TITLE: On Guard
AUTHOR:
AnansaySPOILERS: Invisible Evidence
SUMMARY: Just another little 'thing' with that scene in mind.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Okay, I admit it, that "pin me down" scene has been bugging me a lot since I saw it. Maybe after I see the entire episode these little vignettes will go away. Maybe…
~*~
On Guard
By Anansay
She stands on guard, hands and arms in the air in a stance of defeat. Her head is turned to the side. She can't bear to see his face. She knows what she'll see. There'll be nothing there. A flat featureless face.
He is standing close to her, too close. She can smell him. It's a fresh smell, from a shower. No cologne to mask his singular scent.
She is supposed to be the victim, defending herself. He is supposed to be the attacker. Her character is going to die. His character should go to jail.
Her heart is beating wildly, but it's not the fear her character felt. This palpitation is from another feeling altogether. One of her own fear and arousal mixed into each other, making her slightly breathless and her senses come alive.
His breathing could be a part of his acting as well, coming in shorter gasps. The shaking hands might be his character's anticipation of the kill. It might be something else, but she doesn't let her mind go there.
She clamps down on her feelings, pushes them down, dampens them, shuts them up. They mustn't speak. They mustn't whisper little quibbles in her ears.
His hand is touching her and she fights to keep her eyes open. Not to close them in a loss of struggle. The hand on her waist is light and trembling. She fears that he can feel the jitteriness of her own body.
She watches as his fingers brush against her shoulder and then move down. Her body is alive and every nerve ending is screaming in frustration. He is so close to her and yet so far away. Just a hand and some fingers. And his breath. And his heat.
The urge to panic and run is strong. He's too close. He'll see. He'll hear. He'll know. No matter that he already knows after she asked him out. Now he'll know. She must keep that power. It is hers and hers alone. Not his. It can never be his.
Once again, she clamps down on a deviant emotion.
Her chest hitches as his fingers brush against her breast. She knows there was no intention of any sexual touching in this parody of a work-related re-enactment. But there is something in the slow way he is moving, in the way his breathing is just a little too fast. In the way his hand is now caressing her waist, the other one joining it quickly enough for its slow journey down the side of her body.
The air is thick.
She can't breathe.
She's suffocating.
She closes her eyes and wills her body to relax, to behave.
It doesn't work.
With a sudden exhalation, her hands come down against his shoulders, shoving him rudely away. His small utterance of surprise doesn't quite register with her as she skitters to the door, to the hallway, to fresh air. To someplace far from him.
"This is not working," she says on a breathe, leaning on one hand against the door frame. She knows she presents an odd picture. She doesn't care. Her heart is fighting her rib cage for freedom and there is nothing she can do about it.
She can see him, from the corner of her eye, standing in the middle of the room, staring at her. She doesn't care. No more games. No more.
She straightens up and meets his eyes. There is confusion in his and something else. Sadness. Maybe it's a trick of the light. Maybe it's a trick of her heart. Surely that sadness is but a figment of her wanton imagination.
"Sara—"
"No. It's not working. It's… it's just not working. We--" she swallows. "We have no idea what happened before he killed her. This is ridiculous."
She leaves the room.
She leaves him.
~*~
…the end…
Copyright 2003 Anansay