Seal
Her mouth was sweet and dry, there was something sharp in it, like fear - he knew it was fear because he could feel the echo in his own mouth, reverberating through his body. Yet, he honestly wished he could spend the rest of his life kissing her - or die in that instant, in her arms. It wouldn't have made much of a difference.
His knees were shaking when they ended the kiss. He held her tight against him. Her right hand was resting on his neck, her left hand on his arm.
"Delenn..."
What was there to say? I love you? The words were there, ready for the taking, but it was too soon for them, they both knew it. What does one say, on such occasions? John had forgotten. Probably something like "erm... wanna come up for a... um... cup of coffee?" But John's mind wasn't on coffee. She leaned her head against his shoulders. He searched for words desperately. All he could think of was how afraid he was, and what a ridiculous thought that was, he should be happy, this was not the moment to be afraid, and "I'm so scared" was certainly nothing you said after a first kiss.
As they walked through the corridors, they were holding hands and shaking with little bursts of laughter. They say people are more likely to succumb to uncontrollable attacks of giggling and laughing when in shock or panic. But they were not panicking. They were just happy, and didn't give a damn about what people though. Right.
They stopped in front of her quarters, and again he was searching for words. Because something had begun, and he felt that that beginning was of such moment that it called for some kind of closure, a confirmation - a seal. He still couldn't say "I love you", that much he knew. He had to be alone first, alone with the taste of her tongue in his mouth, the pressure of her body, alone to ask his own body, and his mind and his heart, to follow the tangled threads that led into his soul. He hoped he'd find her there.
This time she didn't say anything, she just stood there, looking breathtakingly beautiful, so he said it; he figured he couldn't go too wrong with that, since it was the truth and thus, "you're so beautiful", he said. "Thank you". She blushed like a girl, and smiled, and seemed pleased, but not much had been gained. On he blundered then. He spoke about being confused, and happy, and I never thought, but I feel so, so do I, oh, so do I.
They looked around before kissing again, and saying goodnight, and kissing again. Then, the door slid shut behind her, and he walked to his own quarters, pondering in amazement how he had left them that morning, alone, and now he returned, never to be alone again. Had that been accomplished with just one kiss? And was it only for love that his heart was hammering against his breast?
John Sheridan sat heavily on the easy chair in his living area. His head between his hands, running his fingers through his hair, he whispered to himself: "What have I done? What have I done?", unaware of the meaning of his words or the movement of his lips. When the door-chime sounded, he said "come in" before he even knew he was speaking. And when he saw Delenn standing before him, everything else was forgotten. They didn't fall, they crashed into each other. And time, which had ticked away unconcerned while they were kissing and groping for words and avoiding looking into each other's eyes, stopped now, and imprinted it's seal on them.
Her mouth was sweet and dry, there was something sharp in it, like fear - he knew it was fear because he could feel the echo in his own mouth, reverberating through his body. Yet, he honestly wished he could spend the rest of his life kissing her - or die in that instant, in her arms. It wouldn't have made much of a difference.
His knees were shaking when they ended the kiss. He held her tight against him. Her right hand was resting on his neck, her left hand on his arm.
"Delenn..."
What was there to say? I love you? The words were there, ready for the taking, but it was too soon for them, they both knew it. What does one say, on such occasions? John had forgotten. Probably something like "erm... wanna come up for a... um... cup of coffee?" But John's mind wasn't on coffee. She leaned her head against his shoulders. He searched for words desperately. All he could think of was how afraid he was, and what a ridiculous thought that was, he should be happy, this was not the moment to be afraid, and "I'm so scared" was certainly nothing you said after a first kiss.
As they walked through the corridors, they were holding hands and shaking with little bursts of laughter. They say people are more likely to succumb to uncontrollable attacks of giggling and laughing when in shock or panic. But they were not panicking. They were just happy, and didn't give a damn about what people though. Right.
They stopped in front of her quarters, and again he was searching for words. Because something had begun, and he felt that that beginning was of such moment that it called for some kind of closure, a confirmation - a seal. He still couldn't say "I love you", that much he knew. He had to be alone first, alone with the taste of her tongue in his mouth, the pressure of her body, alone to ask his own body, and his mind and his heart, to follow the tangled threads that led into his soul. He hoped he'd find her there.
This time she didn't say anything, she just stood there, looking breathtakingly beautiful, so he said it; he figured he couldn't go too wrong with that, since it was the truth and thus, "you're so beautiful", he said. "Thank you". She blushed like a girl, and smiled, and seemed pleased, but not much had been gained. On he blundered then. He spoke about being confused, and happy, and I never thought, but I feel so, so do I, oh, so do I.
They looked around before kissing again, and saying goodnight, and kissing again. Then, the door slid shut behind her, and he walked to his own quarters, pondering in amazement how he had left them that morning, alone, and now he returned, never to be alone again. Had that been accomplished with just one kiss? And was it only for love that his heart was hammering against his breast?
John Sheridan sat heavily on the easy chair in his living area. His head between his hands, running his fingers through his hair, he whispered to himself: "What have I done? What have I done?", unaware of the meaning of his words or the movement of his lips. When the door-chime sounded, he said "come in" before he even knew he was speaking. And when he saw Delenn standing before him, everything else was forgotten. They didn't fall, they crashed into each other. And time, which had ticked away unconcerned while they were kissing and groping for words and avoiding looking into each other's eyes, stopped now, and imprinted it's seal on them.