Part II:


This is the chase she adores, enjoys, craves with an abandon that makes her bones shake, and he knows it, because he's still grinning like an idiot when she swallows an excited breath.

So to tease him in kind, she acts reposed, self-collected, because he prides himself on her loss of control.

Adjusting her rouse, she brings her left hand between them.

"You'd better love me." she tells him. "I don't wear this ring for just any reason."

It makes him look at her ring finger, then back, and there's nothing dangerous anymore in his eyes. Instead they're soft, genuine, so tender in their gray composition, it hollows her chest with it's power.

"Well I'm glad you're wearing it for me."

His voice is gravel, as he says it, because not a day goes by when he feels at all deserving of what he's found.

He's told her as much, in their second year together, in the moments when his past transgressions affronted his mind, when his guilt of living a selfish existence before he'd met her, steered his thoughts to the self-deprecation of a penitent man.

And a year later, those rare times would carry an even heavier burden, the one he'd attempted to wear for them both.

But she was right there with him, when they destroyed the world he was born in.

We didn't have any other choice, she'd tell him, in the aftermath of it all, As much as we'd wanted to, we couldn't save them both. Then she'd press her forehead to his, fight back his despair with her comfort through her iron clad will. We knew we couldn't save them both.

But we're still here, our world is still here and everything will be okay now, and she'd try to smooth the ghosts from his face with her thumbs, caress away the pain of a destiny that evaded God's domain. What matters is how we live our lives now. What matters, is that we still fight for all the right we believe in.

And then she'll kiss him, and he'll let her, and he'll remember that he's an optimist, because she makes him feel absolved somehow, under her touch.

She has the power to make him forget too.

And so, like she, he's accepted this life, has resolved to fix all the broken facets of this fate with restructured hope.

But still, he'll never accept how magnificent he is. And he's so undoubtedly wonderful it mesmerizes her inside out.

It's she who's unworthy of him.

And the thought arrests her, veins through her whole body with the brimming warmth of another kinetic affection, another spark in her blood to add to the fire that's burning her all over.

And because she can't help it, because she'll go insane anymore from his stalled hand-prints, she finds his mouth, and under the shirt, his left hand finds the tender skin of her breast. It makes her groan into the kiss, nip his lips with an urgency that arcs her back, her whole body subjugate to his friction, clinging to the thrill of his bare skin.

"It's hard not to love you when you're so damn amazing."

She says this through ragged breath and he catches it, tastes it on the end of his lips as he pulls back from her mouth.

"In that case, you'll have to love me forever."

There's that grin again, eating her alive with it's radiance, and the endorphins under her skin are reeling from the weight of him above her, from the way he's shifted his body to press into hers, balancing himself on hands to either side of her.

"I plan on it."

She whispers, her palm trailing over his chest, finding the racing drum there that makes time with her own.

And in response, he looks at her hand, as if it's directing him towards some inner muse. Then, after a few seconds, he looks at his own.

"I hope my splinter comes out before then."

He says this so seriously, and looks at her with eyes so worried, she can't help but laugh at his impressive guise. So she mocks him because of it.

"You know, you're not as cute as you think when you act like a baby."

Responsively, his brows shift, setting lower now as his eyes grow dark again, an obscure hue that lines gray with a thrilling navy ore. This concentration makes her body hum louder, glow underneath his heavy lidded allure.

"Call me baby one more time. I'd really like that."

This tease calls her back to their first day together, in a different lifetime with different circumstance, when they stood in a bright, empty hall and she threatened his pain-in-the-ass brash quip after he'd called her sweetheart.

It's imperceptible how his beautiful mind remembers these things.

"Give me a reason."

She says, her voice hushed, playful.

So she finds his calf with her foot, un-buries the skin and course hair there as she lifts up his pajama leg with her toes. Then she cradles his right side with her leg, her bare thigh pressing into his core as she arches hers, and the soft line of hair on his torso excites her abdomen, flirts of a pleasure her whole body's calling out for. And she feels his arms tense as he fights to remain composed.

Like she, he's completely unwilling to lose this game. So he lowers himself down, pushes his body into hers, the bare skin of his belly kissing the parts of hers he'd exposed. And the sensation steals away from her a quick breath before his lips find her neck, nipping the flesh there before his mouth leaves it hot, excitedly scratched by his unshaven cheek.

"Give me a reason to give you a reason."

He whispers this into her ear, his hot breath making her shiver as much as the dare.

So she tampers the impulses he's crazed, runs her hands down his sides, and her fingers relish his natural runners form, taking in the lean muscle under his heated skin. And the sensation makes him shiver, groan a little as she finds the hem of his sleep pants, and he bites down on his bottom lip.

Then swiftly, instantly, she's pinned him, has him falling to the bed with an 'oof', before disentangling her legs from the clutch she tripped him up with. And to follow, she straddles him, dips the mattress in with her knees as she presses her lower half against his. She watches him swallow, hard, as his breath shallows, his eyes dangerously gray from below her, the dilation in his pupils telling her she's seconds away from caving him in.

Proud of herself, she raises a brow, braces herself on her arms before smiling down at him.

"Careful what you wish for, baby."

The whisper is another play on the day they'd met, and slowly, his mouth curves because of it, a line of perfect teeth peeking behind lips she's trying so hard not to plunder. Then his hand finds her cheek, and she feels the cool metal of his wedding band against her flushed skin.

And it isn't danger anymore in the gray, but something much more fragile, a gentle, pale blue emission of his awe, and it pushes into her with the way it softens his beautiful face.

This is his ideology of her, a wonder of the divinity he holds her to, and it catches in her chest, spurns out and into every crevice of her swollen heart.

"You're everything I could wish for."

Despite all the change he wants, all the terror of this world he'd wipe-away if he could, he finds peace in the chaos.

He knows it in her. And she obtains it through him.

And they won't dare ask for any other mercy because they don't need to.

The world completely stops in here.

For eons more, he gazes up at her, his admiration radiating through the threads of his soul, burrowing into her own until every breath she could take is lost to the depth of his love for her. So she leans against his hand, revels in the warmth of his palm before she leans down to kiss him, slowly, gently with the delicateness this moment calls for.

Then she runs her fingers through his hair, the silk curls turning to chestnut tussles before her hand finds his cheek, his course shadow rough under her palm, and her thumb-pad traces his bottom lip, absorbs what moisture she'd left on the flesh there.

"Prove it to me."

She says, her voice husk, as her eyes grow half-lidded, her desire reaming so intensely now, every facet of her body is screaming for every bare inch of him. So he lifts himself up, and it scoots her further onto him, sending a low, glorious pulse up her body, a hint of sexual release that's numbing her fingertips already.

This is how easily, he crazes her.

His hands are roaming up her bare thighs now, as his mouth finds her neck again, and he sucks on the skin there, so slowly, so perfectly that it's killing her.

"Say please." he demands, a heavy breath through his pillage, and as incentive, his hand slides up her side, lifts the shirt while the other holds her steady against him.

And it's when he leans closer, writhes his lower half under hers, the thrill threatens to make her delirious, imperceptive from the sensation that's begun melting her bones, and because there's too much fabric between them, too eager a throbbing in the part of her he's pressed against, her whole body tenses in protest to his covered skin. So she tries to find his drawstring, but his mouth finds her collarbone first, and his left hand ghosts over the side of her breast; his fingerprints, a vestige and an echo burned into her flesh.

And the thrill makes her push into him, her body tensing in anticipation, turning a dull pulse into a shooting ache that hitches her breath.

"Oh god, please Peter"

She manages, digging her intolerance into his shoulders, her fingers begging him to liberate every inch of her.

And so he smiles into her clavicle, in the smug, satisfied way that he does when he finds her breaking point, and right now she hates him for it because all she wants is every part of him melded into her.

Patience isn't a virtue. It's an excruciating injustice.

She's coming unglued, fully, as he tilts her up, slides his whole body against hers in a wave of hot flesh and agility. Then it's cool wind that hits her, as he tugs the shirt off her, a chill that contrasts the rampant radiation fueling her hunger, masking any coherency besides her own need.

And suddenly, her back hits the bed again, and it catches her breath, her diffuse inhalations swallowed by his own. And she feels his impatience matching hers now, the under-current of raw lust that's brimming under his skin, that's toppled both of them over in the kind of hot, electric desire they only know with each other.

Then he grabs her arms, pins them over her head so she can't touch him, makes her fingers scream out for the feel of him under them. And his slow grin is eating her alive because he wants her to suffer like this, wants her to want him so badly she'll die if she can't have him. And it's frustrating every hearted part of her, constricting her every muscle until all she can do is lay defenseless beneath him.

His eyes roam over her face, then her body, taking in every inch of her he'd just exposed, and to anyone else, anywhere else, this would be a self-conscious study, but to her, it's always invigorating, a tender, sensual excitement that shoots through to her toes. This is the moment he takes her in, beautifies her, commits to memory all the scars and freckles he knows now like the back of his hand. This is how he gives into her, and he's so close now, she can feel him collapse. Thick lashed, and heavy, his focus meets hers, a dewy gray capture that houses everything she'll ever want.

"How can I say no when you asked me so nicely?"

And so his hands slide down her arms, and he kisses her, with a passion borne of mutual desire, with a ravage rooted in need and comfort and adoration and promise. And she'll wrap herself up in him, in his scent and his sweat and his radiance and they'll share the rest of this morning like they will the rest of their lives; in the safe-heaven of familiarity, impassioned and intoxicated by the feel of each other.

In this dangerous, blinding city, this is the only road they know. The only one they'll make it by on.

Our life now, he told her, when they stood together at the start of this new world , won't be easy, but it'll be worth it.

And he's absolutely right.

This love has no fragile seams.