Work Text:
Ruth had brought a great white parasol, strapped by one of the servant of the house to the frame of her bicycle like a lance to a horse, and once they found a quiet place on the meadow, she set it up to provide shade where she reclined next to Martina.
At one point during their conversation, as Ruth was educating Martina on the merits of Plato, her attention was captured by Martina’s broad hand drumming on the copper soil that was the same color as her skin, and suddenly Ruth’s small, pale fingers came reaching out from the shade of the parasol and closed around her hand.
“I simply wondered if they would feel as rough as they appear,” Ruth said and then she brought Martina’s hand to her lips, placing a single kiss into her palm, which burned like a kiss from the sun itself.