Title: Turn From Grace
Author: keppiehed
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Prompt: "Catalyst"
A/N: Winner of week #1 at Brigits Flame. I like to use the prompt phrase when I write, but I felt like this character was a major catalyst in her own right, enough to excuse the outright use of the actual term itself. I hope you agree!
He'd dreamed of her every night for a week before she appeared to him.
Each fantasy was different; sometimes she showed up in a swathe of green veils and in other dreams only her long hair kept her modesty intact. Yet it was always her, and he knew she would come to him. His lust was awakened even before they met.
"Trust in God," his father always said. "To put your faith in earthly things is surely the path of ruin. You are strong and God has always protected you. Trust in Him and you shall never have cause for disappointment, Son."
He remembered his father's words as he held his hands under the waters of the river Sorek. He flexed his fingers, remaining expressionless as the lacerations opened anew. The brook water was icy even this late in the season, and he couldn't feel the cuts. He breathed until his heart slowed in his chest and his long hair lay still down his back. He had grown weary of his own limitless strength. He had grown tired of goodness and longed to yield to cradling thighs. He wanted to lose himself in the softness of a woman who had never had to crush bones into powder. He needed to be held by arms that had never ripped anyone to pieces.
It was in this vein of musing that she first made herself evident, stepping over the hill and out of dreams. Her generous hips swayed and he was smitten, even though she wore impending peril like a perfume. He watched her approach without blinking, and though every inch of her was covered, she was more alluring than anything he had the power to dream for himself.
"How did you know where to find me?" he asked by way of introduction.
"You're the stuff of legend," she answered, her voice a throaty purr. "'Twould be a harder task to lose yourself than to be found. And I've been searching for you for a very long time."
"I'm here," he said, unable to think of anything cleverer. "I'm yours." It sounded pathetic to his own ears, but perhaps she would think it plaintive.
She must have, for she merely smiled and withdrew his hand, still dripping from the river, and held it to her breast. Something jolted in him then, something in the area that he suspected was his heart, and he knew he'd been changed forever. He would do anything—everything—to see that smile again.
"I know, Samson," she said, and she kissed him.