Abstract
She lay on her back, right-to-centre of the small bed, and stared up at the ceiling. If she focused really hard she could remember exactly how she had gotten there. The physical, anyway. The mental paths were a little harder for her to map, and those paths were paved with dangerous ideas, so she didn't even try.
Instead she let herself drift on a sea of only physical sensation, and traced her fingers over his arm, again and again. The touch was almost curious. But it lacked conviction and focus. It was a lazy movement that had nothing to do with the conscious, and everything to do with a subtle twinge of defeat.
Physically, they had remained on the floor until all tears had dried, until all the new and old parts of him had been rebuilt and he had grown calmer and calmer. And while he grew more into himself once again, her awareness seemed to grow...outward. Like she was aware, but in a numb sort of way. It was like that good numbness that came after a long, hard cry.
And that wasn't too far from the truth.
There was no argument within her when he got up and carefully drew her to her feet. When he took both her hands and stepped backwards, slowly drawing her to the bed. She followed without protest as he climbed up onto the bed-because there was no protest. There was nothing but that sweet calmness. As she lay prone on the bed, and he slowly followed her down, thighs and hips first before his arms lowered his torso. Before his arms slowly came around her and his face pressed softly against her throat. He breathed deep and soft, and she did too. Not even quickening as his leg slid up and over hers, his thigh resting intimately across her knees.
But nothing within her stirred, she only seemed to settle further. His hand slid up from her waist, skating fleetingly over her chest, then coming to rest feather-light against her throat. His fingers curved gently back into her hair, and he sighed, turning his face into the warm space between her shoulder and her neck. His lips brushed against skin, but not in a kiss. He rested there and breathed deep and sweet against her. A muted shudder snaked its way down her spine. She felt his lips curve faintly, his thumb on the opposite side stroked gently over the sensitive skin right under her jaw.
"Aya.." barely a breath. She closed her eyes and turned her face into his, the lower edge of her cheek pressed against his forehead. And...she must have fallen asleep, because here she was, uncertain of how much time had passed, but seeing clear evidence in the shift of light across the floor from the one window.
Their position was much the same, only he was still asleep, and his hand had shifted to curve around her side, in the space above her hip, and right below her breasts. Her fingertips slid up and down his arm, not set, but seemingly feather-light and...distracted.
Well...her inner voice trailed quietly, you're in bed with him. Again.
She wanted to counter with a 'it's not like that', but she couldn't honestly say that, not when she felt instinctively that some part of it was exactly like that.
It wasn't sexual, no. But it wasn't without its intimacy either.
It definitely wasn't the embrace of siblings.
She wondered if they could even have such embraces again. Would there always be this...awareness between them now?
I am aware of him, now.
My body has somehow...learned the presence of his.
She couldn't explain what was different. His presence had always meant more to her than others. They were twins, and she had imagined that that had bonded them closer than brother-and-sister, closer than friends. That they held a connection beyond others, that only 'twins' could understand.
And so, she had never been concerned about how sensitive she was to the moods and shifts of his presence. It had only seemed natural, after all. Like they were separate people, but on the edges their souls over-lapped-and that was how it was meant to be.
Maybe...maybe she had been wrong, though. Maybe...she shouldn't be so aware of her own brother. Maybe twins were just siblings, and their bond, this connection she had felt, wasn't meant to be there at all. But...if it wasn't meant to be, then how come it had never felt wrong to her?
So maybe the closeness was right...
When did it go too far? Where was that line drawn?
Was it here?
Her fingers paused in their circling paths.
Was it moments from now, when he woke up and she still lay in his arms?
The reason she couldn't find that line now-was it because they had already crossed it long, long ago?
Her fingers remained, poised and still on his sleeve. She stared at the ceiling, but saw nothing.
I don't know.
Her thoughts were too heavy for her to continue floating on the surface of her mind. Like a stone tied to her ankle, they pulled her down. Dragged her back down to that darker space of fear and recrimination.
Her hand now returned to his arm, but only to push it off her. biting her lip, she slid out from under his thigh, carefully scooting to the edge of the bed. It was colder on the edge, but she told herself that's where she wanted to be. She didn't want to be so close to him. To allow him to drag her further and further into the grey area.
She sat on the edge of the bed and her shoulders slowly slumped, her head bowed until her hair fell in tangled locks over her face. Her hands hung limply off the side, wrists barely touching her knees. It was a pose that said something, but she refused to think of that. She refused to think about how many times now she had allowed her will to weaken. And how many decisions she had made, only to contradict a breath later.
No more, she thought tiredly, but knew she lied. Not on purpose, but there were too many ambiguities now for her to say anything with any certainty.
She took a deep breath, that raised her shoulders. In through her nose and out through her mouth in a slow sigh.
The bed shifted beneathe her, and she went still in pieces, knew that he had awakened and was sitting up now. Was looking at her back. She hung in that one moment and wondered what he would do. If he would reach out to her, or speak, or drag her back down and hold her arms still as she struggled...
Things had spun so far out of her control, that she didn't even bother trying to predict his behaviours. He would just defy any prediction anyway.
Another shift and slight dip, and then slow, hesitant fingers lighted on her shoulders. They slid slowly inward, curving over the sharp edge of her collarbones. She didn't move, and he gently kneaded into the hardness of her muscles.
She could feel the weight of his body in the air behind her, as if that small space between them was being squeezed thinner and thinner as he pressed against it. His hand slid further inward, drawing soft lines on her throat, her jaw. He slowly tilted her head back, and she let him, blinking her eyes open as she felt him hold her head in place and curve his spine over her.
He looked odd upside down. He looked lazy and warm, and compellingly sensuous in the sleepy daze to his eyes. His lashes came down to veil those eyes, and he crossed the short distance to press a sleepy kiss against her lips. His mouth moved lazily against hers, slow, sensuous tastes, almost enough to draw her in.
But her eyes remained open, staring.
He made a soft, sweet sound in his throat, and her head twitched. She twisted her face left and broke contact, nearly upsetting his balance as his hands slid instantly down to her shoulders to steady himself.
"No," she said calmly, and got up.
He remained kneeling on the bed with his hands limp at his sides. He looked awake now as she turned back to him, awake and thoughtful. She was still caught in that comfortable numbness, Her lips tingled with phantom-pressure, she alternately wanted to rub at them and lick them, but she stared at him without movement, waiting for whatever would come next.
He stared at her as well, seemingly waiting for her to decide how this was going to go. She didn't step into the role, for once the silence didn't make her squirm. That edge of numbness made it easy for her to stand there and let the quiet sluice around her.
He slowly relaxed, slowly sat back on his heels. His hands slid over the tangled covers. He didn't apologize. She understood that he wasn't sorry. She didn't demand guilt, he understood that she had decided to draw the lines of their relationship with that one calm 'no'.
She also understood, as that look continued, but did not grow either way, that he wasn't giving up. He said nothing and everything.
I'll back off, but I won't back down.
She didn't know how she felt about that. She didn't know how she felt about a lot of things. But she accepted that this was the crossroads that they had come to, and eventually they would take one path or the other.
Hopefully together. Though she honestly couldn't see any other way. She wasn't going to let him go, even if...even if she had to learn how to hold him at arm's length.
That foreign idea twisted in her gut, abraded the very edges of her numbness. But that icy core remained, so she wasn't bothered much.
Further silence. She was content to coast along its smooth surface. He would have to be the one this time, the one to cast words like stones and make the world ripple.
With a slow, precise shift, he slid his legs out from under him, set his feet steadily on the floor and got up. She didn't move, not even to cross her arms. She left them limp and open at her sides, each finger curved.
Somehow, she got the sense that he approved. Now that she was aware of so much, she noticed things she had over-looked before. Like how there was a dual-tone to his presence. Like how he could look at her with desire, and smile at her like a brother. And do both at the same time, without shifting fully into one or the other. And yet, he did both so naturally. She wondered if this was how he had hid it from her for so long.
Because he looked natural in his desire, natural like her best friend and brother. Three lines that should never meet, but somehow weaved seamlessly within him.
It was compelling...his passion, his confidence. She was finally willing to admit to that much at least. She felt that, maybe under this gentle numbness, she was ready to honestly discuss this with him.
But she would not break the silence first.
He did break it, but as usual, not with any words she had expected. "I think we should go out today."
"Out," she echoed, finding it difficult to understand mundane words when she was thinking in so many abstracts.
"Yes," he nodded as if that word needed physical underlining. "Some place together, but with others. Some place away from here, so we can both calm down, and maybe gain some perspective."
She didn't want to agree. She was in the mood to confront this now, but she could not be certain about later. But...his suggestion did appeal to her. A commonground so they both could regain their bearings. It would give him the means to hone his focus, but it also could help her to find her feet.
She didn't quite trust the inviting push of this numbness. If she pushed back, would it break?
"Not the cafe, somewhere where we won't be recognized," she agreed, without actually saying so, and watched curiously as he relaxed.
"There is a dessert shoppe a few blocks away. It will be my treat."
Why did it feel as if they were setting down the ground rules for some sort of duel?
"Fine," she said, but couldn't help but add, "It's not a date."
He gave her a half-smile at that, the visible curve of it clearly amused, but the other half turned down in something more solemn. It was a strangely self-mocking look. "I understand," he said. And he obviously did, she just wasn't certain if they were both on the same page in their understanding.
Did they even see the same world anymore?
"I'll wait here," he prompted, and she realized he was fully dressed while she was still wearing her nightclothes. Both of them bore the marks of dishevelment, however, in hand-mussed hair, and wrinkled cloth, and...swollen lips.
Forty-eight hours ago, and all she could claim was a stolen kiss to seal her into silence. Now she had stolen kisses and stolen hours, and the impression of hands on her body. In odd moments...she could still feel them...like his desire was a ghost that hovered around her.
Like his desire was a ghost-so strong that she feared it might possess her.
I've had enough of possession...
A firm statement, but it didn't quite connect with her thoughts. But she wasn't really worried. Her thoughts didn't seem quite connected anyway.
"I'll get ready," but she still hesitated. There was a strange urge within her, to just stand and stare. Maybe she feared movement. Maybe she feared that moving would shift something, and break her queer calm.
That thought was enough of a prompt. If this resolution was that weak, she needed to know now. Better now then to find out later, when she was in the middle of a situation more precarious.
She turned on her heel and went to the dresser, blindly digging out an outfit and underwear. She smiled grimly as she pushed the top drawer in, remembering a moment that had seemed so long ago. There wouldn't be anymore borderline flirting like that.
At least...she hoped not.
She wondered, not for the fist time, if her behaviour had been as innocent as she liked to think...
Dangerous thoughts, and she was just disconnected enough from her own mind to allow them.
They only tasted of sincerity.
tbc...