Post by maggie on May 28, 2007 14:00:28 GMT 10
Between "The Human Shield" and "If Not Now"...starts from the former.
They’d almost diverged from the footpath destiny had chosen for them…he with his numbed relationship with a blonde who made him feel needed, one who came equipped with a child who almost looked at him the way a son might, and no need to think, to consider if it was what he really wanted, or needed, or loved, because it was there, it was constant, it was almost like a home. And he could play the protector, the stabilizer, the rock, without ever having to emote or truly love them, but it was all he’d needed for the moment, anyway. And she with a spitfire relationship with someone who loved her for what she could be, f**ked her for what he imagined her to be, came just that close to marrying her for what he hoped it could fix, and she let herself be carried for once because, goddamn it, he knew more than she’d imparted already and for once she needed the release of not having to explain. But she did, of course, explain and excuse, and for what, really, but pity and disappointment. Leave it to the ones who knew her to leave the most scathing reminders of her shortcomings.
The paths had almost come to a crossing on more than one occasion, opportunities really, that went unfulfilled, unanswered. Fate tempting, gauging if they were ready for the forces of nature to stage a grand coup upon them, and they either weren’t or nature was busy with other scheming as lips went untouched, words went unsaid, truths left untold. It had happened then by the river, just after the Congo, and again in that look she’d given him upon arriving for a consult, his face a mix of pride and shock and want. And the time that night at his apartment, playing Pictionary and the time when she’d needed someone but he hadn’t answered and all those other almost-moments when the muses hadn’t felt it right to give them each a swift jolt. And so it happened then, on that night, the night the road less traveled became the only road, really, the road she’d been fumbling down her whole life yet had simply stumbled a little too often. And he was there when she stumbled that night to catch her, lips and all.
Her feet hadn’t really listened to her mind, they never did. She’d told them to go home, sink themselves into the oblivion of reality television and a gallon of cookie dough, but they’d known better than to listen and had gotten off at a vaguely familiar spot and known the way to his door without heeding the screaming mind. And he’d opened the door. And she’d gone in. And she’d let him see her vulnerability…the wounds, the raw, stinging fears and insecurities, and tears, tears she never let loose in front of anyone, shaking and sobbing and frantic and then his mouth had landed on hers and it had been just right. Tasting of promise and no conditions and desire, desire for all of her, wounds and insecurities and tears and all. Clothes stripped away with inhibitions. His fingers lacing through hers as he lay her on the bed, warm and solid above, kissing her with resolve that she would know he meant for more than the night, stroking her shoulder and whispering how absolutely beautiful she was and he’d almost forgotten and it hadn’t been intentional, thank god she hadn’t heard him, when he kissed her throat and murmured he loved her.
She hadn’t known how long she’d been in limbo, not quite alive, not quite dead, until the moment of union, his body snug against hers as he moved into her slowly, painstakingly, knowing they’d been feigning naiveté as to how much both had craved this moment when all the physical intimacy they’d mastered met with the emotional one building those past years. She gasped, weaving herself in and around him as he made love to her, that was what it was, exactly, completely, him making love to her as she clung to his body, desperate and unsure but wanting it all the same. Fingers stroking at the tendrils of chestnut hair at the base of her neck, mouth brushing over her collarbone and jaw and temples, and damnit if she wasn’t crying through the whole thing, little mixed sobs of ecstasy and relief and still those swelling emotions that had brought her there. He could sense every feeling and thought in her as he lavished her with affection, brought his hands to her face to bring her gaze to his before kissing her, hard, twisting tongues together and drinking her fears through her lips to swallow as his own, leaving her nothing but overcome with how right it all felt as his rich kisses and soft groans brought her far past any fathomable point, choking out his name, his, not Carter’s or Jake’s or Richard’s or anybody else, but his, only his, as she came and he came with her, falling on top of her. His mouth still on her neck, the pounding pulse tickling his lips as he remembered the silky-smooth skin, allowing her a respite from thought as his tongue traced the curves of her ear before she rolled to face him and kissed him for the first time of her own intent, still shaking, but more sure than she’d recalled being about everything as arms tangled and legs twined and this time, it was mutual, making love to one another with a ferocity and fury that neither anticipated or planned, and she knew she’d been meant to end up there, in his apartment, in his bed, in his arms, in his life.
"Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart."
~Confucius
~Confucius
They’d almost diverged from the footpath destiny had chosen for them…he with his numbed relationship with a blonde who made him feel needed, one who came equipped with a child who almost looked at him the way a son might, and no need to think, to consider if it was what he really wanted, or needed, or loved, because it was there, it was constant, it was almost like a home. And he could play the protector, the stabilizer, the rock, without ever having to emote or truly love them, but it was all he’d needed for the moment, anyway. And she with a spitfire relationship with someone who loved her for what she could be, f**ked her for what he imagined her to be, came just that close to marrying her for what he hoped it could fix, and she let herself be carried for once because, goddamn it, he knew more than she’d imparted already and for once she needed the release of not having to explain. But she did, of course, explain and excuse, and for what, really, but pity and disappointment. Leave it to the ones who knew her to leave the most scathing reminders of her shortcomings.
The paths had almost come to a crossing on more than one occasion, opportunities really, that went unfulfilled, unanswered. Fate tempting, gauging if they were ready for the forces of nature to stage a grand coup upon them, and they either weren’t or nature was busy with other scheming as lips went untouched, words went unsaid, truths left untold. It had happened then by the river, just after the Congo, and again in that look she’d given him upon arriving for a consult, his face a mix of pride and shock and want. And the time that night at his apartment, playing Pictionary and the time when she’d needed someone but he hadn’t answered and all those other almost-moments when the muses hadn’t felt it right to give them each a swift jolt. And so it happened then, on that night, the night the road less traveled became the only road, really, the road she’d been fumbling down her whole life yet had simply stumbled a little too often. And he was there when she stumbled that night to catch her, lips and all.
Her feet hadn’t really listened to her mind, they never did. She’d told them to go home, sink themselves into the oblivion of reality television and a gallon of cookie dough, but they’d known better than to listen and had gotten off at a vaguely familiar spot and known the way to his door without heeding the screaming mind. And he’d opened the door. And she’d gone in. And she’d let him see her vulnerability…the wounds, the raw, stinging fears and insecurities, and tears, tears she never let loose in front of anyone, shaking and sobbing and frantic and then his mouth had landed on hers and it had been just right. Tasting of promise and no conditions and desire, desire for all of her, wounds and insecurities and tears and all. Clothes stripped away with inhibitions. His fingers lacing through hers as he lay her on the bed, warm and solid above, kissing her with resolve that she would know he meant for more than the night, stroking her shoulder and whispering how absolutely beautiful she was and he’d almost forgotten and it hadn’t been intentional, thank god she hadn’t heard him, when he kissed her throat and murmured he loved her.
She hadn’t known how long she’d been in limbo, not quite alive, not quite dead, until the moment of union, his body snug against hers as he moved into her slowly, painstakingly, knowing they’d been feigning naiveté as to how much both had craved this moment when all the physical intimacy they’d mastered met with the emotional one building those past years. She gasped, weaving herself in and around him as he made love to her, that was what it was, exactly, completely, him making love to her as she clung to his body, desperate and unsure but wanting it all the same. Fingers stroking at the tendrils of chestnut hair at the base of her neck, mouth brushing over her collarbone and jaw and temples, and damnit if she wasn’t crying through the whole thing, little mixed sobs of ecstasy and relief and still those swelling emotions that had brought her there. He could sense every feeling and thought in her as he lavished her with affection, brought his hands to her face to bring her gaze to his before kissing her, hard, twisting tongues together and drinking her fears through her lips to swallow as his own, leaving her nothing but overcome with how right it all felt as his rich kisses and soft groans brought her far past any fathomable point, choking out his name, his, not Carter’s or Jake’s or Richard’s or anybody else, but his, only his, as she came and he came with her, falling on top of her. His mouth still on her neck, the pounding pulse tickling his lips as he remembered the silky-smooth skin, allowing her a respite from thought as his tongue traced the curves of her ear before she rolled to face him and kissed him for the first time of her own intent, still shaking, but more sure than she’d recalled being about everything as arms tangled and legs twined and this time, it was mutual, making love to one another with a ferocity and fury that neither anticipated or planned, and she knew she’d been meant to end up there, in his apartment, in his bed, in his arms, in his life.