No, your eyes do not deceive you. To make a long story short, one horrible car crash, multiple broken bones, surgeries, months of rehab/physical therapy later, I'm back to writing. This is a super short, one-shot written in the span of about 20 minutes this morning. It's not good, but I need to write something to (try to) get back into the rhythm. Goal is to start working on "In Your Eyes" next because good lord, that story needs to be finished sometime within the next hundred years I suppose.
Nathan/Haley, duh, because that's all I write.
(Lyrics from "Electricity" by Drew and Ellie Holcomb.)
You're my electricity
You're the one I always wanted
The only one I need
Electricity.
From the first moment he touched her – when she handed him a pencil during their first early morning tutoring session and her fingers brushed against his – he felt it. A spark, a jolt, an immediate awareness of the tiny slip of a girl in front of him. Every nerve on fire in a way he had never felt before. It startled him, caught him off guard, but as her fingers danced away and the spark faded, he felt an emptiness gnawing at him, wanting, desiring her touch again.
Electricity.
When her hands explored his body for the first time, her touch hesitant and nervous but still leaving a scorching trail of heat wherever her hands played, he felt it. Blood roaring in his ears, groin tightening in anticipation, skin on fire with want and excitement and passion everywhere her hands touched… Her touch baptized him, made him anew, burning away the selfish boy he had been and leaving in his place, a man who wanted to be worthy of the woman before him.
Electricity.
The first time he was inside her, he swore his brain shorted out at the tightwetheat surrounding him. Her moans echoed in the small bedroom, the atmosphere sparking with passion. Her fingers burned him as they gripped his biceps, clutched at his neck, and clawed at his chest, his nerves alight with all the pent up desire he had suppressed over the last few months. It was nothing like any of his other experiences, those long ago, empty nights of empty feelings with empty people. This was a rebirth, a renewal, a communion of fire, as he moved within her, his body like a live wire wherever she touched.
Electricity.
He feels it to this day, when her small hand is enveloped in his, when she runs her fingers through his hair as his head nestles in her lap as they watch tv, when she smacks his shoulder in mock anger after he teases her, when she grips him oh so firmly, teasing him just so… The spark, the jolt that rushes through him, every part of him suddenly awake, is a feeling he can't imagine not having, so central she has become to him. She has brought stillness and grace and beauty and peace to his life, but whenever she touches him, the calm that flows through his veins like a river transforms into a rushing cacophony of passion and fire, discordant and unsettling in its ferocity yet comforting in its constancy.
Electricity.
He sometimes wonders if she feels the same spark when he touches her, but even after all their years of marriage, he hasn't asked her. He's afraid to give voice to it, in fear that she doesn't feel it or doesn't understand, and in fear that if he gives voice to it, it will somehow disappear.
Electricity.
Electricity.
From the first moment she touched him – when she handed him a pencil during their first early morning tutoring session, her fingers brushing against his as he took the pencil from her – she felt it. Something she had never felt before. A spark, a jolt, an immediate awareness of the boy sitting across from her. Her nerves felt lit with anticipation, excitement, catching her off guard in a way she wasn't accustomed. Always in control, the spark at his touch threw her, but as his fingers moved away, the emptiness gnawed at her, leaving her confused, but wanting, desiring his touch again.
Electricity.
When his hands explored her body for the first time, she was nervous and hesitant as she charted new territory, but the moment he touched her, she felt it. Stomach clenching with desire, blood roaring in her ears as his fingers traced the curves of her body, leaving a trial of fire wherever he touched. Her nerves jangled with anticipation, with desire, his touch burning away the scared girl she had been and leaving in her place, a woman who wanted to be worthy of the man before her.
Electricity.
The first time he was inside her, she felt the most exhilarating, scary, amazing feeling burn through her veins, leaving a scorching trail of passion in its wake. His touch burned her as he caressed her breasts, traced her thighs, and stroked the most intimate part of her, every whisper of his skin against her stroking the fire building within. It was nothing she had ever experienced before, those lonely nights with just her hands, her fingers. This was a baptism of fire, of passion, as he moved within her, his touch sending her spiraling and shattering around him.
Electricity.
She feels it to this day, when he grasps her small hand within his, when he cups and caresses her checks as he kisses her, when he pinches her bottom as she passes in the bedroom, when he is stroking her so lightly, so gently… The spark, the jolt that rushes through her, every part of her awake and aware, is a feeling she can't imagine not experiencing, so central he has become to her. He has brought passion and joy and beauty and contentment to her life, but whenever he touches her, the peace that drifts through her like a calm river transform into a roaring rapid of desire and passion, burning through her with a ferocity that steals her breath yet comforts her in its constancy.
Electricity.
She sometimes wonders if he feels the same spark when she touches him, but even after all their years of marriage, she hasn't asked him. She's afraid to give voice to it, in fear that he doesn't feel it or doesn't understand, and in fear that if she gives voice to it, it will somehow disappear.
Electricity.
fin