He would always sit there on the bed, grinning as she stepped out of the bathroom and twirling for him. She would step over lightly, crushing her lips to his, and he would immediately be lost in a daze that only she could bring on; the feel of her, the smell of her, the taste...
It wasn't the first time they had met this -unprofessionally- and nor, he could guarantee, would it be the last. They couldn't stay away from each other, and she always said that she could never understand what drove her to insanity simply by being in his embrace. He knew, well of course he knew, what it was. The same thing that drove him crazy, the same thing that induced more of a high than any drug or drink could possibly give.
Her smell.
He loved it, the way she smelled of summer, grass, wind and most of all; cherries.
He could always taste them as well, he was sure it was her lip gloss, but he never saw her put any on, and she always tasted the same... afterwards. She detested cherries with a passion (though not as much passion as she could display) but he loved them. Ironically he had hated them up until his fifteenth birthday.
It was then that she had come into his room, more than slightly drunk from the party (although he was only fifteen and hardly the sort to encourage alcohol, somebody had spiked the drinks and she hadn't realised even at that point) and professed her undying love to him. He had refused, saying it was wrong, she was older, him only fifteen... She ignored him and attempted to change his mind through a teenagers weakest point; his hormones.
Well, it had worked that night, and they had both woken the next morning wrapped up in each other's arms and tangled so closely together that neither could move. They decided not to, and lay there in an embrace for an hour, talking about what would happen, what they wanted.
In the end it was kept casual. Whilst he certainly wanted her solely for his own, and he she wanted him for more than they had between them then, neither could be seen in a relationship with the other and so they both met up occasionally and put all of the longing, the anticipation and the frustration into one moment, and drew it out as long as they could, because they both knew that come morning it was over again.
Every time he had to leave (and he did have to) he would hold her, not talking, not showering her with the passionate kisses that would enflame their blood the previous evening, but breathing in her scent deeply, hoping to last on the memories of it until the next time they saw each other.
He could tell it would never work, and every time they met again her smell hit him, destroying the memories of it and replacing them with no thought, only feeling.
They both knew they should stop, if they ever found out it would be catastrophic and have major ramifications for both of them. He would be disgraced, and his family would make sure that she, and the rest of her family, were hunted down.
So they kept it secret, each meeting a swirl of emotion, or lust, passion and love, but also tinged with remorse, fear, and sadness at the inevitable parting. They would meet, and like a supernova in one bright moment they would join, then the next would be gone.
Every time he walked away he would remember her smell, try and smell it off of his clothes even, anything to prolong the moment.
"It really is," He thought "Like a drug; and I the junkie who will come back to it time, and time again."
And he always did, and who knows... maybe it will work out, maybe they can be together.
"There are many different universes" He tells her one night, "And in each one a different event happens. The whole of existence; happening in an infinite number of ways. In one of those we are together without fear of the ramifications."
She nods her head and agrees, "I know Arty, but what about this one."
And he will fall silent, pensive and wondering what he can do to prolong his 'high'. It always ends the same way though, them both going their separate ways with a quick, loving kiss, and him muttering as he watches her drive away;
"I don't know Juliet... I don't know."
A/N Well... I AM NOT DEAD!!! Woo for all those who care... *tumble weed roles past, then combusts out of boredom*... Encouraging...
Anyways, I am not dead; I have just been putting work into college (sucks) personal stuff (mostly sucking as well, though for ENTIRELY different reasons) and DeviantArt! I have been writing an original story (all about Steampunk, and Pirates *ARGH!*) so feel free to check it out if you want, I reside as .com so I have only really been working on fanfictions for about an hour now... SORRY!
More to the point of this story... there isn't one... I have no idea what prompted this except I thought it would be nice to try and string people along for a bit thinking it was Holly or Minerva... did it work? This really is the first story of this... genre that I have written and I am not sure about it... still one with the show! Or perhaps not...
Yes this is a little bit of a crack pairing, but in all honesty what are you going to do? Flames will, after all, be used to light White Coal and power the Shadow Moth! MUAHAHAHA!!!
Lol :3