Great Expectations
by Teri
Catherine
sat in a darkened corner, barely daring to breathe. Though he never
told her as much, and she never asked, she knew that many times he had
watched over her sleep from the vantage point of her balcony. It
was a prime example of the inequity that existed in their relationship,
for this was something she had never been privileged to do.
Until now, she corrected herself with an almost overwhelming sense of awe.
That such a perfect night should end in such a perfect way was a miracle
beyond calculation. As they had for the last two years, they had
walked together this night, among the others of her world. She never
saw it so vibrantly, so full of life and light, as she did during those
times when she was with him, as though the sensory input overloaded him
and spilled to her, through their bond. He felt her always, but the
reverse was not often true - another example, she thought.
At any other time such a realization might fill her with dismay, but not
now. Impossible that she could feel anything now but the opposite.
A thrilling sense of wonder filled her, and it took everything in her power
to contain it. If he woke now, surely he would send her away, and
the glorious image of his sleeping form would be denied her, a possibility
she dreaded. He was so beautiful, so overwhelmingly masculine, so
utterly beguiling. A thatch of golden hair spilled through the untied
neck of his nightshirt, and his chest rose and fell in slow, even breaths,
the quilted covers tugged carelessly to his breast. His head turned
toward her and he sighed, sharp incisors gleaming ivory in the candle-lit
glow of his chamber. She held her breath and prayed he wouldn’t feel
the accelerated beat of her heart, wrapping her arms around herself as
though to still the escape of that sound.
As they always did on this special night, they had walked for hours.
When they reached the park once more she let herself lean wearily against
him, her eyes suddenly heavy. It was then that he suggested she stay
below. It was a rarity for him to do so, but it was an eminently
logical idea, since morning was only hours away, and she was expected there
by noon anyway, for a Saturday afternoon production the middle children
had been planning for some time now. Sometime after they’d entered
the tunnels - she couldn’t say with any certainty, but it was likely only
minutes by her fractured memories - she’d actually fallen asleep.
He must have carried her to the guest chamber near his own quarters, for
that was where she’d wakened a short while later. Her shoes and outer
wrap had been removed and a familiar tunnel gown and robe lay over the
back of a chair within her sight. A candle had been left lit on the
bedside table, and a hand-wound clock told her it was just approaching
five in the morning. The bed was so warm, the patchwork quilts and
pillows so cozy and inviting she didn’t want to leave, but the pressure
on her bladder grew until she knew there would be no ignoring it a moment
longer. Luckily her costume this night had been of soft fabric, rather
than the frilly hoops and lace she’d worn their first Samhain together,
but nonetheless she quickly stripped her sleep-rumpled clothes off and
gratefully pulled on the waiting tunnel garments before leaving the chamber.
The facilities, adjacent to the bathing pool Vincent shared with Father,
were blessedly close, and a few minutes later she was on her way back.
She only meant to glance into his chamber in passing, as she had on the
way down, but her feet stilled and after a momentary pause she stepped
inside, her breath held tight with trembling tension.
The amber glow of candlelight behind the stained glass insert cast a muted
aura over his sleeping form. Two hard-backed chairs sat at his writing
table in the center of the room, but a few feet from the door, near a bookcase
overflowing with leather-bound volumes, sat an inviting stuffed chair.
She tip-toed to it, amazed at her daring, then slid down into its cozy
depths and tucked her feet beneath her, drawing the woolen tunnel wrap
closer about her trembling shoulders.
Vincent slept on, allowing a degree of scrutiny always before denied her.
She was determined to take advantage of the opportunity, well aware that
it might be a long time in coming yet again. She searched out his
beloved features, tracing them avidly in the golden glow. Sandy lashes
fluttered over high cheekbones, dusted with an amber-bronze coating she
ached to caress. The lighter fur over the bridge of his nose was
of a silkiness unlike anything else she knew, and her fingers moved restlessly,
clutching the woolen folds as though to still their motion toward him.
And his lips...
How she ached to explore those lips, to trace them with the pads of her
fingers, with the trembling fullness of her own, with the raspy coarseness
of her tongue...
She swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes tightly closed. Not now,
she told herself desperately, not now!
It took a few minutes, but she finally gained control over her wildly rampant
emotions. She sighed wearily and opened her eyes once more, determined
to take just one more look before she left him. Blue eyes encountered
hers, and she gasped, stunned by their sudden presence. He lay as
he had a moment before, only now he was most definitely awake, watching
her with a stillness which frightened her.
“I’m sorry, Vincent,” she murmured brokenly, rising to her feet and averting
her gaze from his own as she turned toward the chamber exit.
“Catherine, wait,” his voice whispered out behind her.
She froze, then turned, staring at him with trepidation, sure she had gone
too far.
He was sitting up now, staring at her intently. The blankets had
pooled down around his waist and she found herself mesmerized by the broad
expanse of his chest. She absolutely couldn’t stop herself from staring
at him, much to her dismay.
His eyes scanned down her length to rest upon her bare feet.
“You forgot your slippers,” he said in bemusement, the unexpectedness of
his words surprising a snort of laughter from her. She clapped a
hand over her mouth, chagrined at the inappropriate response, but a moment
later the nervous humor evaporated completely, replaced by shocked surprise,
as he held out one hand to her, lifting the blankets surrounding him with
the other.
“You’ll catch cold,” he added, in response to her wide-eyed gaze.
She stood stock still, rooted to the spot, certain that she must be dreaming
it all. Finally he moved back towards the far edge of the bed, and
patted the inviting space beside him, his face a contrast of fear and burgeoning
hope.
“Stay with me, Catherine,” he whispered hoarsely. “For a little while.”
For a little while? She would gladly stay with him forever,
if he would only ask. Barring that, she would take whatever he offered,
and this offer, so unexpected and unlikely, amazed her. Was he setting
a limit upon the time now, so that she would be prepared when he sent her
from him, as he no doubt would? He always had before, after all,
a voice deep inside whispered in response. And yet never before had
he been so forward, so bold, so openly vulnerable to her, a naked entreaty
in his eyes. Never before had he let her so close, or allowed such
scrutiny. Indeed he was inviting her now to more of the same, she
realized with a dawning sense of excitement.
She nodded mutely and glided soundlessly toward the bed, unbelting the
tunnel wrap and laying it over his own upon a chair at his table.
His eyes never left hers, and she reached out a trembling hand until her
fingers were enclosed by his. He drew her down to his side, and tucked
the warm blankets about her, enfolding her within the coccoon of warmth
generated by his own body in the hour past. Sinking within his luminous,
astonished gaze, she let her breath go, realizing belatedly that she had
been holding it again, as she had on and off ever since she’d entered his
chamber a few minutes ago. She had to ask.
“Did you know I was here all along, Vincent?”
He shook his head, the look of amazement in his eyes mirroring her own.
“No,” he whispered. The stunned note in his voice perfectly matching
his expression. “Something woke me, and there you were. I...
I didn’t expect to feel as I did, as I do...” he stammered. After
a pregnant pause he went on, the words spilling out as though he couldn’t
contain them. “It felt so right, having you here, I couldn’t bear
for you to go, not yet.”
He stared at her, needing her to understand the strange contradiction in
his behavior, and she nodded. Their bent knees touched, and the fingers
of his left hand twined with the fingers of her right, just between them,
but they touched no where else until he eased forward a few inches more,
then leaned his forehead against her own. Warm breath pulsed against
her lips and she quivered in anticipation, peeking up at him through half-closed
eyes and a fringe of lashes. His lips trembled, just as her own did.
Would he, she wondered with bated breath?
And then she had her answer, the silky flesh of his lips brushing lightly
against her own. She sighed with relief, mewling at the unexpected
pleasure of him there, unable to contain her response. He pulled
back and stared down at her lips, then up into her eyes once more.
When he returned to her they melted together in a kiss that was as inevitable
as it was long-awaited. Preordained, there was no other word for
it. She whimpered against him and he pulled her closer, until the
distance between them was eliminated entirely. The kiss never ended,
but in the midst of that intoxicating rapture he murmured heatedly into
her mouth, the silken vibration of his lips trembling against her own.
“Stay, Catherine, stay.”
“Yes,” she whispered, cuddling closer yet. “Yes...”
In a blissful haze she blossomed before him and he enclosed her in his
strong, waiting arms. The velvety kisses continued, broken only by
the muted hush of murmured words. They were spoken more to himself
than to her, but she heard and understood. Amazement filled his voice
as he whispered the last line of the first book they had shared together,
Dickens’ Great Expectations; “...and he saw... no shadow... of another...
parting... from her...”