Vignette: Left in the Closet
Who: Laelle
Where: The closet
What: The moments that pass after R'en leaves.
She stood in the closet. Alone. Frustrated.
Where was her mistake? In touching him? In pushing him? She wanted to press until the softness and fear sank down in him and the sure things that were left could rise up. She wanted him to feel that sensation of strength, power, and hold on to it, claim it. She had wanted to make him feel those things.
She wanted to know what those bad things had been. The things he'd done. The things he wouldn't do. Why did he turn? What was he capable of?
And why didn't he grab her?
She could imagine his hand on her, the touch that didn't happen. Rough and aroused.
She couldn't touch him again. Not now. He said she'd manhandled him. It wasn't supposed to feel like that. What she'd done must have been wrong.
She had pushed too hard. Or withdrawn too soon. She'd lost it. Lost the momentum that had him talking, that had him feeling those things that made him strong. She could scent it on him, the strength. It quickened her pulse.
She'd lost it.
She'd asked about Sekhrath, his slumber, the distance that let her reach her fingers into parts of Jensen that might otherwise not be availabe, to touch things she wasn't supposed to touch. If he didn't care whether the beast slept or not, maybe he didn't want her delving any more.
Why did she want those things anyway?
The rest was time passing in jerks and stops, moments of nothing, anticipation with no fulfilment. It was the miserable sense of minutes running by without control, nothing gained, only time slipping out from under her and pushing those moments she couldn't hold farther and farther into the past.
And then he left.
What was she doing, standing in a closet in the middle of the morning? Roa would be expecting her. She'd be late.
Where: The closet
What: The moments that pass after R'en leaves.
She stood in the closet. Alone. Frustrated.
Where was her mistake? In touching him? In pushing him? She wanted to press until the softness and fear sank down in him and the sure things that were left could rise up. She wanted him to feel that sensation of strength, power, and hold on to it, claim it. She had wanted to make him feel those things.
She wanted to know what those bad things had been. The things he'd done. The things he wouldn't do. Why did he turn? What was he capable of?
And why didn't he grab her?
She could imagine his hand on her, the touch that didn't happen. Rough and aroused.
She couldn't touch him again. Not now. He said she'd manhandled him. It wasn't supposed to feel like that. What she'd done must have been wrong.
She had pushed too hard. Or withdrawn too soon. She'd lost it. Lost the momentum that had him talking, that had him feeling those things that made him strong. She could scent it on him, the strength. It quickened her pulse.
She'd lost it.
She'd asked about Sekhrath, his slumber, the distance that let her reach her fingers into parts of Jensen that might otherwise not be availabe, to touch things she wasn't supposed to touch. If he didn't care whether the beast slept or not, maybe he didn't want her delving any more.
Why did she want those things anyway?
The rest was time passing in jerks and stops, moments of nothing, anticipation with no fulfilment. It was the miserable sense of minutes running by without control, nothing gained, only time slipping out from under her and pushing those moments she couldn't hold farther and farther into the past.
And then he left.
What was she doing, standing in a closet in the middle of the morning? Roa would be expecting her. She'd be late.