As always, many thanks to Cls2011 and miscreant rose for all of their support and friendship! Own nothing. Hope you enjoy. I am now so attached to these two!
"When are you leaving?"
The question stings as it scrapes against her throat, and she clings to him tighter, binding him to her as she did every night over these many weeks they had managed to find time alone.
"By noon at the latest," he answers, tracing patterns on her arm, laying his lips to her forehead in a gesture both painful and soothing.
"I don't want you to go."
Her statement hovers above them, a chilling vapor maneuvering under the protection of blankets and skin. He swallows thickly, pulling her on top of him, kissing her soundly, stroking her cheek.
"God knows I don't want to leave you, Mary," he whispers, brushing her palm with his mouth, making himself more a part of her with each touch to her body. "I don't exactly have a choice."
"I know," she breathes, looking into eyes that have wrapped themselves around heartstrings as firmly as his arms encompass her waist. What had started as a physical need had quickly moved into something she could not fathom living without.
She loves him. And that scares the hell out of her.
"Which means I don't have one, either."
His nose nudges hers with a gentleness that belies everything he does with her.
"Of course you do," he returns, stroking her hair in a manner that grants him access to her soul. "You must choose to go on living."
Her heart stills.
"Don't say that," she insists, pushing herself from his chest, shivering at the impact of air on bare skin. "It sounds like you're planning to die."
"Nobody plans to die, Mary," he assures her, pressing up on his elbows as he seeks her with his eyes. "But I've seen too much death to believe I'm above its grasp. On the front, it's everywhere you look."
Arms encourage her forward, back to his embrace, his warmth, and she shivers as an image of him lying cold in a ditch etches itself in her mind. Her stomach nearly revolts, and she swallows down the urge to be sick.
"You must stay above it," she commands, rubbing a finger over parted lips. "I need you to. More than you know."
He clasps her hand gently, kissing her fingers, needing her again with an ache still new to him. She has quickly become more than he bargained for: a lover, a lifeline, a woman who holds a power over him he willingly placed in her keeping.
"If I do survive, can I come back for you?"
The raw quality of his voice beckons her closer, and she draws his upper lip into her mouth, cherishing each part of him.
Wanting everything. Terrified it might slip from her grasp.
"What do you think?"
She is on her back before she realizes what has happened, his mouth just above hers, his eyes nearly black, a slight grin fighting a tremor of what must be buried terror.
"I love you," he answers, the plea on his features unmistakable. "But I think that you know that."
Her heart constricts, pounding pressure against eyelids as ribs tighten their grip on her lungs.
"Yes. I know."
She feels her admission everywhere as a tear stubbornly seeks an exit.
He kisses her again, this time with force. He is not just a soldier, but a man in love, clinging to the last shard of goodness and beauty that may be offered him.
Holding her as if she has the power to save him.
"If I make it through this damned war, do you want me to come back for you? Tell me now if you don't."
Her face tightens, her nod the only answer she can manage until speech finally returns.
"Of course I do."
Her voice is unrecognizable, wounded yet rich, halting yet strong. He touches her lips in a benediction, claiming her words as a talisman he prays God will honor.
"Then I'll do everything I can to be there," he promises, knowing this moment will be forever imprinted on his soul. "I'll marry you if you'll have me."
Rounded eyes gaze into his own, his open smile instigating a flutter just under her naval.
"Is that a proposal?" she dares, uncertain yet hopeful, understanding she has found something of timeless beauty amidst the rubble of a world in hell.
"No," he answers. "Not yet."
He plants a kiss on her nose, rubbing a blessing across her cheekbone.
"You've already lost one fiancé to this blasted war," he continues, outlining her eyebrow. "I won't have you lose another."
He stops her protest before it properly begins, pushing back words with his mouth, absorbing her pleas into the cavity of his body. She pours out her fears through lips and teeth, scratching worry into his skin, wrapping his watch care around her like a robe.
Breath to breath, eye to eye, a future shrouded in doubt somehow shimmers before them all the same.
"When I return—if you still want me—I am yours."
It is a moment that defines her. She knows it, feels it, a quickening in her abdomen, a shiver down her legs. Life will never be the same for her—for them—and she inhales the scent of this second, takes in the breath from his lungs.
"I always want you," she affirms, pulling him to her before kissing him hard. "I love you."
He grasps her limbs, sliding into her with one stroke, wishing they could merge bone into bone, blood into blood, imbibing in life offered and honesty given. Here, on the threshold of death, they love in defiance, join in celebration, cry into each other in a communal prayer for mercy and life. He seeks the miraculous, she absorbs his completion, tears merging with sweat in a physical act now spiritual.
Nothing is sated, yet bodies eventually still, and they see each other anew, knowing vows were just spoken though touch and acceptance. She has laid herself open. He has given her everything. Bare skin is now traced where a ring should be worn, and he kisses it in promise, sealing it with intent.
"When I come back," he breathes, unwilling to withdraw from her as if their connection is the only thing keeping him alive.
"When you come back," she whispers, knowing she will never fully be able to let him go.
Part 3 coming soon! I do hope you enjoyed it.
