Day Dawning
By Camilla Sandman
Disclaimer: I am not a large American TV channel, thus they do not belong to me. No money made, no offence meant.
Author's note: Rating due to hints of sex. Nothing too descriptive, but you're hereby warned.
II
She awakens to his kisses; light touches of fire on her skin, tracing a path down her back. He has pushed her bed covers down to expose her skin, but the room is warm and she does not care. She feels almost exposed, naked under his touch even lying on her stomach, but strangely, she does not feel afraid. She trusts him.
It is morning; she can sense sunlight, but keeps her eyes closed. A few rays must be streaking into the room and falling across her bed, feeling warm against her eyelids. Her hair is tickling her shoulders, her sheets are soft against her breasts. She feels aware, but not awake. As if this is a living dream, not quite real, not quite a fantasy.
He slips a finger across the base of her back, a touch lighter than a feather. She can feel his gaze on her, touching her as surely as his hands, making a different kind of love to her. Last night was greed and need for both. Now he is slow; savouring, exploring, cherising.
It is an odd word in her mind, but she cannot think of another. There is cherish in his touches, his kisses, his looks. Cherish. So near love, but she dares not think of that. Not yet.
He leans down and she feels his breath across her cheek, smelling slightly of something she has not yet identified, but has learned is simply him. He tucks her hair away, but still she does not open her eyes, listening to his breath and her heartbeats. A strange rhythm, but it feels almost like a song in her blood.
"Good morning," he whispers, his thumb tracing her lower lip. She parts her lips slightly, pressing a kiss against his fingerprint. He makes a deep sound in his throat; a sound her body remembers and responds to.
She lifts herself up, her breasts pressing against his naked chest as she locks her mouth to his, kissing him deeply as the echo of the passion the night before becomes a roar in her mind. Her cheeks feel ablaze, almost sore as his unshaven skin scrapes her lightly. But the pleasure eats the pain away, until the pleasure becomes a pain, a deep ache within her. He wraps a leg around her, pushing her even closer, his fingers stroking her hair oddly gentle compared to the intensity of his kiss. This is him. Gentle and intense, dark and light, lover and colleague. He fits her, in all ways.
She arches against him, the sunlight now within her, burning her to a crisp. Every touch is a torture too much, a pleasure too little. She braids her fingers into his, not sure if it was his heartbeat or hers pounding faster and faster in her head until it becomes a surge of light and silence and she feels nothing and everything at once. She barely feels her body greet his release, but she hears the name he whispers. Her name.
And she feels his name echoing across her mind, beating with her heart. Warrick. Warrick, Warrick, Warrick.
'Warrick and Catherine,' she thinks and cherishes the thought.
She is not sure if she drifts off to sleep for a moment or not, but she suddenly realises he has tucked the covers back over them without her noticing. She rests her head on his chest, feeling his heartbeats against her cheek. He is soft beneath her and she wonders if she can rest in him forever, safe, embraced, cherished.
"Stay for breakfast?" she asks.
"Yes," he replies softly, tracing circles and patterns on her back. She lifts herself up and meets his gaze, knowing what she'll see.
It is going to be another warm, sunlit day in Las Vegas. But for now, it is still morning and all dreams have not yet faded. Still time to rest - for a little while as the day dawns.
"Good."