Monday, September 3, 2012
Sitting on Rowans front steps her and Marc watch as the storm moves closer, the dark swirling clouds blocking the moon and the lightning zigzagging across the sky.
Marc takes her hand in his, and pulls her closer. “I love your hands, so soft...”
“I think they give my age away.” Rowan tries to curl her fingers, hiding the red, chapped fingers.
“No they dont. Youre gorgeous, your hands too.”
“No I'm not. What can you possibly see in me thats so attractive to you?”
“There are many things Priestess...” Marc kisses her hand. “The gentleness of your hands, that look you get in your eyes when you're coming close to a solution for a patient you are caring for, your laugh when you are playing with the children...” Marc grins, “and the way your ass sways when you forget to be uptight is so very sexy..”
Rowan smiles then shakes her head, “I am entirely too old to be that sexy...”
“What?” Marc cuts her off. “You are not too old... you make it sound like you are at least a hundred.”
“Not that old...” Rowan tries to smile, “But I must be at least fifteen years older than you.”
Marc lets her hand go and stands, more frustrated than angry, but his voice raises and he slams a fist on the rail of the porch.
"Dammit, woman! Can't you see that you're making me crazy? I go to bed and I can't sleep for thinking about you, how it would feel to hold you in my arms... How would it feel to feel your skin against mine in the dark...? To taste you and feel you respond...? I think about you all the time - I can't get you out of my head, not that I want to - and you're worried about some silly fucking number?"
Rowan slowly stands as a few drops of rain hit the porch. Her thoughts race with realization that her age really didnt matter to him, that he did really want to be with her, and scenes from the past two weeks fly through her mind, the little touches, the flirting...
Marc slams the rail again, startling Rowan out of her thoughts. He says something in French that she cant understand and he moves down the steps. His back was to her and he was moving away and all Rowan could think was that he would go back to the Unformed Plane, maybe die there and she would never see him again, never know what might have been....
The few drops of rain start to increase as Rowan starts to cry, her tears mixing with the drops that hit her face.
The desperate sound in her voice stops Marc in his tracks, and he turns.
“Please... dont go...” Suddenly all the words she had been afraid to say, the thoughts she buried deep came tumbling out. “I do want you... I care about you, I might even love you, I dont know, I know I shouldnt, but I cant think straight when you are near me...”
Marc slowly starts to move back up the steps, his eyes dark and unreadable.
The tears coming faster Rowan gives voice to her doubts and fears. “I'm afraid, afraid of seeing disgust in your eyes when you see my body, afraid of being hurt, of hurting you...” Rowan sobs, “This will never work... it never does... my duties, your work....”
Suddenly Marc is right in front of her, pushing tendrils of wet hair away from her face, wiping her tears. “Rowan... shhh... dont cry. We will make it work if we want it bad enough.”
With his words Rowan lets the doubts go. “Okay... okay... if you are sure..”
“Sure? I have never been more certain of anything....” Marc captures her lips in his own, his tongue lightly tracing her lips, relishing the softness.
A brilliant flash of lightning and roll of thunder startles them out of their kiss. The electricity flickers and goes out.
Marc grins, “We are getting wet...”
Smiling Rowan grabs his hand and pulls him into the dark house. Lit only by occasional flashes of the lightning that streaks across the sky, they start to undress each other and move towards the stairs, their wet clothes marking a trail from the door, up the stairs and into Rowans bedroom.
Completely naked, Rowan turns and looks at Marc, thinking if he was going to decide she was old and ugly now would be the time. But when a flash of lightning lights up the room she can see only passion and desire in his face.
His voice hoarse and deep, “Disgust? How could you ever think such a thing? I think the storm has sent me a goddess...”
Then she feels his arms go around her, feels the hardness of his chest against her cheek, the ripple of muscles in his back under her hands. He pulls tighter and the throbbing hardness of his manhood is pressed tight against her belly. Her knees start to go weak and Marc lifts her. Whispering in French he carries her to the bed....