Note: Spoilers for "For King and Country." John's perspective as he slept during "The Scene." I own nothing of Sanctuary or its characters. I only play with them. My words, however, are my own. Please review! I'd be forever grateful. Thanks go MajorSam for the fast beta ;)
Copper and Clay
(Copyright 2010, NoCleverSig)
In his dream she laid with him. Her smaller frame pressed warm against his body, his arm draped across the curve of her waist, enfolding her, her hand interlocked with his. Her head rested against his chest, her soft hair teasing his neck, his chin. She stroked his arm lightly, her fingers gently caressing his skin, soothing him, loving him.
They said nothing. There was no need. Their bodies had memorized each other's form long ago. Words were redundant.
The creature within him railed against her presence. But the man…the man's heart broke with joy, and in his dream, he caged the beast with his love for her.
How long had it been since they had lain like this? Years? Centuries? How long since he had enveloped her in his arms and felt nothing but the heavenly sensation of holding her and the blissful peace that simple action brought?
In his reverie, he pulled her closer. She melted into the mold of his body like copper to a clay crucible. Two parts of a single whole.
She arched her back against him, dissolving the space between them. He pressed a whispered kiss into her hair and tightened his grip across her waist. His desire welled up beside her, and he lifted their still tangled fingers to cup her breast. A sigh escaped her, and the sound of it made him shiver with longing.
God, how he loved her!
He could die a thousand deaths and it would all be worth this single moment in time. This fevered dream of encircling her in his arms once more.
Nothing. Nothing eased his soul…except this. This woman.
In his vision, they lay naked on a blanket in spring. Warm, smooth skin against warm, smooth skin. She smelled of fresh air and green grass and wildflowers in an English meadow…daisies, cornflowers, violets, and phlox.
They had planned a picnic here, but the basket she brought was soon forgotten for a hunger of a different kind. Articles of clothing scattered about them until they lay naked on the warm grass, her blue eyes gazing up at his. Her blonde curls framed her face.
"I love you, John," she smiled up at him.
She wrapped her arms around his neck. Her body, her entire being completely open to him. All for him.
He took her there in that field. Later, the monster within him would make it something dirty, something vile.
But the man knew better. It was beautiful. What they had was chaste and pure and the only thing that still grounded him to this world.
And tonight, she rested beside him once more, open and willing and loving him… the man that he was, somewhere deep inside.
He let go of her fingers, her breast, and slid his open hand down to trace lazy circles on her stomach, her body trembling at his touch. He dipped lower and found her center, warm and moist and waiting…only for him. More than he wanted this, wanted to possess her, he wanted simply to love her. To write with his body a sonnet of passion so strong she would never feel abandoned when the beast took hold of him once more.
She moved with him, her body in perfect unison with his. Sweat beaded between them, her back, his chest. He stopped, only briefly, to lift her leg and ease himself inside her, moving his hand to caress her. Her soft gasp was a choir of holy angels to his ears.
He wrapped himself tight about her, leaving no distance between them. Moving inside her warmth, feeling the softness of her skin, smelling the scent of her hair…roses…and lavender…and green, English grass.
She arched once more against his groin and he spilled himself into her, crying her name into her hair, his hand still moving against her, bringing her tumbling with him in sheer rapture.
Then he held her. Simply held her, her warmth keeping his demon at bay. Her fingers stroking his arm, touching him, reminding the man within that she remembered their love. It was not forgotten.
He smiled at the thought of it.
And in his dream, he pulled her close once more, copper to clay, and melted against her, her porcelain crucible holding his soul.
END