Ghostly Desire
By Camilla Sandman
Author's Notes: Goodbye Rats! It's been a good run
Remember when I did all those.. hum.. more sex focused stories? Well, this is one. Just so you can't say you weren't warned
Disclaimer: Now that it's all over, you think the characters are up for grabs? No, I didn't think so either
To Kate and Nikki and Jules –
Who proved to be as nutters as I thought and therefore making me feel totally at home
II
Alex St.Clare was cold.
No matter how many blankets she covered herself with she couldn't get warm. The cold seemed to emanate from within, from her heart and spine, spreading through her veins. Four blankets didn't help, and neither did five or six. Still, she kept reaching for something to wrap around her. Anything to keep her hands busy. Anything to not think.
She let her eyes wander to the ceiling, counting the spots of light. They kept changing as the light breeze from the window pushed at the lamp and swung it around. She was happy to start over again and again, embracing the count as if it was a matter of life and death.
One, two, three, four, five, Jack, six, seven, Jack, eight, Jack, Jack, Jack..
"Jack!" she whispered, wanting to scream the name out. Somehow her voice didn't carry, and she could barely hear it herself. Damn him and damn the job and damn the Nemesis and damn Mick.. Damn it all to hell!
The doorbell rang with a shrilling sound. She had used to think the sound cheerful, but now it burrowed into her head, bringing a sharp pain.
She was drunk she suddenly realised, almost tripping over empty bottles as she got up. Blankets fell to the floor as she walked unsteadily towards the door, but she didn't bother picking them up. The hallway was dark and even colder.
"Alex?" came a muffled voice from beyond the door, and she cursed. Not him. Not now.
"Go away," she answered sharply, wincing at the volume of her own voice.
"No."
"Go away."
"No."
"Go A-WAY!"
"No."
"I'm not letting you in."
"Yes, you are."
She banged her head against the wall before remembering it hurt. As she stood undecided in the hallway, the door opened on its own accord to reveal Mick Reilly, one of her partners at the Sydney Water Police. The only partner now. The realisation had a sharp jolt of pain through her abdomen and she fumbled.
Suddenly strong arms encircled her, and even without wanting it, she found herself accepting the embrace. She could smell the faint odour of beer on him as his breath caressed her hair and her forehead.
But still no tears would come. A part of her wanted desperately to cry, because crying would mean mourning, and mourning would mean eventually moving on. Not this silent shredding of her heart.
"I'm sorry, Alex," he was saying, his voice sounded bleak in the darkness surrounding them. As she looked up at him, he almost melted into the darkness and she could just make out his face. Suddenly he was too near, too warm and she was too cold.
She wanted desperately to close her eyes, but her eyes stayed on his lips by a will of their own. She knew they were warm and full and would brush against hers ever so gently the first touch. The urge was so overwhelming she could practically feel the touch.
And suddenly she realised she had leaned in and her arms had encircled him and she was leaning in to kiss him. A tingling sensation moved through her body and she felt something enter her mind. For a second it was alarming, and she had to withhold a pained gasp. Then the feeling vanished, as if it had never been, and Mick was kissing her.
Rachel closed her eyes as their lips finally met, but Frank kept his open and focused on her face. He needed to know it was her. Pushed his hands under her sweater, he began to slowly caress the warm skin underneath. It felt so real to touch, just as he had imagined a thousand times.
Alex felt Mick's hands begin to stroke her back, every touch sending a jolt of fire though hers. It wasn't like the last time he had kissed her, and she briefly wondered if it was her or him who was different. Then Mick deepened the kiss, leaving her breathless and shaking. Impatiently, she tried to tear her sweater off, but Mick locked her hands in his and wouldn't let her
"No," he simply said.
"No."
Frank looked at her, slowly letting go of her hands. When she looked at him as she did now, it was so easy to forget everything else but desire. And it would be so easy just to keep on kissing her till he forgot everything. But he couldn't.
Searching her face, Mick tried to calm his own breathing. He didn't want it to be a quick screw, something they could both blame on grief and drinking. He wanted.. What did he want? Love? Sex? Forgiveness? It was his fault she was crying over Jack, it was his fault Rachel was dead, it was his fault..
"Forgive me," Frank whispered, tears welling in his eyes even as he spoke. If she couldn't, what was left for him? "I wasn't there. Forgive me."
"It wasn't your fault," Alex whispered softly, taking his head in her arms. "You didn't make the choice."
"But if I had been there.."
"You would have been killed."
Rachel looked at him firmly, understanding and warmth filling her eyes. He let his own eyes speak the truth of how he felt, the words never spoken, but always there. She smiled briefly, a smile filled with sadness over all that had passed and the paths not taken.
More than anything, Mick wanted to take that sadness away from her smile. So he kissed her again, slowly and tenderly this time. Lifting her off the floor, he carried her into the living room and to the couch. They fell onto it, their bodies entwined and their mouths locked.
Rachel felt something sharp against her back, but she didn't consider changing position for a second. Warm jolts and gushes of fire were moving through her body, driving away the cold. Frank's hands seem to be everywhere, caressing and stroking until her whole skin tingled with delight.
Real impatience began to build in Alex as Mick continued his slow, sensuous torture. Her body screamed for more with every touch. Pushing Mick off her, she tore her sweater off in one fluid motion. Mick followed her example, and let out a small groan as skin met skin.
The last coherent thought vanished from Frank's mind when Rachel lay below him, her naked body shivering with both anticipation and cold . Her dark brown hair brushed past his forearm, and he drank in the smell of her. It was a flowery smell, powerful, yet gentle. It was her smell.
Her blonde hair surrounded her like a halo, Mick noted. Light flickered over her body as the lamp moved slowly with the wind. Her eyes were dark and moist, and with a jolt he realised she was crying. For Jack. Leaning down, he wiped the tears away and kissed her forcefully, doing the only thing he could to make the death go away. Grief gave in to desire, and desire flared up and consumed every thought and sense.
And there was nothing but them.
There was nothing but them.
And then sleep came, to some forever finally able to rest. And to some merely as a short refuge from a cold and quiet Earth before morning would come and bring new life and new death.