When her bath was complete, she left the chamber, keeping her eyes resolutely straight ahead as she flew by his chamber entrance. She changed quickly and left for the safe haven of the schoolroom. It was only six o'clock, and class wouldn't begin for over two hours, but she was grateful for the empty silence that refuge now represented. She tried to work on her lesson plans, but the memory of that dream - the memory of that time, another part of her insisted - kept interfering with her ability to concentrate. She paced the small chamber restlessly, and before she knew it the children had arrived and it was time to start their day.
Luckily the children kept her fully occupied, the morning hours flying by quickly. At noon, she stayed in the schoolroom, afraid she might meet him in the dining hall, not knowing what to say. She was lost in introspective thought, worried concern eating at her. How would Vincent react to this?! Things had been going so well between them since she'd come back below, and if she'd ruined it all with her thoughtless, undisciplined dreams, she didn't know what she'd do! The sudden entrance of a figure through the chamber door startled her out of furious thoughts with a gasp. Rebecca came in, a tray in hand.
"Hi, Catherine," she said, smiling lightly.
Catherine was too startled to immediately reply, but Rebecca went on, not noticing her discomfort.
"Vincent sent a message over the pipes asking me to bring your lunch here. He must have known you'd be busy today, I see. I hope the children aren't wearing you out." She chattered on, oblivious to any hidden meaning in the lunch she bore or the recipient's awkward responses.
"No, they're not. It's just so new to me..." Catherine stammered in reply, flushing hotly at the bold-faced lie.
Luckily Rebecca didn't notice. She smiled and set the tray on a table, then left with a merry wave, calling out behind her, "I'll see you later. Lots of candles to make today..." the words trailing off in her wake.
Catherine sat down at the table, staring at the tray of food, mystified. Was he upset with her or wasn't he? She hadn't seen him at all today, though of course she'd been actively trying to avoid him, so there was no solution there. Finally she shook her head and inspected the contents on the tray; there was a sandwich, a bowl of William's soup, and small pot of tea. It smelled delicious, and suddenly she realized she was famished. Before she knew it the tray was cleared and the middle class was streaming in for their lessons.
The afternoon sped by as quickly as the morning, and as four o'clock approached, she began to grow more and more restless, pacing about the room as she finished the final lecture on English history, fielding questions from eight very curious young people. She managed to carry it off quite credibly, much to her amazement, especially since one part of her was focused completely on Vincent. They were supposed to go to the concert tonight but she had no idea if that was still on. When the pipes announced the middle of the hour, she wrapped up her lecture and dismissed them, heading warily through the side tunnels to the guestchamber. A small candle was lit there, on the small writing desk, and beside it was a note:
Catherine,
I'm making the rounds of the security perimeter, but should be done shortly. I'll meet you at the music chamber at eight o'clock.
Vincent
She sighed, both relieved and anxious. She had almost four hours before she had to meet him, and suddenly she felt exhausted. A nap, perhaps, would do some good. She lay down upon the quilted covers, then pulled the folded blanket from the foot of the bed up over herself. She stared at the rocky ceiling, sure she couldn't possibly sleep, feeling as she did, but within minutes she was fast asleep.
No dreams disturbed her rest this time, and when she woke abruptly some time later, groggy and confused with her mid-day slumber, she reached to the bedside table to check the old-fashioned hand-wound clock which rested there. Seven-thirty! She flew from the bed, and stood in the center of the room. It would take fifteen minutes to get to the music chamber - there simply wasn't time for a bath. She sniffed under one arm speculatively and shrugged, resigned to going without it this once. Most of the clothing she'd brought below was folded into the drawers of the antique bureau resting against the wall, but three things were hung in the small wardrobe beside it; both velvet dresses and her thick tunnel robe, which rested on a hook at the side of the cupboard.
She chose the midnight blue velvet gown. It had delicate silver and gold filigrees, as though the deep fabric depicted some cosmic star-scape, fragile and distant. Her jeans and sweater were shed in an instant, and left lying over a chair at her desk. Standing before the mirror attached to the small bureau, she inspected the results, grimacing. The wide scoop neck required a strapless bra, and she'd never thought of packing one of those. Finally she pulled the gown off over her head, unhooked the bra and tossed it aside before drawing the dress on once more. Looking in the mirror again, she nodded to herself. Yes, that would do.
She'd worn this gown just once before, when they'd met for their last concert in the park. Vincent hadn't noticed it, though, not at all. It was then that she'd first begun to realize that something was dreadfully wrong. Thank god it had all gone well. As she stared into the mirror, her solemn expression stared back. Would he notice the dress tonight? Would she be able to meet his gaze at all, or he hers? She shuddered with dismay, then shook herself, standing straight and picking up the brush to run it through her hair.
Finally the silky strands were under control, and with a little shake of her head, she left the chamber, only to reappear a moment later, frowning with dismay. She sat down, tugged her skirt up over her knees and untied her sports shoes, removing both them and the thick white cotton socks with a rueful smile. The soft leather flats were fished out of the wardrobe then slipped onto bare feet. Their music room was as close to ground level as the tunnel chambers ever got, and no doubt it was a warm summer evening above. That last task done, she took a deep breath and left the guestroom, taking the main passageway away from the hub, then several side paths, toward the small chamber only they ever shared.
* * *
Vincent approached the music chamber, not quite knowing what to expect. Would she be there? When he arrived the room was empty. He stopped at the center of it, closing his eyes to focus on their bond. She was in a hurry, that much was clear, and after another moment he sighed with relief, sure she was on her way. Only then did he notice the delicate sounds from above. The opening notes to Schubert's Unfinished Symphony drifted down over him, and he closed his eyes again, letting them sink into his heart. He stood absolutely still beneath the criss-crossed grate overhead, his head tilted up to draw in the music more fully, memories overwhelming him. He and Catherine had listened to this together once before, the sudden downpour of rain mixing with the swelling symphonic notes until she hadn't been able to contain her happiness. She'd knelt upright then, letting the water stream over her, along with the music from above, until the blue silk fabric of her dress was drenched, then turned to him with a smile of pure joy, throwing herself in his arms to hold him tight, her delight surging through them both on the stream of their bond. He'd never felt such pleasure from her before.
Until recently, the quiet thought intruded.
He growled softly in dismay, trying to ignore that voice, but it was impossible. The images of her dream this morning had intruded upon his thoughts all day long. Knowing that it wasn't just a dream but a memory made it even harder to bear. The thought of what he'd done then was still difficult for him to accept, but what he had accepted was Catherine's need that they at least move beyond it. Experiencing it in this way, in the way of her morning's dream, was troubling in the extreme. He feared that it would take very little of that strange dream perspective to make him view those events differently than he had to date, that he was in danger of forgetting his guilt in the pleasure portrayed in those visions. Waking to those ecstatic emotions had caught him completely off guard. He'd become consciously aware of what was happening only during the very last moment, far too late to do anything but succumb to the lusty, exultant power contained therein, completely unable to stop the instinctive response his body so willingly sought. It was terrifying and exhilarating, terrible and wonderful to be so utterly lost within those turbulent waves once more. The burgeoning swell of the music filled him with a thrilling sense of that morning's event and he breathed deeply, letting the music and the memories take him completely.
He felt it then, a tendril slipping through his defenses to wrap around his heart. It was so delicate, so tender and soft it made him want to weep. Raising one hand, he pressed his palm flat over his left breast, as though to hold that fragile sensation close and safe. It took root there, finding its way home and nestling deeper. In that secure refuge it flowered, growing ever stronger. His chest swelled in response, the power of their bond now felt throughout his whole body, in muscles, sinews, tendons and bones. He felt it deep in his marrow, in the coursing blood as it raced through him, in the very air he breathed.
She was everywhere. She was everything.
His eyes opened slowly, and she was there, standing in the chamber entrance, watching him, her face betraying everything. In it he saw love and longing, fear and trepidation, all mixed together and etched across her features. His heart melted, and the hand over it stretched out, urging her to him. She moved forward slowly, as though in a trance, a vision in the deepest of blue velvets. His fingers closed about hers and felt their trembling, twining with them until their palms were pressed flat, flesh to flesh, their arms stretched straight down along their sides. Then he drew her closer, his other hand sliding up and around her waist to pull her to the hard, aching planes of his body until she rested against him, no inch of space separating them. Finally...
The music drifted down over them both, filling him with a poignant, boundless joy, while beneath him, rising upward, her heady scent wrapped around his senses. It was different than it normally was, richer, deeper. He could tell she hadn't bathed tonight, as she usually did before meeting him for their evenings together. Good. He nuzzled the silky hair at the crown of her head and the scent stirred, filling his nostrils. Dropping his head to her bared shoulder he breathed in deeply at the curve of her neck, finding that musky scent to be even stronger there. Her pulse beat thickly in her throat, just beneath her ear. He could hear its rushing roar, could smell the iron-rich tang of it just below her satiny skin. Oh, god, she smelled so wonderful...
With a shudder of released tension, she relaxed against him, her free arm sliding up to wrap around his waist, her hand resting along the tender indent of his spine, low down, so as not to impede his nuzzling above.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
He shook his head, holding her closer yet, whispering in turn, "Don't be, not any more."
Their stillness ended then as he led her toward the pile of cushions resting against the shadowed portion of the wall, out of sight from any who might peer down through the grate from above. He held her close and sank down, taking her with him, until they nestled together among the many fabrics and textures, safe, secure and warm. One arm still circled her waist, and his other hand reached up to stroke her honey-brown hair, her head resting upon his shoulder. His fingers threaded through the silky strands, and he turned to catch the elusive tendrils of the scent contained there as it wafted out upon the night breeze.
They were silent for a long time. Despite his words, Catherine didn't know what to say, and despite his sentiments, Vincent still felt intensely vulnerable and emotionally fragile. If he thought he could count on that insecurity, it might have been different, but he knew that the other side of himself had no such uncertainties, that given half a chance, it would rise up and claim any and all she offered, and more. That side of him was unconstrained by feelings of inadequacy or fear. If loosed, it would dominate her completely, as it had that day in the cage far below. He couldn't allow that, not now. He was determined to let nature take its course with them, but that didn't mean he had accepted a role other than a passive one, at least for now. He couldn't imagine initiating intimacies with her of the sort he'd fantasized about for the past two years, no matter how confident he was in those dreams.
The silence stretched on. It should have been comfortable, given their setting, but their bond betrayed their unease, and both knew why. Catherine searched for something to say, anything, that would break that silence.
"How is the new security system working?" she asked in a rush, her voice breathless.
He exhaled, and over their bond she felt a minute sense of relaxation. "Good and bad," he replied, a soft chuckle in the low tones of his voice.
She peered up at him, meeting his gaze for the first time, a quizzical look there.
"Good because I could find no way to get past them unnoticed," he said enigmatically.
"And..." she prompted.
He shrugged. "Bad because I could find no way to get past them unnoticed."
His wry response startled a sudden laugh out of her, and he grinned in turn, feeling her humor.
"Don't worry, Vincent, I'm sure if you put your mind to it you'll discover some new methods for sneaking past the sentries," she teased.
His smile disappeared, and his response turned serious. "That's exactly what I would have done in the past. Now I'll search for those ways, but if I find them, it will be to close them off."
Her own humor disappeared in a rush as images of Paracelsus and Erlich filled her mind.
"When I think of them here, Catherine, among us, among the children..."
He shuddered, unable to complete that thought.
"I know," she whispered, rubbing her palm lightly over his chest to soothe the sudden agitation she felt there. He sighed and his hand lifted to cover her own, stilling its motion, but keeping it pressed close to his breast. The strong heartbeat beneath could be felt easily, and she concentrated on that sensation, feeling its unusually fast rate ease down to a slow, steady pulse.
"Tell me how you tested the perimeter," she asked, trying to distract him from those thoughts, and curious as to his methods.
"I left it at the three-way junction furthest from the hub, then circled around the whole area, looking for missed entry points or weak viewing spots at the guard posts. Luckily I could find none."
"That must have taken a while," she said, intrigued.
He nodded. "Over eight hours. The perimeter is fairly wide, and evaluating it from outside the hub - while trying to go unnoticed - is far more difficult than a normal inspection from the inside. James and Jamie checked the inner perimeter several times today, as well. We met afterwards. Jamie and I feel it's secure, and more importantly, so does James. I've gained a great deal of respect for his skills, Catherine. Thank you for helping to bring him below."
She smiled, thinking on the tunnel's newest member and the invaluable help he'd already been to them all. She herself owed him a personal debt that could never be repaid. "The council hardly needed me," she said. "His capabilities and need were both easy to uncover. But you're right, he's a wonderful addition to the community. You know," she added speculatively, "I can't help thinking he would be a good one for Jamie. They're close in age and have a lot in common. Should we do some match-making?" she teased.
"I don't think that will be necessary," he replied wryly.
She looked up, surprised by the humor in his voice.
"What do you mean?"
He didn't answer right away, and Catherine felt a shimmer of heat through their bond, inspecting his face closely for the blush she felt inside. It was impossible to see with his coloring and in this light, nonetheless she was sure it was there. "Tell me," she insisted, intrigued.
He sighed. "I accidentally came across them in one of the side tunnels a week ago, the very day you left, in fact," he added, his voice turning sober.
She hugged him tight. "Forget that, it's over," she said, dismissing those darker memories. "Tell me," she repeated, her voice teasing.
The sensation of heat intensified.
"They were... kissing."
"Kissing?" she asked, her eyebrows raised. "Kissing how?"
"What do you mean, how?" he asked, confusion adding to his discomfort.
"Well, there are lots of kisses, Vincent," she said, pulling away to kneel upright beside him as though the conversation suddenly interested her extremely. "Was it like this?" And so saying she leaned forward and pressed a light peck against his brow.
He shook his head, bemused and uncertain of how to respond. Her answering smile only increased his nervousness.
"Or this?" she asked, leaning forward to repeat that simple touch, this time upon his cheek, then sitting back on her haunches once more, putting some welcome distance between them again. "Because if it was either of those two," she added, not waiting for his reply, "I don't think you should assume there's anything of significance between them," she said, a merry twinkle in her eye.
He shook his head again, speechless.
"No? Hmm..." She appeared to be giving it some thought. "So you're saying that what you saw made you think they were, um, interested in each other romantically?" she asked.
He nodded slowly, still silent.
"You have to be careful with assumptions, Vincent," she cautioned. "Because even this," and at those words she leaned forward again, this time to press her lips lightly against his own, leaving them there for just a moment before moving away, "might appear more significant than it really is. Some might see that as nothing more than affection between two friends, though of course that may not be the correct interpretation," she added cryptically.
His mouth dropped open with startled surprise, then snapped shut abruptly when he saw her gaze was pinned there. He knew she was referring to the time she'd kissed him at her threshhold, before returning above after the short stay below to deal with her father's death.
Her eyes rose back to his, a sparkle of humor there, as though she was aware of his memory and his discomfort, and was not above teasing him a bit over it.
"Was it like that, Vincent?" she asked innocently.
"No," he said, speaking for the first time since she'd begun. The word came out a hoarse whisper.
"No? None of those things? I could keep on trying to guess. That would be interesting, but it could take a while," she said, wagging her eyebrows teasingly at him as his blush finally became visible to her eyes. "Or you could just show me," she suggested.
He sat frozen, silent. Was he really supposed to answer her seriously? This sort of teasing was so new to him, and he had no idea of how to respond.
"Actually," she continued, "either of those ideas sounds wonderful to me." She pressed her hands against his chest and leaned forward slowly, letting them slide upward until they slipped around his neck, her fingers twining together behind it. Her eyes held his, periodically dipping down to gaze at his trembling lips, then up again, to reassure him. "Just tell me when I get it right," she added a moment before her lips met his once more.
This kiss started out like the last one, but she held it longer, her lips nuzzling lightly against his own. His lips trembled, and though he knew she had to feel that, she didn't stop. His heart-rate sped up suddenly, and he found himself unable to breath. He pulled back a few inches, his mouth dropping open to draw in deep, gasping pants of air.
"Catherine, please!" he whispered hoarsely.
"Please what, Vincent?" she asked, leaning in to kiss him again, this time turning her head somewhat so that their lips made a better fit. She was the one who pulled away next, giving him some distance and catching his gaze with her own. "Please stop? Is that what you're asking? Do you want me to stop?"
He nodded quickly, then stopped abruptly, the motion changed to a slow shake of his head. Even as he did it, he looked incredulous, as though he couldn't believe he'd done such a thing.
She smiled. "Good, because I don't want to stop either. And besides," she added, "you haven't shown me the kind of kiss you saw between Jamie and James yet, have you?"
She looked at him inquisitively and once again he was speechless, simply shaking his head.
"You wouldn't leave my... curiosity..." she paused, a wry note in her voice, "so unsatisfied, would you?"
He swallowed hard, completely thrown off by this unfamiliar teasing, yet not wanting it to end.
She nodded, as though pleased with his silent response, then leaned slowly forward once more. Her breasts brushed him first, and even through the heavy velvet she felt her hard nipples tingle at the touch of his broad chest and strong muscles. She settled her torso warmly against his, loving the feel of his massive expanse beneath her, then slid her twined fingers upward beneath his hair until they cupped the back of his head, urging him down to her waiting mouth. When their lips met this time, she found that angle immediately, a mewling sigh of delight escaping her throat to vibrate against his mouth. He gasped at that sensation and she took advantage of the opportunity, flicking her tongue lightly up into the secret cleft at the center of his upper lip. This time his startled gasp was louder. She didn't wait, slipping her tongue inside to rub its raspy surface against his own. He groaned, the feel of her touching him so intimately overwhelming him completely, but he couldn't stop his instinctive response, his tongue meeting hers instantly. It was a tentative touch at first, but almost immediately it changed, their mouths feeding each other the tastes and textures they both craved. Their tongues danced together, flicking away periodically to explore other hidden valleys of flesh, then meeting again, time after time, until they thrust against each other, stroking and tasting, caressing and seeking. When Vincent pulled away abruptly, gasping for breath, his eyes dilated and vague, she smiled.
"Was it like that?" she whispered.
He looked confused for a moment, then the haze cleared a bit. He nodded shyly, glancing away as though to escape her eyes, then back again, as if he couldn't get enough of her.
"Then I think you were absolutely right," she said firmly.
"Right?" he asked, bemused.
"Right about them being interested in each other romantically," she clarified. "There's not much mistaking that sort of kiss," she added, smiling gently at him.
He stared at her disoriented, the sensation of her kisses still on his lips, still on his mind. He wanted more. Was it too much to ask after all she'd already given him? His gaze dropped down to her lips again and found them swollen and glistening, then jerked abruptly away, frightened by the strength of his desire. Her hand cupped his chin and turned him back, until their gazes locked once more.
"Do you want to kiss me again, Vincent?" she asked, her eyes never leaving his.
He stared at her, confused and dismayed, but finally nodded, unable to withhold that truth from her.
"You can. I give you permission, if that's what you need. Any time you want to kiss me, you can," she added solemnly, as though entering into a legal contract with him. She slid down from her knees until she rested on one hip, facing him, her legs curled beneath her. Her arms stayed up near his shoulders, but she made no further move now, letting him decide.
Kiss her whenever he wanted? he thought, bemused. Surely she couldn't know what she did, in allowing him such a thing. If he were to take full advantage of her offer, they might never stop, of that he was fairly certain. Even now that other voice was demanding he take what she offered. Kiss her again, you fool! the voice insisted. The taste of her lips, her mouth, her tongue... The sweetness of it was heavenly, nectar from the gods. Suddenly that expression made perfect sense. Honeyed ambrosia, completely irresistible... He stared down at her mouth, unable to withdraw his gaze, remembering her kisses, remembering her taste. How he wanted that again.
"Kiss me, Vincent," she urged. "Please."
He groaned, watching her lips move, wanting to feel that motion beneath his own, wondering how it would feel, knowing...
"Please," she repeated, her eyes wide and imploring.
He shuddered, part of him afraid to initiate such a thing, another part eager and ready. Even as his mind resisted, his arms tightened around her, drawing her close until she rested across his body. Her left arm slid down and tucked itself beneath his own and around his broad back, until his right arm circled her shoulders, supporting her body and holding her nestled tight to his torso. Her other arm fell away from his neck, leaving her open to his gaze as he stared down. Her left breast was pressed tight to his ribcage, and even through the velvet he could feel her unbound softness, could feel the tip, hard and tight with arousal, could see that same tautness in its twin, standing stiff beneath the rich fabric. He groaned and closed his eyes, his senses overwhelmed with her physical beauty. And her scent... It had only deepened, drawing him into a sensual vortex that grew ever wider, ever more precarious.
"Kiss me," she pleaded, her voice begging him...
His Catherine, begging him to kiss her! How was this possible? No matter, her need called to him so strongly now, and even if he had the strength to ignore his own, he could not ignore hers, not any more. He leaned down and took her mouth, his tongue seeking out the hidden depths there, drinking in her taste and scent with a growl of abandon. First she stayed still, letting him explore as he would, then, when his growl increased, demanding her participation, she joined him, an equal partner, giving in gladly with a muffled coo of pleasure. The kiss went on and on, and when he stopped it was only because he thought his heart might explode from the dizzying pleasure. He gasped, staring down at her with adoration and awe.
"Was there anything else, Vincent?"
The sound of her voice startled him, and even when the words penetrated the foggy haze surrounding him, he didn't understand.
"Anything else?" he repeated hoarsely.
"Did you see anything else between James and Jamie that day?" she answered, clarifying her question.
He blushed, glancing down at her breast instinctively and remembering how James' hand had been lost inside the folds of her jacket. Innocent he might be, but there had been no doubt in his mind as to where he was touching her.
"Ah..."
He looked away, aghast.
"My, my, they most definitely are romantically involved, aren't they?" she said, almost to herself, clearly delighted. When she saw his discomfort, her humor subsided.
"I'm sorry, Vincent, I didn't mean to joke about it, or about them. It's none of our business, but the truth is I'm very happy for them both. Jamie's always been so independent, and that's a wonderful thing, but now perhaps she'll have someone she can share with, someone she's willing to be vulnerable with. That's important."
He found himself nodding in complete agreement, his concern for Jamie overriding his own discomfort. "Yes, I thought so myself. She grew up in such an insecure environment before she found us. For a while I wondered if she could ever learn to trust anyone. Over time she did learn. She trusts us. We're her family now, and she protects us fiercely. But she's never really let herself be emotionally open, and that's always worried me. I think James is the same way. Maybe together they can learn to share what they can't allow others to see."
"Yes, together," she whispered quietly.
The implication of her words was not lost upon him. He trusted his family. He protected them fiercely. But there was much he would not allow them to see. Against all odds he had found her. He loved her with a strength that would never die, and it wasn't just because she accepted him. His family below did that, as well as their helpers above. No, their bond existed for a reason. She was the woman he loved, and he would love only her, all the days of his life and beyond, whatever happened, whatever came. She was the obvious one with whom he could share the differences he hid from the others. If not her, then there was no one. If he couldn't share with her, then he must bear the burden alone. His heart plummeted at that thought. He'd felt that particular aloneness for over thirty years, until Catherine. He never wanted to feel it again. With a muffled groan he buried his face against her midriff, hugging her close. Her arm slid back over his shoulder and she hugged him tight, murmuring soft, soothing words.
"I'm here, my love, I'm here. I'll never leave you, believe me. Trust me, please."
He groaned again, feeling the lush velvet against the rougher bristles of his cheeks, and beneath that the soft slope of her breast. The random motions shifted until he brushed back and forth across the soft curves and taut peak, rubbing caressingly, soothingly, easing her distress as well as his own. The beat of her heart caught him and he moved to the left, pressing his ear down to hear the comforting sound. She was here, with him. She would love him always. She had told him that before, but this time he finally believed it, sighing deeply, a weight lifted from his heart. They stayed that way, silent and still, until the music ended, and this time there was no discomfort in that silence.
When the final notes drew to a close, he sighed, as if emerging from a dream. Slowly he rose to his feet, drawing her up with him. She stood on shaky legs and he held her close until the tremors passed, then lifted her in his arms and left the chamber. Often when they wandered through the tunnels talking, he'd led her by circuitous routes to avoid the sentries' eyes. This time he did not. She never saw the speculative smiles of the guards as they passed, her face pressed tight to his chest, eyes closed with bliss. Only when he set her back on her feet did she become aware that they had reached the guest chamber. He steadied her against one side of the rocky arch and stepped back until he rested against the other side. They stared at each other, amazement in their eyes over the progress made this night. He wouldn't stay, she knew that it was still too soon, but what they'd shared wouldn't be forgotten. He wouldn't ignore that progress, taking them back to where they'd been before, as he had done so often in the past. No, she could read it in his eyes, her own widening with shocked surprise as, after a small hesitation, he pushed away from the stone and approached her once more. There was still uncertainty in his eyes, but there was something else as well, and she knew that no matter how difficult it was for him to accept all that had happened between them this evening, he couldn't resist kissing her now. He stopped inches from her, his forearm rising to rest beside her face, upon the hard stone, his other hand slipping up to cup her cheek.
"Good night, Catherine," he whispered.
His eyes dropped down to her lips and then he leaned forward slowly, kissing her with a languorous, searching thoroughness that undid her completely. She didn't know how she continued to stand, the solid wall behind her and the sole touch of his hand on her face her only support.
"Good night," she whispered hazily in response, when his mouth finally left hers.
He turned and left her, and she watched him go. Long after he was out of sight, when her legs quit shaking enough to allow their use, she slid into the semi-darkened chamber. She moved as though in a trance, kicking her shoes off and pulling her dress over her head to drape it over a nearby chair in passing. All that was left were her panties, and she stripped those off her legs and kicked them away without thought, leaving them to lie on the chamber floor. With a dreamy expression on her face she crawled beneath the blankets, cuddling down until she was immersed in their cozy warmth, loving the feel of the flannel sheets against her bare skin. In her mind that soft texture was replaced by the lush feel of his body, hard muscles and soft hair, surrounding her. She sighed with delight, lost somewhere between slumber and the waking world, where dreams and reality merged.
Vincent found his repose more elusive, his analytical mind unable to leave the events of this night unexamined. The taste of her kisses would not leave him, and he replayed their memory over and over again, astonished by the new closeness he and Catherine now shared. He recalled the time just before Devin had disappeared, when he, aged twelve, had been privy to a late night conversation with his then fourteen-year-old brother. The younger teenagers were just discovering the joys of the opposite sex, and Vincent, not yet aware that these pleasures might never pertain to him, had the good luck of having an older brother who didn't think it beneath him to share his experiences with his younger sibling. Devin's first kissing lessons were at the hands of a classmate, MaryAnn, aged fourteen-going-on-seventeen. He'd snuck out one evening and met her at the falls. They'd kissed for hours, he bragged, puffed with pride over that momentous event. Necking, he'd called it. Vincent was somewhat chagrined to find himself finally, at thirty-five, experiencing the glories of such a thing first-hand, though what he'd felt this night had nothing to do with the childish pleasures as described by Devin twenty-three years ago, of that he was certain.
No, his response to Catherine had been anything but innocent, and even now, at the very thought of it, his body grew hard, aching with unfulfilled need. He groaned and buried his head in crossed arms resting upon his writing table. Though he was filled with restless energy, pacing was definitely out of the question. Finally, after an hour of that torture, he got to his feet and stripped off his clothing, sighing with relief when the pressure was finally lessened on his straining erection. He pulled his robe on and left for the bathing pool, hoping a long soak would help him gain some degree of control over his traitorous body.
This time he entered the pool by the steps, shivering as his sensitized flesh was slowly immersed, inch by inch, in the warm water. He instinctively settled on the third step-bench, where the water covered him past his waist, and sighed. The buoyant effect was definitely welcome, but he wished it were cooler, his heated flesh crying out for that. The water at the falls was cold, as were some of the other pools in the outer regions of the hub, but they were too far to seek out this night, especially in his current condition. He leaned back against the stone wall of the pool and closed his eyes, trying to focus on anything else but the white heat that strained between his thighs. The multiplication tables were too easy, and he quickly moved on to long division. It didn't help. Nothing could distract him from the urgent message his brain was busily speeding throughout his body, along with seemingly copious quantities of heated blood. The ache grew more intense and he growled in frustration, reaching up to grasp the edge of the pool at either side, his nails scraping loudly along solid rock, his biceps and triceps flexing with tension.
"Vincent?"
His eyes popped open in shock, and he jumped off the bench to stand at the pool's center, water now covering him to mid-chest. Catherine stood just inside the chamber entrance, watching him, a hesitant look on her face.
"I... I thought you were asleep," he stammered.
"I was, but I woke up. I thought I heard you calling me," she added, a tentative question in her voice.
He shook his head silently, but both knew now what it was she'd 'heard' through their bond. He needed her, and their need for each other was always communicated instantly, as though that were the primary purpose of their ethereal connection.
"Could I... Could I come in, Vincent?" she asked shyly.
He shook his head again, this time more vehemently. "It wouldn't be a good idea, Catherine."
"Just for a few minutes."
He stared at her, stunned. He wanted to ask 'why?' but he was afraid to, afraid of any answer she might make. He had made the decision to let nature take its course, but could this possibly be construed as falling within that definition? It had been both exhilarating and terrifying to leave himself open to her kisses earlier tonight, but the thought of this, of them standing together naked in the pool, caused dizzying emotions far beyond what he'd experienced earlier. What would she do? And more importantly, what would he do? It was the uncertainty of that thought which filled him with an icy dread. Unfortunately that dread seemed to be constrained to his emotional state alone - his physical plight remained unchanged, he noted with dismay. One way or the other, he thought distractedly, his desire for her would be the end of him.
"Please, Catherine, not now," he beseeched her, hoping she would understand how unnerved he was at the thought of such a thing.
She did understand, her next words both proving that and undoing his logic at once. "I know how difficult this is for you, Vincent," she whispered, the softness of her gaze commiserating with his. "I know how hard it is for you to let yourself be vulnerable with anyone, to share..."
Her words struck home deeply, and he was flung instantly back, as she'd intended, to their discussion earlier this evening regarding their hopes for Jamie and James.
"I need to be the one you choose to share with. Coming here, saying this..." She paused and looked away for a moment, then back again, seeking out his gaze in the dim center of the pool. "It isn't easy for me, either."
He drew in a deep breath, struck by her words. He'd been so caught up in his own fears that he hadn't stop to think that Catherine had her own. Oh, he knew they weren't necessarily the same as his own, but they were there nonetheless. Catherine had been in relationships before him, and he knew enough about Stephen, Tom and Elliot to know that each time she had seen herself more as a trophy than an equal partner or a loving helpmate. Emotional vulnerability was as difficult for her as it was for himself, he realized abruptly. That thought dismayed him. He'd always seen her as so strong emotionally. She gave so easily to those around her, the children, the helpers, everyone. But the emotional vulnerability of an intimate relationship, that was a different thing, and one they hadn't yet had to work through completely due to the distance he'd always kept between them. Catherine had touched on it once before, when Laura left after her last visit; she'd told him how sure she was that despite the trials and tribulations of love, Laura would be happier. She had been speaking for herself as well, she'd made that very clear, the promise in her eyes undoing him. He'd held that promise close as hope for their future, but he hadn't been able to do more than that, not then. Had they actually reached that time when such a thing needed to become more than words? When it needed to be brought forward into the light of reality, even if only in small steps?
He took a deep breath, overwhelmed with the thought, but suddenly sure of his answer. Four days ago he had made the firm resolution to trust her, and there was no going back on that pledge. Finally, with a small nod of his head, he agreed, unconsciously stepping back a few feet, melting into the shadows at the back of the pool. She appeared startled by his sudden acquiescence, that look changing in an instant to relief. She nodded in turn, then undid the belt of her tunnel robe, laying it upon the smooth, flattened rocks, just behind her. He drew in another gasp, unprepared for the sight of her, naked beneath it. She pretended not to hear, but he saw a blush stain her cheeks, and felt the heated response over their bond.
Despite his dismay, he couldn't tear his eyes away. He'd seen her naked before, of course - twice, to be exact. The first time had been just after her attack in the park. He had assisted Father with her wounds, undressing her after the initial stitching of the facial slashes was complete to assess any other damage. Numerous bruises were uncovered - she'd obviously struggled with her attackers - but nothing more serious, thank god. That situation had been far too fraught with worried concern for him to have seen her in any other light than that of a physician's assistant. Afterwards, of course, when things had changed between them, those images became less clinical. His daydreams and fantasies of her had an element of reality to them, in her physical appearance, which he could not deny, try as he did. The second time had been just weeks ago, in Paracelsus' cage. His emotions then had borne no comparison to those of the patient caregiver, but there was a similarity in the chaotic situation of the time. For the most part, until the very end, both of their attentions had been focused as much outward, on their surroundings, as on each other, the desperate times requiring as much.
That was not the case now. Now there was nothing else to distract him from her luminous beauty. She was so smooth, so unlike himself, with soft curved shoulders that met in a tender hollow beneath her throat which begged to be kissed. Her breasts almost glimmered in their satin, rose-tipped ivory smoothness. How strange that they could appear both small and full at the same time, both soft and taut. Beneath them her torso swept down, lithe and slender, a delicate, concave line which finally met the softer, womanly roundness at her belly. He wanted to pillow his head there, to sweep his arms around her legs and nestle close, immersed in that feminine comfort. His mind and body both were captivated by the sight of her, his erection surging so strongly a groan escaped him before he could stop it. She glanced over to where he stood, and he was glad for the shadows which hid him from her full sight. When she entered the pool, she stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked toward him hesitantly. The water covered her breasts now, and he found himself frustrated by the sudden disappearance of that vision. She was so beautiful...
"We hide so much of ourselves from each other, Vincent. I don't want to do that anymore."
He trembled at her words, knowing she referred to more than the simple physical reality of either of them.
She took a step closer and his trembling increased. "You know I want you, and I know you want me. Even if you're not yet ready to take that step, there's no reason we should deny that need to each other." She took another step and added, "There are other ways..."
"Catherine," he began, desperate to forestall both her words and her movement for a moment more while he sought to gain some control, though a part of him eagerly welcomed both.
"Shhh, Vincent," she whispered, "trust me."
She advanced further, and despite his determination to continue the process which had begun with his promise to her five days ago, he retreated. His progress ended abruptly at the far curve of rock just two feet behind him, but that didn't stop him. He slid along it to his right, until he bumped up against another barrier. Where the first step-bench was carved out of the pool, a rounded-edge corner spot remained and he found himself trapped there, nowhere else to go as she moved in front of him, blocking off any further escape he might have attempted.
"Am I really so terrifying to you, Vincent?" she asked, sorrow in her voice.
"Not you, Catherine," he answered quickly, shocked by her perception.
"You're afraid to let me see you, to touch you," she said. He nodded. "Because of what I'll think of you?" she asked. He nodded again. "I've seen you already, Vincent. We've touched..."
Her words trailed off, and a memory flash swept to him from her over their bond, of them pressed together tight on that worn-out mattress in the cage far below. He gasped and flinched, trying to press himself further back, though the solid rock kept him firmly before her.
"Forget Paracelsus, Vincent. Forget Erlich and Tamara. Forget Father and all the others. It's just you and me, here, now..."
Her hands rose until he felt the barest touch of her fingertips resting upon his chest. He drew in a gasping breath, his eyes closed tight, heat surging through him, but stayed still. Slowly the pressure increased, until the warm press of her palms rested there as well.
"Kiss me, Vincent," she whispered.
His eyes flashed open instantly, and he stared down into her eyes. There was a luminous light there, imploring him. She touched him nowhere else but with the palms of her hands flat upon his chest, but in that spot he burned. She waited, silent now, waited for him to choose. Her lips trembled, and he couldn't tell if it was a reflection of her uncertainty or anticipation of the kiss she expected. It really didn't matter, he thought, because there was no way he couldn't kiss her, not after tonight, not when she stood before him like this, offering everything, bravely letting him close, her own fear of rejection clear in the green-gray light of her eyes. He leaned down and pressed his lips tentatively to hers. The trembling increased and he pressed harder until it stilled beneath the force of his own. Hesitantly he begun to nuzzle gently, exploring the satiny surface of her lips, as stunned now as he had been with their first kisses this night. Would it always be this way? Would he never grow used to the unexpected taste and texture of her, so different, so unique? The sensations were building rapidly and within minutes the hesitation he'd felt at the beginning was gone, taking his inhibitions with it. He deepened the kiss abruptly then, tilting his head to hers until their lips melted together. His tongue slid inside and found a lush garden of delight, honey-sweet with sensory wonder. She tasted so good...||
Catherine moaned softly at the sudden domination of his kiss, melting against him. The silky stream of water was replaced abruptly by his hard firmness, and she moaned again, her arms sliding down from his chest and around his back so that she could let her aching breasts press more fully to his solid torso. They nestled in the curving arch of his ribs, right below the swelling pectoral muscles of his chest, and she rubbed them there with a mewling sigh, wrapping her arms tightly around him to pull herself closer. She let her hips drift in and felt his hard erection, straining up towards his belly. Oh, yes... She pressed closer to it, trapping it between the rock-hard firmness of his abdomen and the softer curves of her own. He groaned loudly at the contact of her body along his, especially at that intimate touch, but didn't move away.
"Oh, Catherine..." he whispered, the sound vibrating against her lips.
"Yes, my love, yes..." she murmured.
Then he was kissing her again, deeper this time, his tongue exploring her mouth with an increased hunger. He pulled away with a gasp, and flung his head back, his eyes squeezed tight, his face taut with tension. Though they were pressed close, with her arms about him, his own stayed to his side, reaching up to grasp the edge of the pool floor on his left, and the top of the first step bench on his right.
She saw it, and knew it was because he was still afraid to touch her, afraid that he would lose control, afraid that what had happened in the cage below might be repeated now if he did. She wasn't going to let that happen, not this time. He needed to know that it didn't have to be like that, that they could choose how and when and where they wished to love. That it was all up to them. They were under no one's control here but their own. His outstretched arms clearly told her of his fear, but they told her something else as well. They told her of his determination to leave himself open to her wishes, to leave the next step up to her. He needed her to lead him now, just as he had asked of her below. He needed to trust in her instincts, not yet trusting in his own. Getting him to accept those internal urgings would be for later. She looked forward to that immensely, but was content for now to lead him toward that spot gently. No doubt he would be shocked to discover that her desires were as wild as his own. He certainly wasn't ready for that, not yet, though she looked forward to his discovering of that, as well, certain it would alleviate many of his own fears in the process. But now...
Catherine stared up along his heaving chest and taut, up-tilted face with awe, loving the wild look of him. She needed to touch him now, needed it desperately. Her left arm stayed securely about his waist but her right one slid back around to his side, then tentatively stroked inward, along his ribs. She let her body drift lazily against his own on the buoyant currents of the water, so that her hand could move between them. He drew in a gasping breath and she could feel it in the sudden concavity of his abdomen as her hand slid down it. She found his straining erection in an instant, and wrapped her hand around it, squeezing gently. He moaned and dropped his head forward, hiding it in the curve of her shoulder. She felt his lips move there, his moaning cries muffled against her skin, the smooth, cold glide of ivory incisors brushing against her periodically, making her shudder with each teasing touch. Her fingers tightened and began to stroke the full, surging length of him. Oh, god, he was so hot, so hard and thick with passion...
She moaned again, loving the feel of him, wanting to give him so much more. She nuzzled against the straining muscles of his chest, pressing warm kisses there. Burrowing through the lush thatch of golden hair, she found a copper-colored pap, licking it eagerly, then gripping it with her teeth before gently sucking it between her lips, her tongue teasing the tiny male tip. He groaned again, surging in her hand, and she sighed with pleasure. He growled when she gave one final, encompassing kiss to the small tip, and let it go, as though unhappy to lose that touch. She murmured soothingly and eased a little to his side, then sought out the twin pap there, loving it as she had the other. He released a hissing groan of pleasure at that renewed touch, and inside she rejoiced. She nestled more securely under the curve of his uplifted right arm, her breasts pressed to the side of his swelling ribs, leaving his torso more open than before for her exploration. Her hand released his straining erection and he cried out at the sudden absence, the sound shut off an instant later as he tried to muffle it against her shoulder. Through their bond she could feel how appalled he was at making such a protesting sound. She smiled. Her hand swept back up his body, leisurely stroking his belly, abdomen, ribs and chest, caressing him with a touch now gentle, now firm, alternating her strokes and touches upon him until he was shaking with desire. Behind him, her other hand stroked his back, along the taut, straining muscles of his massive shoulders to rub gently, soothingly, trying to ease him. Her fingers lovingly traced downward along the indent of his spine until she cupped a tensed buttock, squeezing gently, then stroking over both to explore the firm, luscious muscles and flesh. She stroked further down and slipped between his shaking thighs, her fingers finding the pendant fullness at the base of his erection just as her hand in front captured the shaft once more. He groaned loudly, arching forward into her hand, then crying out as her fingers tightened at the base, surging back to that hand, trapped within her loving, possessive hold.
"Catherine!"
She moaned, feeling his response through their bond, her own body shaking with pleasure at the sensation. She nestled closer, straddling his right thigh, and began to rub her body firmly along his side, desperate to ease the growing ache between her legs and in the taut tips of her breasts. Her hands kneaded and stroked his straining, full flesh, and he groaned and growled, his head alternately swinging back with great, gasping pants, and falling forward again, as though he was fast losing control. He couldn't stop his response now, moving back and forth in her hands, seeking both touches with abandon. The round fullness at the base tightened, and the shaft above suddenly swelled, both surging in her hands. They both gasped and she tightened her hold on him, rubbing feverishly against his straining thigh muscles. Her fingers and palms were full to overflowing, kneading and stroking, urging him on to the end they so desperately sought.
When it came, the explosive suddenness of it overwhelmed them completely. They cried out, their bodies straining, the sounds of their mutual passion filling the chamber. Her hands continued to move upon him instinctively, even while lost in the throes of her own release, her body moving against his own to wring every last response from it. Vincent lost himself entirely in that release, letting go of the rock at his sides to finally encompass her in his arms, his weight falling forward against her. She felt that surrender gladly, the water easing his weight. She still held him intimately, and only when he was soft in her hands did she let go and slide her arms upward, to surround his body and hold him close to her own. He turned more fully into her and nestled there, his face buried in the curve of her shoulder once more, soft sounds of pleasure moaned against her skin.