Part Five: Knight Found
It was cold in the room, and the impersonal surroundings made it seem colder. Lisa shivered at the touch of air on her bare skin, and shook at the touch of his fingers replacing it, displacing it, trying to warm and cooling further instead.
She traced his scars, the ones she'd made and the ones she'd newly discovered.
"How many others?"
His eyes are half closed; he's preoccupied with other things. Hesmooths hertumbling hair downover his chest, searching out patterns only he can see. "Hmm?"
She looks up and searches his face, catches his chin between thumb and forefinger and yanks it down so his eyes meet hers. "How many others fought back?"
"How many were like you, do you mean?"
"Yes. How many were like me."
Her cheek is against his chest, and she can hear the rumble of laughter build from deep within it, drowning out his heartbeat.
"None of them were like you, Leese."
She's so close, he can feel her smile.
"So what's left? What's next?"
"Why do you always ask questions? Why are you so anxious to move on?"
"I don't exactly have a monopoly on the question thing," she says, and slips an arm around his waist, trying to get closer to his unexpected warmth. She'd thought he would be cold straight through; it was the inhumanness of him that led to that expectation. She'd been pleasantly surprised.
"Moving on to what, anyway," he says, gently mocking. He slides a finger down the outer shell of her ear, pinches her earlobe and smiles lazily. His teeth gleam sharp in that sick dull light from the window. "Again?"
"Glutton," she purrs, and he laughs outright. "Tell me. Tell me what's left."
"Of me? Bones and dust. I'm exhausted. You've ruined me. You're wearing my shirt."
"I got cold."
"Sorry," he apologizes, and puts his arms around her, pulling her up further against him so her head is just underneath his chin. He plants a kiss on her forehead. "I feel eaten up."
She frowns thoughtfully. "I'm hungry."
He tips his head back against the pillow, and stares at the ceiling. Her face is against his throat, and she stares eye to eye with that ugly red scar. "Consumed," he remarks ruminatively. "Nothing left but a claustrophobic kind of thankfulness. I have a feeling you'd think I was being self-aware if I told you I was grateful."
"I think you're very pleased with yourself," she told him frankly. "I think you think it was all your doing, and I got the better end of the deal."
He shrugs. His shoulders are not broad, but they lead to extremely well-muscled arms. He's a working man. "Maybe we should try it again and find out. Its only fair, after all."
She finds this funny, and starts to laugh, into the hollow of his throat.
"Hey," he says, mildly annoyed, "don't snort on me."
She can't stop laughing.
He smiles instead.
His hand slips down her back.
There's a noise at the door.