05-15-2010, 01:13 AM
Um, most definitely not crap in the slightest. This might be terrible; it took me too long to write, reoaduf. Some powerplay—tell me if you mind and I'll change it. >_>
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The closest thing that he could compare it to was waking up. He felt as though he had been in a sleep for months, allowing his body to lead his life simply while his soul slept. But this had stirred him from that stasis, allowing him to actually see and hear and feel. It was definitely not anything abrupt—the only reason that he might've noticed it now was in that he thought that he felt her melting in his arms, becoming malleable. There was also the feeling that she was totally dependent on his every action, most easily discernable by the distressed throbbing of her heart when he had left her lips to speak, the hum he thought he could feel under his caressing hands, as intrinsic as blood. But it wasn't just that—he was just as linked to her every movement, breath, feeling. The tiny smile that appeared on her lips at his words made a flush of heat go across his skin—he noticed that her heartbeat returned to something normal, a cadence that he could feel.
They were both caught in the other's trap, both worrying that it would stop and wanting more. Truly as addictive as nicotine, each taste of her made him want more—it was almost difficult to move his lips. But impulse took him, and he found that he liked where it did. His mouth explored the line of her jaw, her neck—her quiet moan rattled through him, making his breath catch for a split second. His hand on the small of her back began to move, feeling the beautiful muscles of her back before moving to her hip, roving upward and back again, exploring every line. He could no longer keep his other hand still either, tracing every plane of her thigh. Every inch of her body that he felt was alive as if with electricity, and it was impossible to ignore. He realized then that he felt the same, though it was more like a fire that had started to burn throughout his entire body. Any self-control that he now had was bought with his sanity—he felt that every moment without her now was one step closer to him being driven mad.
Another impulse, one that drew his arm around her shoulders and the other to the bend of her knee. The coyote lifted her off the ground, cradling her in his arms for the briefest moment before kneeling to the ground. He placed her on the sandy ground with the utmost care—where he had seen her first, dozing alone as the storm approached. But he belonged with her now; Snake hovering over her tantalizingly using one elbow for support as the other invariably to her hip, her thigh. He felt little control over its wanderings, closer marginally every time but never quite close enough for what his body was craving. It was that self-control again, though, and a quiet desire of his to have her want him so badly she had to plead once more. But that self-control was definitely not perfect—her beauty forced him to lower slightly, his contact with her body another thrill that made it even harder to retain some shred of composure. His lips returned to hers after what had seemed like entirely too long, needing to satiate the addiction like a burn in the back of his throat. And then with that he went back to her jawline, a gravelly rumble building in his chest.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he considered what she had said—about this being perfect. That was something that he almost never really thought about; perfection was something that he had never believed in. The first time he remembered hearing about anything being perfect were Patriot's aspirations for him being the perfect soldier. And look how that was turning out—in the middle of a war he was out of Inferni territory, having let down every guard he had with a wolf that he had known for a short while. But as things progressed, he knew that logic didn't mean anything here. Time was nothing—he had always known that. Now with the desire for this woman flowing through his veins as thick as blood he knew that she was right; it was perfect. Just as she was to him, she who had woken him up after all this time.
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The closest thing that he could compare it to was waking up. He felt as though he had been in a sleep for months, allowing his body to lead his life simply while his soul slept. But this had stirred him from that stasis, allowing him to actually see and hear and feel. It was definitely not anything abrupt—the only reason that he might've noticed it now was in that he thought that he felt her melting in his arms, becoming malleable. There was also the feeling that she was totally dependent on his every action, most easily discernable by the distressed throbbing of her heart when he had left her lips to speak, the hum he thought he could feel under his caressing hands, as intrinsic as blood. But it wasn't just that—he was just as linked to her every movement, breath, feeling. The tiny smile that appeared on her lips at his words made a flush of heat go across his skin—he noticed that her heartbeat returned to something normal, a cadence that he could feel.
They were both caught in the other's trap, both worrying that it would stop and wanting more. Truly as addictive as nicotine, each taste of her made him want more—it was almost difficult to move his lips. But impulse took him, and he found that he liked where it did. His mouth explored the line of her jaw, her neck—her quiet moan rattled through him, making his breath catch for a split second. His hand on the small of her back began to move, feeling the beautiful muscles of her back before moving to her hip, roving upward and back again, exploring every line. He could no longer keep his other hand still either, tracing every plane of her thigh. Every inch of her body that he felt was alive as if with electricity, and it was impossible to ignore. He realized then that he felt the same, though it was more like a fire that had started to burn throughout his entire body. Any self-control that he now had was bought with his sanity—he felt that every moment without her now was one step closer to him being driven mad.
Another impulse, one that drew his arm around her shoulders and the other to the bend of her knee. The coyote lifted her off the ground, cradling her in his arms for the briefest moment before kneeling to the ground. He placed her on the sandy ground with the utmost care—where he had seen her first, dozing alone as the storm approached. But he belonged with her now; Snake hovering over her tantalizingly using one elbow for support as the other invariably to her hip, her thigh. He felt little control over its wanderings, closer marginally every time but never quite close enough for what his body was craving. It was that self-control again, though, and a quiet desire of his to have her want him so badly she had to plead once more. But that self-control was definitely not perfect—her beauty forced him to lower slightly, his contact with her body another thrill that made it even harder to retain some shred of composure. His lips returned to hers after what had seemed like entirely too long, needing to satiate the addiction like a burn in the back of his throat. And then with that he went back to her jawline, a gravelly rumble building in his chest.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he considered what she had said—about this being perfect. That was something that he almost never really thought about; perfection was something that he had never believed in. The first time he remembered hearing about anything being perfect were Patriot's aspirations for him being the perfect soldier. And look how that was turning out—in the middle of a war he was out of Inferni territory, having let down every guard he had with a wolf that he had known for a short while. But as things progressed, he knew that logic didn't mean anything here. Time was nothing—he had always known that. Now with the desire for this woman flowing through his veins as thick as blood he knew that she was right; it was perfect. Just as she was to him, she who had woken him up after all this time.