[She waits] ...for good
Already, she felt worlds better.
She hated nostalgia, but she could appreciate a certain measure of familiarity. There were triggers, certainly, that she avoided...sensory information that set off memories she couldn't bear...then again, that had always been Sebastian's saving grace. He was totally at odds with everything she'd ever feared about men in general. Intimacy, even matters of the heart...he was nothing like her father, and not like any man she'd ever rebuffed.
He was cool, reserved, and confident...secure in his masculinity and absolutely powerful. His flaws and his virtues were one. He wasn't open with his affection, but behind closed doors he was wonderfully loving. He held nothing back in bed...he showed her all the things that could come from being physically vulnerable, taught her how to enjoy being touched, desired...and loved.
Without meaning to, he'd gotten over the highest of her walls without her knowing until it was too late. He made her remember love, remember how desperately she craved the most basic aspects of simple affection. And he'd done it without sacrificing a single piece of the cold exterior he presented to the world. The only difference between his public face and the one he showed her was softness...the mask had a harder surface, rougher edges. She was the only one that had ever been able to reach out and remove it...to trace the same lines she'd always seen and find warm, living flesh where most saw unyielding steel.
Absently, she slid open the door to the closet in front of her and flipped through the hangers, stopping when she found the one she wanted. Tugging free the shirt it held, she thought about Sebastian again as she shed her own t-shirt and slid on the buttondown dress shirt, fastening only the first three with a sigh. The fabric was cool against her skin, its temperature equalized with that of the room. Cool as her Sebastian...where usually his things were warm from the heat of his skin when she put them on. He claimed that he hated it when she stole his clothes, but she did all the same...and she knew he loved to see her wearing them.
And here she was, stealing them again...after all, that was the whole reason she'd broken into his flat in the first place, wasn't it?
Moving to sit on the edge of the bed, she unlaced and pulled off her boots, uncaring of the fact she was in his apartment illicitly, and he was nowhere to be found. He'd be home eventually, and if the firm was as done with her as he claimed, they wouldn't come for her. They had what they wanted from him, after all...
No. She didn't want to think about what he'd done. She would hear every last filthy word later...in his arms, in his bed, where the warmth of him could protect her better than his shirt wrapped around her body, still smelling of his detergent and faint traces of his cologne...
Steadying herself with a deep breath, she huddled more comfortably in his shirt, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves and rolling them halfway up her arms. Tugging the hem down comfortably over her jeans, she padded out of his bedroom silently with every intention of raiding his kitchen. He likely didn't have any tea on hand, the bugger...he only ever kept it in his pantry when they were together...
Awareness filled her with its simple, unchanging light...no bells, no whistles, no flashes of brilliance, just the simple illumination of knowing.
What she really sought...what she really wanted...had just discovered his front door had been forced open.
Silently, she crept down the hallway and pressed herself to the wall, peeking around the door jamb. When she caught sight of him, she couldn't resist simply turning the corner with her usual look of cool, collected indifference. Standing in the open, she folded her arms and leaned against the door frame in plain sight.
"You would've thought that fucking a thief might have made you smart enough to put stronger locks on your doors. Really...I can pick that model in my sleep, love."
She hated nostalgia, but she could appreciate a certain measure of familiarity. There were triggers, certainly, that she avoided...sensory information that set off memories she couldn't bear...then again, that had always been Sebastian's saving grace. He was totally at odds with everything she'd ever feared about men in general. Intimacy, even matters of the heart...he was nothing like her father, and not like any man she'd ever rebuffed.
He was cool, reserved, and confident...secure in his masculinity and absolutely powerful. His flaws and his virtues were one. He wasn't open with his affection, but behind closed doors he was wonderfully loving. He held nothing back in bed...he showed her all the things that could come from being physically vulnerable, taught her how to enjoy being touched, desired...and loved.
Without meaning to, he'd gotten over the highest of her walls without her knowing until it was too late. He made her remember love, remember how desperately she craved the most basic aspects of simple affection. And he'd done it without sacrificing a single piece of the cold exterior he presented to the world. The only difference between his public face and the one he showed her was softness...the mask had a harder surface, rougher edges. She was the only one that had ever been able to reach out and remove it...to trace the same lines she'd always seen and find warm, living flesh where most saw unyielding steel.
Absently, she slid open the door to the closet in front of her and flipped through the hangers, stopping when she found the one she wanted. Tugging free the shirt it held, she thought about Sebastian again as she shed her own t-shirt and slid on the buttondown dress shirt, fastening only the first three with a sigh. The fabric was cool against her skin, its temperature equalized with that of the room. Cool as her Sebastian...where usually his things were warm from the heat of his skin when she put them on. He claimed that he hated it when she stole his clothes, but she did all the same...and she knew he loved to see her wearing them.
And here she was, stealing them again...after all, that was the whole reason she'd broken into his flat in the first place, wasn't it?
Moving to sit on the edge of the bed, she unlaced and pulled off her boots, uncaring of the fact she was in his apartment illicitly, and he was nowhere to be found. He'd be home eventually, and if the firm was as done with her as he claimed, they wouldn't come for her. They had what they wanted from him, after all...
No. She didn't want to think about what he'd done. She would hear every last filthy word later...in his arms, in his bed, where the warmth of him could protect her better than his shirt wrapped around her body, still smelling of his detergent and faint traces of his cologne...
Steadying herself with a deep breath, she huddled more comfortably in his shirt, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves and rolling them halfway up her arms. Tugging the hem down comfortably over her jeans, she padded out of his bedroom silently with every intention of raiding his kitchen. He likely didn't have any tea on hand, the bugger...he only ever kept it in his pantry when they were together...
Awareness filled her with its simple, unchanging light...no bells, no whistles, no flashes of brilliance, just the simple illumination of knowing.
What she really sought...what she really wanted...had just discovered his front door had been forced open.
Silently, she crept down the hallway and pressed herself to the wall, peeking around the door jamb. When she caught sight of him, she couldn't resist simply turning the corner with her usual look of cool, collected indifference. Standing in the open, she folded her arms and leaned against the door frame in plain sight.
"You would've thought that fucking a thief might have made you smart enough to put stronger locks on your doors. Really...I can pick that model in my sleep, love."