Taylor Eras Stories

Glints, Garniture, Giftwrap - Red/Evermore (Smut)

...

ahem

....

........

cough

...

happy late christmas?

!Canon!

-----------------------

"You alright up there, Eve?"

"Yes, I am almost done."

Red clasped painted alloy, hand stationary adjacent to bottom pillars - observing strands of intersecting wires that had yet to be illuminated.

Dusk: moon cascading within purview - sunlight nearly dulling a frozen wonderland of holiday mourning.

A silver ladder quivered, fingers interlocking - Red tightening grip: stabilizing - sepia, bitter orange woven into an outsized lined coat producing her descent along each vertical rail.

Black leather boots smashed abroad turf; outsole bending verdant blades - collapsing the ladder by piece.

"Wow, we really finished a lot today, didn't we?" Red gazed at festivities radiance - starlight shimmering beyond an abundance of snow: christmas ornaments nearly upon every bush, branch, and structure one could think of.

Evermore patted her gloves together, wisping dust and lint off as she coughed when inhaling the mixture along with crisp air of what many would accuse to produce the common cold. Clearing her throat, she nodded; stuffing leather into her pockets.

"Yes, I suppose we did. I am pleased we got it all done in one day though," lip in an upper scowl; grunting, "no thanks to anyone else's help."

Her girlfriend chuckled, index and forefinger above.

"Well you did decide to choose a day where everyone had something planned." Leaning forward Red beamed: eyes going up. "Although I imagine it was intentional."

Grumbling, Evermore hung an insignificant optimist - pupils darting up to clouds that were closing in on a moon that now was in full view. "Maybe..."

Red chuckled; gaze passing to a small box by a steel door. "I thought we got everything hung up?" Picking it up she scanned the words of '60 feet incandescent string lights' - brows furrowing.

"Hmm," autumnal scent peered to nose: Evermore to the side, viewing said item, "guess we still have one left over. Better put it away in the garage storage, no use being left out here."

Raising a grey box covering; numbers set in pads where fingers darted into muscle memory; overhead door steadily up as the two bent under: inside its almost equally frigid space.

"The lights seem so much better than the ones in town." Red stood in front of the now opened carport; reminiscing of adornment - reflection of her eyes displaying the equivalent shades of crimson, emerald, and golden.

"It feels like Christmas when I was younger," pausing a rippled sigh escaped: lips fuzzled as memories decorated: clashed, "the ones when my mom and dad seemed like soulmates and not..." a painful lump went down her throat as she gulped - shutting eyelids, "well you know."