˚ ♡ ⋆。˚ ❀Wanting you, under the Italian sun
You and Timmy have most been working hard. For the summer, they decide an Italian getaway.
[a little something that's been sitting in my drafts while i work on some other things, i hope you enjoy. I'm thinking of taking some requests, cause i'm lacking inspiration so if that's something you'd like, let me know and maybe, you'll get lucky]
The car dropped you off at your private villa for the weekend, the wheels rolling onto the stone.
You step out first while your beautiful boyfriend, timothee paid and took the bags from you. You both stare at the old but wonder ours villa which would be your home for the summer.
Timmy threw an arm around you shoulder, drawing you in and kissing your temple. It was an endearing move you revelled in. ‘Are you happy, amore mio?’ (My love)
You smile up at him. ‘Very.’
His lips Slide Over yours before leading you over to the door. You guys had already picked up the keys to the place by the owner. All summer, this would be your own private haven.
The two of you were hidden, surrounded by tall trees to shield you and it was at least a mile walk from the nearest town. You had a stocked kitchen, a pool for your own enjoyment and each other.
You and Timmy had only been dating six months, but it felt like the most blissful forever. Already you knew there was nothing more you could want, you had everything. But still, you both had been working hard over the last few months and knew to keep you both sane, you needed to escape.
You had been working hard on a movie you’re especially proud of with Emerald Fennell (the director of Saltburn). It was premiering at the end of the year and was a high talk of Oscar buzz, but it was taxing. And Timothee had been busy promoting dune two and preparing for Bob Dylan. The only time you’ve shared is surprising each other in different countries, stealing moments of hurried movements of bodies in hotel rooms and several hundred facetimes.
You'd both agreed to get away, knowing it could snowball into stress and terrible times. He was one of the biggest stars in Hollywood, a household name and everyone loved him. Meanwhile everyone was looking to you, a trend-setter, so what your next big move would be.
Italy, it would just be you.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚ ❀
You spent your first week sleeping in, bathing in the sunlight that came through the windows, left open for a cool breeze and curtains blowing gently. His hands would run over your bare skin, tracing marks his lips had made the night before. Then he'd roll on top of you and continue the evening.
His lips trail down your neck, biting and licking over a spot. 'Can't get enough of you.'
Then your mornings continue slowly. Sometimes you'd go for a walk around the countryside, or walk into the town and buy some flowers for the villa and Timothee would insist on buying you pretty things.
'A pretty girl deserves pretty things,' he always said.
So, when you brought a bouquet, you always spared a flower for him.
Most mornings, you'd be found in the pool while Timothee made breakfast, bringing it out for the two of you. You'd sit at the set table, next to each other, your legs stretched into his lap as he traced patterns on your skin. Or his head in your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair.
You guys talked, talked about anything. Your careers, your hopes and dreams for the future, together-obviously. You talked about books and poems and movies and family. It was so easy with him. And at the same time, everything was exciting.
Your bodies knew each other, and in the summer, with so much skin, you had many chances to explore each other, but you also explored each others minds, picking out anything you each wanted to know.
Timothee, on rare occasions, even on holiday, slept in. You spent your time admiring him, his lips parted with soft breaths and his curls fresh and soft. He was naked under the sheets but the white covers were pulled over his chest. He still had an arm draped over your stomach, but it was weak in sleep.
You slipped away easily, taking your books and making yourself coffee and heading to the poolside to relax in the morning glow.
Only half an hour slipped by before you boyfriend wandered out, in his trunks, still stretching out the sleep that held his body.
'Good morning, baby,' you greeted with a smile.
Timothee smiled down at you before urging you to shuffle to the end of your chair. He slipped behind you, legs on either side and arms wrapping around your waist. He kissed one the tattooed marks he left on you last night. That's what he loved about the villa, the two of you wearing barley anything. 'Morning, mon amour. How did you sleep?'
You lean your head back on his shoulder. 'Like a babe.'
He smirked, leaning down to kiss you. It was never quick with him, never swift. His lips were hard against yours, his tongue sweeping over your bottom lip to taste the coffee on your tongue.
You pulled back before you could lose your place in your book. But, you pulled your coffee cup from the ground and offered him some.
He took a sip and leant his head on you shoulder, reading over while his hands messaged your stomach and hips. 'Even on holiday you're working.'
'This isn't work, i'm reading.'
'About the architecture of Italy?'
'It's a beautiful place.'
He hummed. 'It suits you, beautiful place for a beautiful girl.' He wears a smirk as his fingers slide over your swimsuit and slowly slip under under it grazes your bare hipbone.
'Timothee,' you warn with the most conviction you could.
'What?' he asked innocently.
You peck him on the lips, pulling away and leaving him to chase them. 'You have a problem.'
'Yes, I do.' Slowly, he slides the book of the chair, leaving it to thud on the ground and he slowly settles you down, as he slides along your back, slowly taking the straps down with his teeth. 'Will you help me?'
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚ ❀
As the sun sets on your simple day, the two of you sit at dinner outside as always. You listen to Timothee strum the guitar he brought along, mumble along to some songs he'd learnt for Bob Dylan.
Then, he passed it to you, letting you strum what songs you knew from other movies you'd done.
Once you set the guitar down, it fell quiet.
'You know I want to marry you, right?' said Timmy out of nowhere. 'Not here. Not now. When it's right, for you.'
You look at him. You spoke about futures, but never had he said so blatantly that he will marry you. 'What about you?' you ask.
'I'll be ready when you are,' he says, gently brushing your hair behind your shoulder. 'And this could be our lives. Here. Every summer this could be our villa. You and me. Then one day, our kids. Then, when we've made enough movies we'll do what the old movie stars do. Retire, direct or produce a movie or something. We'd be like those cooky neighbours who throw the craziest parties.'
'Cheeseboards,' you suggest. 'Watching sunsets and sunrises, walking to town to buy ingredients for supper. Then complaining about the kids running around our feet while trying to cook.' you say, playing pretend for your future lives.
Timothee nodded, leaning closer to you, like he could see the future in your eyes. 'We'll hide away here, in the trees, and swim together, naked- when we're alone of course-' you laugh at his. 'and we can spend all day together, I'd get to touch you whenever I please,' his hands slowly caressed up your legs, careful and light.
You blush, smiling and resting your chin in the palm of your hands. 'All day every day touching you.'
'Could you think of anything better?' he smirked, lips brushing yours.
'Well, right now, a few things.' you kissed him and kissed him, thankful forever for the Italian sun.
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