Dreams - 2 -- Witchblade Karma

[ Show ]

Support VoyForums

[ Shrink ]

VoyForums Announcement: Programming and providing support for this service has been a labor of love since 1997. We are one of the few services online who values our users' privacy, and have never sold your information. We have even fought hard to defend your privacy in legal cases; however, we've done it with almost no financial support -- paying out of pocket to continue providing the service. Due to the issues imposed on us by advertisers, we also stopped hosting most ads on the forums many years ago. We hope you appreciate our efforts.

Show your support by donating any amount. (Note: We are still technically a for-profit company, so your contribution is not tax-deductible.) PayPal Acct: Feedback:

Donate to VoyForums (PayPal):

[ Login ] [ Contact Forum Admin ] [ Main index ] [ Post a new message ] [ Search | Check update time | Archives: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 ]

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Date Posted: 14:04:47 07/02/02 Tue
Author: moondreamer
Subject: Dreams - 2
In reply to: moondreamer 's message, "Dreams (PG13)" on 16:27:20 06/29/02 Sat

Dreams - 2

The morning sky was still partially dark, streaked with shades of red and purple. A misty haze seeming to hang over the city, drifting lazily over the tops of the somber gray buildings. He sat on the metal steps of the fire escape, looking patiently into her dark loft. The window was cracked open for a minute amount of airflow, too small for him to crawl through; yet, no real impediment to his entrance if he so wished.

It was almost time. Almost time for him to join her. He sat on the chilled metal, waiting, watching and listening. Every morning it was the same. Every morning if anyone knew enough to look, he could be found out here, waiting, watching and listening. Did he wait with anticipation? Did he wait with eagerness? Did he wait with trepidation? It was hard for him sometimes, to acknowledge how he really felt, even to himself. He supposed he waited with all those emotions and with others mixed in as well.

Was he taking advantage of her pain? At its most base level he thought it could be looked at like that. Here he sat, waiting until the agonies of her night overtook her morning. Waiting for the moment when without question, without reason, without shame she would finally turn to him and accept what only he could give her.

Was it wrong of him to be so eager? To wait with such anticipation for those brief, stolen moments when she give in to her need for him, only for him? The trepidation, well, that came after. That came when he waited to see if she would open her eyes and acknowledge the reality of his presence. Waited to see if she would talk to him, look at him, really see him, for the first time.

He never spoke of these moments to Mr. Irons. He supposed that would be considered a failure in his programming. If he were not a man, if he were only the lethal machine Irons sought to create she would not tempt him. He would not find more nobility in waiting for a chance to serve her than he had found in his entire lifetime of service to Kenneth Irons. Such an interesting concept it was, in and of itself; his deluded pursuit of nobility. Apparently it was an unexpected result of his poet warrior training. It had just seemed to lack something in the translation until he had met her.

If he focused he could almost see her in the soft, dim light as she lay in her troubled slumber. She was wearing her usual nighttime uniform, a old t-shirt and a pair of men�s boxers. What kind of stability did it give her life? A uniform job during the day of sorts, her usual jeans and leather jacket reflecting to the world the tough image she needed, and a uniform at night. He smiled ruefully at his thoughts. He understood well the comfort that a uniform of sorts could give.

It must have been a restless night. The covers were tossed about, half on the floor, half twisted around her legs. He held his breath for long moment, listening for the sound of her breath. At first he could hear nothing, but then as time ticked by slowly he could hear the breathy catch, the little moan. All the usual signals he had come to understand, and wait for.

He never knew for sure exactly what her fevered dreams were made of. The Witchblade shared some of the images with him, but not all, never would he see it all. He believed she suffered through re-occurring dreams, and he believed they were twin to his own twisted night visions. He had asked her, once or twice. �Had any dreams lately, Sara?� She had laughed it off, but he had been very serious.

He wanted to sit and talk, to share with her the sharp-edged, prodding demons that plagued his rest. He hoped she would feel the same. He wanted to share with her his belief that if they would finally join, in spirit and body, that then; and only then, would they both finally find the peace they sought.

Another small item he hid from his master, this desire to share the experiences of his life with her. The need to bond with her on what had swiftly become all levels. What would happen to him, he wondered, if all his little transgressions were added up and presented to Kenneth Irons? What would be the result of his disobedience and ultimate betrayal in this lifetime? His bitter thoughts were interrupted by a small cry from inside the loft. All else was forgotten as he made his way into her apartment, and towards her bed.

As silent as a ghost and as smooth as oiled silk he moved towards her. He removed the heavy overcoat and placed it without noise on the back of her coach. The closer he got to her the more he trembled with anticipation. The pain the dreams wrought upon her was very evident in her twisted posture and harsh sobs. He knew after-effects of this dream; this one was the worst of them all.

He climbed onto the bed beside her, reaching out to her gently with his gloved hands. He was always amazed at the speed with which she turned towards him. This first touch of his hand upon her flesh had her pressed up against his eagerly waiting form. He always held himself stiff at first; tensed against the pleasure the initial contact gave. Then the desperate strength with which she clung to him thawed his firmest resolutions of honor and he yielded to her.

Unable to stay stiff and formal he reached his arms around and curved her into the planes of his form. He was always surprised at how delicate she really was against his large frame; how she seemed to disappear within his arms. He closed his eyes and savored the physical responses her closeness stirred within him.

Sweet torture was this. To hold her warmth and softness in his arms, to rest his head on her silken hair, to breath the perfume that was her essence. She turned her face to his neck and he could feel the last of the tears as they left her face and traced their path down his neck. Each tear seemed to him a diamond, glistening with the beauty he found within her.

He rocked her slowly, murmuring to her all those things he would say, if only she would let him. All the while he silently implored whoever would listen that this time she would look at him, that this time she would say his name in welcome.

His unspoken pleas were again unanswered as he felt her relax against him in untroubled slumber. He held her awhile longer, unwilling to end this brief moment of pleasure. But eventually his fear made him rise. What would he do if she ever looked at him in fear, if she spoke, only to revile him once again? He couldn�t take that chance with so precious a moment.

He tucked the covers around her once more and removed his glove for an instant. He reached down, and with his bare, trembling hand brushed the hair away from the side of her face and tucked it behind her ear in silent parting.

Maybe one day he would overcome this fear, maybe one day they could speak of these moments when they met. Maybe one day, these moments would not end this way. He let himself out of the window slowly, turning for one last look at her. Taking the satisfaction that he felt at bringing her peace, the pleasure he felt at having her need him and hiding it away. Waiting now for the next morning, when she would need him again after her dreams.

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Replies:

Ahh... you stopped there!?!? Please must have more!! (NT) -- Spin- I'm still begging ;), 15:31:17 07/02/02 Tue
Wonderful!!! Please let there be more? (NT) -- Jenileigh, 11:36:12 07/08/02 Mon