Untitled
- thespiceagony
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters protrayed. maybe I quasi-own John. Who knows. The RIAA has a better chance of getting me than Jim Henson. =\
Sarah sat at a small round table in a dingy little kitchen. She absently sipped at some coffee while paging through a small planner, scheduling everything in her head. She'd been working for a small theatrical magazine for a while now, and she had appointments and deadlines to keep. She sighed a little and shook her hair out of her face, stealing a glance at the clock. Six-thirty. What a nightmare. Oh well. Some things had to be done, and a roof over your head and food on the table were some of them.
A tall man wandered into the kitchen from an adjoining hallway. He was dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and a loose white t-shirt. Blonde hair, angular features, a prominent nose. He seemed a bit older than the busy woman at the table. He grabbed a newspaper from a dull yellow countertop.
"Mornin' doll," he stole a kiss on her cheek. Sarah smiled.
"Good morning."
"You look beautiful this morning," he winked at her. She outright giggled.
"I'm wearing a robe, John. And I haven't even showered," she protested. It was true. The threadbare green robe had definitely seen better days, and her hair shone a bit with oil.
"Ah, well…you know you always look beautiful to me," he gave her a happy-go lucky smile.
Sarah grinned indulgently, took her papers with her and stood up from the table right as he sat down. She walked past him into the hallway, ruffling his hair as she went. Sometimes it was good to hear things like that, especially when you were a bit downtrodden. She smiled to herself. John was a good man. For various reasons, she was glad to have him. She reached the bathroom and quietly shut the door. It was time to begin the day.
By the time she got home, she was exhausted. She tossed her keys on an end table, and kicked off her shoes. It had been one hell of a long day at the magazine. Sarah was an editor now, and she had all kinds of tasks and meetings thrown at her. The theater world was so busy, no wonder she'd given up acting. So much congestion. At points of high stress, she would sit at her desk, resting her head in her palms and thinking of the last time she had truly escaped. She didn't know if it was real, but she didn't really care. Fond memories were fond memories, after all. Sighing, she went to the bedroom to get changed.
John was already asleep, his mischievous face strangely angelic in the moonlight that came in through an open window. She opened her closet carefully, so as not to wake him. She pulled out a nightgown and changed. Slipping into bed, cuddling up next to the warm man beside her, this was the best part of her day. Sarah found that a little upsetting.
Sarah was out of breath with laughter. She kept running down a hall of stone, her shoes clacking on the flagstone underneath her. Her hands held up her voluminous skirts, which lent a swish-swish harmony to the beat of her shoes. She didn't know why she was running, or who from. All she knew was that it was exhilarating, and she couldn't help but laugh out of pure joy. The hall seemed long, but she didn't grow tired. She just ran and laughed like a girl, fully enjoying herself. She rounded a corner ahead, and found she could either run further, or choose a door to her right. She chose the door.
Closing the door behind her, she leaned back on it. Her laughter was coming in hiccups now as her body demanded she slow down and breathe. As her lungs resumed a semi-normal pace, she became aware of her surroundings. She was in a lady's bedroom. It was nighttime, but the shutters of a large window were thrown open to allow some natural light, and strategically placed candles helped nature along. The bed was simple. Four posts and soft fabric hung behind the headboard in an illusion of a canopy. The sheets were fine white linen. At the foot of the bed was a hope chest, anything a decent girl had to show for herself. Across the room, to Sarah's left, was a tall mirror on a pivot, so it could angle in any direction up or down. A wardrobe sat in the corner. Sarah's eyes were drawn to the mirror. She wore a gown of thick dark blue velvet. It seemed to be patterned after a gown of the Tudor dynasty. It was full skirted, with tight sleeves that belled out at the wrists, and a square neckline. Simple gold trim. Her hair was loose, tangled from the running. It was so strange. She stepped closer to the mirror, so absorbed in the changes to her appearance that she didn't notice when someone came in. It took a hand rested on her shoulder to let her know that she had been caught.
"You are fascinating, I agree." The voice was husky, with a mocking tone. She turned a bit and tilted her head to glance behind her.
"I didn't think you'd catch me."
"All you've done is run from me, and I've had practice in chasing," he laughed deep in his throat.
"I won't run now."
"Oh?"
"I've finished with that."
"My dear, that is very good news. But you didn't come here to talk."
"No," she admitted.
"Then a hunter should be allowed his game."
He pulled her hair off to the side, and Sarah closed her eyes as she felt his other arm come to rest around her waist. She willed herself to breathe steadily. He was beginning to lay soft kisses just under her ear, unexpectedly gentle for someone who simply oozed power. The hand that had brushed away her hair traced along the back of her neckline until it found the tops of her stays. He didn't pause in his kisses as the hand slipped beneath her gown and as he stroked down the length of her back, the stays unlaced themselves to allow him the movement. His arm withdrew from her waist and she waited with anticipation of what might come next.
As for the hunter, he was enraptured. He had watched her since she was a girl, when he had lost her last. The feel of her in his arms, the sound of her shaky breath, the smell of her hair, she set his senses on fire. Years of indifference had left him vulnerable to passion. She had captured him with passion, and now indifference had her in his place. He pushed her bodice aside, exposing her shoulders and a thin gauze chemise. He watched as she removed her arms from the sleeves, letting the gown fall into a pool of blue at her feet. It was then that she turned around.
Her hunter was taller than she was, with a mane of wild blonde hair. Exotic and dangerous, but she trusted him. He had been her means of a long-ago escape. She would have that feeling back again. Sarah wrapped her arms around his neck, partially hindered by a wide collar, but at the first sign of struggle his jacket vanished. He seemed less imposing without it. She studied him in silence, and he indulged her. Tentatively, she bowed her head and pressed her lips to the hollow where his neck met his chest. She felt her hunter's pulse quicken.
Next thing either of them knew, they were where instinct and impulse had led them – the bed. His hands worked hurriedly at the ties of the neckline of the chemise. They loosed, and her breasts pushed the flimsy fabric aside. She, on the other hand, had cast his shirt off long ago. As for his leggings and boots, well, she didn't remember how they'd gotten off. But it didn't really matter. His hands and his mouth were working their magic on her. He lifted the hem of her gown and then she was his in one brilliant moment. Movement lost its sensation, and all that mattered to either of them was the feel of the other. His breath on her face. The chemise that he had neglected to remove rubbing against his skin. It was all bittersweet and entangled limbs, and when it came to a crescendo, then it was over.
The hunter stirred. He was awake but he kept his eyes shut. A smell of sweat and something musky assaulted him, as well as something soft and warm beneath him. His eyes snapped open. His head rested on Sarah's shoulder, one arm over his head and the other over her waist. She was sleeping peacefully. She'd escaped. But he was always trapped. She was intoxicating! She was the catalyst that had thrown him from the comfort of not giving a damn. She was exciting, and she deserved to have her passion back. He settled back against her, allowing himself the luxury of being in her presence.
Sarah sat at her dingy kitchen once again. But she wasn't so harried. Today she sat with a composed air, her pen scratching away on her first-draft resignation letter. Next to her were the phone numbers of a couple agents and casting companies. Acting might be congested, but it was a lot freer than writing about it. She was smiling to herself. Acting had been one of the last things she cared about. Aside from…it didn't do any good to bring that up. That was too good to be real.
John came in at his usual time. He was like clockwork, picking up the newpaper and getting his coffee.
"Mornin' doll," he smiled.
Sarah looked over her shoulder at him.
"Good morning," it had a newfound sincerity.
"You look beautiful this morning," he pressed a kiss to her cheek and sat down across from her.
"Thank you."
But I think I prefer you in blue, he thought.