GOOD MAWNIN' FANFICTION!
Or rather, good evening - maybe even good night - because it's 21:59 where I am at the mo (Ongland)
MESSY BUCKETS to TOUTES mes reviewers for your lub - j'appreciate it beaucoup.
Now, for all those lubberly reviews to whom I can't reply via the wonders of email, this one's for you:
Lane: Aloha, new reader! Thank you for bringing bubbles of delight to my blood (sounds icky, but I swear it's nice) for your splendiferous comment! I do try to add a little dash of everything to the fic because all you readers are so greedy for some spice - and I lub it. As for the Romeo and Juliet ending to the Adam-CeeCee sitch... well, I shall consider it, though I'm not sure I could break all those die-hard fans' hearts out there. ;)
aD3LiN3: J'apologise for the lack of Paul-age in the previous chappie, HOWEVER, je promise that next chappie - thar be Paul-age. So far no naked Paul, but I'll see what I can wrangle... oo-er, missus ;)
Lolly Pop Ali: It seems every time I log on to Fanfic, you have a new, funkalicious name :) I SO know what you mean about disliking lengthy descriptions - it was the main reason it took me, like, a year to post that chappie, because I really hated that all it was was description. But then I got some cojones, and up it went, and now it's over, I'm done with it, that chappie and I are THROUGH, man! So yeah, I'm glad it wasn't as crapola as I thought. Lol. As for the rhyming - I've had some scary moments with that. Like, trying to rhyme 'power' with 'wower'. Somehow, I DON'T think so. ;)
leftbackrunner77: You have a psycho pup? Seriously, I need to find something with a matching nutso-ness. As for the crazy sister - meh, she can easily be bound and gagged in a closet somewhere... :) In Engerland, it WAS verra hot, but the storm has broken and now it's cold and rainy and windy. I've seen small children drifting about the sky like plastic bags which, while terribly hilarious, is potentially dangerous. And if you mention that you have your own swimming pool again, you will have to be destroyed to curb my insane jealousy. As formyself, I have 16 years of age - soon to be 17 on the 18th Sep, so I'm waltzing around the house singing that much-lubbed song from Sound of Music 'I am 16 going on 17' except that's the only line I know. I also have uno bro, and he is 19 and goes to Uni. I like to call him Dumbass, cos if you say it quickly enough it sounds like you are actually calling him by his real name Thomas. And it's great because nothing rhymes with Emily (Smemily or Smellily does so not count) so therefore I win. As usual. Tom rides a motorbike like a bat out of hell, as does the rest of ma famille, and as I will in Septemberie. How terribly exciting! ;)
Okay, this chappie is another rain-before-the-storm kinda thing. It's again to help everyone get the feel of what's about to happen, and me trying to tie up some messy knots.
For all those Suze-Jesse fans, LOCK YOURSELF UP WITH YOUR COMPUTER AND GET A BOWL OF ICE CUBES. I tried to make it as steamy as poss, without being too rude-alicious and just plain dirty/wrong/really-bad-trying-to-be-hot-but-failing-miserably-wannabe-romance-writer.
For all those Suze-Paul fans, j'apologise. You may want to RUN AWAY.
Because it was still early in the afternoon – the sun had yet to begin its slow descent – I headed to the beach again; my new place of thinking and resting.
I found a suitably quiet and empty spot on the beach and slung my backpack from off my shoulder onto the soft sand in front of me. I unzipped it and pulled out the main constituent of its contents – the Book of the Dead. I'd packed it this morning on instinct, something murmuring softly in the back of my mind to do so; that I hadn't yet finished my task.
Sucking in a deep breath, I flipped open the book with a disinterest I didn't quite feel. The pages automatically fell to bare the picture I had looked at last night – the one that portrayed mine and Paul's fate. I suppressed a shudder of distaste at what it represented. Don't get me wrong – I would have been proud to say I'd drawn something so well, but when it came to my own death, I wasn't about to praise its attention to detail or tonal compliments.
The rhyme on the opposite side of the page read:
As the Punished leaks his soul
The deed to save becomes more foul;
The Saviour pays more dark a price;
He gives his life as sacrifice.
When Day and Night meet betwixt
The time has come for magic's tricks.
Day is neither, Night is nor
And so becomes an enchanted door
When the bell tolls three after midnight
And Night meets Day, and Day meets Night
The power flows through the enchanted portal
To save the Punished; to make him mortal.
I stared for a moment at the words, not really seeing the individual letters or understanding the meaning. Instead I was hearing a dull roaring between my ears that seemed to be reverberating through my body.
It took me a minute to realize I wasn't imaging the shakes that had overtaiken my body, and that in fact I was trembling. Even though the dulling sun still offered a blanket of warmth, a bitter chill had settled itself in my bones, setting off a mountain range of goosebumps across my skin and setting my teeth to chatter-mode.
Shock, I figured numbly, and began rocking myself in a futile effort to spread some meagre amount of warmth through my body. I'm going into shock. Good thing I'm such a strong person. Good thing I'll get through this. But even as these thoughts trailed through my mind I knew it wasn't quite true. I knew that at three in the morning, when I called Paul to me and gave my life up for him, I would still be in shock. And there would be no one to comfort me…
"Susannah? Querida? Why did you call me?" Jesse crouched down in front of me and touched a gentle finger to my ice cold cheek. "Querida, you're freezing! What's wrong?"
"I'm just a bit chilly, that's all," I whispered. Still staring blankly at the heavy book in my lap, I noticed the words had dissolved away to be replaced by the sickening scripture Living Living Living…
Jesse grabbed the book and threw it into the sand and before I knew what was happening, he had hauled me into his lap and was enveloping my in his arms. He tucked my head into the crook between his head and his neck and he folded my body up to fit neatly in the comforting cave his body provided. His large hands began to rub my arms fiercely, then moved over my back and legs.
It was a reflex reaction from a man who, in a previous life, had wanted to be a doctor – to use his own body warmth to help someone who had none.
Unfortunately for him – or, more importantly, unfortunately for me – Jesse's death had robbed him of any body heat, and so all he was doing was offering me a nice cocoon of comfort while his arms rubbed a little warmth back into me.
But the little warmth he did restore to me, and the comfort I could feel melting my spine into a relaxed position, did me good, and my mind cleared a bit of the fog of despair that had been clouding it.
"I'm okay now, Jesse. I promise." I tilted my head back and looked up at him.
His dark eyes were even darker with concern and piercing into my own. He lifted a hand a lovingly pushed a bang that had fallen across my forehead behind my ear, leaving his hand to linger against my skin.
I began to lever myself up enough so that I could climb elegantly – in my dreams – out of his lap. To my surprise, his strong arms tightened their hold. I looked up at him quizzically.
"Let me hold you, Susannah." He placed a kiss against my forehead. "Let me just…hold you."
Well, who was I to argue if a burning hunk of love wanted to cling onto me? Although who was doing the most clinging was difficult to tell, because we were both holding onto each other like limpets at high tide.
Not a particularly nice metaphor, I know, but that's how it felt. So sue me; English class never was my strong point.
"Do you plan on telling me why you called me? And why I arrived to find you in a state of shock?" Jesse's calm voice was underlined with something that had me looking sharply up at him. His opaque eyes gave nothing away, though the lines bracketing his mouth showed clearly the strain he was under to keep his own anger on a tight leash.
Though why he was angry was beyond me. All I knew was that muscle that twitched whenever Paul had done something particularly nefarious was going all out at the moment on the twitching scale.
"It's just this situation with Paul-"
Abruptly I broke off as Jesse surged into a litany of Spanish cuss words. Or at least, I presumed they were cuss words. Judging from the snapping tone of his voice, I couldn't really figure what else he might be saying.
And suddenly the mystery of the anger was solved! Sherlock Holmes, eat your heart out.
"Jesse. Jesse!" I called his name, trying to break him from his Paul-abuse mood, but the guy had a serious grudge, and from what I could tell, he was only getting started. I wrestled my arms free from his death grip – no pun intended – and cupped my palms over his cheeks.
As suddenly as it had started, the cussing stopped. "Jesse, it's not his fault." I ignored his ungracious snort. "It's not. I'm simply being a girl about it, and getting all hormonal at my lack of ability to do anything about Paul's…problem."
What? Did you think I was going to tell him why I was so upset when he found me?
Yeah, that would go over swell: Hey, Jesse, chill; I was only upset about being the proverbial sacrificial goat tonight for a guy you detest, loathe and despise. What's that? You want to lock me up in a tower halfway across the world, gag me, bound me, drug me and post big, burly guards by me for the following years of my lifetime? Oh, alrighty then.
I don't think so.
"You should not feel guilty about this, querida," Jesse was saying. "It is not your problem to worry about."
No, it was just my problem to kill myself for.
Instead, I sighed in a distressed-damsel kind of way. "I know, I know," I whispered, shaking my head. "I just feel so…useless." I blinked big, guileless eyes up at Jesse. "You know?"
"Oh, Susannah." Jesse dipped his head and bestowed a soft kiss on my lips, one that had me leaning into him to follow him as he drew away. "You are too kind for your own good."
I widened my eyes innocently, as if I couldn't think of anything to say, in order to hide the gargantuan snort I could feel building in my nose.
My silence was obviously a good thing, because Jesse once again lowered his head, and once again I was lost in the deliciousness that was Jesse. My worries sailed away on the wind as the softness of his lips cushioned mine, and my tension seeped out of my body like the moan that left my throat when he deepened the kiss.
Dark pleasure unfurled inside of me and my body thrummed on it.
One of my hands slid up to curl itself in Jesse's cool, thick hair, whilst the other one slid down to press against his heart. Though there was no beat, I felt warmth.
Jesse mumbled something incoherent against my lips, and suddenly I was being moved; stretched out tenderly and smoothly against the cushioning sand. I blinked open my eyes and saw Jesse, leaning up on his forearms hanging over me. A lock of hair had fallen over his forehead and I reached up a hand to brush it aside.
"I love you, querida."
Instantly tears burned my eyes at the quiet sincerity in his voice, at the burning passion in his eyes and the gentler – but no less intense – love behind it.
"Just as well," I said, and forced a smile before coughing to clear my throat. "Because I love you, too." This time my voice broke on the word 'love'. Before Jesse could react, though, I'd dragged his face back down to mine, and was kissing him senselessly, desperately. And he was returning it.
I wasn't going to say goodbye to Jesse this evening, I decided. After all, I'd be joining him soon. After three in the morning, to be precise. There was no need to say goodbye, when we'd be together forever onwards.
Maybe this was what the tarot card-reader had meant when she'd said our love would last an eternity. Who knew?
All I did know was that I was putting all my love into my kiss, as Jesse's lips met mine in a crushing spell of passion and love and, on my part, fear.
My hands were frantically moving over Jesse's body; up, around and over his shoulders, skimming across their broad width; down that wide back and into the soft notch at the base of his spine. My fingers delved under his thin white shirt to touch that velvety-smooth skin, and I almost sighed with the pleasure it gave me. That such a lean, hard body could still be soft and yielding.
Jesse's own hands were gliding – tentatively, at first – over my arms and waist and stomach and hips. Then more firmly they applied pressure, and he sank his fingertips into my skin to hold me more tightly to him, pressing his long length against mine in fierce possessiveness.
Our feet – both bare – I had kicked my boots off before I'd reached the sand, Jesse had probably blinked his away a moment ago – tangled together as Jesse's hard thigh inserted itself between my legs, and his knee insistently pushed them apart to make room for him to lie in the space created.
All the while he peppered my face with hot kisses; my eyelids; my brow; the tip of my nose. He trailed his mouth to my ear where he paused to whisper heated Spanish words. His tongue flicked out and caught the shell of my ear, making me gasp in surprise and pleasure, and he laughed huskily before moving his sweet torture to my neck and the sensitive nerve under my jawbone.
He paid my neck lavish attention and I simply gasped and groaned and shrieked in response, my body twisting under his until he stilled it with a squeeze of his large hands and leaned his body more heavily and fully on top of mine.
I dragged a hand from his hipbone – where I was urgently holding on for anchorage under his deadly assault – up the corrugated planes of his stomach and the uncompromising muscles of his chest until I reached his cheek.
With one last nip at the nerve joining my neck to my shoulder – and one last resultant moan and shudder from me – Jesse moved his face over mine, his nose brushing mine and our ragged breaths mingling together – that is, if Jesse had had breaths. Our heaving chests brushed each other's – mine heaving from trying to drag enough air into my lungs to calm my humming body, Jesse's probably heaving because he got caught up in the moment.
"We should stop now, querida," Jesse said, somewhat reluctantly, judging from the way his drugged, heavy-lidded gaze hung on my damp lips. I licked them – my lips, I mean – under Jesse's scrutiny and tasted him on them and his eyes became hotter and darker and more intense and I felt mine doing the same as my breath hitched and my nerves sang, and then Jesse was kissing me again. One last hard kiss before he hauled himself up and away from me, his usual flowing moves jerky.
I contained a whimper at the loss of weight and heat and Jesse. Then I blew out a breath of frustration when I realized he wasn't coming back down and I climbed to my feet in an ungainly fashion.
"You could have helped me up," I grumbled as I dusted sand off my ass, "that would have been the gentlemanly thing to do."
I scowled at Jesse but his eyes were fixed on a spot above my left ear somewhere. "If I had helped you up, my intentions would have become very un-gentlemanly, Susannah."
I saw the muscles in his throat working as he swallowed. "Oh," was all I said. Was all I needed to say, really.
Jesse nodded.
After a few minutes of mutually collecting ourselves, we could finally face each other properly. "Shall I walk you home, Susannah?" Jesse asked.
I began nodding before I realized what I had so conveniently forgotten – my appointment with my Maker, tonight.
"Ahm, you go ahead. I have to go visit Paul's grandfather tonight. You know; offer my condolences, etc etc."
Jesse took my excuse at face value, though his lips twisted unhappily. "I do not want you worrying yourself sick over this, Susannah." I nodded gravely. "But I will not have you thinking of sacrificing yourself for him, querida. Your life is worth more than to be wasted so soon." I felt the blood drain from my face but managed to stay upright under the sudden nausea pounding my gut like an insistent tide. "I love you."
"Love you, too," I whispered, and Jesse shimmered away, leaving me standing alone on the beach, a hand pressed to my stomach trying to hold in the sinking feeling accosting me.
"God damn it," I whispered.
Except it seemed like God had already chosen to damn me, instead.
So...?
REVIEW-ME! FEED ME WITH YOUR LUB...LET ME GROW ROUND AND LARGE AND MERRY...
Can I just say, as much as I lub writing lub-scenes (both romantic ones and lustalicious ones), I still feel an overwhelming sense of guilt and embarrassment, especially when my mum comes into the room and goes, "What are you doing?" (as all mums or moms or mas or mamas do) and I have a squeaky voice moment and shriek, "NOTHING! I swear! I'm not doing anything! Omg, what is your problem? You're always so nosy! You're always so suspicious! I hate you!" and then I belt it from the room with my laptop and go hide.
Ahem. Anyhoo...
REVIEW-ME. You know you want to...
