This is rated a T, but some people may feel it should be rated higher due to the content. If this is likely to offend anyone, please don't read it. Thanks to Joodiff for the very speedy beta. :) xx
Two
He can still smell her.
The thought drifts through his mind as he watches her walk across the squad room, posture just a little bit more tight and upright than normal.
She slips through the double doors, lets them clatter shut behind her, and it's the only other clue that all is not well with her either.
She hides it so much better than he does.
He can still smell her, still feel the heat of her smooth, bare skin beneath his palms. All it takes to picture her, naked and writhing beneath him, is the closure of his eyes.
Her breasts are right there in front of him, cloaked in lace that falls away at his impatient command, leaving the bliss of sensation under his touch, the vision his greedy eyes wanted, have always wondered about.
He's had his fingers inside her, his cock, too. He's watched her come, gloried in the scream she muffled by biting his shoulder. Can still see the fading mark in the mirror when he strips off his clothes in the bathroom at night.
He knows now what it feels like to drive her to the edge, to thrust hard and fast and feel all the intense and unrelenting feedback, to be driven there by her, with her.
He knows how soft her skin is, where her perfume lingers. He knows what it feels like to pull the clothes from her body, to feel her fingers on his shirt buttons, his belt.
Already he knows what makes her shiver and shake, whimper and cry out.
He holds the secret that the calm serenity is merely a front for the wild abandon that lies beneath. He knows that she burns as much as he does, and that in her eyes he can drown in fury and passion and blazing flames of searing, desperate desire.
He can still smell her, and it is glorious, incredible, frustrating.
Immeasurably frustrating.
One night, one angry argument when everyone else had gone home. One furious, raging encounter right here in his office. The fire, the flames; the heat, and the unrelenting passion of the woman.
Head back against his chair, eyes clamped shut, he can feel her fingers wrapped around him, her thumb teasing the tip of his cock. Is grateful that the desk hides him from view.
His lips remember the fury of her kiss. The passion, the skill. The effortless way their tongues tangled, the shivers down his spine the contact produced.
It's not enough. It will never be enough.
He's been in love with her for years, he realises.
It's a bolt from the blue, but no less true for it.
He's denied it, fought it. Battled against it.
But it's the truth.
He wants her again. Now, and for the rest of his life.
Wants to know what she tastes like. What she looks like sleepy and tousled when the alarm goes off. How she sleeps, what she does when away from this concrete dungeon.
He wants to know what it feels like to lose himself in her over and over and over again, and to see that reflected back at him once more.
He wants to wake and know she's there. His and his alone. A lover, and a companion. His best friend, someone to talk to; someone to share with, grow with, stay with.
But still the anger burns.
The argument rages on.
Still they refuse to speak.
Still Boyd hurts and Grace hurts and the distance of the bridge between them is vast.
Still they cannot meet and merge.
Still they are two, not one.