[Slowly, slowly, his hand travels over her, feeling the smoothness of her skin, how her muscles tighten and tremble as she's pushed further to her limit. All those delicate lines and curves that he gently brushes and caresses, like a lost, sacred treasure.
He had already reacquainted himself with her bare skin last night, but the heat of the moment prevented him from truly appreciating her. Didn't take the time to savor and treasure it like he should have after all this time. Not that he didn't at all before, but last night he had been too consumed by the flames of his ire and possessiveness that it was all different. And while the images of her rocking wildly above him and then writhing and arching up beneath him are seared vividly in his mind, it's a far cry from what they feel now.
Nervous. Uncertain. Afraid.
Instead of fighting each other for control and dominance, now she's reaching out to him for some semblance of reassurance and security. And he's trying to give it all to her, trying to coax her, encourage her. An unknown delicate tenderness, as if they are now over a bed of glass that could shatter and break at any time.
And it's a little heartbreaking to feel her so torn, knowing he's the cause. To know she does still love him but too afraid of it. To wonder if she had always been like this since before and he mistook her fears and changes for rejection and being discarded, left behind. Perhaps not the same fears she has now, but some kind.
...
Rather than wonder, it's something he needs to actually ask. To figure out once and for all... What happened six years ago. No, perhaps seven or eight, when she was sent to Hugo and everything started to change.
But not right now.
Right now, with his hand near the underside of her left breast, he can feel how her heart hammers against her chest. Feels the quickening of her breath, the tension building within her. Can hear it in the breathless whisper of his name, see it in her eyes.
In that moment, he feels the crushing weight of his love for her—for what else could it be at this point but love? A love that had once been so rich and bright only to be ripped up, trampled, betrayed, buried, to then be poked and prodded whenever they happened to meet, and then torn asunder again upon her death. To be once again left raw and broken until he saw her, bloodied and screaming in that room. Alive. And now it grasps onto any shred of hope, a chance to grow again. And grow it does, perhaps dangerously and recklessly so, spurred by this rare second chance, to make up for all his failures and more.
She's so close now, in his grasp—yet still so frustratingly far away.]
...It's all right.
[A quiet murmur against her lips as he lightly brushes the corner for a small, reassuring kiss.
Oh how he just wants to pull her into him and crush her within his arms, but he resists and holds back. Pushes back against the overwhelming tide and swallow down those growing desires.]
Do we need to stop?
[As agonizing as it is, what with how her nails still dig into his chest, the telltale signals there. But if it's too much, then he won't push her.
If only she could once again have faith in him, that he would be there to catch her when she falls. But he knows it will be a long time before that happens.]
no subject
He had already reacquainted himself with her bare skin last night, but the heat of the moment prevented him from truly appreciating her. Didn't take the time to savor and treasure it like he should have after all this time. Not that he didn't at all before, but last night he had been too consumed by the flames of his ire and possessiveness that it was all different. And while the images of her rocking wildly above him and then writhing and arching up beneath him are seared vividly in his mind, it's a far cry from what they feel now.
Nervous. Uncertain. Afraid.
Instead of fighting each other for control and dominance, now she's reaching out to him for some semblance of reassurance and security. And he's trying to give it all to her, trying to coax her, encourage her. An unknown delicate tenderness, as if they are now over a bed of glass that could shatter and break at any time.
And it's a little heartbreaking to feel her so torn, knowing he's the cause. To know she does still love him but too afraid of it. To wonder if she had always been like this since before and he mistook her fears and changes for rejection and being discarded, left behind. Perhaps not the same fears she has now, but some kind.
...
Rather than wonder, it's something he needs to actually ask. To figure out once and for all... What happened six years ago. No, perhaps seven or eight, when she was sent to Hugo and everything started to change.
But not right now.
Right now, with his hand near the underside of her left breast, he can feel how her heart hammers against her chest. Feels the quickening of her breath, the tension building within her. Can hear it in the breathless whisper of his name, see it in her eyes.
In that moment, he feels the crushing weight of his love for her—for what else could it be at this point but love? A love that had once been so rich and bright only to be ripped up, trampled, betrayed, buried, to then be poked and prodded whenever they happened to meet, and then torn asunder again upon her death. To be once again left raw and broken until he saw her, bloodied and screaming in that room. Alive. And now it grasps onto any shred of hope, a chance to grow again. And grow it does, perhaps dangerously and recklessly so, spurred by this rare second chance, to make up for all his failures and more.
She's so close now, in his grasp—yet still so frustratingly far away.]
...It's all right.
[A quiet murmur against her lips as he lightly brushes the corner for a small, reassuring kiss.
Oh how he just wants to pull her into him and crush her within his arms, but he resists and holds back. Pushes back against the overwhelming tide and swallow down those growing desires.]
Do we need to stop?
[As agonizing as it is, what with how her nails still dig into his chest, the telltale signals there. But if it's too much, then he won't push her.
If only she could once again have faith in him, that he would be there to catch her when she falls. But he knows it will be a long time before that happens.]