Work Text:
With a final sigh Will crashed down next to you on the bed pressing his lips to your forehead in a gentle kiss. You moved your body next to his, the contact of your bare skin on his bringing a sense of peace you couldn't find elsewhere. The bard's hands snaked around your naked figure and rested his head in the crook of your neck.
“Love?”
“Yes?”
“You’ve given me a beautiful idea for sonnet 73.”
Will stood up suddenly roaming towards his desk and grabbed his quill and the nearest full inkwell he could find. You sat up from your resting position to watch him sit down and begin his work. “You’re seriously going to just pull out and go back to writing? What a lover you are.” You retorted in response to his quick leave. Will turned his head towards you and joked “What else would you expect the William Shakespeare to do?”
“Well I thought if a sonnet was going to be written about me I’d at least be involved in the writing process.” With that he took a moment to ponder your sarcastic response.
“If that's what you please then so be it.” The bard rose from his desk, taking his quill and ink with him. Your head tilted to the side as you watched him climb back onto the bed in front of you. He took your arm gently and planted kisses up your arm. Each one leaving your skin burning a little warmer. When he got to your shoulder he turned your arm to face upwards and continued moving up your neck.
“Will, what is this.” He didn't say anything and instead dipped the quill into the inkwell and began to write on your forearm. “You said you wanted to be involved.”
The feeling of the quill on your skin was odd, he wasn't digging too far into your arm. Yet it was still scraping against your skin. You could tell even after the ink was washed off you would still be able to see some of the words still scrawled onto your skin. You couldn't truly make out any of the words whether it was from the fact you were looking at it upside down or that ink on skin didn't work particularly well.
“Does it hurt at all?” It was a little sharp but it wasn't unbearable, and truth be told you didn't want him to stop. Having all of Will’s attention on you was a rare occurrence, he had far too much work to do, too many appointments, too many adoring women to entertain to keep up his flirtatious image. To be able to have him devoted to you in this moment was a blessing you couldn't come by often. Even if it were to hurt you wouldn't tell him. “No.”
He brought his lips to yours and set his quill down, letting his hand wander to rest in your hair. Your lips parted and the kiss deepend, allowing him to have his way with your mouth. You reached your arm out to touch him before he pulled away from you and grabbed your wrist in his hand.
“It’s not dry yet, Love. Don’t move.” He then reprised his writing. Half of your arm now covered in his verse. “What does it say?”
“This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long.”
“Do you write a sonnet for all your lovers?”
“Not on their skin.”
He looked up from his work and smiled at you, and somehow in that exact moment a nightingale sang. You guess he is god’s chosen one. No other poet can smile and birds sing.
You smiled back at him and took a moment to try and capture what it felt like to be this young, this in love, and to have the bard writing England’s next greatest sonnet on you.