Chapter Eight: Amante

Peter and Claire left Isaac's apartment later that night with a feeling of dread weighing down their limbs. They moved sluggishly through the motions of getting a cab, not noticing the odd looks the cab driver gave their odd state of undress. Claire still wore one of Peter's t-shirts and his boxers; Peter was in jogging pants and a wife-beater. Though they didn't speak or even look at each other on the ride home, their hands remained entwined on the seat between them.

In fact, their hands remained joined all the way up until they walked into the apartment and were alone for the first time in hours.

They were alone for the first time since Peter revealed that he would be the bomb to destroy New York.

Claire slipped her fingers from his and walked slowly into the living room. She hugged her arms as if cold and stared blindly into the shadows. She didn't move to turn on a light and Peter was too caught up in trying to decipher her expression to do it himself.

When she spoke, even as he stared at her so intently that he could count the number of eyelashes she had, it surprised him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged and moved to sit on the couch. "I only had it the day before yesterday. The timing just didn't seem right.

Claire moved behind him, the sound of clothing rubbing on clothing alerting him to the fact that she was coming closer. When she slid her arms around his neck he couldn't stop the way he caressed the silky skin of her arms any more than he could stop yearning for her, body and soul. "I can understand that." She walked around the end of the couch, smoothly sliding herself onto his lap without breaking physical contact. "It hurts that you didn't though."

He sighed into her hair and let the smell of vanilla calm his frantic pulse. "I'm sorry."

Claire nodded and pressed her face into his neck, trying to stifle the tears that she felt rising. "I don't want to lose you, Peter. Not after I just found you."

Peter pressed a kiss to one of her temples and hugged her tighter to his chest. "I don't want to leave you, either."

Claire pulled back, running his fingers through his chin-length dark hair and gazed into his eyes solemnly. "No, Peter. You don't understand. I looked at you today and listened to you talk so calmly about leaving me and-" She stopped suddenly and looked away, trying to compose herself before the tears she fought broke the barriers and wouldn't ever stop. Finally, she looked back into his dark almond-shaped eyes and said what she'd been feeling for weeks. "I love you. It's not some temporary thing, Peter. I love you and I don't think it's gonna stop anytime soon. I love you and the thought of you dying makes something in me hurt so bad that I can't breathe."

She was crying now, big drops that rolled down her cheeks to land on his fingers where he cupped her face. He whispered into her ear but didn't know what he said. All he knew was that her tears affected him in a way a woman's tears never had. He wanted to kiss the path they left on her feverish skin. He wanted to make sure she never had to cry again unless it was in happiness.

Most of all, he wanted to be sure that no matter what happened, she'd remember him and their love, because he was sure that he would.

Peter pressed kisses to her cheeks; the salt of her tears was a whisper of taste on his lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, their lips meeting and fusing. The inferno of passion that usually engulfed them at this point was slow to come but not to burn. The heat of it licked the insides of their bodies, drawing them tighter into its arms even as they pressed closer to each other. Peter slid his arms under her shoulders and her knees and lifted her as he stood. Slowly, careful to avoid obstacles, he walked into the bedroom and gently laid her on their bed, following her down because even the thought of leaving her for a second made him clench in pain.

They lay still for several minutes, just looking at each other, almost afraid to move lest the fragile mood between them be broken. Claire was no longer crying, though her large blue eyes remained red-rimmed. Peter was no longer whispering sweet nothings, mostly because what he wanted to say wasn't a sweet nothing.

He kissed her again, slowly so that the sensations of her skin next to his and her tongue dueling with his was drawn out and savored. He ran his hand down the bevy of curls sprawled across his pillow and wrapped one around his finger before caressing the side of Claire's body until his hand was on her thigh. He pulled at it until she'd wrapped it around his hip and the suddenly snug quarters of their legs had him smiling in pleasure and her moaning.

Claire had her arms around his neck and arched into his hands as he slowly began to pull up her t-shirt, the feel of warm skin underneath almost enough for him to abandon patience and to take her quickly. Only the smallest thread of control stopped him.

They moved together in sync, their touches slow but steady, their breath mingling and their heartbeats almost moving in sync. Their clothes disappeared piece by piece until it was all naked flesh moving in the suddenly sultry air.

When Peter finally slid into her, it was all Claire could do not to scream. Somehow, despite the intense pleasure making her legs weak and her hands shake, screaming seemed out of place tonight. Tonight was for making love, for moaning into his ear, for love.

Claire wrapped her legs around his waist, fisting her hands in his hair so that she could look him in the face. She whispered, "I love you," and felt him begin to move slickly in and out. He moved leisurely, taking his time to create sweet friction in their bodies. Within minutes, Claire could feel an orgasm tightening her loins and making her legs dig into his back but she held on. Peter could feel the tension and struggled to keep the same pace; no rushing tonight.

Claire bit into his chest, a show of viciousness amongst the tenderness between them that acted as a catalyst between them. Peter found her hands and drew them up beside her head, holding them there and leaning down so that their bodies were in full contact. He kissed her passionately, and drew away only long enough to whisper into her full lips, "I love you, too."

Claire came around him, her heels pressing him tighter into her as she moaned around his lips and her nails dug into the back of his hands. Peter waited until she'd hit her highest peak before coming himself, shooting his seed deep into her and struggling to breathe. He pressed his face into the pillow beside her hair, and thrust several more times as the waves that undulated around him milked him dry.

Claire's legs fell uselessly to the bed and she smiled dreamily at the ceiling above her. Peter rallied himself long enough to turn himself over so that he wasn't crushing Claire with his weight. She lay on his chest, the pounding of his heart in her ear, and tried to let her happiness and the aftershocks of love stop the doom and gloom from leaking back into her mind.

It didn't work.

"Peter?"

"Hmmm?"

"What are we gonna do?"

Peter looked down at the top of her head, threading his hands through her hair. "The best we can. There's nothing else to do."

Claire nodded and felt her eyelids growing heavy. "We can't really know what's going to happen, you know."

He nodded, though he knew she couldn't see it. She was asleep within seconds and he didn't want to wake her by speaking. In the coming days, sleep would most likely be hard to come by.

Peter had no doubt that life in general would get a lot worse in the coming days.