| Subject: WTTS2 - 85b (warning: NC-17) |
Author:
KT
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Date Posted: 22:31:36 01/11/02 Fri
In reply to:
KT
's message, "Window to the Soul 2 - More (splitting the thread *as requested by Sanlin*)" on 21:52:29 01/11/02 Fri
Window to the Soul 2 - Part 85b (Warning: NC-17)
By KT
Copyright January 19, 2001
"Wouldn't dream of it," Michael whispered in her ear, pressing her ever closer. The answering machine picked up.
"Bon jour, Michel." They both started at the sound of Sabine's voice. Nikita gave Michael a penitent look. It seemed that she did want him to answer after all.
Michael steered them toward the night table and picked up the phone, still holding Nikita close.
"Ah, bon jour, Sabine."
"Michael. We were worried about Nikita. She is there, is she not?"
Michael had a moment of trepidation. "She is. Didn't Jamie deliver my message?"
"He did. But I must say, Michael, these guerrilla tactics have us quite upset."
Michael heard Roberta's retort in the background. "Not us. Just you."
He smiled and continued. "Sorry, but I... I had to see her."
"Well, with the storm and all, you might have called. Is she all right?"
"Ask her yourself." Michael handed Nikita the phone.
"Hello, Sabine."
"Nikita, are you all right?"
"Why, yes. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Well, I know that things have been somewhat..." Sabine searched for the word, "strained between the two of you..."
Nikita gave a little gasp as her partner's warm breath tickled her other ear. Michael had resorted to having his arms about her loosely, making sure that she didn't fall. The light in his eyes was ever brighter.
Sabine interpreted the sound with alarm. "Nikita!" But the voice she heard coming back to her didn't sound distressed at all. In fact, what she heard next sounded distinctly like a giggle.
"Yes. Things have been..." Michael's lips were working their way around her ear and down her neck to the top of her shoulder. "Things are better now. Is Mom OK?" Nikita felt her knees weaken as the tip of his tongue lightly traced the line of her collarbone.
"She's fine. Nikita..."
Michael had heard enough and reached to take the phone back.
"Sabine, the Hall is officially closed today, and the snow has stranded us all. So if everything is OK there, with your permission, I'd like to finish this dance. We'll call you later. Give my thanks to Jamie, please. Au revoir." Michael terminated the connection quickly, before Sabine could reply.
Nikita extricated herself from Michael's embrace and took the phone from him. She moved to the nightstand and opened the drawer. In went the answering machine, followed by the phone. She shut the drawer with a look of satisfaction, and turned back to face him, teetering uncertainly until there was no space between them. Her arms slid up and around his neck, the light in her eyes matching Michael's degree for degree.
"Now, where were we when we were so rudely interrupted..."
* * * * * * * *
Sabine hung up the phone as Michael's words resounded in her brain. "Finish this dance..."??
* * * * * * * *
Being snowed in created a feeling of isolation, of insulation, as if they were corded off from the whole world, an isle unto themselves. The Debussy enveloped them in its hypnotic sphere, and they whispered remembrances of that night at the concert... and before...
"Remember the first time we danced?" Michael queried softly. "You ran away."
"I did, didn't I?" Nikita drew back. "I couldn't run now, even if my life depended on it." Her color was high and she was trembling. "Michael, I think I need to..."
Michael caught her as she fainted and carried her to his bed. He replaced the ice pack on her forehead, and a minute later she came around.
"Guess I need to take this a little slower." She stared up into his eyes. "Sorry. I've spoiled our dance. I feel pretty shaky."
"It's all right. You need to relax. Would you like some tea?"
She nodded. "Oh, and Michael... last night... the candles... the flowers... so beautiful... I think I forgot to thank you." Her voice was fading.
Michael retired to the kitchen and fixed his espresso and some tea for Nikita. By the time he returned, she was dozing lightly. The ice pack had slid off her forehead and lay unattended on the pillow. He pulled his grandmother's rocker from the corner and set it next to the bed, remembering how he had kept his vigil over her when she had first come home from the hospital.
He had wished that he could take away all of her pain. When he'd learned of her disability, he'd wished he could make her walk. And when she'd turned to Gray, he'd wished he could fly away to a rare place where his heart could cry out loud and no one could hear.
This woman had put him through every emotion he had the capacity to feel, and then some. Together they had passed through catharsis of the darkest corners of their hearts, the most dreaded moments of their pasts, the joys and sorrows of family history. They had shared their passion for music and their intense love of its depth and perfection.
Tenderness rose in him, and he leaned over her, listening to her breathe, his lips a fraction from hers. As if sensing his intent, Nikita's eyes fluttered open, connecting with Michael's briefly before his mouth overtook hers in a kiss that left no doubt in her mind as to what was on his. She grasped his hands, pulling him out of the chair and down on top of her. As she felt him stretch to his full length, she delighted in the sensation of being able to feel his feet hooking under hers as he pressed his hips against her belly.
They lay still, staring into each others eyes. Nikita felt as if Michael were inside her head and her heart, that he could feel her joy as she savored the restored wholeness of her body. Slowly, very slowly, their hands sought reacquaintance with every inch, every pore of the other. Gossamer touches ignited raised sensitivity and the ache of arousal.
Michael slid to one side and rolled Nikita onto her stomach. He straddled her legs and began a gentle massage, coaxing every muscle as she sighed with pleasure. The sheer bliss of feeling aroused was the most welcome sensation. Her body hummed and its pitch rose as Michael's strong fingers left no place untouched.
As he drew his hands up the insides of her thighs, Michael sought the slick heat between them. His anticipation was beyond what he had imagined... he hadn't realized how much he needed her until their forced separation had deprived him of their physical connection. As his fingers pressed against her center, he heard Nikita make a painful sound. He quickly withdrew and lay his face next to hers. Her eyes were moist.
"Sorry, Michael. It's very tender," she explained to his questioning look as she turned onto her back. "The catheter, you see. It make things sore, then numb, then sore again."
He hadn't wished to cause undue discomfort. "I understand. Do you think we can do this?"
"I think so. I want to." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I need to."
"So do I."
The love making began in earnest then. Never had they bridled their passion as they did now, proceeding slowly, delicately, each moment suspended, each move prolonged, each second savored, hands and tongues preparing the way. Softness met hardness until they could no longer remain apart. Michael groaned as his body found its home. Nikita rejoiced as her legs encircled Michael's, gasping as he pressed himself into her deepest place. They began an exquisitely slow rhythm that carried them on its great wave.
Breathing intensified... eyes bored into eyes... a sheen of sweat broke... slowly, carefully, pain and pleasure mingled as each rode the wave until it crested and broke over them and they shook in each other's arms. Slow tears trickled from the sides of Nikita's eyes as she tightened herself around him and felt him respond deep within her.
Michael caught his breath as he raised his head. "My love..." he whispered, moved by her tears, as the aftershocks of ecstasy shuddered through him. His palms covered the sides of her face, and he kissed her deeply, fully, his tongue filling her mouth as he pushed himself against the last of her internal ripples.
Nikita was beyond words.
They languished in the calm after the storm, smiling solemnly, their bond renewed, and fell into relaxed sleep again. Finally, Michael stirred as he felt their joining recede. He opened his eyes to find her pale blue ones staring at him, their corners crinkling as she grinned.
Nikita stretched lazily beneath Michael. "I could get used to this sort of thing."
"So could I. Shall we get up?"
Nikita considered, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Well... Let's not make any hasty decisions. But I am feeling rather hungry." She hugged him fiercely. "Oh, Michael. A whole day to ourselves." Her tone lightened. "And me without a piano..."
* * * * * * * *
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