Ditto for beginning of chappie one. Don't own anything from Bebop except my
own original characters.
A/N: ATTENTION! I am very serious about the censor I put on this story. From this chapter on, there are going to be some rather racy and inappropriate themes in this story, and if you are not thirteen, please do not read this anymore.
Silk on Steel
Chapter Two: Guilty Innocence
The clock said 19:46, and the pasta was finally done. Hurriedly, she scooped a bit of it onto a plate for him and a larger amount for herself. She hoped he'd like it more than the sandwich.
Sardines, sauerkraut, mustard, onion, and Swiss cheese on rye, pickle on the side. Disgusting, yes, but it was his favorite, so she'd swallowed her pride and her stomach. His favorite lunch, and somehow, he'd only got to half of it. That was a pretty bad sign. A "Spiegel Rueben," as he called it, usually didn't last five minutes in front of him.
She knocked on the door with her foot and called out to him. When he didn't answer, she peeped through the jarred door.
He was lying, shoeless, on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The television blared some sort of sports scores. It was obvious he wasn't even listening. His eyes were half closed, half open, staring at the ceiling, and in her mind, it was the saddest thing she'd ever seen in her entire life. One thin stream of tears ran its way down her face.
She found herself inside the room somehow, creeping her way up to him on bare feet, so quiet she could hear the sound of him breathing, inhalation and exhalation. It was beautiful, the sound of his breathing. Just like the sigh of the sea winds on her home, Io, one of the many moons of Jupiter. When she was a little girl, going to the shore was a treat, so she learned how to savor every last moment, absorbing every sensation that was available, and the waves and wind had always soothed her. Ever since she'd met him, Faye had noticed how very meditative his breathing was.
Just a few feet away from him, and he was still off in his own world. He either didn't see her or didn't care to acknowledge her presence.
Suddenly, she somehow found herself climbing up on the bed, snuggling in next to him. That got his attention at last. His sharp, dark eyes flicked toward her, glowering at her angrily, but he still said nothing.
"How can you do this?" she whispered under her breath, her tears running onto the pillow now. "Do you want me to die?"
For a long time, they lay there, him staring at her with those mix- matched eyes so strangely. Finally, he said ten words in a row, more than he had in days.
"We are born . . . we die. Everyone dies someday. No fault."
"But why must you die?" she cried. "Why?"
"Everybody's gonna die someday. Maybe it's just my time now."
"Not today. Not now. You're so young."
Long, long pause.
"I'm . . . sorry, Faye. I don't want you to die."
"How in God's name could you expect me to?"
Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around her. "Because you're not me."
For just a split second, Faye felt a shiver run down her back.
"No way," she thought to herself, "Get it together, Faye."
But deep down, she knew she was trying to fool herself.
"What will make you well again?"
"I'm heartsick. That usually doesn't go away very quickly. I got myself in a fix I couldn't get outta. And now I don't know what I'm gonna do."
"Spike. . . I love you. . ." she heard herself cry. Suddenly, she found herself locking her lips onto his. She knew he was surprised, but he didn't pull away. He didn't want to pull away. She could feel his arms rolling down around her waist.
"What are you trying to do?" she muttered.
"Getting what I want," he whispered.
On instinct, she began to undo the buttons of her yellow silk shirt.
"What are you doing?" he muttered through another passionate kiss.
"Giving you what you want."
"How do you know what I want?"
"I can guess," she started to undo the buttons on his shirt now.
"Ahhh. . ." he let out a long, feral sort of sigh. ".What do I want?"
"Me, of course," the last few buttons came all at once, baring his full, bare torso.
"You!" he suddenly rolled over, looming over her now, all his hair standing on end and a sparkle in his right eye, his breath fast. "Of course I want you. . ."The whisper reminded her so of the wind . . . With a start, she realized his hands were about her skirt. By instinct, her hands drifted their way down his muscular form, her skilled fingers at his fly. She felt the skirt and underwear drift away from her body like a silky, white cloud, her own palms slowly easing down, down, away from his waist. . . That first sudden, almighty jarring from beneath her waist . . . Looking up, she saw the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, his shuddering torso beginning to move as his lower body starting to ripple with the rhythm . . . And then always that slightly belated realization that he was inside her body now, that for this second they were no longer two beings, two people; that they were now but one body, connected in this moment. In that half-dreaming half- consciousness, she was aware of him as a whole. For just a split second, she could almost feel that she was one with him; that she knew all his thoughts, his feelings, his dreams, his memories . . . the innermost workings of the very core of his being.
"No denying now," she thought to herself, finally giving up, submitting to her instincts. "There's no use now. . ."
* * *
Waking from her exhausted slumber, the lullaby of his breath just inches from her, the feeling of his warm body pressed against hers. He was so beautiful, just so innocent looking when he was asleep. One of his arms was wrapped around her waist in a protective pose. He was just at such peace, at harmony with nature.
But she also knew about the nightmares that were probably still racing around in his head right about now. Those images of that horrible day. . . it would be far too hard for her to bear, and she was glad it wasn't her.
"I love you. . ." she whispered to him. "Oh, how I love you. . ."
No answer but that of his slow, steady breath. . . inhalation. . . exhalation. . . inhalation. . .exhalation. . . she could listen to that sound for the rest of her life and still never get tired.
Slowly, as contented sleep began to overtake her once again, the memories in her head began to drift around and merge with her dreams. . .
How tragic it had been, back then. . .
A/N: ATTENTION! I am very serious about the censor I put on this story. From this chapter on, there are going to be some rather racy and inappropriate themes in this story, and if you are not thirteen, please do not read this anymore.
Silk on Steel
Chapter Two: Guilty Innocence
The clock said 19:46, and the pasta was finally done. Hurriedly, she scooped a bit of it onto a plate for him and a larger amount for herself. She hoped he'd like it more than the sandwich.
Sardines, sauerkraut, mustard, onion, and Swiss cheese on rye, pickle on the side. Disgusting, yes, but it was his favorite, so she'd swallowed her pride and her stomach. His favorite lunch, and somehow, he'd only got to half of it. That was a pretty bad sign. A "Spiegel Rueben," as he called it, usually didn't last five minutes in front of him.
She knocked on the door with her foot and called out to him. When he didn't answer, she peeped through the jarred door.
He was lying, shoeless, on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The television blared some sort of sports scores. It was obvious he wasn't even listening. His eyes were half closed, half open, staring at the ceiling, and in her mind, it was the saddest thing she'd ever seen in her entire life. One thin stream of tears ran its way down her face.
She found herself inside the room somehow, creeping her way up to him on bare feet, so quiet she could hear the sound of him breathing, inhalation and exhalation. It was beautiful, the sound of his breathing. Just like the sigh of the sea winds on her home, Io, one of the many moons of Jupiter. When she was a little girl, going to the shore was a treat, so she learned how to savor every last moment, absorbing every sensation that was available, and the waves and wind had always soothed her. Ever since she'd met him, Faye had noticed how very meditative his breathing was.
Just a few feet away from him, and he was still off in his own world. He either didn't see her or didn't care to acknowledge her presence.
Suddenly, she somehow found herself climbing up on the bed, snuggling in next to him. That got his attention at last. His sharp, dark eyes flicked toward her, glowering at her angrily, but he still said nothing.
"How can you do this?" she whispered under her breath, her tears running onto the pillow now. "Do you want me to die?"
For a long time, they lay there, him staring at her with those mix- matched eyes so strangely. Finally, he said ten words in a row, more than he had in days.
"We are born . . . we die. Everyone dies someday. No fault."
"But why must you die?" she cried. "Why?"
"Everybody's gonna die someday. Maybe it's just my time now."
"Not today. Not now. You're so young."
Long, long pause.
"I'm . . . sorry, Faye. I don't want you to die."
"How in God's name could you expect me to?"
Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around her. "Because you're not me."
For just a split second, Faye felt a shiver run down her back.
"No way," she thought to herself, "Get it together, Faye."
But deep down, she knew she was trying to fool herself.
"What will make you well again?"
"I'm heartsick. That usually doesn't go away very quickly. I got myself in a fix I couldn't get outta. And now I don't know what I'm gonna do."
"Spike. . . I love you. . ." she heard herself cry. Suddenly, she found herself locking her lips onto his. She knew he was surprised, but he didn't pull away. He didn't want to pull away. She could feel his arms rolling down around her waist.
"What are you trying to do?" she muttered.
"Getting what I want," he whispered.
On instinct, she began to undo the buttons of her yellow silk shirt.
"What are you doing?" he muttered through another passionate kiss.
"Giving you what you want."
"How do you know what I want?"
"I can guess," she started to undo the buttons on his shirt now.
"Ahhh. . ." he let out a long, feral sort of sigh. ".What do I want?"
"Me, of course," the last few buttons came all at once, baring his full, bare torso.
"You!" he suddenly rolled over, looming over her now, all his hair standing on end and a sparkle in his right eye, his breath fast. "Of course I want you. . ."The whisper reminded her so of the wind . . . With a start, she realized his hands were about her skirt. By instinct, her hands drifted their way down his muscular form, her skilled fingers at his fly. She felt the skirt and underwear drift away from her body like a silky, white cloud, her own palms slowly easing down, down, away from his waist. . . That first sudden, almighty jarring from beneath her waist . . . Looking up, she saw the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, his shuddering torso beginning to move as his lower body starting to ripple with the rhythm . . . And then always that slightly belated realization that he was inside her body now, that for this second they were no longer two beings, two people; that they were now but one body, connected in this moment. In that half-dreaming half- consciousness, she was aware of him as a whole. For just a split second, she could almost feel that she was one with him; that she knew all his thoughts, his feelings, his dreams, his memories . . . the innermost workings of the very core of his being.
"No denying now," she thought to herself, finally giving up, submitting to her instincts. "There's no use now. . ."
* * *
Waking from her exhausted slumber, the lullaby of his breath just inches from her, the feeling of his warm body pressed against hers. He was so beautiful, just so innocent looking when he was asleep. One of his arms was wrapped around her waist in a protective pose. He was just at such peace, at harmony with nature.
But she also knew about the nightmares that were probably still racing around in his head right about now. Those images of that horrible day. . . it would be far too hard for her to bear, and she was glad it wasn't her.
"I love you. . ." she whispered to him. "Oh, how I love you. . ."
No answer but that of his slow, steady breath. . . inhalation. . . exhalation. . . inhalation. . .exhalation. . . she could listen to that sound for the rest of her life and still never get tired.
Slowly, as contented sleep began to overtake her once again, the memories in her head began to drift around and merge with her dreams. . .
How tragic it had been, back then. . .