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Don't Give in to that Feeling
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IV – Put your blood on ice
He didn't think she could get his heart racing more. He had been awake for the better part of half an hour. She was barely wearing anything. He felt it all night: skin against skin. She had donned all the items of clothing he'd felt under his fingers; a tank top and small shorts. Soft and warm in his arms, there was a singular truth in their shared tasks. He had been the source of comfort and she the blanket, enabling his radiating heat no escape. Her closeness couldn't keep the fireworks inside of him at bay now. Her breath tickled the few chest hair between his pecs, the right side of her face having had all night to dry against him. If he had let go of her, he didn't know for his arms were still encircling her frame. Even if he had, he'd put them right where they belonged somehow. There was nothing wrong with sleeping beside her – he didn't feel uncomfortable and despite an incongruous sex-drive, it just felt right; and straight out from underneath it all – her sorrow, her being sorry for him and back to just flat out angry – she'd come to the same conclusion. She'd needed him.
There was no point in pretending to feel hazy about last night's events. As much as he wanted to stroke every bit of skin he came across, run his fingers through her hair and carry with them the words he didn't want to speak, he had to stop staring and continue dreaming of her face a little while longer. Her dad had died and the date that should have been was a vague memory. There wouldn't be a tomorrow without her now. And there certainly wouldn't be a funeral without him by her side. He'd hoped for something to bring her back to him – and in a way, him to her. To establish that connection he thought had been lost, anything and, staring at the ceiling he realized it should have been that date. A date he'd been so dead-set on, he'd forgotten his own insecurities for a moment only to have them tumble hard in the wake of Louis's warning.
Like on a big town avenue, he wanted nothing but to run into it, arms opened; break out of his shell, feeling the outside air energize every limb, every step and tell her he loved her. He shifted his eyes back to her face; he might have jolted slightly hadn't he sensed her shift in his arms. The look in her eyes told him she remembered; she was peeling away thoughts – jittery orbs trying to get him figured out. She was probably tossing out everything about her father to find something to hold on to in his. He had to be more than himself for her. There was no other way.
"I'm going to make you some coffee and then I'm going home."
"I understand," she averted her eyes from him.
Why was he always going about things the wrong way?
He captured her jaw and began stroking it, silently asking her to look back at him. "I'm going to Cortland with you. I just need to pack my things and get my car."
"I thought you'd changed your mind – not that I wouldn't under–"
"I would never do that."
She was touching his chest some more, running her fingers through his soft hair. He gulped at the price he was paying for the sweetest and most affectionate touch there could be. She looked too desirable like this, too sexy despite the redness under her eyes; pale, fragile and in need of comfort he – as a member of the opposite sex – could still provide for her. He had to get off this couch, his want becoming too expressive.
"You've got to help me out, here." He grimaced jokingly. "I have to pee and get ready."
She instinctively eyed his pants. Her eyes darted back to his within a second. She'd figured it out. He could tell her blank face was the best way to cover up her embarrassment. "Maybe I should make coffee."
"Maybe," he smiled.
She was about to move off him when he heard her say: "Thank you."
"For what?" He knew why but his restless heart would settle for anything involving her voice.
Or her lips. The magic they conveyed soaked the corner of his mouth with a quick peck, soothing his decision-making attitude.
"You know…" she shrugged, "being the best version of you for me."
She got off the couch and checked the clock on her TV set. Harvey followed her stare: 10:30am. He quickly followed after her. "Donna…"
She turned around. He had her full attention again. "I don't mind if you think this is all because of your dad. Maybe it is but…"
"It's okay, Harvey. Whatever you're doing it's working, can you keep doing that?"
"You mean making you forget about your dad?"
"Yes."
"You don't want to stop thinking about him, Donna."
"The bathroom's free," she gestured for him to go. "I'll call my mom and tell her we should arrive in the evening."
IV
There was no point in trying to change her mind. He simply nodded and walked to the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and took a deep breath. He remembered that open Italian shower of hers. If there was one thing about her apartment he enjoyed beside her bedroom, it was the bathroom. She'd given him her blueprints and had even helped him remodel his own bathroom. Of course everything about it had been made larger and in accordance with the size of the room as well as his architectural digest eccentricities. But hers was just as nice as he remembered it – that feminine touch, that interior fragrance leaving a delicate musk scent in the air; it was all too dizzying. He turned the spray on. He took his pants off and then looked at his boxers, his erection tenting the cotton undergarment. He couldn't help it anymore. He placed his fingers around the lines of his penis beneath the fabric and stroked the well-established length. Hidden in this richness and harmony of visual – towels, toothbrush and cupboards he'd rather not look through – and olfactory memories of her everyday presence in this very bathroom, was a man. A man who was thinking about a beautiful woman; he slid his hand into the front opening and gripped his erection, stroking the sensitive underside.
What was he doing? He couldn't believe it. Was it just another way of not thinking? Not thinking about her loss? Her own pain? Was he such a screw up that this was all he wanted to feel right now? He was about to toy with his testicles when he simply let go of his shaft and took the only remaining piece of clothing off. He walked under the shower spray and feeling his member pulsating for release, he parted his legs to each side and used one of his hands for support against the tile wall. Stroking himself vigorously, he closed his eyes, feeling the water submerge him, enwrapping him in tantalizing imagination. She, teasing him with her black-painted nails, pleasuring him harder and harder until the very rhythm and intensity of it all could hurt. The pain of not having her by his side, the pain of taking care of a business he felt guilty of while soothing surroundings and the image of her were effectively pleasuring him.
His ass tightened and he moaned accelerating the speed of his fist. The velocity with which he stroked matched the shakiness of his legs. As the ache built inside of him, droplets of water seemed to act as another catalyst, resembling the feeling of her caressing his skin. He tilted his head back and tried to catch a deeper breath as water fell to his parted lips like the light touch of a kiss, particles pouring into his mouth, and the shadow of her tongue materializing against his buds. He stifled a small cry as he came; back arching, body and legs quivering before setting into an afterglow of small limited strokes. The sound of thirteen year old moans getting mixed up with those he'd elicited in her the night before. Everything seemed louder, more intense, he smelled the fragrance, heard the shower spray – a sweet synesthesia of stars and rainbows were washing over the melody of an image, him and her getting lost in each other. It was all in his head but as her name fell from his lips, he realized he hadn't been thinking of anyone but her. He panted for breath, trying to even his inhales and exhales, tracing his fingers and palm against the warm tiles.
And then he felt himself drift into another kind of reality for he heard the bathroom door being closed behind him.
He noticed she'd placed some soap and a towel for him by the sink. He heaved a sigh and closed his eyes. This would be awkward to deal with. He exited the shower and went to pick up the soap. He let it fall from his hand as he realized the door was being burst open.
He covered his junk with both hands. He could tell describing surprise in his eyes would seem like an understatement.
"Can you be quick, please?" She sounded pissed but her eyes betrayed her, roaming over his upper-body.
"Whatever you saw, Donna…"
She closed her eyes and flapped her arms. "I don't care about what I saw. You need to hurry, Harvey. My mom expected I'd already be on my way. You should have woken me up sooner."
"I didn't think about setting an alarm, Donna! You and I weren't exactly on good terms until you decided you needed me."
"Fine… Just, rinse my tiles and hurry up! Coffee's ready."
"Donna," he grabbed her hand, bringing her closer to him.
His soaked skin tainted her clothes and he could feel hardened nipples against his chest. The front of the hand still covering his crotch grazed against her waist.
"Harvey, you're all wet!"
He gulped for all the right reasons and the most inappropriate feelings. "I'm sorry about–"
"No, you wouldn't change a single thing about what just happened, Harvey because you know I saw you."
"And you saw the state I was in when we were on the couch!"
"And you should have thought of asking for a towel and soap beforehand!"
"Couldn't you have knocked?"
"I didn't think you'd hear me because of the shower running."
"You knew what you would see."
"I panicked Harvey." She lowered her eyes.
"You were horny as fuck last night." He tilted his head, leaned into her and asked, lowering his voice. "Did you like what you saw?"
He left her aghast to say the least. She darted her eyes to him. He asked the dreaded question which had been on his mind for the better part of five minutes: "Did you see most of it?"
"Just because I did doesn't mean I'm–"
"I know, I know." He stroked her back gently. "I just don't want you to think I'm some–"
"Asshole who just jerked off in my bathroom?" She raised a brow and smirked.
"I know this wasn't the time or the place–"
"Don't give me some excuse about me grieving over my dad because this had nothing to do with him and we both know it."
"I won't lie to you, I want you."
She sighed, staring at his lips.
"And it's been more intense since I broke up with Paula; ever since you kissed me actually."
Donna was clearly assessing everything about him and judging him at the same time. Taking this in wouldn't be easy for her and he knew it. She sighed again, left his arms and stepped out of the bathroom. She turned around before closing the door.
"You know! It's one thing to know you… but it's another to hear you say my name. It makes it even more real and that scares the shit out of me. I just lost my dad, Harvey and I can't… lose you."
She sighed not giving him enough time to answer that she'd closed the door in his face.
IV
He finished his shower and used the lavender scented soap on his body. As he washed his hair, he marveled at the shampoo scent she regularly used. He loved that perfume. Once he was done, he dried his hair, switching the towel to his upper and lower body and then wrapped it around his waist.
He picked up his briefs and pants before opening the door. He noticed the door to her bedroom was half-opened. He could hear her cry. Maybe she was sending him a message. Maybe she was seeking that comfort after all. Maybe she wasn't. He didn't hesitate. He didn't care. He pushed the door to this place of forbidden memories once and for all. She was sitting on the edge of her bed. It seemed she was packing her suitcase. She noticed him, wiped tears off her face with the back of her hand and sniffled.
"Harvey, I'm… I'm done packing. There's coffee for you in the kitchen."
She'd already said that. Confused. Repetitive. He remembered the blank spaces that had formed in his head when his dad died. He would get lost and then get found again by her presence. It was a state of mind where you wished your own lifeline became dispensable in order to bring back the one you love to the land of the living. And then you end up reaching different stages: you need to cut that loss down to size because you're not dominating your feelings anymore and this might be the only way you can. Loss makes you realize all the things you should have paid more attention to but didn't. She was being swallowed by guilt, the guilt of living her life; blaming herself for having sought independence and missing that random opportunity to say goodbye. A twisted logic and a never-ending cycle you always brought upon yourself because there was nothing more to be done other than apologize to the dead.
"I'm okay, Harvey, you can go. I'll wait for you."
The furniture hadn't changed. Staring at the ambiguous room stirred up memories of her crying out his name as well as unfamiliar images of her screaming out the names of others. He'd waited all these years to figure out that it bothered him. Not so much figuring out than flat out admit it. No reason to stay and wait on this threshold – this platform of souvenirs with pictures of her and her dad, filled with objects of her past, her childhood and her teenage years; so what was he waiting for? He didn't give it a second thought, rushed to her and pulled her into his arms. She trembled and sobbed until he drew her deeper and deeper. He understood how warm and hard he must have felt against her. He soothed her back, her curves nothing more than a distant desire and her heart the only thing he wanted to put on ice. Save it from agony and transplant it back once all of this was over. All he ever wanted was to give her love and live in perfect symmetry. He would get her heart to beat and go 'thump' against her chest wall again. Not sorry to get that blood flow through the chambers for reasons that didn't involve the hurt of losing a loved one. They stayed like this for a moment. Dragging her to him knowing this probably felt overly dominant to her, maybe sexual. This had spiked a level of excitement into him that had surely sparked her attention. Nevertheless, he would put his own blood on ice for her, stopping his want in its course. He felt her erratic breathing subside. For her he'd wait until his days were done. He was sure of it, in her tears, in her flood and that fire in her breath, tickling his neck, the strength of her arms circling him. She wouldn't let go as long as he didn't.
"You should take that shower."
"Okay." She loosened her grip on him, fingers running down his neck, tracing his collarbone and reaching his hard chest. Feeling her fingertips and nails that way made him want to erase time, circumvent the feelings of love and loss and invite nothing but lust in. He couldn't help letting his hands trail down to her waist, holding her in place – neither too far, nor too close from him.
"I have to get dressed now."
This was an affirmation and yet the last thing he wanted to do.
He closed the door behind him as he walked back into the living room, leaving her some much needed privacy. He quickly got dressed, not bothering with the cufflinks or his tie and poured himself a cup of coffee. She'd forgotten the vanilla. She never did. Whatever the underlying meaning, it would have to wait. He saw her walk to the bathroom and said he would be in back in less than an hour. She looked like a white shadow, so pale her freckles seemed to have disappeared.
"Hey," he called after. She was standing in front of the bathroom door.
He cupped her cheek and caressed it gently. "I'll be back before you know it."
"This isn't how I wanted you and I to…" She wasn't able to finish, averting her eyes to signal just how much she must have despised her own words. "I'm a mess, Harvey."
"I'm not here to fix you, Donna." He licked his lips. "You don't need fixing. You need your dad, right here, right now in front of you, telling you that everything's going to be okay."
She swallowed her lips. He could sense she was holding back tears and he had no intention of telling her he could be that knight in shining armor for her.
"There are people you will never be able to replace. But I promise you that it gets better."
"I know, Harvey."
"But you don't have to be alone in this. I want to be there for you. And I hope that message gets to your head." She nodded in appreciation. He relaxed a little and smirked. "And if it doesn't, I have another one."
She stared him in the eye, firmly set between a sob and a laugh, "And what would that message be?"
"You seeing my naked ass is exactly how I imagined our first morning together."
DGITTF
DGITTF
And here's chapter 4! Sorry for the long wait, health can be a Queen B. But you love that b****. I hope you like it. I'm sort of taking my time here.
Hoping for reviews but I can't promise you I'm going to write faster this time around but I promise you I'll finish this fic, that's for sure. So I hope you'll review this chapter anyway.
To my beta, alternateshadesofblue, I'll just quote this:
"Tis in my memory lock'd,
And you yourself shall keep the key of it."
― William Shakespeare, Hamlet
Intriguing, right? Well that's because SHE keeps saying:"Please don't embarrass me in your author's note and just say something simple like 'I'd like to thank my friend and writing partner for her incredible help.'"
Me: "But... but...but... GIVE ME THAT KEY BACK!"
Oh Blue, here's another one for you:
"Picasso had his pink period and his blue period. I am in my blonde period right now." Hugh Hefner
