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Post by Real Dream on May 30, 2007 2:19:32 GMT 10
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Post by annita on May 30, 2007 2:55:02 GMT 10
Maggie ... you are really a talent ! I enjoy reading your work immensely ... by the way, someone has referred to Chap. 5. Will you be posting here?
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Post by maggie on May 30, 2007 16:25:22 GMT 10
Like I said, the updates are not at all regular and there's a lot of lag time in between, but I'll catch you all up to what I've posted at ff.net so far...The repose of sleep refreshes only the body. It rarely sets the soul at rest. The repose of the night does not belong to us. It is not the possession of our being. Sleep opens within us an inn for phantoms. In the morning we must sweep out the shadows.
~Gaston Bachelard Sleep had eluded her since they’d parted ways, agreed to leave it at friendship, dodging fate yet again. Nature had clearly felt she deserved punishment for her transgression, dragging her from slumber every night that week to slap her across the face with another image of him as sleep teased her, lucid images and recollections making rest impossible. His skin was always scalding in the waking dream, hot and slick with perspiration as they tumbled in mutual passion over one another, gasping and choking and moaning with far more intensity than she recalled in daylight. It had been there, that night, the intensity, but this was a different sort, a force of remembered passion and regretful longing, to change her mind, change his, slide into those indescribably steady arms and fall back against him yet again, gasping for air as her every sense was awakened. Now all she had was the awakened part, and with far less of the delicious kisses and glorious sensation that she craved. Sheets tangled around her as she crept out of bed the fourth time that week, moaning and muttering as she stumbled to the darkened kitchen to remove a carton of orange juice and throw back the closest thing to a shot of tequila she had. God, how she wanted one. To tilt her head back and forget as it burned down her throat, erase the memory, if even for a few hours, of how insatiably right it all had felt. Her body felt heavy enough to collapse the refrigerator as she leaned back against it, reveling in the coolness it emitted. A shudder went up her, recalling him blowing a stream of chilly breath onto a freshly kissed neck, how her blood had ceased to run under his touch, every hair on her body standing up. Her foot collided with the wall next to the stove as she cursed it, him, the undeniable want that still lingered in her. Had always lingered in her. Hot water pounded her from the showerhead, each pulse of steam beating the recollection out of her, knocking the sense she tried to formulate into her. She couldn’t ruin the easy friendship they’d built, wasn’t ready to engage in something that would rehash her past, didn’t need to complicate life further. It had been a risk that night, one they’d seemingly moved past, she couldn’t take the same one again. And Jesus, it couldn’t have been the most presence of mind she’d had recently. Or ever. She’d known perfectly well what she was doing, the possibilities, the thousands of reasons not to, done it anyway. Indulged in the forbidden, or something of the sort. The pit of her stomach said otherwise. Not so forbidden. A sneaking suspicion that, given the chance, he’d do it again in an instant nagged her. Tempted. Ached. Not far across town, the silence and darkness of midnight were all too reminiscent of that knock on the door of a week before. He flipped through channels, half expecting, half hoping to hear the faint tap of her knuckles on the door, but nothing. Nothing. Exactly the word for his life of late. Empty, flat, devoid. Nothing. How long had that been the case, really? He couldn’t honestly claim he’d been feeling, living, throughout the relationship with Sam. In retrospect, it had been just as numb as ever. Maybe more. If he’d let himself feel, stepped outside himself and taken stock of it all, he’d have seen how mechanical he’d become. In truth, the last time he’d felt anything real had been in the Congo, with a gun to his head, life flashing before his eyes. Except…except for that night. When she’d revealed herself in all her vulnerable beauty and opened a wound to him, only to him, offered herself, and he’d seized the opportunity and then some. He had felt. Felt immense emotion, want, instinct, all of it. All of what he’d missed. All of what had eluded him for years, back in one tangible form, one opportunity taken for granted and lost. The words had lay in the back of his throat as she nodded and smiled and left it at friendship, stillborn words as he turned to watch her go. The urge to follow her and pull her into a kiss still gnawed at him. He could taste it – her lips, her passion, her soul creeping desperately close to his as their bodies intermingled and connected in a way he hadn’t experienced in far too long if ever. Intensity beyond comprehension. And now simply a memory he’d dredge up on those lonely nights that he knew would come without pity. He took another swig of the bitter liquid and fell back into the cushions to await the mercy of sleep.
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Post by ERFanRach on May 30, 2007 20:04:23 GMT 10
Great Update!!!!
Update Soon!!!!
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Post by Maryna on May 31, 2007 1:00:37 GMT 10
brilliant!!!!!!
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Post by Rach :) on May 31, 2007 1:42:06 GMT 10
FANTASTIC!!your such a talented writer im really liking this fic!! hope there is more soon!! Rachel xox
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Post by *Natalie* on May 31, 2007 5:53:47 GMT 10
Brill update as usual natalie x
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Post by rorygilmore on May 31, 2007 13:54:12 GMT 10
But sleep will only rest his body, not his soul...the sleep is going to open an inn within him for Abby's phantom and in the morning, he's going to have to sweep out the shadows... I liked the way you opened the chapter; with Bachelard's phrase; it...how do you say?...hmm...matched perfectly with this part of your story... ...and I LOVE how you make me feel what Luka and Abby are feeling, it's amazing! Err...Are we going to have any: 'Wild on the futon' scenes?
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Post by Melimelo on Jun 2, 2007 22:10:23 GMT 10
Whilst reading this update of Maggie's ... Shrek was on the television behind me.... so this update was read during the scene where "Hallelujah" is playing and the combination of your beautiful words against that sentimetal music has left me with salt stains on my keyboard and a prickly feeling up the back of my neck. I mean that in a good way.
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Post by crazylubyfan on Jun 3, 2007 2:34:04 GMT 10
Oh my gosh! Maggie you have done it again!! Your talent still amazes me... Every word you write captivates my heart and makes me wanna cry! Take your time with the updates...I can read these over and over again and they will never get old!
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Post by zelda on Jun 3, 2007 5:10:30 GMT 10
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Post by marioh on Jun 3, 2007 5:46:26 GMT 10
Amazing chapter So intense You manage to write the off screen scenes so perfectly that I don't even feel the need to actually rewatch the episodes... I'm just diving into Abby and Luka's minds Great job as always
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Post by maggie on Jun 4, 2007 15:34:51 GMT 10
"Run your fingers through my soul. For once, just once, feel exactly what I feel, believe what I believe, perceive as I perceive, look, experience, examine, and for once; just once, understand."
~ Anonymous If it had been possible, in the moments before they kissed, to taste the tension in the air, it would have tasted of something thick and rich, sweet, luscious, heavy. Forbidden wants and secret desires and six years of repressed urges coupled with a week and a half of flat-out, bitter, bile-flavored denial as they nodded and smiled and pretended neither could recall the feeling of skin on skin. His lips were like honey on hers, melting over her, distinctly his and god but she’d craved them again, warm and soft and smooth. Their motions were awkward, jerky, within the confines of his car, but it was irrelevant until she hit her head on the rearview mirror. They were both gasping for air as she managed the word “inside” and they clambered up the stairs, awkward, noisy, shamelessly obvious to her neighbors as they moved without the slightest bit of grace or dignity towards her door, simply wanting that contact again, ultimate contact, crawling within one another, relinquishing the carefully constructed divide. Clothes came off unceremoniously, ripped hems and loose buttons as he fell and she followed onto the bed, clinging to each other with a sense of impending doom should the contact be broken, her kisses more like she was attempting to drink his soul through his lips then drew back, lips still brushing his skin, to offer a final, half-hearted, breathy hint of reason. He pushed her over, under him, glowing with perspiration and lust, not even kissing but tasting her innermost secrets through perfect rosy lips as he hushed her with an assuredness he was rarely capable of, but of this, of her, he was sure. He touched her that night, felt her, worshipped her in a way she’d never experienced, touched her very soul as nothing she’d ever realized possible came to a shattering catharsis. She could feel his eyes on her before she was even fully aware it was morning, watching her as he’d done so many mornings before, and a sudden chill reminded her she’d missed it, this intimacy with another person, not just anyone, but him. She’d told Carter once he could never read her moods, but in retrospect, it wasn’t quite true, it was more that he felt them in some inexplicable way, had an understanding of her being that didn’t warrant any tangible acknowledgement. As though he could reach into her and touch the very fibres of her being, weave them through his fingers, feel whatever it was lingering inside her that desperately craved solace. It only now occurred to her the position she was in, snug against his form, head in the crook of his arm, one hand laced with his, residing in tandem just over his heart. She never slept this way. She sprawled, claimed the bed as her own, reaffirmed her vicious independence even in slumber, no one to hold her, no one to fence her in. And yet this…this felt right. Close, intimate in a way she’d never bothered to realize she missed. Or needed. Thick chestnut locks slid over his skin as she slid up him, both naked, bare, and she let one leg drape over his, one arm still in his grasp, until she came face to face with a pair of eyes that spelled out nothing but the most sincere desire to be nowhere but right there. The swelling instinct within that so often drove her to flee, had only a week or so ago, suddenly faded as his lips curled into an easy smile. His voice was barely audible as he breathed over her skin. “Hi.” “Hi.” A hand laid across her face, light and tender as his lips brushed over hers, the faintest memory of a kiss, then another, sure, firm, as he left her abuzz with a sensation. The urge to smile was beyond compelling, a lazy grin creeping over her face as he simply continued to watch her, intent, intense, his expression unreadable. They lay, breathing in perfect synchrony, chocolate brown gaze matching grey. He lifted two fingers to her temple, pushing back a strand of silky hair that fell across her cheek to replace it with a subtle kiss, lingering over her skin as his lips left her. The words came out like a warm current, wrapping and enveloping her. “You’re beautiful.” The rest, all the connotations and implications and explanations, went unsaid. Neither needed to vocalize. She knew then, that nagging sense finally at bay, that it was a genuine statement on his part, that he’d never meant those words in the dark he spat at her all those years ago. That the covert eyes on her that she couldn’t see but could sense had been his, watching, waiting, wanting. That all the glances and almost-moments had been more than her imagination. His lips found hers again as they formed a tangled embrace, simply weaving two souls together in delicious harmony.
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Post by smile90 on Jun 4, 2007 22:57:41 GMT 10
woow.. that's absolutely stunning! I'm speechless! How are you doing this? this perfection, this making me shiver when I read your stories!!!
Meine Hochachtung, Maggie!
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Post by ERFanRach on Jun 5, 2007 3:24:57 GMT 10
Great Update!!!!
Update Soon!!!!
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