Disclaimer: I do not own Skinwalkers nor its characters. They belong to LGF, After Dark, and whoever else screwed the movie up.
Note/Warning: Written with the January/July '05 drafts canon in mind; movie canon compatible.
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In This Moment, He Loves Her
He hisses; inhales oxygen sharply through clenched teeth and pulled back lips. It was supposed to be a snarl; a sound of annoyance and aggravation. An order to stop teasing. It came out a plea.
She laughs; a strangled sound because it's hard to laugh when your tongue is sticking out, licking someone else's skin. It's smug and triumphant, and the manner in which she makes her amusement known is almost languid. Like the way she's tracing the tattoo on his chest.
It drives him up the fucking wall.
"You should get a tattoo on your chest," he mutters. His voice is guttural, husky; strained. His fingers are clenching around strands of her hair, but he somehow refrains from yanking her head back and relieving himself of her torturous tongue. The tautness of his arms gives away how hard he's struggling not to.
"But then I might have to let some human see me half nude," she replies. She has to pull her tongue back in so she can speak, and he relaxes instantly. She smirks when she feels something hot and hard twitching against her out of deprivation.
Part of him likes being tortured.
"I'll just have to kill the artist when he's through," he states casually. The visible strain in his arms is now the struggle not to pull her head back to his chest.
"And what would this tattoo be of?" she asks him, moving one hand up to idly trace the tattoo above his right bicep. Her smile is lazily, nonchalant. Her eyes are gloating.
His fingers are twitching now as badly as his dick when he shrugs. "Perhaps a spider," he suggests. He didn't come up with the idea because of the way her fingertips feel against his skin. That has nothing at all to do with it.
Nothing at all. Except everything.
Her smile turns evil. She sees right through him; she's been doing that a lot more lately. She's getting to know him too well. "That would be interesting. I'm sure there are some beautiful designs for that kind of tattoo." Her fingers are crawling down his arm; each and every time his muscles twitch under them, she licks her lips.
Those lips are getting very, very wet.
He wants to call her a wretched, ruthless tease. He only grunts and bites his tongue. He's too wound up; if he says it now, he won't say it like a lover. He's a patient being, but even he has his limit.
She's reached it.
But he won't let her know that. He never says anything to her out of spite, out of anger. He can say it out of impatience, out of annoyance; he just won't let himself say it when he really means it. He only means it for a few split seconds, and then he's back to himself.
Sometimes he wonders if that's why he never tells her how much he loves her. As soon as he tells her, that moment will be gone.
And she just wouldn't be able to handle that.
Her tongue has gone back to tracing his chest tattoo. She's licking right above his pounding heart. She can probably feel the vibrations as it beats wildly from her teasing. Her gloating eyes confirm his suspicions. Her tongue retracts long enough for her to whisper, "And maybe you should get a tattoo on your cock," before returning to the torture.
He's seriously considering doing so.