Lime alert!



Lovers or Fighters?

	She really loved his hard body.  Just looking at all the hard muscles and
sharp bones made her light-headed.  Of course, with half of his body
covered by indecent clothing, she couldn't see everything, but she saw
enough.  She walked over the window and shut the blinds, closing off all
the light for the room.  The overhead light was shut off long ago.
	He turned to look at her, and realized how much he enjoyed her body.  With
all the clothes covering her like that, he couldn't see much, but he could
remember.  He knew how most of the girls he knew looked, bony and
masculine.  But her, she had all the right curves in the right places, even
if the clothes she normally wore did their best to hide that fact.
	As she turned around from the window, she could see his eyes roving in all
places, even if his face was impassive.
	As she turned from the blinds, he could could see the way her body moved,
something he found he couldn't get enough of.
	As he stood up, she could see the way his muscles bulged in just the right
places at the right times.  It was an incredible display of human musculature.
	As he stood up, he could see the faint outlines as she removed her
clothing, wanting to move closer to her, but holding back, enjoying the sight.
	"At least," she said huskily, "take off your shoes.  
	He undressed swiftly.
	This was, normially, about the time that they'd come together with hard
kisses and strong arms; but he was in the mood for something different.
Though they did come together, he didn't follow the routine.  Wrapping his
arms around her, they had a quick vertical hug, flopped down on the
mattress, and had a horizontal hug.
	This, he realized, was the part he enjoyed the most.  Not the act itself,
but lying here, with someone that he could face openly and honestly.  He
lived a lie for so many years, for so many hours of the day, that these
trysts were like air to a drowning man.  He wanted nothing more than to
spend the rest of his life like this, but knew he couldn't.  He had
responsibilities and duities to perform, but...
	When she realized something was wrong, that he wasn't doing anything
except lying there, she was startled.  Then she was opening her mouth to
say so, but something stopped her.  As she was studying her own feelings, a
feeling of warmth touched her knee, and moved up.  A brief second later she
realized that it was his fingers, stroking her legs.
	"Hey!  What are you doing?"
	"Just this.  Don't like it?"
	"Hell no; but considering how things usually go, this is new.  Keep it up."
	"Want me to stop?"
	"No," she started to say, but it got lost in a purr.
	He did stop, though, because he started feeling that it was upsetting the
special moment.  He just lay there, not wanting to do anything except be
with the woman beside him; but couldn't.  He stirred restlessly.
	"What's with you?"
	"I don't know.  I think...  I think I might be mellowing out.  Look at us,
just lying here, doing nothing-"
	"Tell me about it," she said, interupting him.
	"We watched a movie before, and now this....  It's all so homey I can't
stand it."
	"The problem with you is-" she said before stopping.
	"Finish it.  What's the problem with me?"
	"You can't stand being happy.  Everytime something starts going your way,
you pull back and ask, "What's the catch?"  You tend to think that everyone
is setting you up for a fall, and that you don't want to be caught in the
ringer when it happens."
	He didn't answer, but just lay there.  After a few minutes he started
stroking her thighs again, this time slower and more tender.
	"Let's talk about us," she said after a few enjoyable minutes.
	"Do we have to?"
	"Yes," she said firmly, "we do."
	"Later," he said, and then they slipped into their comfortable roles.  She
turned to him and molded herself around his back, and reached for him.  He
lay there, wondering if this, as he thought, was the best time of his life.
	"Do something," she said.
	"What?  Whistle 'Rudolph'?  Sing a song?  Crack my knuckles?"
	"I'll crack more than that, buster," she said and punched him in the ribs.
 "You know what I want to do?"  He shook his head, and she leaned in close
and whispered it in his ear.
	"Alright... but if I don't like it, I'll fake it."
	"You louse!" she cried and set to work.
	They went at it like a pair of demons.  They're both tight, private
people, who would rather be burned at the stake then say "I love you", but
both realized that there was something comforting about being together,
like they each complimented the other.  Apart, each was a glass that was
half-filled, and needed the other to be complete.
	Their lovemaking wasn't about emotional attachments or promises, but it
was about the completeness of their complimenting.  They weren't in it for
the security of the relationship, but for the relationship itself.
	The game they played wasn't about loving each other, it was about
punishing each other for needing the other.  They understood that what
they had during those few moments of completeness eventually went away, and
then they would be half-empty again. And when they did finish, looked
at each other with glassy eyes and allowed reality to intrude into their
inner thoughts, they closed off from each other and built up the walls
again.  But something remained....
	A short nap later and they turned to each other, to talk.
	"How long do you think we have?" she asked.
	"Does it matter?" he countered.
	"I suppose not." 
	"What made you ask?"
	"I don't know.  It just seemed..." she trailed off.
	"Right?" he supplied.
	"Yes," and that was the extent of their intimate conversation.
A game they'd played before, never taking it too deep, both afraid of what
the other might learn.  They both lay there, thinking.
	He contemplated the woman who lay beside him, wondering if he could spend
the rest of his days with her.  She pondered daring a lifetime with that
crabbed, violent man, who might've been a loner- though maybe not entirely
by choice.
	They turned and looked at each other, and without nodding or exchanging
words, they started to move on each other again.
	This time, however, it was different than before.  They started tender,
not rough, and worked their way slowly, not fast.  She slid her hands over
his back, feeling the bulges of the hard muscles she saw earlier.  He
played his hands along her legs again, feeling the strength in them.  She
fingered the scars on his back, still a little rattled at the stories
behind them.  He looked at her back, a sea of calm split by the stones of
her ropey spine.  She looked at his arms, so strong and capible of such
violence, but she'd never felt anything but the gentelest touch from them.
He, finally ready for more, put his face to her breasts.
	"Jesus!" she exclaimed.  "Don't you ever shave, Tatewaki?"

end

Thanks to: Lara, DC, Fido, Alan, and all the others who participated in the
"Power-Hour" Challenge but who's names slip my mind at the moment.