This story is the immediate sequel of "Golden Autumn". Rated M, but not too explicit and rather short. Somehow I felt that would have been inappropriate for this couple that have been through so much.
I haven't selected a new soundtrack either. I think the only music that fits this scene would be a reprise of that lovely theme from the movie which plays when they are making love for the first (and so far only) time.
Mick was running his fingers through my hair, my head cradled against his shoulder, and my mind wandered back to the only other time we made love for a few minutes, drifted back to the island, the humid tropical heat, the radio crackling in the corner of the hut. Our young, strong, unblemished bodies entwined. Desire, tenderness, that little chuckling laugh of his that is impossible to describe to someone who hasn't heard it. The hopeful feeling that there might be a future for the two of us, a lifelong love, the promise of the golden ring within the pearl shell fulfilled. The war a vaguely menacing shadow at the edge of our lives on that day, becoming more real, but still something that might just pass us by if we kept our heads down.
Naïve to think that … or was it? Maybe it had been better not to know what the future held in store, the dashed hopes, the pain, the anguished waiting for news, then the certainty that he was gone, the grief, the desperation. A life that felt empty and pointless.
This jolting instant on the platform that will remain burned into my memory forever, the joy of having him back alive dampened by the shock of seeing him wounded and weary.
He brought me back into reality with a kiss, and I relaxed and let go of my thoughts for once, allowing myself to simply relish the magic of the moment, so glad that we had finally overcome the rift that threatened to open between us and that the intimacy we had found so easily on that day on the island was back.
Mellow sunlight filtered in through the curtains, as the street outside gradually came alive with people going to work and kids on their way to school, their hurrying steps and chattering voices a counterpoint to our peaceful, quiet room.
Mick had moved a bit further down, laying a trail of the lightest kisses along the inside of my arm towards my breasts, and muttered almost inaudibly, "You are so beautiful."
I buried my nose in his thick black curly hair, running my hand down the curved furrow of his spine between the strong muscles of his back and whispered, "So are you, Mick, so are you."
He looked up at me, intensely, lovingly. There was no sign of that wariness that had hardly ever left his eyes since he came back, ever afraid of spotting any trace of pity in another person's gaze, always ready to detect a well-meant lie or hollowly cheery phrase. He knew that I meant what I said, meant it with all my heart.
A little sigh escaped me, and he sealed my lips with a long, slow, passionate kiss.
He pressed me tight against himself as if never to let go again, and I clung to him as firmly as I could, hearing his heart beat, powerful and steady. The particular scent of his body had not changed a bit since then, although the taste of salt on my lips when I kissed his chest must have been an illusion.
Impossible to say if we spent minutes, hours or even a whole day tenderly rediscovering each other's bodies, taking it very slowly, enjoying every second. It was as if we had dropped out of measurable time and the world kept turning without us for a while.
Mick and I were all that mattered now, just us, just our bodies, our sensations, our desire,
The bottomless green ponds of his eyes, divided by the long straight ridge of his nose.
His mouth on mine, now soft and subtle, now hungry and demanding.
His hands in my hair and all over my sensitized skin, those long slender fingers deftly touching me, teasing me, fanning the flame inside me knowingly, making me tremble with anticipation.
His head resting on my chest for a moment before his lips closed around my nipple.
My hands on his firmly rounded backside as I eventually guided him into my innermost core.
His breath in my ear, ragged, excited, spurring me on as we found our rhythm, tentative at first, then faster and harder, our bodies merging into one, moving in perfect intimate harmony until I could not hold back any longer and the craving retained for so long exploded into a climax that swept through me like a storm, just seconds before he, too, reached the peak of passion with a small cry. I was all limp and heavy and blissfully contented.
"God, I love you, Evelyn", he said breathlessly, then lay very still, the quick rising and falling of his chest the only movement, his cheeks flushed, his hair even more ruffled, his eyes closed. The lines around his mouth and eyes that war and pain and depression had etched deeply into the smooth skin seemed to have softened a bit, and he was smiling in satisfied exhaustion.
Seeing him so relaxed was strangely moving. He was a survivor after all, not just in the literal sense of the word. I felt quite sure now that he would indeed be able to win the struggle with his past, his trauma, his disability, even if there still was a long and hard journey ahead of him, of us.
He shifted a little, bringing one arm up behind his head, the one with the blue seahorse tattoo whose origin was still a mystery to me. I remembered that he had lain exactly the same way after our first time, smiling fondly at a memory that had made me weep so often in the past when everything seemed to be lost. We had come full circle from there finally.
I placed a gentle kiss on the edge of his cheekbone. He opened his eyes for a moment, giving me one of those deep enigmatic looks that never fail to melt my heart. A shaft of light from the gap between the curtains fell across his face, making his eyes shimmer with a very particular green-golden glow.
Green like fresh leaves in springtime, life resurrected after the deprivation and austerity of winter.
Golden like the ring predicting that our love would last forever.