More than a Couple - Late-night Call
Aug. 26th, 2006 04:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sickle_storiesAlthough I do have a timeline set for this original story about the less-than-kosher relationships between four people, I've yet to actually write the whole bit. So, for now, I'll post the random scenes. I might even *gasp* change a few details later. I'll put them back in order when there's more scenes.
She woke up alone. She didn't immediately reach out to any still-warm pillows, as heroines always seem to do. Instead, she rolled over on her side and looked at the empty space beside her for a moment before checking the time.
She lay still for a while after that, just waiting.
It's been three hours since the phone call.
She listened but couldn't hear anything.
Eventually she did get up and tip-toe to the open bedroom door, pausing to run a hand through her hair, then made her way to the kitchen.
He was leaning on the counter, his back to her. He wore the same white sleeveless undershirt he'd dropped by her bed the night before, its cloth almost transparent with repeated washings.
He was so still at first, but he was just holding his breath. As she watched from the doorway, he took one shuddering breath, after another, short gasps that made his back twitch. Then he held his breath again. She watched him as he struggled to keep still, as he clenched the muscles of his arms, leaned on them heavily before forcing them to relax again.
He lowered his head after one long exhale and held his breath. All she could see now was the skin of his nape which was indeed as soft as it looked. He gasped again and she stepped towards him, wraped her arms about his heaving chest and leaned into him.
She didn´t say anything and he didn´t turn around or raise his head, but with each hitched breath he managed to take in two or three deep ones, and eventually he breathed easy again.
She woke up alone. She didn't immediately reach out to any still-warm pillows, as heroines always seem to do. Instead, she rolled over on her side and looked at the empty space beside her for a moment before checking the time.
She lay still for a while after that, just waiting.
It's been three hours since the phone call.
She listened but couldn't hear anything.
Eventually she did get up and tip-toe to the open bedroom door, pausing to run a hand through her hair, then made her way to the kitchen.
He was leaning on the counter, his back to her. He wore the same white sleeveless undershirt he'd dropped by her bed the night before, its cloth almost transparent with repeated washings.
He was so still at first, but he was just holding his breath. As she watched from the doorway, he took one shuddering breath, after another, short gasps that made his back twitch. Then he held his breath again. She watched him as he struggled to keep still, as he clenched the muscles of his arms, leaned on them heavily before forcing them to relax again.
He lowered his head after one long exhale and held his breath. All she could see now was the skin of his nape which was indeed as soft as it looked. He gasped again and she stepped towards him, wraped her arms about his heaving chest and leaned into him.
She didn´t say anything and he didn´t turn around or raise his head, but with each hitched breath he managed to take in two or three deep ones, and eventually he breathed easy again.
