Work Text:
The usually dank and musty shack feels homier today, Elliott thinks. Of course, it's all thanks to you. Your mere presence is a breath of fresh air. A beam of sunlight on his face. A flutter in his heart. A- Well, you get the picture.
You laugh at yourself as you mess up another set of notes on the piano. Pressed side by side to fit on the small bench, hips, legs and shoulders squished together, he shares his own laughs with you. "You've almost got it," he assures.
"You're just saying that," you tease him in return. His hand on the keyboard repositions your fingers. They're so warm and soft compared to your rough and calloused fingers. The difference between a pen and a plow. "I don't think I'll even be able to play Hot Cross Buns."
"I'm not," he denies with another huff. "And you will. I'm not giving up on you yet, dear farmer. Let me just..."
He lays his hand fully over yours. Heat rises to both of your faces. Hearts stuttering in tandem as he presses your fingers down against the keys. You should be focusing on which notes he plays, but all your attention is set on every brush of his hand. Every slight rub of arms together. The way he hums the melody softly under his breath...
"Now you try."
You blink away your stupor, then laugh. "Ah, I didn't quite get that," you admit. "C-Can you show me again?"
You glance at him and, oh Yoba, be still your heart. His face is all flushed. Hair brushed behind his ear and falling over his shoulders. Stealing a look at you at the same time and flushing brighter as he gets caught. "Of course. Ahem, ah, let me try..."
He pulls his hand from yours. You don't have time to mourn the loss when his arm instead wraps around your shoulders, aligning with your arm down to the keys. Closer than ever before, nestled against each other, hands overlapping. You forget how to breathe. Forget you need oxygen at all. What a trivial thing to remember when you wish to drown in all of him.
He leans forward slightly, trying to meet your eye over your shoulder. His hair falls down in waves of auburn. You swallow, doing your best to gather yourself, and turn to meet his gaze.
"Is this alright?" he whispers. So close. You can feel his breaths ghosting over your face. See every facet of color in his eyes. Catch the way they betray their owner as they flicker down to your mouth...
"Yes," you breathe in turn, afraid to speak any louder.
His own mind floods with words. Too many of them. Sifting through his extensive, flowery vocabulary to attempt capturing this moment forever. Every word he finds falls short. There is no way to encapsulate you in so many words, letters, sounds. Every poem he conjures falls short by miles.
You hear the shudder in his exhale as he risks moving just a millimeter closer. "May I...?"
You lean in with him, subconsciously answering his desires with your own. "Yes..."
He glances down again. Your lips are right there. Slightly parted. Waiting. Expectant. He wonders what you taste like. What it feels like... to kiss you...
Snap snap!
"Ouch!" He startles, pulling away sharply. The piano rings out a discordant sound as he looks beneath to find the inopportune creature that just pinched his ankle. "Oh! Oh dear!"
Down at his feet is a crab, looking up at the both of you with what can only be contempt as it snaps its claws. You turn toward a skittering sea of them clattering over the old floorboards. "Elliott!"
He follows your gaze. You're jostled unceremoniously as he hurries to his feet, muttering furious apologies and creative complaints. He's doing his best not to step on them, teetering on one foot then the other, as he rushes to the door that's been left cracked open at some point during your visit. "Ah, come on, shoo! Shoo! Stay there, dear farmer, I'll- I'll chase them out! Watch your toes! Ah, where did I put my broom?!"