"Time after Time", for pemphredouk
Title: Time After Time
Author: To be revealed
Rating: NC-17
Category: Het, Romance, Drama
Characters: Michael/Sara
Requested by: pemphredouk
Summary: He opens his eyes, and blinks. It’s early.
Author's Notes: For pemphredouk, who asked for a NC-17 story with the Michael/Sara pairing, and gave the prompts “Michael restrained” and “Loyola past or future”. I hope you like it. The title was borrowed from Cyndi Lauper.
Time After Time
He opens his eyes, and blinks. It’s early. Through the thin cotton drapes hanging in front of the bedroom window, dawn is coloring the sky; the pastel shades of morning slowly spreading like smoke signals. Beside him, soft and familiar breathing makes him turn his head and his face grows serious at the sight of the woman lying alongside him. She’s still sleeping, her sea of long auburn curls spilled over her pillow, the rise and fall of her chest peaceful in her profound slumber. Everything is quiet in the house. His own breathing is barely audible. Outside, the first lights begin to flow through the gauzy clouds and flood the room; warm rays bathing the wooden floor and white bedding. It’s the announcement of a new day, clear and bright. A day that’s different from other days.
Propping himself on one elbow, Michael gazes at the round and womanly curves he held, kissed and kneaded only hours ago with unrestrained eagerness - curves now half covered by crumpled sheets smelling of raw hunger and sweet desire. He recalls the details of the previous night, making love to her in this bed at dusk, and again in the middle of the night with a blanket of stars illuminating the skies, small diamonds tossed on black velvet. Today, millions of thoughts swirl inside his head. The importance of this day is probably the best symbol of hope and happiness he could have asked for; and yet perhaps more terrifying than everything he’s ever lived so far. At least that’s how he feels right now. He knew this day was coming and all the things he had planned to say are suddenly vanishing as the seconds pass. His mind wanders. One year.
Then, as Sara suddenly stirs in her sleep, his heart beats faster. She’ll be awake soon, and he’s not ready. Not right now. He needs to do this right, for Christ’s sake. Slowly, he reaches out for her, letting his fingertips run along the length of her arm and feeling small goose bumps come alive under his light touch. Once alabaster, her skin has taken on a golden tone, highlighting the fair hues adorning her hair. She’s changed.
He knows she likes it here - away from the madness of the city that they could not stand after months of interminable hell. So he brought her somewhere secluded; a small island in the vicinity of Mexico with only the ocean and the beach for surroundings. He built her a home here. He built them a home.
One year.
He needs to get moving now; figure things out. Swinging his legs over his side of the bed, he gets up, careful not to wake Sara. In the closet, their clothing are mixed; shirts, pants, shorts and dresses creating an interesting assortment that reminds him of how easy it’s been to move in with her - how natural it has felt. And how every day, waking up next to her feels like a breath of oxygen; a breath of life washing away the sorrow and terror that used to reign over them.
Surrounded by nothing but silence, Michael slips into his clothes in a matter of minutes. Under his short-sleeved shirt, his skin is intact - relieved of the damned puzzle that used to entwine his upper body. Studying the white flesh of his arms, the words he told Sara on their way to the private jet come back to him; the words he said hours after experiencing one of the most painful procedures of his life. God, it seems like a lifetime ago. And still, he does feel lighter, more than ever actually. Freedom has its price; he paid it more than once. Reminiscing the stings of needles, the ink as dark as his brother’s fate seeping under his flesh, and the sizzling rays attacking his epidermis and making him a new man, Michael shakes his head. It’s all in the past now. And yet he can’t help but think these moments brought him where he is now. Somehow, this dim and dense past lead him to his future. And for that, he’s grateful.
Finding a pen and a pad on the kitchen table, he quickly scribbles a few words, leaving Sara a note informing her of his whereabouts.
And then he’s stepping outside, closing the door behind him before heading towards the beach.
*
His bare feet meet the sand, warm between his toes. Walking on the white and grainy soil, Michael closes his eyes and breathes the breezy air, filling his lungs with fresh oxygen. He wonders if he could still stand the toxic smell of the city now that he’s grown accustomed to a simple life by the ocean. Probably not.
Hands in his pockets, he approaches the small waves leisurely coming to die on the shore, and his fingers close over the little paper flower he took with him before leaving the house. He’s been keeping it close to his heart for the past few days, contemplating how much things changed since he and Sara first got here.
Since he first met her.
One year. It’s been one year since the rough soles of his prison boots made contact with the intact floor of her infirmary. Three hundred and sixty five days since the journal excerpts and faded pictures of a young woman, humanitarian and Gandhi enthusiast all turned to ashes when she appeared; revealing underneath a real person made of flesh and bones, charmingly moving under a white coat.
He still can’t believe it. Has it really been that long? Shooting a look at their house, far in the distance, his fingertips graze the elegant shape of the meticulously crafted rose and a sigh battles its way up his throat and past his lips. He’s lucky; he knows that. Feelings of guilt and thankfulness and unconditional love lace his heart, and he’s incapable to control them. It’s all too much really, and yet he’s never felt so alive; swathed by such overwhelming sensations he feels like he’s jumped into a pool with no bottom. Her kindness, her devotion, her never-ending affection, they haven’t stopped taking his breath away. Her only presence makes him whole. She’s here. She wants to be here. She waited. She stayed.
The rest is history.
That’s when the answer materializes. It was there from the start, right under his nose, and all the worry and the pressure and the blame he was putting on his shoulders start to float, brightening the view extending before him.
The weight of the past has vanished, taken away by the morning breeze, and Michael knows it’s now time to go home.
*
When he rejoins the house, he’s calmer. The bay windows have been opened in his absence, and he finds Sara in the kitchen, her frame casually leaning against the counter. She seems lost in thoughts, and an empty cup of coffee is resting between her hands, the rest of the dark liquid dancing at the base of it.
Placing a kiss on her temple, he greets her with a soft “hey”, the honeyed scent of her shampoo tickling his olfactory nerves.
“Hi. You left the house early this morning,” she says while putting her cup in the sink. It’s a simple statement; one that makes him want to graze the shell of her ear with his lips and whisper to her that he’s fine - he figured it out - before kissing her senseless. Her tone is gentle, and he finds himself stepping between her legs as her fingers suddenly curl around his bicep, bringing him closer.
“I just went out for a walk.” His hands move to her waist, and he takes a second to absorb the graceful lines on her face, the ones he traced so many times he could paint her portrait with his eyes closed. “Do you know,” he starts, his lips hovering above hers, “how important you are to me?” He feels her breath on his mouth, hot and expectant. And then, in a smooth movement, his fingers are coming into sight, delicately presenting her the flower. “For you,” he offers lovingly.
In an instant, he’s noticed the small flush that’s begun to cover Sara’s face, creeping up like ivy, and her eyes fall to the floor as she releases a coy sigh. He chuckles, one hand coming to cradle the back of her head, her hair silky beneath his touch. God. It’s the kind of reaction that makes his insides quiver with love and want; especially when it’s so genuine. Especially when she’s almost trying to conceal her loveliness but he’s already stored her expression in his mind, skillfully capturing it in the blink of an eye.
She’s inspecting the rose, twirling it between her fingers like he’s seen her do before, and he lifts her chin, appreciating the redden blush now dominating her cheeks. “I need to tell you something.” He clears his throat. “One year ago…Exactly one year ago, I…”
“You came in for your first shot, at Fox River. I know. I remember.” Her bashful smile widens before him, making his heart hammer in his chest for the second time this morning. Or is it the third? The fourth? He stopped counting.
His throat tight with emotion, his grip tightens around Sara’s slim frame. “How do you…”
“You’re not the only one who’s been keeping count, Michael,” she replies with a smoky voice, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
And then he’s pressing his lips against hers, lifting her up with a lusty grunt before crossing the distance to the bedroom. Along the way, clothes land on the floor - scattered garments discarded in haste - and the warmth radiating from her breasts takes him by surprise when his mouth meets her bare flesh. Seconds later, his knees finally hit the edge of the bed, and he’s lowering her on the mattress. Her eyes have darkened; her chest is heaving. She’s a sight for sore eyes. His wife-beater makes a dull thud as it hits the ground and, descending on Sara, his arms bracing his weight on either side of her face, Michael watches the arousing look of anticipation unfurl on her features. His fingertips start to dance, brushing over her ribcage and finding her breasts in a gentle touch. They’re soft, supple in his hands. Letting his thumbs trace the rosy areolas, Michael watches the pink skin of her nipples tighten as her faint moans penetrate his ears, sending a rush of blood straight to his groin. He uses his tongue, lavishes every inch of her body with ardent, urgent kisses. He can’t get enough.
Hands fumble with small buttons, long strings and delicate silk, pulling at the last barriers of clothing that remain between them. Light cotton pants, shorts and underwear join his wife-beater, and Michael leans over, his lips grazing the curve of her neck. “I love you,” he murmurs, feeling her palm rub his shoulders. Her eyes are studying him.
“I love you too.”
Sweat is now coating his forehead and he feels her palm begin to trace the thin line of hair below his belly button, before curling around the hard length of him. “Sara…” He whispers her name between gritted teeth, kissing the hollow of her throat as his fingers skim over the inside of her thigh, making her shiver. And then he’s cupping her, right there, where he can feel her desire slide like sap from a tree. She writhes; her spine arches underneath his ministrations. And he knows he has to have her now.
Shifting his position, Michael nestles between her thighs, poised at her entrance. Pleased sighs color the following moment; every push bringing them closer to blissful oblivion. As he moves within her, Sara’s legs wrap around his waist, taking him deeper, and he threads their fingers together, quickening the pace. Her face is glowing; her eyes are closed. A small frown has appeared between her brows. She’s close.
Pleasure and pain uncoil in his stomach like a snake, fast. He feels her body tense and tremble beneath his large frame, and her legs tighten on his hips while she releases a whimper that fills his ear canal. Small arrows have roused under his skin, sending sparkles of ecstasy in his limbs and beyond. And then he’s collapsing on top of Sara, his breathing erratic, coming in short and quick pants.
Still buried inside her, he pushes aside some strands of hair stuck to the sides of her face, kissing her tenderly. She’s breathless too - a trait that emphasizes her beauty, Michael thinks silently. Wrapping her in a sweet and loving embrace, he caresses her neck, her cheek, keeping on placing feather-light kisses on her lips. She smiles.
Let the future come. He’s ready for it.
-The End-
Author: To be revealed
Rating: NC-17
Category: Het, Romance, Drama
Characters: Michael/Sara
Requested by: pemphredouk
Summary: He opens his eyes, and blinks. It’s early.
Author's Notes: For pemphredouk, who asked for a NC-17 story with the Michael/Sara pairing, and gave the prompts “Michael restrained” and “Loyola past or future”. I hope you like it. The title was borrowed from Cyndi Lauper.
Time After Time
He opens his eyes, and blinks. It’s early. Through the thin cotton drapes hanging in front of the bedroom window, dawn is coloring the sky; the pastel shades of morning slowly spreading like smoke signals. Beside him, soft and familiar breathing makes him turn his head and his face grows serious at the sight of the woman lying alongside him. She’s still sleeping, her sea of long auburn curls spilled over her pillow, the rise and fall of her chest peaceful in her profound slumber. Everything is quiet in the house. His own breathing is barely audible. Outside, the first lights begin to flow through the gauzy clouds and flood the room; warm rays bathing the wooden floor and white bedding. It’s the announcement of a new day, clear and bright. A day that’s different from other days.
Propping himself on one elbow, Michael gazes at the round and womanly curves he held, kissed and kneaded only hours ago with unrestrained eagerness - curves now half covered by crumpled sheets smelling of raw hunger and sweet desire. He recalls the details of the previous night, making love to her in this bed at dusk, and again in the middle of the night with a blanket of stars illuminating the skies, small diamonds tossed on black velvet. Today, millions of thoughts swirl inside his head. The importance of this day is probably the best symbol of hope and happiness he could have asked for; and yet perhaps more terrifying than everything he’s ever lived so far. At least that’s how he feels right now. He knew this day was coming and all the things he had planned to say are suddenly vanishing as the seconds pass. His mind wanders. One year.
Then, as Sara suddenly stirs in her sleep, his heart beats faster. She’ll be awake soon, and he’s not ready. Not right now. He needs to do this right, for Christ’s sake. Slowly, he reaches out for her, letting his fingertips run along the length of her arm and feeling small goose bumps come alive under his light touch. Once alabaster, her skin has taken on a golden tone, highlighting the fair hues adorning her hair. She’s changed.
He knows she likes it here - away from the madness of the city that they could not stand after months of interminable hell. So he brought her somewhere secluded; a small island in the vicinity of Mexico with only the ocean and the beach for surroundings. He built her a home here. He built them a home.
One year.
He needs to get moving now; figure things out. Swinging his legs over his side of the bed, he gets up, careful not to wake Sara. In the closet, their clothing are mixed; shirts, pants, shorts and dresses creating an interesting assortment that reminds him of how easy it’s been to move in with her - how natural it has felt. And how every day, waking up next to her feels like a breath of oxygen; a breath of life washing away the sorrow and terror that used to reign over them.
Surrounded by nothing but silence, Michael slips into his clothes in a matter of minutes. Under his short-sleeved shirt, his skin is intact - relieved of the damned puzzle that used to entwine his upper body. Studying the white flesh of his arms, the words he told Sara on their way to the private jet come back to him; the words he said hours after experiencing one of the most painful procedures of his life. God, it seems like a lifetime ago. And still, he does feel lighter, more than ever actually. Freedom has its price; he paid it more than once. Reminiscing the stings of needles, the ink as dark as his brother’s fate seeping under his flesh, and the sizzling rays attacking his epidermis and making him a new man, Michael shakes his head. It’s all in the past now. And yet he can’t help but think these moments brought him where he is now. Somehow, this dim and dense past lead him to his future. And for that, he’s grateful.
Finding a pen and a pad on the kitchen table, he quickly scribbles a few words, leaving Sara a note informing her of his whereabouts.
And then he’s stepping outside, closing the door behind him before heading towards the beach.
*
His bare feet meet the sand, warm between his toes. Walking on the white and grainy soil, Michael closes his eyes and breathes the breezy air, filling his lungs with fresh oxygen. He wonders if he could still stand the toxic smell of the city now that he’s grown accustomed to a simple life by the ocean. Probably not.
Hands in his pockets, he approaches the small waves leisurely coming to die on the shore, and his fingers close over the little paper flower he took with him before leaving the house. He’s been keeping it close to his heart for the past few days, contemplating how much things changed since he and Sara first got here.
Since he first met her.
One year. It’s been one year since the rough soles of his prison boots made contact with the intact floor of her infirmary. Three hundred and sixty five days since the journal excerpts and faded pictures of a young woman, humanitarian and Gandhi enthusiast all turned to ashes when she appeared; revealing underneath a real person made of flesh and bones, charmingly moving under a white coat.
He still can’t believe it. Has it really been that long? Shooting a look at their house, far in the distance, his fingertips graze the elegant shape of the meticulously crafted rose and a sigh battles its way up his throat and past his lips. He’s lucky; he knows that. Feelings of guilt and thankfulness and unconditional love lace his heart, and he’s incapable to control them. It’s all too much really, and yet he’s never felt so alive; swathed by such overwhelming sensations he feels like he’s jumped into a pool with no bottom. Her kindness, her devotion, her never-ending affection, they haven’t stopped taking his breath away. Her only presence makes him whole. She’s here. She wants to be here. She waited. She stayed.
The rest is history.
That’s when the answer materializes. It was there from the start, right under his nose, and all the worry and the pressure and the blame he was putting on his shoulders start to float, brightening the view extending before him.
The weight of the past has vanished, taken away by the morning breeze, and Michael knows it’s now time to go home.
*
When he rejoins the house, he’s calmer. The bay windows have been opened in his absence, and he finds Sara in the kitchen, her frame casually leaning against the counter. She seems lost in thoughts, and an empty cup of coffee is resting between her hands, the rest of the dark liquid dancing at the base of it.
Placing a kiss on her temple, he greets her with a soft “hey”, the honeyed scent of her shampoo tickling his olfactory nerves.
“Hi. You left the house early this morning,” she says while putting her cup in the sink. It’s a simple statement; one that makes him want to graze the shell of her ear with his lips and whisper to her that he’s fine - he figured it out - before kissing her senseless. Her tone is gentle, and he finds himself stepping between her legs as her fingers suddenly curl around his bicep, bringing him closer.
“I just went out for a walk.” His hands move to her waist, and he takes a second to absorb the graceful lines on her face, the ones he traced so many times he could paint her portrait with his eyes closed. “Do you know,” he starts, his lips hovering above hers, “how important you are to me?” He feels her breath on his mouth, hot and expectant. And then, in a smooth movement, his fingers are coming into sight, delicately presenting her the flower. “For you,” he offers lovingly.
In an instant, he’s noticed the small flush that’s begun to cover Sara’s face, creeping up like ivy, and her eyes fall to the floor as she releases a coy sigh. He chuckles, one hand coming to cradle the back of her head, her hair silky beneath his touch. God. It’s the kind of reaction that makes his insides quiver with love and want; especially when it’s so genuine. Especially when she’s almost trying to conceal her loveliness but he’s already stored her expression in his mind, skillfully capturing it in the blink of an eye.
She’s inspecting the rose, twirling it between her fingers like he’s seen her do before, and he lifts her chin, appreciating the redden blush now dominating her cheeks. “I need to tell you something.” He clears his throat. “One year ago…Exactly one year ago, I…”
“You came in for your first shot, at Fox River. I know. I remember.” Her bashful smile widens before him, making his heart hammer in his chest for the second time this morning. Or is it the third? The fourth? He stopped counting.
His throat tight with emotion, his grip tightens around Sara’s slim frame. “How do you…”
“You’re not the only one who’s been keeping count, Michael,” she replies with a smoky voice, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
And then he’s pressing his lips against hers, lifting her up with a lusty grunt before crossing the distance to the bedroom. Along the way, clothes land on the floor - scattered garments discarded in haste - and the warmth radiating from her breasts takes him by surprise when his mouth meets her bare flesh. Seconds later, his knees finally hit the edge of the bed, and he’s lowering her on the mattress. Her eyes have darkened; her chest is heaving. She’s a sight for sore eyes. His wife-beater makes a dull thud as it hits the ground and, descending on Sara, his arms bracing his weight on either side of her face, Michael watches the arousing look of anticipation unfurl on her features. His fingertips start to dance, brushing over her ribcage and finding her breasts in a gentle touch. They’re soft, supple in his hands. Letting his thumbs trace the rosy areolas, Michael watches the pink skin of her nipples tighten as her faint moans penetrate his ears, sending a rush of blood straight to his groin. He uses his tongue, lavishes every inch of her body with ardent, urgent kisses. He can’t get enough.
Hands fumble with small buttons, long strings and delicate silk, pulling at the last barriers of clothing that remain between them. Light cotton pants, shorts and underwear join his wife-beater, and Michael leans over, his lips grazing the curve of her neck. “I love you,” he murmurs, feeling her palm rub his shoulders. Her eyes are studying him.
“I love you too.”
Sweat is now coating his forehead and he feels her palm begin to trace the thin line of hair below his belly button, before curling around the hard length of him. “Sara…” He whispers her name between gritted teeth, kissing the hollow of her throat as his fingers skim over the inside of her thigh, making her shiver. And then he’s cupping her, right there, where he can feel her desire slide like sap from a tree. She writhes; her spine arches underneath his ministrations. And he knows he has to have her now.
Shifting his position, Michael nestles between her thighs, poised at her entrance. Pleased sighs color the following moment; every push bringing them closer to blissful oblivion. As he moves within her, Sara’s legs wrap around his waist, taking him deeper, and he threads their fingers together, quickening the pace. Her face is glowing; her eyes are closed. A small frown has appeared between her brows. She’s close.
Pleasure and pain uncoil in his stomach like a snake, fast. He feels her body tense and tremble beneath his large frame, and her legs tighten on his hips while she releases a whimper that fills his ear canal. Small arrows have roused under his skin, sending sparkles of ecstasy in his limbs and beyond. And then he’s collapsing on top of Sara, his breathing erratic, coming in short and quick pants.
Still buried inside her, he pushes aside some strands of hair stuck to the sides of her face, kissing her tenderly. She’s breathless too - a trait that emphasizes her beauty, Michael thinks silently. Wrapping her in a sweet and loving embrace, he caresses her neck, her cheek, keeping on placing feather-light kisses on her lips. She smiles.
Let the future come. He’s ready for it.
-The End-