The touch. The scent. Those fingers entwined with mine. The moonlight shaped our bodies as they became one.
The clothes were long gone somewhere, lost on the beach. The sea caressed the shore as my hands caressed her curves. She was passionate, but also gracious, even when she made love to me. She'd grace me with those eyes... they were so beautiful, that breath-taking gaze that would make my knees go weak and almost have me plead to kiss her, devour her, make her mine. It didn't matter how many stars were in the sky, how bright was the moonlight, nothing else existed when we were in each other's arms.
And when her fire took over she was merciless. She'd tease and make me quiver, she'd have me squirm with her deft hands, when she tasted my skin with her tongue, when her lips made me shiver as they hovered on my breast. It was often I who held her tight, made her scream my name, made her beg that I'd love her. But that night I was hers. Like many others before. She wanted to exact a sweet and passionate revenge, chain me to her with her kisses and her moves, lock me in her embrace so that I would not escape.
My love, my hope, I didn't want to escape, all I wanted was to be with you, protect you and be protected, warm each other up at night, argue over cooking, appreciate you in every way I could imagine.
Her lips began to slowly dance downards along my curves, they left my chest and inexorably kissed every inch of my skin. I couldn't take that torture anymore, I wanted her so much. But that's what she was hoping for all along. I closed my eyes and inhaled her scent once more. The salt-filled air of the seashore was nothing compared to her.
Her sudden scream, the warmth of her body ripped away from me, the stinging pain at my kidneys — I didn't have time to react, before I knew it two masked people were all over us. They wanted some "fun" they said and we had already done half of the work by throwing our clothes away. I tried to free myself up from my captor, putting to good use that Klingon martial art training my father tried so hard to teach.
The man who had seized me screamed something in some language at the other, who was already having his way with my lover. I turned to look at him, he had her kneeled with a pistol pointed at her temple, his pants down as he was hammering inside her.
She was screaming, begging for my help. She called my name as her tears poured down her beautiful but agonising face.
I lost control.
I don't know how, but I managed to wrestle against the beast that wanted to hunt and possess me. I found myself holding his gun in my hand as he was on the floor. Two shots and it was the end of him.
Two shots? I only pulled the trigger once. Didn't I?
I swear I felt my heart stopped beating. I turned around and saw the puddle of blood on the beach. The other man was cussing at me something incomprehensible, and taken over by instinct I fired at him before he could shoot me too.
I threw the pistol on the bloody sand. I fell on my knees and struggled on my fours towards my other half. My hands were shaking and I couldn't breathe. When I finally reached her I cried out her name, but she didn't move.
I begged her to respond.
She didn't move.
I took her in my arms, I kissed her lips the way she loved, that same way that made her fall hopelessly for me, as she said to me countless times before.
She didn't move.
Regret and guilt started to take over as hope began to abandon me. I was always the impulsive one, the one who'd rage, that half Klingon side of me dominated that part of my being all the time. And I did it again, I acted without thinking but that time it cost me more than any honour I would ever be willing to lose. If I remained patient, if I acted at the right time, she'd still be alive.
The touch. The scent. Those cold fingers entwined with mine for the last time. Her blood shaped our bodies and was now on my hands.