Note:
I love writing this story, but it takes time and I keep convincing myself that I am too busy for it, and so I only come back to it intermittently. But thank you very much to all those of you who have stuck with me this long. I'm trying, I promise.
Looking back at the first few chapters, I am more than a little bit embarrassed. My writing has changed a lot since I first started this piece, mostly out of necessity, but also by dint of a lot of work, so I'm thinking of going back and revising chapters 1-6 for content as well as style. I'll let you know if my heinous laziness will accomodate me on this one.
Anyway, here's the next installment... horrifically delayed and probably annoyingly short, but here you go.

Things you might want to know about:
There is sex in this chapter. It's not super-explicit, but there are body parts.

Tra,
E.

Chapter 8: Timshel

Sakura's relief at having gotten home in one piece in spite of having almost fallen asleep at the wheel on the freeway was outweighed by the realization that Syaoran's car was not in its space in the driveway. She frowned, worry immediately setting in as she parked her car and felt around under her seat for the umbrella. It wasn't like him to be out this late, especially not without calling. She checked her phone to see if there were any messages from him, or from Eriol, but there was nothing.

The rain picked up, beating down on the hood of the car even harder than before, and Sakura resolved to put her contacts list to work as soon as she was inside the house. She kicked open the car door, opening up the umbrella and scooping up her purse, and made a dash for the overhang of the porch. The porch light was turned on even though Sakura hadn't remembered to do so before leaving the house, and that meant that Syaoran at least had to have been home at some point that evening. Sakura brooded as she fumbled with her keys.

The lights in the entrance were off, as were the ones in the kitchen and the living room. Sakura groped around in the dark until she found a switch on the wall next to the front door, and surveyed in the sudden flood of light the wet mess that was the floor of the foyer. Muddy tracks led to the pair of boots that had been kicked off at the foot of the staircase, and she could make out the damp sheen of wet footprints continuing up the steps. Sakura grimaced, her relief mixing with a growing buzz of irritation. Syaoran's keys were hung up on the keyrack beside the shoe closet, so he was definitely home. Who else would've made such a bleeding disaster of the flooring?

She hung up her coat and tucked her shoes onto the rack in the closet, and then headed for the kitchen. There were spare rags in the cabinet under the sink, and she grabbed a few and used them to mop up the water Syaoran's wet boots and, very probably, wet clothing had left behind. She shook her head in, vexed, as she picked up the boots and set them by the heating vent to dry out. He'd probably been drinking. He always got this way-messy and careless-when he he drank.

Though perhaps "careless" was the wrong word. To be careless indicated a lackadaisical forgetfulness, when what she really meant was a literal failure to care, bordering sometimes on inconsiderate rudeness with a touch of belligerence. Sakura liked alcohol well enough, and her college days had definitely seen her through some eventful nights and some equally-eventful mornings after, but the reeling, uncontrolled feeling of drunkenness was something she avoided and, if she was being honest with herself, feared. The only truly pleasant drunk she'd ever met was Tomoyo, who after having a few drinks, liked to dance and tell stories. Most other people, Sakura found, just became obnoxious-annoyingly giddy, or much too sad. And sometimes angry.

Sakura spread the rags she'd used out in the kitchen to dry, and then headed upstairs, her weariness hitting her hard now. The energy she was expending in keeping her awake was dwindling, her eyes gritty with exhaustion. Every muscle of her body ached and longed for the weightlessness of sleep.

Upstairs, the hallway light was off. Sakura groped around in her purse for her cell phone, and made her way to the bedroom by the light of the phone's display. The door was ajar, a ribbon of deep, inky darkness running between the door and its frame. She pushed the door open and stepped into the room, the dim circle of light from the phone illuminating her path. The room was quiet but for the telltale sound of Syaoran's breathing. Sakura smiled tiredly as she crossed over the closet to change her clothes. She would wait until the morning to bother him about the missing car.

She flicked the closet light on and shut the door behind her, shimmying out of her clothes and tossing them into the laundry basket. There was a stack of Syaoran's t-shirts at her elbow, and she picked one at random to wear to bed. She inspected the logo on the front and found that it was from a project at Syaoran's old work. Something about information systems, most of which she'd forgotten in the intervening years. The shirt itself was a comfortable cotton number and smelled delightfully of detergent and fabric softener. She walked over to the bed, pulled aside the covers, and gratefully climbed in, sighing softly as the mattress cradled her weight. She felt like she hadn't slept in years.

Syaoran was sleeping with his back to her, breathing lightly, and she slipped her arm around his waist, pressing her lips against the nape of his neck.

"Sorry, darling," she murmured, settling back into the pillows. She was almost asleep when the feeling of Syaoran shifting in her arms woke her up. He rolled around to face her, and suddenly the length of his body was flush against hers. She put her cold, clammy toes against his and he shivered.

"Sorry," she repeated, withdrawing her feet. "Didn't mean to wake you." She lifted her face to kiss his jaw, but he shifted and pulled away from her.

"I was already awake," he murmured, turning again so that he was on his back, staring at the ceiling. He was making an effort at keeping his face neutral, but Sakura knew his expressions well, and the tightness of his mouth gave his anger away. She tried not to feel hurt, but the disappointment welled up inside her and she found herself blinking back tears.

"Didn't think you'd be coming home tonight." He glanced over at the bedside table, where the glowing green dial on the clock boasted an ungodly set of numbers. The sun would be rising soon. He'd been lying awake for hours, and it looked like sleep was not going to be happening tonight.

"Oh, well... I figured it would be nice to sleep here instead of at the hospital..." Sakura's voice was small, and he didn't need to look at her to know that she was trying not to cry. He swallowed hard, regret and anger and shame burning steadily in the pit of his stomach, and sighed.

"No, it's good you came back," Syaoran said, not entirely sure if he meant it. He'd been counting on at least a few more hours alone, hoping that he'd have more time to sort out his thoughts. Sakura could hear the hesitation in her voice, and it cut deep. A few determined tears slipped silently dow the sides of her face and she hurriedly wiped them away, disgusted with herself.

"Good night then," she said, and rolled onto her side to face away from him, the space between them giving her that gnawing feeling she got in her lower back whenever she faced away from a dark room. She pulled the blankets up around her shoulders and her eyes fell shut, seemingly of their own accord. In spite of the heavy emotions weighing her down, her exhausted body's demands for rest took charge over her internal turmoil, and she began to drift off to sleep immediately. She was half asleep, and already part of the way into one of the vivid dreams she often had between sleeping and waking, when she felt Syaoran shift beside her. Suddenly, there he was, his body strong and warm at her side. He put an arm across her, his large hand clutching her hip, and heat flooded her body as he pressed his mouth urgently against hers, urging her lips apart with his tongue.

A very vocal piece of her-the piece that had spent umpteen hours on its feet in the operating room that day, the piece that hadn't slept more than a few hours a day all week-violently resisted being woken, resented Syaoran for robbing her of her sleep. She was more tired than she could remember ever being. Every muscle ached with tension; her head was pounding, beating out a distracting staccato from between her eyes. She wanted rest-needed it, craved it down to her bones.

But the bigger piece of her-the one that loved Syaoran more than anything, the one that had left him angry and hurting earlier that evening-couldn't bear to tell him no again. He had tried to be loving toward her, and she had pushed him away. Syaoran, she knew, deserved better than that.

So, in spite of her exhaustion, Sakura kissed him back, threading her hand into his hair until she was able to find that spot on the back of his neck where he liked to be stroked just so…

Syaoran shifted until he was on top of her, and Sakura accepted his weight, hooking one leg around his hips to pull him closer. She relished the smell of his skin, a mingled scent of sweat and soap and sandalwood. His lips were frantic and insistent against hers, and he held her chin firmly with one hand in that slightly possessive way she absolutely loved. Sakura ran her hands down Syaoran's bare back, feeling the rise and movement of his shoulder blades, then traced lower along his spine with her nails. He hissed as Sakura's fingernails left fine, thin lines on his skin, and pulled away from her lips to begin kissing and biting at her throat. Sakura gasped as Syaoran nipped her collarbone. He slipped a hand underneath the hemline of her nightshirt, fingers skating up along her ribs to cup her breast and Sakura moaned, arching up into him as he used his lips and teeth to tease at her other breast through the fabric. An intoxicating heat was filling her body, and she could feel herself quickly becoming slick with desire.

Impatiently, Sakura yanked at Syaoran's boxers, attempting to use her feet to force them down past his thighs. Syaoran pulled away for a moment to remove them completely, allowing Sakura enough time to pull her shirt over her head and toss it next to the bed. She had her thumbs hooked into the waist of her panties-was about to take them off-when Syaoran brushed her hands aside to do it himself. Sakura caught his eye and blushed at the look on his face; hunger, desire, and admiration mingled in his expression. There was a hint of something else there, too-anger? Hostility?-but it was gone before she could identify it.

Syaoran leaned forward to brush his lips against the inside of one of Sakura's thighs, then moved up to plant kisses beside her navel, between her breasts, and at the hollow at the base of her throat. Sakura shivered and licked her lips in anticipation, then reached down to grasp Syaoran's shaft.

He had no hint of an erection. Sakura tried very hard to conceal her surprise, but something must have flashed across her face before she could stop it because Syaoran frowned and pulled away from her.

"I…" He swung his legs over the side of the bed and fumbled for words, his face flushing hot with embarrassment. This had happened to them once before, but that had been years ago, their first time together as clumsy co-eds, and they'd never had a problem since then. Make-up sex had never been their thing, though, Sakura thought to herself, so maybe that was the culprit? She gave what she hoped was a soothing smile, and moved forward to straddle him, taking his face between her hands. She pressed herself against him and kissed him, long and lingering, before moving back and going to her knees on the floor in front of him.

"Let me help you," she murmured in a low voice, looking up at him through her lashes as she leaned forward and took him in her mouth. Syaoran made a vague protest, then moaned. Sakura braced her hands on his thighs, and attempted to ease the tension she felt in the muscles by kneading them as she moved up and down along his shaft.

Nothing was working. No matter what Sakura did with her tongue, teeth, lips, and hands, Syaoran's cock remained persistently flaccid. She tried not to be upset or hurt by this, and wracked her brain for favorite techniques she was overlooking, but nothing came to mind. She looked at him, a panic-stricken look inching its way across her face. Syaoran had never been much of a voyeur, instead always taking a very active role in their lovemaking, but maybe she could let him watch her touch herself. According to Tomoyo, it drove Eriol crazy... She got up and came to sit beside Syaoran on the bed, leaning her weight against him.

"Honey, how about I-"

Syaoran stood up abruptly, causing Sakura to lose her balance and pitch forward. "No," he said flatly. "I… This isn't working." He found his boxers and pulled them on, then grabbed Sakura's shirt and tossed it onto the bed next to her before striding over to the closet and pulling a pair of lounge pants and a t-shirt off the peg by the door.

"Syaoran, what are you…" Sakura trailed off as Syaoran threw the clothes on and made for the bedroom door. Syaoran turned to look at her, his eyes full of frustration and thinly concealed rage, and she clutched the t-shirt to her chest, feeling very suddenly overexposed.

"It's not you," he muttered tersely as he walked out into the hallway. He hesitated by the door. "I'll be downstairs." Sakura heard his footsteps trail away down the steps and into the basement.

Sakura sat there for several moments, staring after him in bewilderment. What had she done wrong? He'd wanted her, that was indisputable, so why was he acting so strangely? She pulled on the t-shirt with shaking hands and scanned the dark floor for her underwear before giving up and crawling back into bed. Her heart was racing out of control, and she could still feel an unsatisfied throbbing between her legs. She shifted restlessly. Even if she managed to fall asleep, she knew it would be broken at best.

Perhaps, she thought ruefully, it might have been a better idea to stay at the hospital after all, for all the good that coming home had done her. She reached over and grabbed the pillow from Syaoran's side-clearly he wouldn't be coming back to bed that night-and held it tight against her body, trying to clear her mind and recapture the sleepiness that had seemed unshakeable only minutes prior. She counted sheep, listed the names of stars, and tallied up all the bones in the human body before she felt the familiar weariness seep back into her.

Slowly, torturously, she finally managed to fall into a fitful, dreamless sleep.