Disclaimer: I do not own Skinwalkers nor its characters. They belong to LGF, After Dark, and whoever else screwed the movie up.
Warning/Note: Sexuality.
Found
She can't remember the last time she felt so blissfully lost. She's been lost so many times; never like this. Never with euphoria racing through her veins as her pulse hums melodically; only with fear pumping through them to a spasmodic beat.
He surrounds her. Envelopes her. He's everywhere, and she can't even tell where he ends and she begins. He embraces her, enfolds her, buries himself within her - and she's whole at last.
Grass blades damp with cool, morning dew tickle her from behind; the back of her arms and legs feel the tiny, moist tips brushing against her skin. Sweat slicks the rest of her body; both his and hers.
The echoes of guttural growls and inhuman moans ring in her ears and through the forest. The sound of flesh against flesh rings through her entire form.
She's completely lost. She can't tell where she is, where she's been, where she's going. All she knows is she wants to get there quick but slow; soon yet so, so much later. She's heading somewhere sweet, and she doesn't want to take advantage.
He's hard inside her; his grip tight to mimic the one she has on him. He's everywhere, and all she knows is him; all she knows is he's taking her to her unknown destination. He's taking her there faster; the ride is harder and the rhythm of their pace is something deeper and baser than human.
Something primal and perfect. Something eternal and binding.
She doesn't know how she knows this. She can't remember anything like this, and she can't understand it. But she knows. She just knows.
The sunrise is trickling in through the leaves; the dew sparkles along the ground. Surrounding her like a field of diamonds. The wind rustles, and they shimmer and dance around her.
They're going faster now, and she cries out in pleasure and protest.
'Don't waste it. Don't rush it.
'Don't take it from me. Don't leave me lost.'
And he promises her he won't. His voice is strange and sweet in her ear; something foreign and familiar at the same time. His vows are not in human tongues; he growls comfortingly, and that is all she needs.
Somehow she understands.
She'll never be lost again, except with him.
The belief in his promise is a naivety she can't remember feeling. The childlike faith combines with the sweetness of the journey he's taking her on, and her grips tighten; her arms, her legs, her cunt.
He's harder now, faster now; they're almost there, he tells her in a snarl. He's gripping her as tightly as she grips him, and he looks lost himself. His pace becomes jerky, spasmodic; the rhythm is gone.
With a cry she can barely recognize as her own, she rejoices in her rapture, in her blissful completion, in her perfect homecoming. She's no longer lost; he always finds her.