Fukai Mori

The room seemed to sweat, thick with sounds unvoiced and the swish of crisp sheets. They were unearthly pale in the half-light and smelled of summer and brisk detergent and underneath that still more sweat. She couldn't get comfortable. The mattress beneath her was too warm and when she kicked the covers free the temperature seemed to drop until she groped again for the smothering fabric at feet level.

She cracked her lids, staring through slitted eyes at her unveiled window, pale light from without submerging within. She should sleep; she needed to sleep but that knowledge wasn't enough to quiet her singing blood. The night was beckoning, whispering to her dreams with barely realized words and images.

"Can't sleep?"

The voice is teasing, almost hoarse from the half doze they've shared but in it she can hear an echo of her own. The same need, the same desires to prowl. And then she shivers as a kiss, lush and tasting, butterflies between her shoulder blades. It doesn't stop there. No, not that clever mouth. She can see the lips in her mind, full and silky as they transverse the column of her shoulders and up her spine, not content until they've nibbled up her neck and breathed into her, causing an eruption of squirming. Strong arms slip around her waist, dragging her against an unbearably warm body, resting almost cheek to cheek against her own before the head against hers lifts, continuing the march of wet caresses over cheek and jaw, seeming to take a momentarily delight in a gentle nip of her nose. She half turns and raises her face, expecting and receiving that velvety meeting of lips, the clumsy yet so right mash of mouth against mouth, teeth against her lower lip before the slide of tongues, almost rough as the kiss deepens. It lasts forever and it's still not enough. She whimpers and then curses, remembering that they are not alone in the house. The mouth against hers chuckles, her lower lip caught in a gentle chew before being released. Her skin is on fire, just from the nearness and proximity of her lover, mouth swollen before they've even begun.

"Quiet, baby," her lover chides. "Don't want the runt or Mommy dearest busting in, do we?"

She shakes her head, her breath catching as fingers stroke up her arm, the fine hairs there raising in helpless defeat. Sloppy kisses take her throat, causing more squirming and half suppressed giggles. She never knew skin could be so sensitive, that she could feel so much and be undone by the same turns. Her breath turns ragged as hand and mouth head in the same direction, skimming the tops of her breast. The touch is one thing but the opened mouth caresses are another and she arches without meaning to, the straps of her sleep camisole falling away as she rises up and very near out of her thin confining prison of cloth. She loves this part, the anticipation building, aching to be drawn in and being forced to await the moment and... Her fingers fist through the sheets, body slick as small tendrils of fire emanate from the mouth encircling her nipple, playful at first, just pressing small suckling kisses, kisses that grow harder, toying with teeth and firmed lips.

"Please," she whispers as always, never quite sure just what she's begging for. For more, for it not to stop. So many requests rolled into a panting whisper, a sound uncomfortably loud in the silent room.

The compliance isn't always immediate. Sometimes her lover teases, cupping her breasts, rolling the nipple with fingers as well as lips and teeth. Sometimes pity is taken and she finds herself gasping, throat gulping in the darkness. Her body is slick now, with sweat and fluid -- she can feel it soaking through flimsy cloth. There should be embarrassment there -- embarrassment and shame that she could be so affected instead she finds herself awaiting the next curving survey of her body, over ribs and coming low so that her belly is almost enfolded. Her face flames, wanting and yet too flustered to ask, to stretch so that hand might seek lower. She buries her face in her lover's neck, nipping and tracing the curve of throat with her tongue, as if to share some of her torment, to convey what she can't bring herself to say.

"Nuh-uh, baby. Tell me. Tell me what you want?" The last takes on a wistful wheedling note, as if the situation is unreal and can't be believed... More than that, as if it were totally unexpected and undeserved.

It instilled more tenderness in her than any other moment, more compassion and desire. The naked longing was enough to erase some of the discomfort, some of the embarrassment. She lifted her head, cradling with one hand her lover's face, sharing another drawn out kiss that caused dark eyes to grow heavy-lidded and smolder.

"Tell me." The words are more urgent now, almost begging as if she has the power here. In a way she does.

She contemplates drawing it out but decides against it. The words barely hit the air but her lover hears.

"Touch me."

Fingers slip down over the concave of her stomach, almost tangling in the coarse thatch of hair between her legs, small circles making her prickle. She's hot, too hot, sweat dewing her forehead and upper lip. She wants to shout and curse for the delay, sweetly painful building between her thighs that cries for release and garners nothing more than a light trail against pubic hair.

There's a pause and the movement lower. Her heart jumps against her throat and she bites her lip in an effort to remain silent, clever touches against an aching nub of flesh. The pressure increase and she bucks against it, movements frantic, seeking some relief. The tension ebbs as fingers still and tears prick her eyes. Perhaps it would be better to whine, to wake the whole damn house than to --

Oh. Oh. Her face pinches as slippery passages open, nimble fingers entering her, giving her time before moving deeper, before adding another digit. It's better this way, there's something more concrete to focus on, to move against. She sets the rhythm, her body responding to touch, amazed at the storm it provokes -- in both of them.

"That's it, baby. C'mon. Don't stop, don't stop."

The voice positively drips sex, very near moaning with her. Maybe they should be quieter but at this point she's beyond caring. Let the whole house find them -- none of it mattered except the crescendo of flesh and words weaving a spell around her, drawing her closer to the parapet. The words muffled as a mouth descended on her breast again, almost cruelly hard as it devoured. Heat and pressure, wet suckling noises... Her body tightened then let go, tremors beginning to rack her as she blindly reached, clutching the back of her lover's head, holding, needing--needing more, needing rescue.

More words, whispers around trembling skin interspersed with scalding kisses. Tears slipped down her face -- they always did at this point. There was so much in this feeling, too much to contain or analyze. She let it take her, felt its shaking in her bones, until she melted in on herself and was remade.

The words sultry and possessive floated across her consciousness and her eyes shuttered, body spasming in sympathetic release, still caught in the ghost of touches that weren't there. She half-raised, aware in a minute, dazed sense that it was her hand between her legs, still moving, that she felt and no other. No playful, wildfire gaze met hers, framed by tousled black hair. Her body quivered, but it was empty now, bereft of the illusion of that languid intertwining of body parts. She was alone, completely and utterly without and her desires so strange by the light of day, almost repugnant, were normal -- indeed, vital in this space between breath and dream.

"Faith," she whimpered, closing her eyes against the tears, face burrowing deep into her pillow and praying for the morning, for respite from dreams she could never name or admit to.

Not even to herself.