Strength and Senses
Title: Strength and Senses
Subject: Toby/Andy
Rating: PG
Timeframe: Post-Gaza
Author's Note: Happy Birthday soaked_in_stars! Just a little something.
[I hope I didn't rip anybody off with this. In the back of my mind I have the feeling that I've read something like this before, but I don't know where or who or any of that. If so, sorry. Good writers borrow from other writers, and all that.]
He turned up on her mother’s doorstep, not quite sure how he got there. He hadn’t been there in ages, and only rarely, even when they were married. He had paused hesitantly for a moment before ringing the bell that he heard echo through the halls, and he stood anxiously watching the frosted glass to see whose form would darken it. It was her. As she opened to the door, he saw the surprise-but not quite surprised-on her face. He wondered if she thought he was here for ‘I told you so’s, but he hoped she knew he wouldn’t be, not yet anyway, though he’d certainly be entitled. He stopped her before she could speak, gently placing the tips of his fingers on her lips and then enveloping her, drinking in her warmth, her softness, her scent, so that he could almost taste her. He exhaled deeply the breath that had been caught in his throat, his arms wrapped firmly around her in an embrace he could feel to his bones.
Everything else came second. Looking in on the kids and forcing himself to return to their normal teasing, arguing, taunting, tempting, exercise-in-power give and take that pulled them together as much as it pushed them apart. Everything else came second, after the moment when she let him feel strong despite being as vulnerable as he ever allows himself.
Subject: Toby/Andy
Rating: PG
Timeframe: Post-Gaza
Author's Note: Happy Birthday soaked_in_stars! Just a little something.
[I hope I didn't rip anybody off with this. In the back of my mind I have the feeling that I've read something like this before, but I don't know where or who or any of that. If so, sorry. Good writers borrow from other writers, and all that.]
He turned up on her mother’s doorstep, not quite sure how he got there. He hadn’t been there in ages, and only rarely, even when they were married. He had paused hesitantly for a moment before ringing the bell that he heard echo through the halls, and he stood anxiously watching the frosted glass to see whose form would darken it. It was her. As she opened to the door, he saw the surprise-but not quite surprised-on her face. He wondered if she thought he was here for ‘I told you so’s, but he hoped she knew he wouldn’t be, not yet anyway, though he’d certainly be entitled. He stopped her before she could speak, gently placing the tips of his fingers on her lips and then enveloping her, drinking in her warmth, her softness, her scent, so that he could almost taste her. He exhaled deeply the breath that had been caught in his throat, his arms wrapped firmly around her in an embrace he could feel to his bones.
Everything else came second. Looking in on the kids and forcing himself to return to their normal teasing, arguing, taunting, tempting, exercise-in-power give and take that pulled them together as much as it pushed them apart. Everything else came second, after the moment when she let him feel strong despite being as vulnerable as he ever allows himself.