their wavelength. It didn't matter, though; like Sam promised, there was a little store selling food and stuff and they didn't mind if Dean crashed out in one of the hammocks they had strung up under a thatched roof, not once he stocked up on bottled water and some of the empanadas they had in a little glass case. He waved Sam off and spent the morning catching up on all the sleep he hadn't been getting the past few weeks, waking up occasionally to watch Sam. The waves were steady, bigger than Dean had imagined, and they broke easy and smooth a little ways off-shore. Every time Dean saw him, Sam looked at home on them. One of the girls was seriously good, head and shoulders above the rest of them, but Sam was close to the top of everyone else.
He was set to do the same thing all afternoon, but the wind changed direction and they lost the waves. To Dean's eye, there still were waves, but apparently they were bottoming out too early. Or something. Whatever, it made for some company as everyone milled around and had a couple of beers and acted like normal people, splashing in and out of the water and hanging out on the beach until they decided that even if the wind started blowing the right way again, it was too late in the day to matter. They packed up all their shit and straggled out to where the cars were parked. Dean grabbed a couple of waters for the ride back, and Sam dug around in the pack a minute and then handed him a long-sleeved shirt, stretched out in the shoulders and with a thumb-sized hole near the collar. Dean would freely admit that he'd gotten the short end of the stick, tanning-wise, but that didn't mean he had to act like he liked Sam in mother-hen mode. Except that he could already feel his skin going a little tight and hot, and close to an hour in the open bed of a truck out on the road wasn't going to be doing him any favors, so he took the shirt and pulled it on and didn't even make a face about it.
They did the trip up in reverse, dropping off the one girl first--Dean hadn't gotten her name, but she hadn't gotten his either, so he thought they were even--before they got to where the path led down the hill from the main road and Dean could start thinking about being home. Sam got all his crap down out of the truck and stretched a couple of times, working out the kinks of the day, and Dean started thinking about more than just being home. He dug out some cash and passed a few bills to Sam, to pitch in for the gas, and then started across the main road to the row of small shops.
"Gonna grab some stuff for later," he said. "Not planning on going anywhere tonight."
"Yeah." Sam looked up from where he was leaning on the cab, talking with Javier through the window. He smiled, slow and lazy. "Good idea. Get enough for tomorrow, too."
***
Dean was quick--because, damn, that smile held the promise of everything Dean still couldn't believe he got to have--but even so, Sam was in the shower by the time he got back. He shoved everything into the fridge except a beer for them to split and started stripping off clothes before he took the two steps out the kitchen to the bedroom. Sam's stuff was piled carelessly in the corner, but he'd turned the ceiling fan on and folded the quilt down on the bed. He had this thing about sheets only being white, claimed colors made him dream weird shit; all of which meant that every time Dean had jerked off for the last few months, he'd done it thinking of Sam, big and tan and lazy, spread out on crisp white cotton.
"Dean?" Sam called from the bathroom. "You get everything?"
"Yeah," Dean answered, crossing the tiny hall and pushing the bathroom door closed behind him. "We're good." Sam was a shadowy outline behind the shower curtain, but Dean could tell he was close to the showerhead, arms crossed on the tile and forehead leaning against the wall, so the water would hit as high on his back as he could get it. Dean pressed up close behind him, nothing but wet, slick skin against skin and Sam groaned as Dean slid his thumbs up the long line of his spine, one on either side, pressing hard and deep, all the way to the base of Sam's skull.
"Again?" Dean asked, his mouth against the curve of Sam's shoulder, smiling when Sam all but jumped under him, he was nodding so hard. He always forgot this, how easily Sam gave himself over to Dean's hands, how simple it was to make Sam shiver under him. Maybe he just made himself forget, because if he remembered how fucking good it felt, he'd never let go.
"One more time," Sam said, and Dean was happy to oblige. He took his time, working the kinks out of Sam's muscles, and when he finished, Sam eased off the wall, standing straight and turning carefully so they didn't kill themselves in the narrow enclosure. He pressed Dean back, step by step, until the opposite wall was cool and hard behind him, and spread his hands out on Dean's chest. "My turn," he said, slicking his hands with the shower gel and sliding them all over Dean. He kissed Dean while he touched him, opened his mouth and let Dean taste the small, greedy noises he was making. Dean always forgot that, too; phone sex was great for the basics, even pretty hot when they had the time to drag things out and take turns listening to each other come, but it didn't work so well for a slow, easy build-up.
"C'mon," Dean said after a while, after Sam had put his hands everywhere and Dean ached with wanting more. "Sam--c'mon."
"Not done yet," Sam said, scraping his thumbs down across Dean's nipples, smiling at how Dean shuddered as his nails caught on the sensitive flesh. "But we can move it to the bed." He reached behind him and turned the water off, letting go of Dean long enough to get most of the water off of them, but then started right back in where he left off, as though there were a time limit on how long he was allowed to not be touching Dean. Dean got them almost to the bed before he couldn't take it anymore and had to touch back; the last few steps were less walking and more tripping and the bed creaked as they fell on it, but it held. Sam grinned down at Dean, eyes laughing and bright, and seriously, Dean wouldn't have cared at all if the whole thing had given way under them.
"Roll over," Sam said, shifting up and back so Dean could untangle himself and stretch out like Sam wanted him to. "You got a lot of sun today." Sam's mouth moved high across Dean's back; light, careful brush of tongue and lips that had Dean all but whimpering for more. "Freckles," Sam murmured, and Dean put his head down and tried to remember how to breathe. "Lots of new ones."
"You gonna count all of them?" Dean had his voice almost under control, but then Sam slid up to lie on top of him, pressed them together from shoulders to hips, and all Dean could feel was Sam, hard and slick against the small of his back.
"Yes," Sam answered, biting at the lobe of Dean's ear, his whisper sliding hot and electric under Dean's skin. "Every one." He rocked his hips down into Dean once, twice, and then moved slowly back to where he'd been before, gentle bites alternating with the quick, flickering brush of his mouth, and fuck, Dean thought, he should move, do something to get things going because there was an awful lot he wanted to be happening, but all he could manage to do was dig his hands into the bed and try to keep from shaking apart under Sam, especially when Sam growled, "Don't come, Dean. I want you to fuck me, been waiting for it for weeks."
It took Sam a long time to finish; Dean was sure there wasn't an inch on his back or ass or that Sam hadn't licked or bitten or breathed on and all of it, every bit of skin, felt like it was hard-wired straight to the pleasure center of his brain. When Sam finally eased back, Dean ached bone-deep with wanting more. He rolled onto his side and caught Sam's wrist, pulling him down so they were sprawled out next each other, and fit his hands to the curve of Sam's jaw. Sam pressed close and curled his leg over Dean's hip, open and eager, so Dean could touch him while they kissed.
"Like this," Sam said, pushing Dean onto his back and kneeling up over him. "Like the first time." He kissed Dean again while he reached out and fumbled for the lube they kept in the bedside table. Dean slicked his fingers and pressed them inside Sam, working him slow and steady. Sam shivered and moaned, fucking himself open and biting back a sharp cry when Dean pushed a third finger into him. "Enough," he whispered. "Dean. God, enough, I'm good."
Dean held Sam's hips steady and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, but kept himself still as Sam rode him, everything gone yellow-orange from the setting sun slanting in through the blinds. The first time had been at night, the room dark and Dean half-sick with how much he wanted Sam, but Sam had talked them through it, hoarse whispers and quiet whimpers urging Dean on. Now, Dean knew all the noises Sam made and took his time coaxing every one of them out, bits of his control slipping away with each until he was fucking up into Sam hard and fast, catching hold of Sam's wrists and holding them down while Sam twisted and begged.
"Nothing but this, Sam," Dean said, his voice as ragged and desperate as Sam's. "Want to see you come from only this." He was holding on to Sam too tight, Dean thought. He should let go--he was leaving bruises--but he couldn't, not when Sam was keening, low and helpless, come splattering on himself, on Dean, tightening around Dean and calling to him, Like that, Dean, just like that, and Dean was coming, too, exactly like Sam wanted.
***
Sam moved first, leaning down to kiss Dean, his mouth, his jaw, his collarbone, before he stood carefully and disappeared into the bathroom. Dean hadn't so much as shifted a muscle when he came back, carrying the beer Dean had left earlier and a damp washcloth. Dean rallied enough to get cleaned up and share the beer, but drew the line at actually getting off the bed. Sam made noises about checking the mail and stuff like that, but didn't protest when Dean pulled him back down. It was still too warm in the room, but the overhead fan kept the air moving and Dean knew it would cool down as soon as the sun set. Sam was sleepy and pliant, humming softly when Dean rubbed his thumb over the red marks on his wrists, and if there was a better way to end a day, Dean hadn't figured it out yet.
***
***
Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
without_me for fixing all my grammar twitches.
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Length: ~2700 words
Notes/Spoilers: Future fic, AU-ish. Sequel to The Only Time Is Now and will probably make much more sense if you've read that one first. Title borrowed (as usual) from the Grateful Dead.
Also posted to AOOO, here.
It was still dark when Sam's phone rang, but the air coming in through the windows felt and sounded like it was almost dawn. Sam stretched over Dean to grab the phone, murmuring quietly for a few seconds before his hand slid down Dean's back.
"It's Javier," Sam said. "They're heading up to Troncones; do you still want to go?"
Dean could stay and sleep all day, but he'd promised Sam, so he mumbled something that might have resembled a yeah, sure, whatever and zoned right back out, until Sam was poking and prodding him out of bed and steering him into the shower. The water had gone freaky again, so it was just warm enough not to be ice-cold, but after sleeping wrapped up in Sam all through a semi-tropical night, it felt good enough that Dean decided not to bitch about it, especially not when Sam pushed him against the wall and went to his knees.
Sam could wind Dean up and keep him on the edge like nobody else Dean had ever been blown by, but he also knew how to make the blood scream through Dean's veins. Dean braced himself as best he could and hung on for the ride, his hands sliding over Sam's shoulders and neck, strong and solid under him. Sam sucked him, fast and dirty, big hands grinding bruises into Dean's hips, holding him down and making him take it the way Sam wanted it. Dean closed his eyes and came shaking and groaning Sam's name and Sam slithered back up his body, kissed Dean and let him lick the come out of his mouth while he rubbed himself off against Dean's hip and belly.
"Nice wake-up call," Dean mumbled, as they clung to each other, gasping and shivering under the rapidly cooling spray.
"Fastest way I know to get your ass moving," Sam panted, and reached for the soap. Dean would have argued, just on principle, but the water was going freezing fast and he knew the only way he had a chance of getting decent coffee was to make it himself, so he limited himself to a quick one-fingered salute and a good hard smack on the ass. Sam yelped, but Dean escaped before he could retaliate. He kept right on moving and managed to get a cup and a half of coffee down before Sam was pushing him out the door to where the little black pick-up sat waiting for them.
Dean had met Javier before, thought he was an okay kid. Slumming, obviously, but it wasn't any of Dean's business why the guy's family let him hang around and basically do nothing. Dean kind of slotted Javier into the same space as the people he assumed Sam had known at Stanford. Well-educated, lotta money in the background, and Dean didn't have a clue what made them tick. Javier and Dean were never going to be buddy-buddy, but that was as much because Dean looked at the ocean and thought vaguely pretty things instead of whatever it was that made otherwise sane people get out of bed in the middle of the night and drive for miles on not-so-good roads just to be at a break when the sun came up, as it was anything to do with family income. Even with the awesome blowjob Dean was still grumbling a little, mostly on principle, but he kept it quiet enough that it was between him and Sam as they jolted around in the back of the truck with all the surfboards and shit. Sam just grinned that lazy, relaxed smile that Dean couldn't help but think Jessica taught him, because Dean didn't ever remember seeing it before the two of them had been on the road together for a couple of months, and shifted over so Dean could brace himself and not get his knee twisted all to hell and back.
They stopped to pick up one other girl before they wound up the coast. There were a couple of other cars parked alongside the road when they got to wherever it was they were going--which looked like just another curve to Dean--and Sam knew all the people in them, too. They were all polite enough, but Dean--there only for Sam--was clearly not on their wavelength. It didn't matter, though; like Sam promised, there was a little store selling food and stuff and they didn't mind if Dean crashed out in one of the hammocks they had strung up under a thatched roof, not once he stocked up on bottled water and some of the empanadas they had in a little glass case. He waved Sam off and spent the morning catching up on all the sleep he hadn't been getting the past few weeks, waking up occasionally to watch Sam. The waves were steady, bigger than Dean had imagined, and they broke easy and smooth a little ways off-shore. Every time Dean saw him, Sam looked at home on them. One of the girls was seriously good, head and shoulders above the rest of them, but Sam was close to the top of everyone else.
He was set to do the same thing all afternoon, but the wind changed direction and they lost the waves. To Dean's eye, there still were waves, but apparently they were bottoming out too early. Or something. Whatever, it made for some company as everyone milled around and had a couple of beers and acted like normal people, splashing in and out of the water and hanging out on the beach until they decided that even if the wind started blowing the right way again, it was too late in the day to matter. They packed up all their shit and straggled out to where the cars were parked. Dean grabbed a couple of waters for the ride back, and Sam dug around in the pack a minute and then handed him a long-sleeved shirt, stretched out in the shoulders and with a thumb-sized hole near the collar. Dean would freely admit that he'd gotten the short end of the stick, tanning-wise, but that didn't mean he had to act like he liked Sam in mother-hen mode. Except that he could already feel his skin going a little tight and hot, and close to an hour in the open bed of a truck out on the road wasn't going to be doing him any favors, so he took the shirt and pulled it on and didn't even make a face about it.
They did the trip up in reverse, dropping off the one girl first--Dean hadn't gotten her name, but she hadn't gotten his either, so he thought they were even--before they got to where the path led down the hill from the main road and Dean could start thinking about being home. Sam got all his crap down out of the truck and stretched a couple of times, working out the kinks of the day, and Dean started thinking about more than just being home. He dug out some cash and passed a few bills to Sam, to pitch in for the gas, and then started across the main road to the row of small shops.
"Gonna grab some stuff for later," he said. "Not planning on going anywhere tonight."
"Yeah." Sam looked up from where he was leaning on the cab, talking with Javier through the window. He smiled, slow and lazy. "Good idea. Get enough for tomorrow, too."
Dean was quick--because, damn, that smile held the promise of everything Dean still couldn't believe he got to have--but even so, Sam was in the shower by the time he got back. He shoved everything into the fridge except a beer for them to split and started stripping off clothes before he took the two steps out the kitchen to the bedroom. Sam's stuff was piled carelessly in the corner, but he'd turned the ceiling fan on and folded the quilt down on the bed. He had this thing about sheets only being white, claimed colors made him dream weird shit; all of which meant that every time Dean had jerked off for the last few months, he'd done it thinking of Sam, big and tan and lazy, spread out on crisp white cotton.
"Dean?" Sam called from the bathroom. "You get everything?"
"Yeah," Dean answered, crossing the tiny hall and pushing the bathroom door closed behind him. "We're good." Sam was a shadowy outline behind the shower curtain, but Dean could tell he was close to the showerhead, arms crossed on the tile and forehead leaning against the wall, so the water would hit as high on his back as he could get it. Dean pressed up close behind him, nothing but wet, slick skin against skin and Sam groaned as Dean slid his thumbs up the long line of his spine, one on either side, pressing hard and deep, all the way to the base of Sam's skull.
"Again?" Dean asked, his mouth against the curve of Sam's shoulder, smiling when Sam all but jumped under him, he was nodding so hard. He always forgot this, how easily Sam gave himself over to Dean's hands, how simple it was to make Sam shiver under him. Maybe he just made himself forget, because if he remembered how fucking good it felt, he'd never let go.
"One more time," Sam said, and Dean was happy to oblige. He took his time, working the kinks out of Sam's muscles, and when he finished, Sam eased off the wall, standing straight and turning carefully so they didn't kill themselves in the narrow enclosure. He pressed Dean back, step by step, until the opposite wall was cool and hard behind him, and spread his hands out on Dean's chest. "My turn," he said, slicking his hands with the shower gel and sliding them all over Dean. He kissed Dean while he touched him, opened his mouth and let Dean taste the small, greedy noises he was making. Dean always forgot that, too; phone sex was great for the basics, even pretty hot when they had the time to drag things out and take turns listening to each other come, but it didn't work so well for a slow, easy build-up.
"C'mon," Dean said after a while, after Sam had put his hands everywhere and Dean ached with wanting more. "Sam--c'mon."
"Not done yet," Sam said, scraping his thumbs down across Dean's nipples, smiling at how Dean shuddered as his nails caught on the sensitive flesh. "But we can move it to the bed." He reached behind him and turned the water off, letting go of Dean long enough to get most of the water off of them, but then started right back in where he left off, as though there were a time limit on how long he was allowed to not be touching Dean. Dean got them almost to the bed before he couldn't take it anymore and had to touch back; the last few steps were less walking and more tripping and the bed creaked as they fell on it, but it held. Sam grinned down at Dean, eyes laughing and bright, and seriously, Dean wouldn't have cared at all if the whole thing had given way under them.
"Roll over," Sam said, shifting up and back so Dean could untangle himself and stretch out like Sam wanted him to. "You got a lot of sun today." Sam's mouth moved high across Dean's back; light, careful brush of tongue and lips that had Dean all but whimpering for more. "Freckles," Sam murmured, and Dean put his head down and tried to remember how to breathe. "Lots of new ones."
"You gonna count all of them?" Dean had his voice almost under control, but then Sam slid up to lie on top of him, pressed them together from shoulders to hips, and all Dean could feel was Sam, hard and slick against the small of his back.
"Yes," Sam answered, biting at the lobe of Dean's ear, his whisper sliding hot and electric under Dean's skin. "Every one." He rocked his hips down into Dean once, twice, and then moved slowly back to where he'd been before, gentle bites alternating with the quick, flickering brush of his mouth, and fuck, Dean thought, he should move, do something to get things going because there was an awful lot he wanted to be happening, but all he could manage to do was dig his hands into the bed and try to keep from shaking apart under Sam, especially when Sam growled, "Don't come, Dean. I want you to fuck me, been waiting for it for weeks."
It took Sam a long time to finish; Dean was sure there wasn't an inch on his back or ass or that Sam hadn't licked or bitten or breathed on and all of it, every bit of skin, felt like it was hard-wired straight to the pleasure center of his brain. When Sam finally eased back, Dean ached bone-deep with wanting more. He rolled onto his side and caught Sam's wrist, pulling him down so they were sprawled out next each other, and fit his hands to the curve of Sam's jaw. Sam pressed close and curled his leg over Dean's hip, open and eager, so Dean could touch him while they kissed.
"Like this," Sam said, pushing Dean onto his back and kneeling up over him. "Like the first time." He kissed Dean again while he reached out and fumbled for the lube they kept in the bedside table. Dean slicked his fingers and pressed them inside Sam, working him slow and steady. Sam shivered and moaned, fucking himself open and biting back a sharp cry when Dean pushed a third finger into him. "Enough," he whispered. "Dean. God, enough, I'm good."
Dean held Sam's hips steady and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, but kept himself still as Sam rode him, everything gone yellow-orange from the setting sun slanting in through the blinds. The first time had been at night, the room dark and Dean half-sick with how much he wanted Sam, but Sam had talked them through it, hoarse whispers and quiet whimpers urging Dean on. Now, Dean knew all the noises Sam made and took his time coaxing every one of them out, bits of his control slipping away with each until he was fucking up into Sam hard and fast, catching hold of Sam's wrists and holding them down while Sam twisted and begged.
"Nothing but this, Sam," Dean said, his voice as ragged and desperate as Sam's. "Want to see you come from only this." He was holding on to Sam too tight, Dean thought. He should let go--he was leaving bruises--but he couldn't, not when Sam was keening, low and helpless, come splattering on himself, on Dean, tightening around Dean and calling to him, Like that, Dean, just like that, and Dean was coming, too, exactly like Sam wanted.
Sam moved first, leaning down to kiss Dean, his mouth, his jaw, his collarbone, before he stood carefully and disappeared into the bathroom. Dean hadn't so much as shifted a muscle when he came back, carrying the beer Dean had left earlier and a damp washcloth. Dean rallied enough to get cleaned up and share the beer, but drew the line at actually getting off the bed. Sam made noises about checking the mail and stuff like that, but didn't protest when Dean pulled him back down. It was still too warm in the room, but the overhead fan kept the air moving and Dean knew it would cool down as soon as the sun set. Sam was sleepy and pliant, humming softly when Dean rubbed his thumb over the red marks on his wrists, and if there was a better way to end a day, Dean hadn't figured it out yet.
Thanks to
without_me for fixing all my grammar twitches.
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I likey. A lot.
*nod*
The sex at the end was both not graphic, and yet hot as hell. *mmmm*
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This is just pretty and hot and I want to go to the beach.
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Wonderful characterization, beautiful story, hot sex, perfect love. And, since we're all still sort of reeling from Season 3, it's fantastic to have a Happy Place fic! :)
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Gorgeous story, I'm glad you wrote the continuation!
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I love them all domestic and comfortable together. It makes me happy.
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ETA: oh now I remember (as soon as I hit send of course) I was dreaming of the boys surfing just a few days ago. I think it was the migraine meds and waving feelings, but thank you for helping that dream out. Nice visuals indeed.
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Beautiful.
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