A/N: Well, my dear readers, here is the second part of my first RK
fic. I'm giving all of you a warning beforehand-Part Three will contain a
lemon as far as I can tell (I haven't written it yet, so I'm not sure where
my overactive, hyper mind will take this story. At the least, a half-
lemon, whatever the hell that may be ^_^) But, as of now, there will be
definite sexual content in the next installment. I want to thank all my
reviewers for reading and taking the time to drop me a line to tell me they
liked what they read. Well, enjoy part two!! ^_^
Part Two
The dream came and went just as it had before, but there was something different about their nights now. They were longer and darker, sometimes streaked with lightning, sometimes deafening with the sound of rain hammering on the roof of the dojo. They were full to the brim of things of nature, and they were full of other dreams besides the two that simultaneously haunted the man and woman living together-and yet were still so apart.
He dreamt of her, and she dreamt of him. And although neither knew of what was happening within the mind of the other, they sensed each other sometimes in the blackness of the night. She would startle herself awake with the sound of her own voice, and she would sit up in her futon, sweat dripping between her breasts and soaking the dark hair that lined her face. But what bothered her was not that she often awoke in the middle of the night, her sleeping yukata soaked with her own sweat, it was that she realized her own cries has awoken her-and yet she didn't know why she was crying out in the first place. Was it the nightmare of seeing him run through with the steel blade of a sword? Did she cry out for him? Or did the startling sound of her voice have anything to do with the odd sensation between her thighs?
Flustered, she settled back down in her futon, her cheek resting in her palm, and tried to remember the dream that had caused her to emit such a sound. She only hoped the noise hadn't woken Kenshin or Yahiko.
He knew the moment she awoke, not because he heard the sound of her voice echoing through the walls of the dojo, but because he felt her leave the place of dreaming. He soon found himself awake as well, lying on his back, his eyes open but not able to see due to the dense night that surrounded him. He heaved a sigh, knowing that he had been dreaming before being startled awake by the strange sensation of feeling her being startled awake.
He listened carefully, trying to hear what he could in the night air, but nothing was there except for his labored breath. And so he listened to himself, and wondered why on earth his breathing refused to return to normal. It was like he was running. His lungs burned and ached like he had been running for hours without so much as slowing to a trot to give himself a rest. He sat up quickly, suddenly bothered by the abnormal behavior of his body. And it went away. His breaths came deep and slow, as if he were pacing them. But he had done nothing.
She thought she could hear someone breathing just a moment ago, but now it was gone. It seemed to have been a part of her dream, but she wasn't sure of anything now-except for the strange sensations in her lower stomach that always came and went with her dream.
Still flustered and unsure of the unusual happenings of the night, they returned to their resting positions on their futons in their separate rooms, but still were unable to truly rest. Soon, they fell back into the place of dreams, and were once again submitted to the mysterious visions and sensations of their own sleeping minds.
The days and the nights passed on. And they awoke in the morning and parted at night to lie down to sleep. And the dreams came and went like the days and nights, always changing, never the same as the one that came before. And soon, the man and the woman began to anticipate the sinking of the sun and rising of the moon to replace it. They began to look forward to drifting away into sleep. They awaited the dreams. Because as time wore on, their memories came to them and they were able to remember the feel of each other's hands, the heat of each other's body, the scent of each other's skin. And they began to long for the day to end so that they could walk swiftly to their separate rooms and fall into each other's arms a soon as their minds joined in the world of sleep and dreams.
She dreamt of his hair, like the burning of the setting sun, and saw herself cast as a shadow in its wake, bathed by its vibrant glow. She saw it's binding fall to the ground, untied and pulled from his vivid fiery strands by her own trembling fingers. She felt her fingers glide through it as if she were trailing her fingers through red water. When undone, it fell down his sculpted back like a river falling down the face of cliff. And she couldn't keep her hands away from it. She felt mesmerized, enchanted, totally transfixed by its silky texture and the way it wound around her fingers.
Then she awoke again and saw that her fingers were splayed, as if they had curled themselves around something, and she smiled as she remembered.
He dreamt of his own hands, like travelers journeying over her skin, and he watched them from afar as they rested at the slopes of her shoulders, the places where the blood in her veins could be felt just beneath the skin. He saw them smooth over the loose, black hair that fell down her back, letting them drop and drop until they reached the breadth of her hips. His fingers pressed the gentle curves of her pelvic bone on each of her hips. His hands wound around her back and rested her on the ground, where she lay as her skin began to tremble beneath his touches. And he smoothed his palms, rough from swordplay, over her skittish body, warming her and calming her.
Then he awoke and saw that his hands were laid flat on the smooth futon beneath him, and he smiled as he remembered.
They dreamt of speaking their hearts to each other. She told him her fantasies of visiting the cities of Europe, of seeing the cathedrals, museums, and monuments in Paris, London, and Barcelona. She told him how she longed to journey on an ocean liner across the sea to the place known as America. She wanted to see the bustling avenues of New York and the swaying cotton fields of the South. He told her how he wanted nothing more than to lay down his sword and pick up the handle of a plow and scythe. He told her his yearning to be a man of the earth, to rely on the rain and nothing else. And they spoke of the life they would share, their days and nights full of happiness and adoration.
They dreamt of each other as if they were truly there with each other. In their sleeping minds, they never thought to suspect that they were dreaming, that they were simply thinking of the other person and not truly falling into each other over and over again. But they realized when they awoke, when they saw that they were alone and not embraced in the arms of the other.
The same questions haunted them both. Why now? Why after so long of living beneath the same roof with nothing more than a subtle smile or quick, nervous brush of a hand over skin? Why were amorous dreams lingering on like ghosts? What were their purpose, if they even had one?
She thought them a sign, and he thought them a miracle. But neither knew that the other suffered just as happily from the same dilemma. Their previous dilemma, the frightening nightmares that had caused them to stare at each other in fear and worry, were now buried somewhere in the dreams of the past. Her seeing him murdered by an unmanned sword; him seeing her carried away by bodiless hands-they no longer seeped into their minds to cause them to weep and cry out in fear in their sleep. They were forgotten, replaced by the odd comfort of an emotion and yearning that neither the red-haired man nor the onyx-haired woman seemed to have the courage to face. They reveled in their dreams, and their eyes were drawn to each other's more and more during the sunlight hours.
He continued to look at her and she continued to look at him just as they did when bothered by the nightmares. But now their eyes burned like hearths, stoked with the passionate dreams of their nights. But even though his eyes longed to see his hands trailing the lengths and breadths of her body, he kept his hands busy with scrubbing dishes. And even though her eyes longed to see her fingers tangled in the fiery waterfall of his hair, she kept he fingers busy by wrapping them around the hilt over her bokken. But their eyes remained the same-wandering, desiring, but still unsure and fearful.
The days and nights passed on, and the life that the man and woman shared remained the same. But one night, the dreams that had ensnared them would bring them to life as suddenly as they had come upon them one night so long ago. And on that night, when the last dreams came and went, they would find each other somewhere in the darkness and fall into each other's arms. They would learn to touch and smell and taste, instead of simply see. They would find themselves after so many days and nights of being together, and yet so far away from each other.
A/N: I have a knack for stalling, don't I? ^_^ I do it for only one reason though-to make the end result that much better! Part Three is soon to come! Thanks again for reviewing (and those of you who mentioned that you'd either heard of or actually read "The Red Tent"-that's a magnificent book, huh? I adore it to no end!)
Part Two
The dream came and went just as it had before, but there was something different about their nights now. They were longer and darker, sometimes streaked with lightning, sometimes deafening with the sound of rain hammering on the roof of the dojo. They were full to the brim of things of nature, and they were full of other dreams besides the two that simultaneously haunted the man and woman living together-and yet were still so apart.
He dreamt of her, and she dreamt of him. And although neither knew of what was happening within the mind of the other, they sensed each other sometimes in the blackness of the night. She would startle herself awake with the sound of her own voice, and she would sit up in her futon, sweat dripping between her breasts and soaking the dark hair that lined her face. But what bothered her was not that she often awoke in the middle of the night, her sleeping yukata soaked with her own sweat, it was that she realized her own cries has awoken her-and yet she didn't know why she was crying out in the first place. Was it the nightmare of seeing him run through with the steel blade of a sword? Did she cry out for him? Or did the startling sound of her voice have anything to do with the odd sensation between her thighs?
Flustered, she settled back down in her futon, her cheek resting in her palm, and tried to remember the dream that had caused her to emit such a sound. She only hoped the noise hadn't woken Kenshin or Yahiko.
He knew the moment she awoke, not because he heard the sound of her voice echoing through the walls of the dojo, but because he felt her leave the place of dreaming. He soon found himself awake as well, lying on his back, his eyes open but not able to see due to the dense night that surrounded him. He heaved a sigh, knowing that he had been dreaming before being startled awake by the strange sensation of feeling her being startled awake.
He listened carefully, trying to hear what he could in the night air, but nothing was there except for his labored breath. And so he listened to himself, and wondered why on earth his breathing refused to return to normal. It was like he was running. His lungs burned and ached like he had been running for hours without so much as slowing to a trot to give himself a rest. He sat up quickly, suddenly bothered by the abnormal behavior of his body. And it went away. His breaths came deep and slow, as if he were pacing them. But he had done nothing.
She thought she could hear someone breathing just a moment ago, but now it was gone. It seemed to have been a part of her dream, but she wasn't sure of anything now-except for the strange sensations in her lower stomach that always came and went with her dream.
Still flustered and unsure of the unusual happenings of the night, they returned to their resting positions on their futons in their separate rooms, but still were unable to truly rest. Soon, they fell back into the place of dreams, and were once again submitted to the mysterious visions and sensations of their own sleeping minds.
The days and the nights passed on. And they awoke in the morning and parted at night to lie down to sleep. And the dreams came and went like the days and nights, always changing, never the same as the one that came before. And soon, the man and the woman began to anticipate the sinking of the sun and rising of the moon to replace it. They began to look forward to drifting away into sleep. They awaited the dreams. Because as time wore on, their memories came to them and they were able to remember the feel of each other's hands, the heat of each other's body, the scent of each other's skin. And they began to long for the day to end so that they could walk swiftly to their separate rooms and fall into each other's arms a soon as their minds joined in the world of sleep and dreams.
She dreamt of his hair, like the burning of the setting sun, and saw herself cast as a shadow in its wake, bathed by its vibrant glow. She saw it's binding fall to the ground, untied and pulled from his vivid fiery strands by her own trembling fingers. She felt her fingers glide through it as if she were trailing her fingers through red water. When undone, it fell down his sculpted back like a river falling down the face of cliff. And she couldn't keep her hands away from it. She felt mesmerized, enchanted, totally transfixed by its silky texture and the way it wound around her fingers.
Then she awoke again and saw that her fingers were splayed, as if they had curled themselves around something, and she smiled as she remembered.
He dreamt of his own hands, like travelers journeying over her skin, and he watched them from afar as they rested at the slopes of her shoulders, the places where the blood in her veins could be felt just beneath the skin. He saw them smooth over the loose, black hair that fell down her back, letting them drop and drop until they reached the breadth of her hips. His fingers pressed the gentle curves of her pelvic bone on each of her hips. His hands wound around her back and rested her on the ground, where she lay as her skin began to tremble beneath his touches. And he smoothed his palms, rough from swordplay, over her skittish body, warming her and calming her.
Then he awoke and saw that his hands were laid flat on the smooth futon beneath him, and he smiled as he remembered.
They dreamt of speaking their hearts to each other. She told him her fantasies of visiting the cities of Europe, of seeing the cathedrals, museums, and monuments in Paris, London, and Barcelona. She told him how she longed to journey on an ocean liner across the sea to the place known as America. She wanted to see the bustling avenues of New York and the swaying cotton fields of the South. He told her how he wanted nothing more than to lay down his sword and pick up the handle of a plow and scythe. He told her his yearning to be a man of the earth, to rely on the rain and nothing else. And they spoke of the life they would share, their days and nights full of happiness and adoration.
They dreamt of each other as if they were truly there with each other. In their sleeping minds, they never thought to suspect that they were dreaming, that they were simply thinking of the other person and not truly falling into each other over and over again. But they realized when they awoke, when they saw that they were alone and not embraced in the arms of the other.
The same questions haunted them both. Why now? Why after so long of living beneath the same roof with nothing more than a subtle smile or quick, nervous brush of a hand over skin? Why were amorous dreams lingering on like ghosts? What were their purpose, if they even had one?
She thought them a sign, and he thought them a miracle. But neither knew that the other suffered just as happily from the same dilemma. Their previous dilemma, the frightening nightmares that had caused them to stare at each other in fear and worry, were now buried somewhere in the dreams of the past. Her seeing him murdered by an unmanned sword; him seeing her carried away by bodiless hands-they no longer seeped into their minds to cause them to weep and cry out in fear in their sleep. They were forgotten, replaced by the odd comfort of an emotion and yearning that neither the red-haired man nor the onyx-haired woman seemed to have the courage to face. They reveled in their dreams, and their eyes were drawn to each other's more and more during the sunlight hours.
He continued to look at her and she continued to look at him just as they did when bothered by the nightmares. But now their eyes burned like hearths, stoked with the passionate dreams of their nights. But even though his eyes longed to see his hands trailing the lengths and breadths of her body, he kept his hands busy with scrubbing dishes. And even though her eyes longed to see her fingers tangled in the fiery waterfall of his hair, she kept he fingers busy by wrapping them around the hilt over her bokken. But their eyes remained the same-wandering, desiring, but still unsure and fearful.
The days and nights passed on, and the life that the man and woman shared remained the same. But one night, the dreams that had ensnared them would bring them to life as suddenly as they had come upon them one night so long ago. And on that night, when the last dreams came and went, they would find each other somewhere in the darkness and fall into each other's arms. They would learn to touch and smell and taste, instead of simply see. They would find themselves after so many days and nights of being together, and yet so far away from each other.
A/N: I have a knack for stalling, don't I? ^_^ I do it for only one reason though-to make the end result that much better! Part Three is soon to come! Thanks again for reviewing (and those of you who mentioned that you'd either heard of or actually read "The Red Tent"-that's a magnificent book, huh? I adore it to no end!)
