He crossed the threshold, his heart pounding hard. It was the first time he'd been inside her room. The first time, in fact, he'd been inside any room of hers. His eyes swept the space automatically, scanning, half-curious and half-defensive. The cop in him was looking for traps, clues, weapons. The lover just wanted to know what was on the other side of the door he'd been behind for so long. He nodded mechanically in response to her comment, his attention torn. "Thank you for inviting me," he replied with equal politeness. His tongue swept across his lower lip thoughtfully, his gaze drawn to a small object sitting on the desk. A snow globe. Chicago in the winter time. He bit down on a bitter smile. It was a fitting souvenir, really.
He was all right until he looked at her, and then his breath caught as it struck him: they were alone, in her room, and she looked lovely as ever. He swallowed hard and nodded. "I know," he agreed, his voice wavering. "Perhaps we should sit down, or..." He should have brought his hat with him. The hat was a symbol of authority, he should never have left it behind. If nothing else, he could have held it, given his hands something to do, put some necessary space between them...
And then she stepped forward and touched him, and he really, really wished he'd brought his hat. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, his body stiffening, tensing beneath her hands. He couldn't let this get to him. He had to stand strong. "Victoria," he protested weakly. Protested, but couldn't push her away. His hands clasped tight together; he willed them not to move. "We have to talk," he echoed her words, hoping she would hear him. "We have to..."
The first kiss came as a surprise, his eyes still closed, and he didn't respond, didn't move a muscle, couldn't; but no matter what his mind said, the rest of him wasn't listening. On the second he shuddered and raised his hands, his lips parted, and by the third she was encircled in his arms and he was kissing her back, so sweetly, with such hopeless passion, like the three years and endless pains between them had disappeared and they were back at the door of his apartment with the candles burning around them. His hands slid over her back and through her curls, his lips soft against hers, trying not to shake as he held her.
"I know," he whispered in reply to her, his voice choked. "Me too." And God, if they could just stay here like this forever, if everything else could be forgotten. If only. He ghosted his lips over her cheek, over her jaw, burying his face in her thick hair. "We can't do this," he murmured, pleading. "Victoria--"
He closed his eyes tight and forced the image of Ray up onto the back of his eyelids, Ray with his faith and his trust and his brilliant, beautiful smile, Ray whom he was betraying with every moment here. He wrapped his arms around Victoria and held her to him tightly, hiding his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, her perfume, the snow on her skin. "I can't," he said again, the words muffled and broken.
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2008-02-08 06:30 am (UTC)He was all right until he looked at her, and then his breath caught as it struck him: they were alone, in her room, and she looked lovely as ever. He swallowed hard and nodded. "I know," he agreed, his voice wavering. "Perhaps we should sit down, or..." He should have brought his hat with him. The hat was a symbol of authority, he should never have left it behind. If nothing else, he could have held it, given his hands something to do, put some necessary space between them...
And then she stepped forward and touched him, and he really, really wished he'd brought his hat. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, his body stiffening, tensing beneath her hands. He couldn't let this get to him. He had to stand strong. "Victoria," he protested weakly. Protested, but couldn't push her away. His hands clasped tight together; he willed them not to move. "We have to talk," he echoed her words, hoping she would hear him. "We have to..."
The first kiss came as a surprise, his eyes still closed, and he didn't respond, didn't move a muscle, couldn't; but no matter what his mind said, the rest of him wasn't listening. On the second he shuddered and raised his hands, his lips parted, and by the third she was encircled in his arms and he was kissing her back, so sweetly, with such hopeless passion, like the three years and endless pains between them had disappeared and they were back at the door of his apartment with the candles burning around them. His hands slid over her back and through her curls, his lips soft against hers, trying not to shake as he held her.
"I know," he whispered in reply to her, his voice choked. "Me too." And God, if they could just stay here like this forever, if everything else could be forgotten. If only. He ghosted his lips over her cheek, over her jaw, burying his face in her thick hair. "We can't do this," he murmured, pleading. "Victoria--"
He closed his eyes tight and forced the image of Ray up onto the back of his eyelids, Ray with his faith and his trust and his brilliant, beautiful smile, Ray whom he was betraying with every moment here. He wrapped his arms around Victoria and held her to him tightly, hiding his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, her perfume, the snow on her skin. "I can't," he said again, the words muffled and broken.