Title: Three-Fold Utopian Dream (1/1)
Rating: R
Song: "I Miss You" by Incubus
Summary: What would it be like to forget it all, if only for a moment . . .
-------------------------------------------------------
To see you when I wake up
Is a gift I didn't think could be real
To know that you feel the same, as I do
Is a three-fold Utopian dream
------------------------------------------------------
The luminous curve of her hips cut through the darkness of the room. Her skin was soft, traceable, beautiful. She was lying on her side, facing him, asleep. His eyes stroked her body from a foot away - he knew every touch of her. One hand, which used to be propping up her head, was folded underneath her perfect face, cupping the soft cheek effortlessly. The other hand was resting along the line of her figure; her fingertips barely touching the ascent that led to her hips, those hips, beautiful when sleeping but alive with vigor when she was awake. He knew the feel of those hips, how it felt to place his hands on either side of them and to hold her in the balance. They were womanly hips - they encompassed every thing he loved about her. They made her into one of Raphael's Madonnas - her smooth skin and full features could be right out of a painting from the Renaissance. Above her hips was her stomach, and his eyes pulled across it towards her modest breasts. Big breasts were overrated - hers weren't small, of course, but they were full enough for him. They always melded inside his hands so perfectly; they were soft, but firm . . . they complimented her well. They led to a neck he loved to kiss - it was swanlike in its length and softness, and the curve of her jaw made him want to taste it again. That was a talented jaw. Unable to resist, he stroked its curve with one finger, not wanting to wake her but unable to keep his hands to himself. He traced up to her ear and brushed aside a lock of hair, which was even more tussled now than it normally was. She always put a lot of work into that hair to make it look like it did, and he couldn't begin to understand why. His own hand was propping up his face as he stared at her; his elbow was beginning to ache from being in the pillow for so long. Sleepily he stretched it out and placed his cheek on his forearm - now he was looking straight across at her, and not down at her so much. He put his other hand to her face and stroked her cheek softly, not wanting to rouse her but wishing she would wake all the same. He loved the sparkle in her eye, the sparkle that was hidden underneath her peaceful eyelid. But she was tired. She'd wake in time. Then he could feel those glorious hips once again.
God.
-------------------------------------------------------
You do something to me
That I can't explain
------------------------------------------------------
When he opened his own eyes she was staring into them. It took him a moment to realize that he'd drifted off himself. He blinked once but looked into her eyes, which were intense but inviting. He couldn't see what she was thinking. With a brief grin, he put out his hand again and placed it against her face again. She closed her eyes and seemed to relish the touch.
They should be speaking. He knew this. Normal lovers spoke to each other. Hell, they'd been pretty talkative when they had first been together - so why the silence now? Did words bring back the pain that they both had to ignore in order for this to work?
He didn't have much time to think. Like every decent Madonna, she leaned over and kissed him, and it was only a matter of seconds before his hands were around that waist again.
-------------------------------------------------
So would I be out of line, if I said
I miss you
-------------------------------------------------
"You're beautiful, you know."
They were the first words of the morning and they seemed to cut her. She was sitting with her back against the headboard, almost perched, and she didn't look at him as she muttered "Don't say that to me."
"Why not? It's true."
"Just don't, all right?" She was studying her hands.
He was quiet for a long time. She always seemed irritated right after they had sex. Made love. Whatever. "You don't need to feel guilty. We've talked about that before."
"I know. I don't want to talk about it now."
"Well, talk about something, then," he quipped.
"Why do we need to talk? Why can't we just be together? Why does everything have to be so damn romantic?" she suddenly demanded. She was finally looking at him now, and it was an almost accusing glare.
He closed his eyes wearily. She could be so difficult sometimes. But he convinced himself to not become agitated again. "Fine, then let's be together," he sighed, wrapping an arm around her back and drawing her close to him.
She relented and laid down next to him; placing her head on his chest like so many times before, she murmured "This isn't *that* wrong, is it?"
"No." His voice rumbled comfortingly, and she smiled at how familiar it was.
"I mean, it's not right, obviously, but it's really not wrong," she rationalized, tracing her delicate fingers along his chest and shoulder. "This was meant to be, you and I."
He only nodded in agreement as he sifted a lock of her hair through his hands.
She was obviously deep in thought, and her fingers stopped on his chest. "If it's not right, and it's not wrong," she said softly, "then what is it?"
He smiled slightly. "It's perfect," he told her, kissing the top of her head tenderly.
-------------------------------------------------------
I see your picture, I smell your skin on
The empty pillow next to mine
----------------------------------------------------
"You were not!" she exclaimed, slapping his arm playfully. They were a mirror image of each other - each lying on their side, each facing each other, both faces propped up by an arm. The thick bedspread was draped over them, revealing only shadows of her breasts any more. "How could that cross your mind?!"
"I don't know," he replied with a guilty grin. "It seemed like the obvious answer."
"Obvious answer to what, damning yourself to a lifetime of torture?" she laughed.
"I didn't think so at the time," he told her, running a finger along her cheek.
Her smile faded to only a slight pursing of her full lips. "Does she know about me?"
He looked at her. "Does it matter?"
"Yes, it matters," she sighed. "I don't want to be what breaks you two up."
"It's a little late for that."
She looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean by that?"
"It's as good as over. She's out of the picture." He smiled at her. "But look who's throwing stones; have you been perfectly honest about me?"
Her eyes darted down to the sheet. "You know I can't."
"I know." He paused. "You're not ever going to tell him?"
"I might," she murmured, tracing the design on the bedspread. "In time."
There was silence between them then and he hated it. "It's not like it matters, anyway," he told her helpfully, stroking her arm. "You're not even sleeping together anymore."
She raised an eyebrow. "And how do you know that?"
He grinned at her devilishly. "You're hungry in bed."
"Hungry?" she exclaimed, her eyes wide. "I am not! Don't be lewd!"
"You haven't had sex in a while," he commented. "I can tell. You're like you used to be . . . in the beginning. Do you remember that?"
She closed her eyes and grinned in the memory. "Mmm, yes," she murmured. "We were good."
"We're still good," he told her, tracing her lips with one finger. "Am I as good as he is?"
She only smiled, took his hand in hers, and kissed it. "I don't want to talk about him," she commented suddenly, rolling next to him and wrapping her arms around his neck.
------------------------------------------------------
You have only been gone ten days
But already I'm wasting away
-----------------------------------------------------
He plopped back onto the pillow and regained his breathing. "It's amazing."
She turned over in his arms and looked at him. "What's that?"
He smiled and kissed her deeply once again. He was tired, and becoming more so, but his lips ached with every second they weren't kissing hers. "I forget everything when I'm with you. Everything bad in my life . . ."
"Me too." Her eyes were honest. "None of this would have happened if we'd given it a chance."
He was confused. "None of what?"
"You know, none of this shit in our lives," she murmured, relaxing in his embrace.
"You can't honestly be telling me that everything in our lives is shit," he told her. "What about -"
"Well, of course," she added hastily, embarrassed that she'd almost forgotten. "But we would still have each other."
"We still *do* have each other."
"Not like we used to," she sighed. "We used to be good friends, if you remember. We just gave up too quickly." She eyed him. "You gave up too quickly."
"I had other things going on in my life," he muttered. "You know that. Your life was going crazy as it was, you and your obsessions."
"What obsessions?!"
"You know what I'm talking about."
She sighed and snuggled further into his arms. "That's all over now. I'm wise now."
"I can see that," he commented, kissing her behind the ear. "Besides, friendship is overrated."
"You're telling me," she smiled, turning over and kissing him softly.
--------------------------------------------------
I know I'll see you again
Whether far or soon
--------------------------------------------
"Are you coming again tonight?"
She wrapped the scarf around her neck and smiled at him. "I'm planning on it," she teased, her fingers brushing the doorknob. "Otherwise sex would be no fun."
He chuckled and sat up in the bed. "Now who's being lewd?"
"Don't ask me, I'm the innocent in this, remember?" she asked, stepping back over to the bed. She cupped his face in her hand and kissed him once more. "I'll be here. Just don't make me wait again like last night."
He smiled, enjoying her touch but dreading her departure. "Can't you stay a little longer?"
"After all the time it took me to get dressed?" she asked, stroking his head. "No. I can't. I'm supposed to have been working all this time, remember? I'll be missed."
"You're already missed." He hated himself for being so damn sentimental . . . but he hated this part.
She let her fingers trail from his face, then turned around and opened the door. "I'll see you at the hospital, then?" she called.
He nodded, and with one more mutual smile, she headed out the door. Suddenly, he called "Elizabeth?"
She turned around. "Peter, I've got to go -"
He nodded reluctantly. "It's going to be all right, I think," he told her. "All of it."
She smiled. "I'm glad."
-------------------------------------------------
But I need you to know, that I care
and I miss you
--------------------------------------------------
Rating: R
Song: "I Miss You" by Incubus
Summary: What would it be like to forget it all, if only for a moment . . .
-------------------------------------------------------
To see you when I wake up
Is a gift I didn't think could be real
To know that you feel the same, as I do
Is a three-fold Utopian dream
------------------------------------------------------
The luminous curve of her hips cut through the darkness of the room. Her skin was soft, traceable, beautiful. She was lying on her side, facing him, asleep. His eyes stroked her body from a foot away - he knew every touch of her. One hand, which used to be propping up her head, was folded underneath her perfect face, cupping the soft cheek effortlessly. The other hand was resting along the line of her figure; her fingertips barely touching the ascent that led to her hips, those hips, beautiful when sleeping but alive with vigor when she was awake. He knew the feel of those hips, how it felt to place his hands on either side of them and to hold her in the balance. They were womanly hips - they encompassed every thing he loved about her. They made her into one of Raphael's Madonnas - her smooth skin and full features could be right out of a painting from the Renaissance. Above her hips was her stomach, and his eyes pulled across it towards her modest breasts. Big breasts were overrated - hers weren't small, of course, but they were full enough for him. They always melded inside his hands so perfectly; they were soft, but firm . . . they complimented her well. They led to a neck he loved to kiss - it was swanlike in its length and softness, and the curve of her jaw made him want to taste it again. That was a talented jaw. Unable to resist, he stroked its curve with one finger, not wanting to wake her but unable to keep his hands to himself. He traced up to her ear and brushed aside a lock of hair, which was even more tussled now than it normally was. She always put a lot of work into that hair to make it look like it did, and he couldn't begin to understand why. His own hand was propping up his face as he stared at her; his elbow was beginning to ache from being in the pillow for so long. Sleepily he stretched it out and placed his cheek on his forearm - now he was looking straight across at her, and not down at her so much. He put his other hand to her face and stroked her cheek softly, not wanting to rouse her but wishing she would wake all the same. He loved the sparkle in her eye, the sparkle that was hidden underneath her peaceful eyelid. But she was tired. She'd wake in time. Then he could feel those glorious hips once again.
God.
-------------------------------------------------------
You do something to me
That I can't explain
------------------------------------------------------
When he opened his own eyes she was staring into them. It took him a moment to realize that he'd drifted off himself. He blinked once but looked into her eyes, which were intense but inviting. He couldn't see what she was thinking. With a brief grin, he put out his hand again and placed it against her face again. She closed her eyes and seemed to relish the touch.
They should be speaking. He knew this. Normal lovers spoke to each other. Hell, they'd been pretty talkative when they had first been together - so why the silence now? Did words bring back the pain that they both had to ignore in order for this to work?
He didn't have much time to think. Like every decent Madonna, she leaned over and kissed him, and it was only a matter of seconds before his hands were around that waist again.
-------------------------------------------------
So would I be out of line, if I said
I miss you
-------------------------------------------------
"You're beautiful, you know."
They were the first words of the morning and they seemed to cut her. She was sitting with her back against the headboard, almost perched, and she didn't look at him as she muttered "Don't say that to me."
"Why not? It's true."
"Just don't, all right?" She was studying her hands.
He was quiet for a long time. She always seemed irritated right after they had sex. Made love. Whatever. "You don't need to feel guilty. We've talked about that before."
"I know. I don't want to talk about it now."
"Well, talk about something, then," he quipped.
"Why do we need to talk? Why can't we just be together? Why does everything have to be so damn romantic?" she suddenly demanded. She was finally looking at him now, and it was an almost accusing glare.
He closed his eyes wearily. She could be so difficult sometimes. But he convinced himself to not become agitated again. "Fine, then let's be together," he sighed, wrapping an arm around her back and drawing her close to him.
She relented and laid down next to him; placing her head on his chest like so many times before, she murmured "This isn't *that* wrong, is it?"
"No." His voice rumbled comfortingly, and she smiled at how familiar it was.
"I mean, it's not right, obviously, but it's really not wrong," she rationalized, tracing her delicate fingers along his chest and shoulder. "This was meant to be, you and I."
He only nodded in agreement as he sifted a lock of her hair through his hands.
She was obviously deep in thought, and her fingers stopped on his chest. "If it's not right, and it's not wrong," she said softly, "then what is it?"
He smiled slightly. "It's perfect," he told her, kissing the top of her head tenderly.
-------------------------------------------------------
I see your picture, I smell your skin on
The empty pillow next to mine
----------------------------------------------------
"You were not!" she exclaimed, slapping his arm playfully. They were a mirror image of each other - each lying on their side, each facing each other, both faces propped up by an arm. The thick bedspread was draped over them, revealing only shadows of her breasts any more. "How could that cross your mind?!"
"I don't know," he replied with a guilty grin. "It seemed like the obvious answer."
"Obvious answer to what, damning yourself to a lifetime of torture?" she laughed.
"I didn't think so at the time," he told her, running a finger along her cheek.
Her smile faded to only a slight pursing of her full lips. "Does she know about me?"
He looked at her. "Does it matter?"
"Yes, it matters," she sighed. "I don't want to be what breaks you two up."
"It's a little late for that."
She looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean by that?"
"It's as good as over. She's out of the picture." He smiled at her. "But look who's throwing stones; have you been perfectly honest about me?"
Her eyes darted down to the sheet. "You know I can't."
"I know." He paused. "You're not ever going to tell him?"
"I might," she murmured, tracing the design on the bedspread. "In time."
There was silence between them then and he hated it. "It's not like it matters, anyway," he told her helpfully, stroking her arm. "You're not even sleeping together anymore."
She raised an eyebrow. "And how do you know that?"
He grinned at her devilishly. "You're hungry in bed."
"Hungry?" she exclaimed, her eyes wide. "I am not! Don't be lewd!"
"You haven't had sex in a while," he commented. "I can tell. You're like you used to be . . . in the beginning. Do you remember that?"
She closed her eyes and grinned in the memory. "Mmm, yes," she murmured. "We were good."
"We're still good," he told her, tracing her lips with one finger. "Am I as good as he is?"
She only smiled, took his hand in hers, and kissed it. "I don't want to talk about him," she commented suddenly, rolling next to him and wrapping her arms around his neck.
------------------------------------------------------
You have only been gone ten days
But already I'm wasting away
-----------------------------------------------------
He plopped back onto the pillow and regained his breathing. "It's amazing."
She turned over in his arms and looked at him. "What's that?"
He smiled and kissed her deeply once again. He was tired, and becoming more so, but his lips ached with every second they weren't kissing hers. "I forget everything when I'm with you. Everything bad in my life . . ."
"Me too." Her eyes were honest. "None of this would have happened if we'd given it a chance."
He was confused. "None of what?"
"You know, none of this shit in our lives," she murmured, relaxing in his embrace.
"You can't honestly be telling me that everything in our lives is shit," he told her. "What about -"
"Well, of course," she added hastily, embarrassed that she'd almost forgotten. "But we would still have each other."
"We still *do* have each other."
"Not like we used to," she sighed. "We used to be good friends, if you remember. We just gave up too quickly." She eyed him. "You gave up too quickly."
"I had other things going on in my life," he muttered. "You know that. Your life was going crazy as it was, you and your obsessions."
"What obsessions?!"
"You know what I'm talking about."
She sighed and snuggled further into his arms. "That's all over now. I'm wise now."
"I can see that," he commented, kissing her behind the ear. "Besides, friendship is overrated."
"You're telling me," she smiled, turning over and kissing him softly.
--------------------------------------------------
I know I'll see you again
Whether far or soon
--------------------------------------------
"Are you coming again tonight?"
She wrapped the scarf around her neck and smiled at him. "I'm planning on it," she teased, her fingers brushing the doorknob. "Otherwise sex would be no fun."
He chuckled and sat up in the bed. "Now who's being lewd?"
"Don't ask me, I'm the innocent in this, remember?" she asked, stepping back over to the bed. She cupped his face in her hand and kissed him once more. "I'll be here. Just don't make me wait again like last night."
He smiled, enjoying her touch but dreading her departure. "Can't you stay a little longer?"
"After all the time it took me to get dressed?" she asked, stroking his head. "No. I can't. I'm supposed to have been working all this time, remember? I'll be missed."
"You're already missed." He hated himself for being so damn sentimental . . . but he hated this part.
She let her fingers trail from his face, then turned around and opened the door. "I'll see you at the hospital, then?" she called.
He nodded, and with one more mutual smile, she headed out the door. Suddenly, he called "Elizabeth?"
She turned around. "Peter, I've got to go -"
He nodded reluctantly. "It's going to be all right, I think," he told her. "All of it."
She smiled. "I'm glad."
-------------------------------------------------
But I need you to know, that I care
and I miss you
--------------------------------------------------