She felt him stiffen again, his muscles tensing, and instinctively, she held his arms more firmly in place. He didn't pull away from her, but it wasn't quite the intimate embrace of only moments before. Her mind was racing, trying to find an explanation for him, trying to find something to give him, but she only came up with nothing. Nothing except a frantic desire that he not let go. She squirmed slightly, trying to turn to look at him, but as she moved, his arms relaxed, and he was no longer holding her.
"No," she protested softly. "Don't let go." He was sitting with his right leg folded in front of him, his left leg bent at the knee beside her. She tucked her legs under her, and rested her hands on her thighs. "Please?" she whispered, looking for some invitation to touch him again.
He obliged her and gathered her into his arms, but it was still a stiff concession. She leaned forward, her head connecting with his shoulder. "Please, Aislinn," he whispered into her hair, his soft plea barely audible. "Don't tease me," he whispered softly.
Aislinn's heart threatened to burst open that he trusted her so little. What do you think I am? she wondered silently. But she knew. She knew what he thought of her; what else could he think of her? Given the way she continued to squirm into his arms only to pull back and protest that she wanted nothing more than friendship from him. She wasn't going to say that now, because it would be a blatant lie, and she did know at least part of what she wanted from him. "I'm not toying with you, Severus," she replied softly, unable to keep all the hurt from her voice even if she did know that his request had merit.
His right hand moved to her face for a moment, and he touched her hesitantly, then dropped his hand back to her waist. "What is it that you want, then?" he asked quietly. "Tell me, and I'll give it to you…"
She closed her eyes. He was offering her the moon, and she wasn't sure if she wanted it. Are you insane, Aislinn? His fingertips grazed her temple as he moved his hand over her hair. "I…" she began, and drew in a deep breath. Tell him no,came an urgent voice. Tell him this is wrong, and then pick yourself up and run away from here. She didn't want to run, though, She didn't want to pull away, to pick herself up, to walk away or run away or drive him away. She wanted to stay right where she was. And tomorro, came that voice again, when the wine is no longer fresh on your lips and muddling your senses, what will you wish you had done? "I don't want to think about tomorrow," she whispered, not even aware she'd said it aloud until the words had already left her lips.
Severus stiffened, and drew back from her, looking at her cynically for a moment. "You know," he said quietly after a long pause, "I'm told there are men the world over who would love to hear those words in this situation. Who wish that their nights ended in a tumble in bed with a beautiful woman who wanted nothing from them come morning. That's what you're saying, isn't it?"
Aislinn's face was burning, and she couldn't meet his eyes as she nodded dumbly, reaching for her glass.
"How much of it is the wine?" he asked softly, his timing impeccable as the sweet liquid brushed her lips again.
"I don't know," she admitted, then drank deeply.
His hands were on her face again, palms against her cheeks and he tilted her head so she was eye to eye with him, but she still couldn't bring herself to look into his eyes. Her eyelids snapped shut.
"Aislinn…" he whispered, his breath caressing her face. "Look at me." She felt an undesired stinging behind her eyelids, and kept her eyes closed. "Look at me, Aislinn."
She finally opened her eyes, and looked into his. "Was that what you were telling me you wanted?" he repeated, "A night together, and then to go our separate ways. Tomorrow morning to pretend we shared nothing, that we are just friends."
She kept searching his voice and his eyes for… judgement perhaps, or scorn. Bitterness. She found nothing. "I should leave," she whispered hoarsely, pulling her face away from him.
He let her go easily, his hands dropping to drape over his knee. "Yes," he said softly, "you probably should. But do you want to?"
Her eyes widened fractionally, and she stared, not entirely comprehending the question. "No," she admitted, "I don't want to."
He reached out and stroked her cheek with the back of a finger, a velvet touch. "I don't want you to either," he whispered. She leaned towards him, and she thought she heard his breath catch just before she caught his lower lip between her own lips.
The flames had subsided, both the ones in the fireplace and the ones that had fueled their frantic actions, and now she was lying on her side, copper dancing in her chocolate hair as it spilled over her arm and pooled on the floor at her elbow. Her head was propped on her hand, her back to him as he lay on his side behind her, his fingers combing and twining through her hair. It was a peaceful moment, but the comfortable quiet was slowly fading into an awkward silence, as though they were both aware of what they had done, and neither was sure what to do next. Severus knew he certainly didn't.
Absurd as it seemed, he was glad for the quilt that was covering them; he wasn't sure he wanted her to see him now that their urgent needs had been mutually fulfilled. He was ridiculously hesitant to touch her, and yet reluctant to move away, so he contented himself with playing with her hair and wondering what she was thinking.
You could always ask her, came an unwelcomed, rational voice. Asking, however, seemed a little too mundane, and perhaps a little pathetic. He wished she would turn over and look at him. Somehow, he was convinced that it would be easier to look her in the eye again if he did it now than it would be if they managed to finish the night without eye contact, but at the same time, he wasn't sure he wanted her to be able to see his face just now. He felt exceptionally vulnerable, a sentiment he had not anticipated. Sighing softly, he let his fingertip graze against her shoulder, and she raised her head, craning her neck to look back at him. He felt a stirring of arousal at the way her throat was bared when she was in that position, and it struck him as a decidedly silly thing to affect him, given the more tantalizing views he'd had only moments before.
His lustful stirrings, however, were interrupted as she suddenly yawned. A cat-like yawn, her mouth wide and tongue curling, entirely and unabashedly sincere, and he found himself smiling. "Tired?" he asked, and could have kicked himself for his stupidity. Of couse she's tired, you nitwit! It's, what? Past two at least, and it isn't as though that was coffee you two have been drinking, and it's not like she's been napping all this time. She's either tired or bored, and if it's the latter, you don't really want confirmation of it, do you?
Aislinn, however, was shifting slightly, and he once again became aware of just how close she was to him. "Let's just say that if I closed my eyes, I'd be asleep inside of two minutes," she replied softly, folding her arm back and leaning her head on her elbow.
"I see," he whispered, his eyes glittering with uncharacteristic mischief. "I've exhausted you, then?"
She laughed softly, and he was momentarily taken aback, not quite sure how to take that reaction. Her hand was on his arm, though, a fingertip outlining a muscle, and her laughter had faded to a smile. "Shall we say I'm a bit more relaxed than I have been in some time?" she asked softly, then slid her hand over his shoulder to his back. "Are you tired?"
And what kind of trick question is that? Yes, he supposed he was tired, and content, and relaxed, as she'd put it. And he knew that he was a touch away from burning desire that would put any fatigue to rest. "It's getting late," he commented softly, avoiding her question.
She laughed again, but this time, oddly enough, he didn't find himself questioning her motive for laughter. "Getting late, is it?" she asked, moving closer to him. He drew in his breath sharply as her body came into contact with his, but instead of an inferno, what he felt was a slow warmth, ready to be stoked into a blaze, yet equally suited for a slow simmer. "I thought I heard the clock chime one…" she said softly.
He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. "It's nearly three, I think," he admitted, and she started slightly. He tightened his embrace, though, and she stayed where she was.
Silence descended again, but it was comfortable again instead of awkward. The comfort of the silence, however, soon gave way to a most uncomfortable realization that they were still on the floor, and it was anything but soft. Severus shifted slightly, trying to find a better position, but the effort seemed futile. So, what to do. If we get up, is she likely to get dressed and leave? Or could I entice her into the bed? Is the chance of the former worth the possibility of the latter?
He combed his fingers through her hair again, and she snuggled closer. He felt his body reacting to her, and once again he was walking a fine line between satisfaction and arousal. Between discomfort and contentment. He ran his fingertips lightly down her spine and was rewarded with a small shiver, and he made his decision. "Would you like to move to the bed?" he whispered, letting his breath ruffle her hair. Such soft, beautiful hair. His fingers were drawn to it once again, and he marveled at the silky softness of the curls, how they ensnared his fingers and entangled his hands.
She looked at him and smiled again, but it was one of her more rueful smiles. "I should be going," she said softly, and he felt himself collapsing slightly.
Damn. Wrong choice. He nodded, though, but made no move to release her. And, he noted with satisfaction, she made no move to free herself, either. He let his fingertips trail along her shoulderblades, and down her back again, and she closed her eyes. His fingertips traced the curvature of her waist and hips, and for a moment, he considered a more direct approach to enticing her to stay. She moved suddenly, though, rolling over again, putting a few inches between them. He let his hand drop away from her, and the awkwardness returned.
After a moment, he sighed and sat up, then, taking advantage of her back being turned, stood and pulled on his trousers again. He leaned down to trail his fingertips over her lips once more, then picked up their glasses and the unopened bottle of sherry, and walked over to the sideboard, busying himself mostly with not looking at her. Faint whispering sounds told him she was making good use of the time, and he kept his back tastefully turned until he felt a touch on the back of his shoulder. When he turned around again, she was standing there, fully dressed if disheveled, her shoes in her hand, her hair still falling around her shoulders. God, she's beautiful, he thought.
"I…" she didn't get very far with the thought, but he nodded, feeling he understood. There wasn't really much to say, after all, was there? They'd already said everything that needed saying. A night together, and then to go our separate ways. He wasn't ready for it to be morning, but it was, obviously.
He smiled, though he didn't feel like smiling, and touched her lips, laying two fingers over them. "Thank you," he whispered, "for a wonderful evening." He felt as though he should say something else, but he was entirely at a loss for words. What did this situation call for, anyway? Should he offer to walk her back to her own rooms? Should he invite her to come again? Should he…
"I don't really know what to say," she said quietly, echoing his thoughts so closely that for a moment he entertained the idea that she was 'hearing' him again. He put the ludicrous idea from his mind, though. Of course, you expected that she has done this many a time, didn't you?
"Say you'll stay a little longer." He didn't know where that request came from, and he immediately wished he hadn't said it. At least, he wished he hadn't until she nodded, hesitantly, and then his chagrin was replaced by a stunned relief. One more chance, it seems. He gestured back into the room, and she paused for a moment, glancing in the direction of the chairs, then at the fire. She moved to sit on the sofa, though, and Severus took her lead. She was at one end of it, and he at the other, and a gulf between them that he wouldn't have believed possible as little as ten minutes before… but it was a start. He couldn't help feeling it was a start from scratch, but it was a start. There was only silence from the other end of the sofa, and she tucked her feet under her, turning to face him. He sat at an angle as well.
"Can I ask why?" he asked quietly after a moment, and she looked momentarily confused. "Why you aren't interested in anything more than friendship. With anybody," he added, his lips quirking into a humorless smile as he emphasized the clarification the same way she had.
She shrugged slightly. "I suppose I'm tired of being hurt," she replied softly. "I'm horrible at setting boundaries for myself and sticking to them; and I probably shouldn't have told you that, of all people." She was smiling, which softened the words, but he couldn't help thinking she'd just told him, indirectly, that she didn't particularly trust him. "I get too involved, and then I get hurt when things don't work out. Easier to stay out of the rain than to try and avoid getting soaked in it."
And you accused me of being afraid to feel? He couldn't quite believe his ears, that the passionate and vivacious Aislinn was afraid of getting close? But, as he thought about it, it made sense, he supposed. She was rather like a butterfly, flitting around from person to person and task to task, but she'd made the comment once before that being still was torture to her, and he could make the connection that tying herself to one person would be equally confining. And perhaps it was fear that made it so difficult for her to commit to any one thing. "I see," he replied neutrally. "I suppose I could protest that I'm not going to hurt you, but I assume you've heard that before…"
She nodded. Damn. He'd actually been hoping that might work. "No one ever says 'come on, baby, I'll rip your heart out,'" she commented dryly, and he found himself chuckling a bit in spite of the general lack of humor in the situation.
"Unfortunate," he reflected. "It would certainly make it easier to sort out people's intentions if they were so honest."
She was smiling again, and shrugged slightly. "Maybe I'm naïve," she said softly, "but I don't think most people set out with the intention of hurting others. I think it's generally an unintentional side effect of the remarkable ability humans have to fool themselves that what is wrong is actually right."
Severus inclined his head slightly. "I suppose I'll concede that point to you," he replied, "we do seem to have a rather finely-honed ability to ignore what we don't want to see, don't we?"
Aislinn's smile was still not touching her eyes, but she noddded. "And to see what isnt there," she added. "I've seen it so often, and God knows I do it myself. I look at a pair of charts sometimes, and I see nothing there. No point of compatibility. There are things to look for, certain connections," she explained for his benefit, "and if they aren't there, it's so easy to dig around until you find what you're looking for. 'So what if our moons don't mesh,'" her voice had taken on what was obviously a mocking tone, though he didn't catch the reference, "'just look at how the midpoint of my fifth house trines the bisect of his Venus-Mars sextile. That has to be an indication of passion.' It isn't," she told him, seeming to notice his expression.
"I gathered," he responded wryly.
"Immense ability to ignore what is right in front of our faces," she whispered, and he wondered if she had switched her topic of conversation again. She was looking at him, unseeing, and he wondered what it was she did see. "To be so blind, and yet so discriminatingly perceptive. To bad we can't manage to be both at the same time."
A moment of silence, and she yawned again, and he found it contagious. Severus leaned forward, reaching for her hand. "Stay for the night," he whispered. "Nothing inappropriate," he assured her, "and if you want, I'll sleep here on the sofa and you can have the bed…"
She smiled slghtly, and placed her hand in his. "We live in the same castle, Severus," she said softly, "it isn't as though we're not likely to see each other again. Why do I need to stay here?"
He felt a tightening in his throat at the thought that she was so adamantly opposed to staying, but he nodded and let go of her hand. I want you to stay so I can have one more chance to convince you that we don't have to go our separate ways, he wanted to tell her, but said nothing. I want you to stay because I've never been so close to anyone as I have been to you tonight. I want you to stay because I want to know the comfort of you in my arms when I wake, for you to be the first thing I see when I open my eyes and the last thing I see before I close them. I want you to stay because I'm afraid that if you walk out that door, that the next time we see each other, it will be formality in the corridors again, and that it might take another three months to get you back in here, and I swear, Aislinn, if I could, I'd turn back time and we would never have stopped talking tonight. I'd give anything to be talking so frankly and openly again as we were a few hours ago. Aloud, he finally said, "I don't guess I have any particularly convincing reasons. And I know this is what you said would happen. But…" he trailed away, and straightened.
She leaned forward this time, and didn't stop until she was near enough that he could feel her breath on his face. "I just need some time," she whispered, and then turned her face so her lips brushed against his cheek. "I just need some time to think," she told him, "and to put myself back in order."
That's what I'm afraid of.
"I promise you, Severus, we'll talk. Soon. But just now…" she interrupted herself with another yawn, and he stifled one of his own.
He nodded. "All right," he sighed, resigned. "I'm not going to argue with you. Not over this. Not tonight."
She smiled a bit, and touched his face. "Thank you," she whispered, standing.
"Don't mention it," he replied, not quite able to keep all the disappointment from his tone.
She paused for a moment, then bent to pick up her shoes. "Good night," she whispered, and he pulled himself to his feet, suddenly feeling very tired, as though the night and the wine were catching up to him all at once.
"Good night," he replied, walking her to the door. She slipped into the darkened corridor, and he closed the door behind her, leaning against it.