[A/N: These characters aren't mine, but their creators no longer deserve them. So I'm hijacking them and pretending like everything I write is canon. This story, incidentally, has taken on a life of its own and has become something more than I originally intended, but I'm enjoying it nonetheless. Please read and review.]
Victory and Defeat
Now
CC tapped her toes against the slightly chilly wood floor; from her position on the bed, her entire feet could not reach the ground. A shaft of moonlight sneaking in from a small gap in the curtains bisected her feet and glimmered off the polish on her toes. It afforded the room a small amount of light, enough to make out the stark wooden desktop, the slightly eerie outline of a large collection of books, and the smooth mound of silk on the floor. She fleetingly thought of wrinkles, of jeopardizing the integrity of the fragile material, when the slumbering body behind her shifted.
It was not the first time this had happened, far from it, and by the sporadic jolts of pleasure still coursing through her, she knew it would not be the last. Years of experience had unwittingly taught her that no matter how many times she tried to pretend that it might be the last time, she knew it wasn't and she was starting to wonder if it might never be the last time.
He was the source of more in her life than he knew, than she even dared to guess. There was no logic or sense to it—there was only sensation and pleasure and, lately, CC thought, maybe some emotion. She had felt something different this last time, a burgeoning warmth somewhere near her belly that was entirely different from the surge of heat he caused in a decidedly more southern region.
She knew she should leave; it was always easier (simpler?) to leave at night than to risk being seen in the morning. It was also much harder to get through the day when she was forced to rouse herself earlier than she usually did to avoid any awkward and revealing encounters with anyone else in the house.
His voice nearly caused her to jump, but she knew he hadn't been fully asleep. She recognized the different ways he breathed—the slow, even breaths that meant he was sleeping peacefully; the increasingly deep breaths that meant he was near to falling asleep; the quick, shallow breaths when they'd start kissing. So much useless knowledge she'd attained over the years, useless but guarded possessively by her heart that silently shouted its random trivia whenever another woman would come sniffing around and inevitably retreat within weeks or months.
"You leaving, Babcock?" he mumbled, his face half obscured by his pillow. CC glanced over her shoulder, conveniently avoiding eye contact, and her profile in the moonlight momentarily took his breath away. Had he been more awake, he might have pulled her back down beside him to take her once more.
"Yes," she said, turning away before he could catch the slight disappointment etched on her face. She stood just as his arm reached for her lazily but fell heavily upon the mattress that was still warm from her body heat.
Niles kept one eye open to watch her dress, to see the silk of her dress slide over her curves and settle in attractive folds. She ran a hand absently through her hair and she certainly wasn't aware that the movement of the strands caught the moonlight, bringing out the different blond highlights. Strange, he mused, how a woman with whom he was so physically intimate could still seem so unreachable in moments like this.
Next she slid into her heels, one finger hooking behind the heel strap. Niles thought she looked like an advertisement for some sort of couture or even perfume: the lavish dress, the expensive heels, her hair beautifully mussed by its owner's recent physical activity. These thoughts always struck him in moments like this and they remained so: just thoughts, never spoken, and though he used to be able to swallow them easily when they'd first began their encounters, lately Niles found that it was just a little harder to keep his thoughts unspoken. At least it was too dark for her to see the look in his eyes at times like this when his defenses were down, lulled by intense pleasure and exhaustion.
When she'd slid on her light wool coat and grabbed her clutch purse, she turned to him still without fully looking into his face. Here was the only moment of awkwardness they'd ever experienced during their times together and why he knew she preferred for this to happen at her penthouse: it was always easier to be the one kicking the other out, though he'd never actually kicked her out. He had no qualms about her staying the night and had even dared to say so once, years ago, at which time she'd laughed in his face and left, no doubt grateful that he'd given her such an easy exit that time.
Niles yawned, stretching, and CC's eyes traveled down his bare torso, stopping at the sheet that covered him. As his eyes reopened, CC stared down at her hand, pretending to fuss with the clasp on her clutch.
Niles decided to make it easier for her. "G'night, Babcock."
"Goodnight," CC returned, squaring her shoulders and quietly exiting his room. Niles grinned and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow that still stubbornly held onto her scent.