He seemed to suddenly realize what he was doing and jerked still.
There was a strange tableau for a moment. The dim room was filled with her panting breaths, and his abrupt silence.
The air left him in a hard exhale. His hands had been closed on her arms in restraint when he had frozen, his hips not just between hers, but curved and pushed up so hard that she was nearly straddling him in a standing position.
Though neither was hovering over the other, it was clearly a dominant position on his part, and for just a moment he had moved to restrain her when she had started to struggle.
And now they were frozen as if he had stuck in place and now was desperately trying to shift to a lower gear.
She didn't calm, he was pulling back, trying to regain his senses enough to understand what was going on. But physically he was still pressed so tightly against her, and she could feel him, hard and practically shaking. She couldn't tell if he was throbbing or if it was actually her own pulse squeezing so hard through her lower stomach.
Maybe it was both. All she knew was that something about this moment was sinking into the physical memory of her body. That there had been so many singular moments and new sensations, but this one would be what she would keep returning to.
The stillness, the sound of breath, the heat and strength of his body, of his will fighting for control. And the feel of him rubbed so intimately raw where she was most vulnerable.
I will dream of this, came the fleeting thought. It came and went, and she didn't try to hold onto it. She was waiting for this moment to break.
He drew back slowly, not to be a tease, but she still slid down the length of his body all the same, causing them both to shudder as she rubbed against him in one last accidental caress.
With a strange slowness he uncurled his hands from her arms, hesitated, then slid shakily out from under the curl of her leg. She felt cold instantly and her arms snapped up to wrap around herself.
Only then did she realize that her shirt was falling down her right shoulder and her breast was spilling free of its cup. With shaky fingers she quickly righted herself. He didn't look away, and it seemed silly to demand that he do such a thing. She didn't protest, just pulled her shirt closed with one hand and waited. The wet cloth of her bra seemed especially cold and abrasive.
He shook his shoulders as if trying to shake free of something. Then he took a deep breath and squared them.
Some distant part of her mourned the light of familiar seriousness that was starting to retake his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, and she didn't understand. She knew he wasn't sorry for trying to seduce her again...
Another breath, and a closing and opening of his eyes. "I am going to stop every time that you tell me to," he said, and she finally understood. He thought he had startled her, that he had scared her, with his momentary loss of control.
Maybe he had scared himself.
Oh Aki...
She wanted to reach out to him, but it was too soon.
He shook his head, as if he could hear the softening of her thoughts, and he didn't think he deserved it himself. "But please understand that it's not a switch I can flip at will..."
And what he meant was clearly emphasized while he stood there and didn't even attempt to hide his condition from her. His hands were in self-restraining fists, but they remained at his sides while he stood pressed tight and firm against his jeans. He clearly wasn't embarassed, and strangely enough, she wasn't either.
Though she found herself biting her lower lip as her eyes seemed to trace the curved outline of him without her permission. She quickly snapped her eyes back up to his, and he gave her a weaker smile than his usual one. It spoke of tiredness and something else that she would not name.
"Don't worry," he said, reading the expression on her face though she had no idea what it was saying to him, "it will pass."
For some reason, she doubted it. Oh, not the physical, but...everything else. She kept telling herself that she hoped this was passing, but when she was honest...it only seemed to be growing stronger.
We're feeding it. Not just him, but me, too.
She didn't know how to stop. Desire could be distracting in the best of situations, and this definitely was not 'ideal'. It seemed cruel to leave him like that. A strange idea shot through her head, but she quickly shook it away, before examinig it. She wasn't thinking straight. She wanted to soothe him somehow, but what could she do? Other than what she could NOT consider.
"You must hate me," she whispered, and his head swung in her direction as if startled. "The way I keep blowing so hot and cold..."
Maybe...maybe this indecision is worse than making the wrong decision? She pushed that idea quickly away, it implied that she was actually considering both sides. Hadn't she already decided?
She kept telling herself she had, but then she kept hesitating...
There was that word again...She dropped her head to stare with a sort of dull trepidition at the floor.
Hands settled on her cheeks, gently holding her face between them as if it were something infinitely precious. He lifted her face to make her meet his eyes.
It was too soon, the hold too closely mirrored the one he had just used to trap her. The possibility was far, far too close to the surface still. Her eyelashes swept down in instinctive preparednss for a kiss. There was no conscious thought to it. She would have been afraid, had there been. As it was, it took her a second to realize she had tilted her head to offer her lips.
And once she realized, her eyes snapped open wide. She took stock of her position and realized she was leaning towards him, with both her hands curled gently around his wrists. She wasn't pushing or pulling, her fingers seemed only to be embracing him.
The look on his face had grown so sweet and tender that it nearly hurt to see it. It produced a dull ache in her chest, that seemed to sting in her eyes.
We move and reach like lovers, she realized. Even without the passion...there is intimacy to our touches now...
"Aya..." His thumbs smoothed over her cheekbones, drawing invisible lines that tingled in her skin. She leaned even closer. She didn't decide it, her body seemed to have a mind of its own.
"You know I could never hate you. I love you."
That last held something young in it, something that carried the sweet taste of innocence. She wouldn't have thought so-being what they were.
"And I understand about the confusion. I am trying so hard not to push you. At least more than you need. I want you so much-sometimes it takes my mind a few moments to catch up with my body. Please know that I will never hurt you. Ever. I can't. You are my most precious person..."
She was holding her breath, and she felt as if she were only solid where he touched her, the rest of her was swaying free without an anchor, light and airy, and not quite real.
The things he says...
She didn't know how she wanted to finish that thought. Negative or positive, or something made of both. She couldn't say which was which, or which was true.
He was waiting earnestly for an answer.
"You are never going to hurt me. I know that." And she did, there was no doubt in her mind. But he seemed to need to hear it repeated back to him, as if he needed her to say it before he could believe it himself. But she did not doubt him. Not in his love, or determination, nor in the depth of his caring.
No. She doubted herself.
I'm faltering.
Whatever I'm doing, I'm faltering.
But he made it so easy, with his words, and emotions, and the overwhelming passion of his kisses. In the needy possessiveness of his hands, and the exquisite heat of his body against hers.
She swayed again for a moment, her fingers tightening around his wrists as the heat of her skin seemed to spike in temperature. She knew her lips parted, she knew something shifted in her eyes, because his arms slowly drew in slightly. An unconscious gesture that brought him closer to her. His eyes darkened rapidly, and she could feel it happening again. Feel herself being wrapped in silk and slowly drawn back into that sweet trap.
I can't do this again, came the fleeting thought. She knew if he pulled her to that edge again, this time she'd take his hand and jump.
Again, she flashed on that image that seemed to be looped in the back of her mind. Of her thighs squeezing his hips while his body rolled deep and hard into hers. There was golden flesh and dark, burning eyes, and greedy hands grasping and pulling.
And a whisper in her blood saying 'you can have this'.
'You can have it right now.'
I...should not be tempted...
And she realized that her skin was practically burning under his hands, and she was staring at that image with fascination, drawing herself mentally closer to it, rather than pushing it away.
With slow movements, movements seeming to grow softer with pain, she tightened her hands on his, then pulled down. She felt as if a line snapped, and she would sway dangerously on her feet, but she finished the move by letting go of his hands and stepping back.
He instantly half-reached to pull her back, then seemed to catch himself and drop his hands.
They stared at each other in silence. Steps separated them now, but she knew it was so much more than that.
And yet...
And yet, it felt as if all she had to do was reach, and he would be there. That all he needed from her was that one little concession, and then he would forcefully bind them together for eternity.
But aren't we already?
Haven't we always been...?
He took a breath, and seemed to not know exactly what to do with his hands. His normal course of action would be to bury them deep in his pockets. But that was clearly out of the question with the obviously rampant state he was in.
Though...there was something attractive in the mental image of him drawing his jeans tight across his thighs, his arms acting as a focus.
Or maybe a frame...
Finally he settled on hugging his elbows, a strangely vulnerable gesture that made her want to draw his head down to her breast and run her fingers through his hair.
But life wasn't static, and sooner or later that action would take that inevitable step further, she had already learned.
She quickly forced the image to the back of her mind before it could show her exactly where that step would take them.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, but it was just a consideration now. A politeness meant to be spoken when no other words came. Or he couldn't say what he wanted to say.
The air was tense now with those unspoken things. She knew half of them were only in her head, but some of them had to be true.
Some were enough.
"Me too," she whispered, but her words held meaning where his did not. Even though she wasn't quite sure that that meaning was appropriate. And she definitely would not explain if he asked.
She wouldn't even think about it.
He smiled weakly, and looked so...strange standing there all alone. Like a stranger who was only wearing a mask of her brother. And an ill-fitting one at that.
To be fair, she didn't feel quite like herself either.
Maybe the smarter thing would be to awknowledge that the situation was so far outside the circle of norm. Who wouldn't feel a little displaced, or disconnected?
"I know."
And now there was nothing left to say. Nothing safe, anyway. It was a silent agreement that there was too much emotion simmering here for either of them to try to speak further.
And his state...wasn't abating.
That made eloquent thought difficult, she guessed. And dangerous. And maybe a short separation was needed.
They seemed to reach the idea at the same time, because he dropped his arms and sighed. "I am going to take a shower," he said by way of explanation. The tightening of fists told her exactly what that meant. But she couldn't begrudge him. Not when half of her was still shaking with unfullfilled lust herself.
When she considered that he was the source of that lust, and what that meant, she felt a little crazy. So she didn't consider it, and she was able to pretend for moments at a time that she could do this. That she could hold him at arm's length while still pulling him through these unacceptable feelings to the other side.
She didn't consider what was on the other side, either.
He hesitated as if awaiting her permission to leave, and she frowned slightly. Or maybe he was hesitating in the hopes that she would stop him. She frowned harder.
She wanted to say he was being silly, but she recognized the inner prodding that urged her, not to invite him to stay, but to take a step further and follow him into the bathroom.
Maybe that was it. Maybe he was waiting around to see if she would finally give in to temptation.
She would not be tempted.
When she made no move, to speak or stop, or heaven forbid, follow, he cast her that same weak smile and walked stiffly to the bathroom.
She watched the door close slowly, but did not relax.