(no subject)
Continued from Here
He denies me three times. It’s funny how these things come back to haunt you. How just one word, or a smell or scene will hurl you back to a past you had forgotten. Had been forced to forget should be the right term. “I wasn’t that drunk,” I assure him calmly, “you beg very prettily. And I’m going to be hearing it again,” I promise him as I turn around to step closer to the shower.
Actually, now that I think about it, it’s not funny. Those feelings aren’t funny. With Lilah it was all a game, from the start. We played each other, there were no feelings involved, at first. Because neither of us had anything in common. It’s different now and I can feel it. It’s not a game, it’s understanding. He knows things about me a lot of people don’t, thanks to that not so little damn outburst. It makes me feel vulnerable when I’m with him and yet stronger at the same time.
Stepping into the shower, I watch him a his hands move over my skin, that eager look on his face. Reaching out I trail drops of water rolling from his chest as the same time I follow the lines of one of those tattoos. They’re not pretty, not to me. They’re a symbol of the fact that he has to hide, that he’s not safe, that he could be killed if they disappear. Just like that. Just like any one of us.
The electrical tingle when I touch the ink with my finger tips makes me shiver. He’s talking, obviously not getting British humor and thinking I’m *actually* talking about breakfast. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother with those Americans. Really. Sighing, I pull back slightly and look at him, finger tip still tracing the line of ink. I grab one of his hands and lace his fingers with mine and bring them up to his chest. Using his own fingers I trace the ink again, letting the magical shocks ride through us both.
I smile at his question, bringing his fingers up to my mouth. “World peace,” I mutter, tongue flicking out to lick the pads. “I’m not going to be getting that. So what is it exactly you want? Now that you’ve gotten me into the shower with you? If it‘s not the more traditonal breakfast.” Slipping my lips around his finger I suck on it once, groaning at the jolt of magical electricity I can taste.
He denies me three times. It’s funny how these things come back to haunt you. How just one word, or a smell or scene will hurl you back to a past you had forgotten. Had been forced to forget should be the right term. “I wasn’t that drunk,” I assure him calmly, “you beg very prettily. And I’m going to be hearing it again,” I promise him as I turn around to step closer to the shower.
Actually, now that I think about it, it’s not funny. Those feelings aren’t funny. With Lilah it was all a game, from the start. We played each other, there were no feelings involved, at first. Because neither of us had anything in common. It’s different now and I can feel it. It’s not a game, it’s understanding. He knows things about me a lot of people don’t, thanks to that not so little damn outburst. It makes me feel vulnerable when I’m with him and yet stronger at the same time.
Stepping into the shower, I watch him a his hands move over my skin, that eager look on his face. Reaching out I trail drops of water rolling from his chest as the same time I follow the lines of one of those tattoos. They’re not pretty, not to me. They’re a symbol of the fact that he has to hide, that he’s not safe, that he could be killed if they disappear. Just like that. Just like any one of us.
The electrical tingle when I touch the ink with my finger tips makes me shiver. He’s talking, obviously not getting British humor and thinking I’m *actually* talking about breakfast. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother with those Americans. Really. Sighing, I pull back slightly and look at him, finger tip still tracing the line of ink. I grab one of his hands and lace his fingers with mine and bring them up to his chest. Using his own fingers I trace the ink again, letting the magical shocks ride through us both.
I smile at his question, bringing his fingers up to my mouth. “World peace,” I mutter, tongue flicking out to lick the pads. “I’m not going to be getting that. So what is it exactly you want? Now that you’ve gotten me into the shower with you? If it‘s not the more traditonal breakfast.” Slipping my lips around his finger I suck on it once, groaning at the jolt of magical electricity I can taste.