Warm Body, Aching Heart
A knock at the door interrupted Lisa's reading. Startled, she glanced at the clock. It was almost eleven. Who could it possibly be at this hour? She prayed it wasn't some sort of emergency. An attack? But I would have...
A knock at the door interrupted Lisa's reading. Startled, she glanced
at the clock. It was almost eleven. Who could it possibly be at this hour?
She prayed it wasn't some sort of emergency. An attack? But I would
have heard the sirens... She hurried to the door, opened it, willing her
heart to stop pounding.
"Rick?" She was more than a little surprised to find Rick Hunter on
her doorstep. Not because his coming over was unusual, far from it -- she
just couldn't understand why he would show up, without warning,
at this time of night.
He ran a hand through his unruly mane of black hair, regarded her with
a somewhat sheepish grin. "Sorry to bother you. I know it's late."
"You know I don't mind," she said. So much for her heart slowing down.
It now threatened to break right through her rib cage. "Come on in."
"Thanks." He followed her inside, then stood in the middle of the living
room, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, apparently at a loss as to
what to do next.
She eyed him suspiciously, wondering just what was going on in that
muddled head of his this time. Nothing too out of the ordinary had
happened recently, at least not that she knew of. Of course, neither
of them had quite yet healed from the devastation of Dolza's attack.
They'd both spent a lot of time crying in each other's arms over the
past couple of months. In fact, with every passing day she felt that
they were growing closer, maybe even... She shook her head, impatient
with herself. No sense beating her head against that particular wall.
"Would you like something to drink?" she asked, figuring one of them
should do something.
His head snapped up as if he was shocked to discover someone else
in the room. "Uh, yeah. Thanks."
She managed to scare up a couple of glasses and a half-empty bottle of
wine, and brought them back in to the living room. She was relieved to
discover that he'd finally decided to take a seat on the couch. "Here you
go," she said, a bit more brightly than necessary, as she handed him his
glass.
He nodded his thanks and gulped the contents down. She blinked.
Something was going on, and she wasn't sure she was going to like it.
"Rick, what is it? Do you need to talk? Did something happen today?"
He studied the empty wine glass, not meeting her eyes. "Nah. I was
just kind of down, I guess. I was taking a walk, outside, and...I
wound up here."
"Well, you know you're always welcome here, Rick," she said, hoping
he'd elaborate on whatever was really troubling him.
He smiled at her. "You always listen to me, Lisa. You know? Some
people, they just wait until the other person is done talking so they
can talk back. But you --" His hand made a meaningless gesture,
grasping the air. "You just listen.?
She exhaled loudly, hoping this wasn't going to be yet another of his
you?re-my-best-friend speeches. Not when she wanted so much more
from him. She didn't think she could take it, not anymore.
He leaned back on the couch, relaxing a bit, and she felt her shoulders
untense in response. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe he'd really
just had a bad day and needed to talk. That, she could handle. At least
it would be familiar territory, for both of them. Making a conscious
effort to loosen up, she leaned back next to him and drained her own glass,
needing the fortification, then set it back down on the table. "You're
a pretty good listener yourself, Hunter."
He chuckled. "You're paying me a compliment? I didn't realize it was
my birthday."
She let out a low laugh in return, and he took that as an invitation to lean
against her, resting his head comfortably on her shoulder. Oh, God, she
thought. Does he have any idea what this is doing to me? Still, she tried
to relax, to just enjoy the feeling of his warm body against hers, the sound
of his breathing. His dark hair was soft against her chin, tickling a little,
and her arm was starting to cramp up.
But she wouldn't have moved for all the world.
"Do you ever..." Rick started, then paused. Paused so long she wasn't
sure he'd complete the sentence. Then: "Do you ever get...lonely?"
"Every day," she whispered.
"Karl?" he asked. He began picking absently at the fuzz on the sleeve of
her sweater, his hand occasionally brushing hers, sending dangerous
fire coursing through her.
"Sometimes," she said, relieved that she managed to keep her voice
steady. "Other times...I don?t know. Sometimes you don't need a
reason."
"I guess not," he said, his voice soft. "But...when I'm here, when
I?m with you...I'm a little less lonely, you know?"
God oh god oh god. "Me too," she croaked.
He shifted next to her, and his hair brushed against her mouth. She
reached up to smooth it down, but then couldn't seem to stop herself
from lingering there, running her fingers gently through that dark mane.
His head lifted, and her hand slid down to his cheek.
"Lisa."
She froze as the world stood still. Then he scooted up on the couch so
that his face was inches from hers, his eyes focused on her lips. She
could feel his breath on her face, but felt unable to breathe herself.
Unable to breathe, to move, to do anything. His mouth worked as if he
were trying to say something. Then he said her name again, making
it sound like a prayer.
Or a plea for forgiveness.
In near-slow-motion his lips touched hers, hesitantly, imploringly. A
sharp, high-pitched sigh escaped from her throat, into his mouth, and he
deepened the kiss, inhaling harshly and opening her mouth with his
tongue. She responded with all the desperate longing that had been
building in her for months, wrapping her arms around his neck, closing
her eyes tight, shutting out the rest of the world.
His hands came up and buried themselves in her hair, clasping her head,
pulling her closer to him until she was practically on top of him on the
couch.
For a long time her entire existence consisted of nothing but his mouth
on hers, her tongue sliding against his, his hands in her hair.
When they finally came up for air, she looked at him, almost afraid of
what she might find there. But there was no mistaking the harsh glint of
desire in his eyes, the shortness of his breath.
"Rick --"
He cut her off, covering her mouth with his once more, placing his
hands on her hips and pulling her close again, settling her on top of
him so that she straddled his waist. His hands were everywhere,
running over her shoulders, down her arms, back up to her hair. When
one strong hand slipped underneath her sweater, caressing the bare
skin of her back, traveling upward to brush against her breast, she
didn?t resist. She could feel him hardening through his jeans,
pressing insistently against her, demanding.
He stopped kissing her long enough to pull her sweater up over her
head. Tiny goosebumps raised on her skin as he looked at her,
running his hands over her torso, caressing her breasts with a shaky
touch. She held her breath when he removed her bra, then let it
out in a rush when he leaned forward and covered one breast with his
mouth. He circled the nipple with his tongue, then nibbled on it,
pulling gently at it, teasing it to sensitive hardness. He reached
up to fondle her other breast, and she was infinitely glad his other hand
was supporting the small of her back, or she probably would have
fallen over from the pure shock and pleasure of it.
All too soon he returned to her mouth, kissing her hard, almost hurting,
nearly devouring her. She undid the buttons of his shirt with trembling
hands, then helped him to shrug out of it and toss it aside. She ran her
hands over his bare chest, feeling his muscles, his small brown nipples that
hardened at her touch. He made a strangled sound deep in his throat and
pushed her down on the couch so that he could slip her jeans off, then her
panties. And then she was naked beneath him. She squeezed her eyes
shut, embarrassed, wishing they had turned off the lights before starting
this.
As if she could have predicted this.
She could hear him taking off his own jeans, his boxers, and then his
hands were sliding up and down her legs, up her thighs, spreading them.
The unexpected sensation of his tongue flickering between her legs caused
her eyes to flash open, then close again, even tighter. She whimpered as
he explored those delicate folds with his tongue, licking, sucking, until she
was writhing on the couch, wondering if she was going mad. When he took
her swollen center into his mouth and sucked on it strongly, she was lost.
She came against his mouth with a series of soft cries, whispering his name,
trying for some unknown reason to keep her voice down.
And then he was kissing her, again, and she wondered if he knew that she
could taste herself on his tongue.
When his hands grasped her hips she responded eagerly, raising them to him,
arching her back, helping him seek entrance. She bit back a cry of pain
when he finally, slowly, pushed himself inside of her. He started to pull
out a little, and this time a small sob escaped her lips.
He froze. "Jesus, Lisa, I didn't know..."
She shook her head and opened her eyes, reached up for him. "Don't
stop."
He kissed her on the forehead and began moving in and out of her once
more, and soon it didn't hurt anymore, soon it was a throbbing, heated pleasure
that threatened to consume her entirely. She locked her ankles behind his
back and urged him on, his thrusts driving her against the arm of the
couch, his breath hot against her cheek. She turned her head so that their
mouths met, and she kissed him longingly, trying to put everything she
had into it, trying to tell him with actions what she hadn't been able to tell
him in words.
"God," he whispered, breaking his mouth away from hers. "God, you feel
so good, Lisa..."
And then he came, groaning loudly, his body spasming as he spent himself
inside her.
It was over.
Rick pulled out of her and sat up on the couch, looking embarrassed and
more than a little scared. Overcome suddenly by the urge to cover herself,
Lisa reached down and scooped her sweater up off the floor, pulled it down
over her head. Then she lay there, watching him, afraid to break the silence,
wondering what would happen next.
He looked over at her, flinched when he realized she'd put her sweater back
on. "I?m sorry," he said quietly.
"Don't," she said, in a voice that dripped cold venom. "Don't you dare
apologize to me, Rick."
He gazed at her helplessly for long moments, then leaned over and kissed
her, softly, tenderly. "I..I do care about you, Lisa," he said when they parted.
Wow. This was even worse than she'd imagined. She supposed she was
pathetically naive to have expected some grand declaration of love, but it
sure would've been nice. "I...care about you too." What else could she say?
He reached for his jeans. "I should go --"
She stopped his hand. "Don't. Stay the night, Rick. Stay
here, with me."
"I don't know if that?s a good..." He trailed off, then relented. "Okay."
He covered her body with his again and embraced her, burying his face
in her neck, clinging to her the way a child would cling to his mother.
She blinked back stinging tears as she held him and stared up at the ceiling.
And so it goes, she thought. A few moments of pleasure, he gets what he
needs, all the while still living in his little fantasy world that revolves
around Minmei. Still being able to worship her from afar while getting
everything else he wants from me. And I get...what do I get?
I get to pretend, she realized sadly. I get to pretend that he's mine.

end.