Disclaimer: All images, characters, settings, etc. from Law and Order: Criminal Intent are the property of NBC and Wolf Productions. This work of fiction is done purely for non-profit reasons.
A/N: This is for those who asked about a companion piece to 'Wait'. Hope it doesn't displease – let me know! Goren POV.
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I know you.
I know you in ways few people probably do, and in ways I know no one else. But this ... this is new. I don't know you from this close up. This angle, this having to tuck my chin in so close in order to see the top of your head, this is different. And so I'm slow, I'm slow, don't be impatient with me, it takes me some time to adjust.
You're very close, and I want you closer. The wanting is not new. The possibility of having the closeness; that, that is what's new. Your hands are curled into my lapels, and it's novel and disorienting and, and riveting. My heart is so loud, pounding away, that I can't hear any of the ambient noises around us. This has never happened before.
I'm doing this? Yes, I'm doing this, tilting my head in a clear cultural signal, prelude to a kiss, and you're reciprocating. That is ... astounding. Your head is tipping back while mine tilts forward; that is awing. Your eyelids are fluttering down, your hair is moving back from your face in a soft fall, and I'm mesmerized. I'm so enthralled that maybe I've stopped moving. No, no I haven't, or your movement made up for my lack, because now lips are touching and it could be I'm disassociating from reality, because how is this real? These are your lips and mine ... our lips are touching.
I should do something about that. Something like ... this ... yes, that little sigh means you like that, and it makes me need to have more than just my lips on you. But I'm almost afraid to touch you – all right, I've been afraid to touch you for years, because I thought that this would happen. This slow blaze, this quiet inferno, this tentative acknowledgement that we want the impossible ... what good could come of such touching?
But I'm doing this, too, moving my hands (they're shaking) to your waist (it's so small) and again you're letting me. Your arms are around my chest and you're clinging, almost, a thing you never do. You don't cling. But you are, to me ... to me, and there's heat and there's light and there's fervor between us. You incite me, you're moving in inflaming ways that tell me to do more; to touch here longer, press there harder. And I am, I'm following your instructions, while trying to memorize the sound, feel and scent of you and the essence of who you are when you're like this, with me.
Yes, I knew this would happen, this emotion deep enough to wound. But I didn't know. How could I know the beauty of such a thing, a moment spent kissing you? A moment spent kissing you.
And now it's over. It's over and I should move away. How do we get back to where we were? Your eyes are opening and you're looking at me, you're seeing, and so I understand that the question is ridiculous.
We can't. Because now we know.