NASA Image of the Day

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Towards Valentines...

They stared at each other for a long moment, saying nothing.

A tingle began at the base of his neck, as he stared at her face.

Her eyes were wild and old with death and sadness, seeing into him: her hair, slightly tousled, as usual - that look she had that always made him catch his breath, just to himself....He looked into them, and felt the dark, the quiet, the cold, the solitude - and her pain.

Her hips looked gently rounded; no jutting bones and concave mania here; he thoughtfully considered the womanly swell and rise beneath his hand: the waist tapered in, and the breasts swelled above it, rising and falling gently with her breathing. He watched them for a moment. He closed his eyes, thinking of her lips brushing against his. He didn't want to move.

He shook his head slightly. His face was warm.

Her scent lit something in him. He knew her, suddenly - instantly. His body leapt at the life of it in him.

She thought, slightly absently, that he looked a bit preoccupied.

Absently, she wondered if she had thought to comb her hair. She rubbed it selfconsciously, worrying about her glasses falling off, or banging into something accidentally. She worried that she looked like an owl that had just awakened from sleep. Her hair was probably sticking straight up, as it did, and she had absently forgotten that she had stuck a piece of string behind her ear, so as not to forget something. Evidently, it had not been important. She looked like she had just disconnected herself from a clothesline, she thought, laughing quietly to herself. He mused at her, smiling to herself...he wanted to know why.

Then they just stood there, gently watching the rhythmic breathing of the other; a kind of respectful observation of life force moving in and out of the other body.It was odd, and endearing - a dance of non-movement, like two terrified deer, caught in headlights, and frozen in time, each protecting the other.

He moved in closer to her, then, suddenly and directly, still watching the rise and fall of her breath, and slowly sliding his hand, palm down, up her forearm. She stood still, reaching up absently to run her fingers up the back of his neck, and softly around to stroke the lobe of his left ear. He drew in his breath sharply at the unexpected intimacy. He did not expect her to be so instantly at ease with him.

"Hello", she said, softly, staring at him directly. "You look like Elvis." Her eyes twinkled

He slid his nose along her temple...really, this was ridiculous.

"Heel", he said, solemnly, making fun of himself.

"No cookie?", she replied, in response. He exhaled on a quiet laugh..."You''ll never guess...what day do you think my birthday is on?"

He moved his hand down the small of her back, and ever so gently touched the inside of her ear with the tip of his tongue. He held her there, pressing his hand softly against her back, moving her hips purposefully into his, gently molding them together, like pottery, and gliding his other hand around to hold her breast, almost reverently, in his other hand. She felt warm, and awake. The round swell of breast shyly rose against his circling finger, the nipple hardening suddenly. Interestedly, he watched the pulse at her throat, and felt a bit like a conductor. She was breathing softly into his earlobe, molded there into him, as she was. He could feel a pulse in her pelvis...or perhaps it was him. Suddenly, he was not quite certain, anymore.

"Today"..he kissed her hair...."tomorrow"....he kissed her left eyebrow....."next week"....he kissed the bridge of her nose....."Friday"...he barely touched her lips with his...."every day"... he breathed the last into her hair..."April 14th..."he said, softly, finally."In politically incorrect sable. And nothing else...beside a fireplace. With your glasses on. I'll bring creme caramel, and feed it to you, okay?" He said this last lovingly, moving his finger across her lips.....

"That's a very interesting greeting", she said, absently, against his mouth, and finished the sentence somewhere into the air beside his head, as her hips began a soft trembling, against his.....Her voice sounded a bit strangled, watching his hand.

Will you be able to warm me, do you think?" Her voice throbbed with pain of grief, and ecstacy of trembling. "Will I be alive, do you think....visible, at last...?" Her voice was so soft he barely heard this last...." is." She blew into his ear, very, very gently, and softly sucked the lobe of his ear into her mouth. The exhale of breath was not quite a sob...just a brief catch of bitterness in her breathing, with a second of sound. He moved against her, kissing her eyes, his breath catching, a soft rhythm of rocking between them, amidst the invisible and audible song that linked them, without thought.

"Windbag", she whispered into his ear, conspiratorially, stopping. She hummed against his ear, making his head buzz. It reached his feet, settling in his hips somewhere, relevantly. She was shaking softly against him, there, as he held her against him. She wound her hands around his shoulders, and moved with him, trying to breathe.

"mmhmm. ah..haaa." he said firmly, closing his eyes, and just pressing his lips into her temple, rocking against her. He bumped his nose into her hair, and rubbed it back and forth, concentrating on his breathing. It smelled like vanilla and coconut, and some kind of butterscotch pudding he'd liked when he was a kid, when he traded that little fat kid to get one in exchange for his Twinkie, one time. How had she done that to her hair? Hysterical....
He closed his eyes, holding on to her. He inhaled, slowly. He didn't apologize, moving her in a quiet two step, half circle, and sliding her other hand up around his shoulder. "Hold me, please....and come here."

She already had her head pressed into the side of neck, her nose wedged just below his ear, trembling there, against him uncontrollably, unashamedly. She was not laughing. He thought she might be in shock, until he realized she was trying to breathe. Had he done this, so easily? He had only moved against her, holding her close to his heart; a few moments, stolen, in the darkness together.

The words had been a simple request. His hand moved lovingly around this living part of her, finally. He looked at her, abruptly, earnestly, realizing joyfully, and said, quietly, "I love this breast. It's beautiful."..and teasing her gently, now..."This one always reacts faster..... I noticed, you know..... I love this breast, too..." He cupped it softly with his hand, and stood silently against her, holding her two breasts gently, pressing into her, willing her to know he meant it. He moved his right hand down and around, softly holding her buttock. "I will never hurt you, you know..." he kissed her eyebrow, his voice a controlled rumble. He knew her, even now. She was trembling, despite the bravado, with fear, and longing, and pain, and grief, and wanting, released gently.

"My breasts and I are deeply flattered." She said it with a gentle trill, and a small, selfonscious sigh, as if she would flourish a bow after it, suddenly, making fun of herself, in spite of the trembling. It was light humour, not sarcasm...assertively offputting, in the midst of being passionately direct. Her breath caught in her throat, sensing his earnestness. He stopped trying to speak, thinking hard, in response.

She smiled at his unaccustomed, slightly hesitant directness, admired his unique scientific summary - and stroked his neck until the hairs rose on the back of it.

Then she began to move her nose back and forth beside his ear, slowly.

He lowered his lips, moving them silently across her cheek, beside her chin, down her neck, and across her shoulder. She smelled like soap, and just a faint trace of jasmine. He decided he would find something that smelled like that flower, as soon as he managed to stop trying to blend into her ...If he could just stand there with her like that, he would forget what it was that had been thinking of, a moment before..except how her shoulder had tasted warm, like sunshine and honey....

"I...I like your glasses", he said, inadequately, his voice breaking slightly.He wished she could see inside of him. Nothing he could say to her would feel adequate in his own mind. Besides...he did like her glasses. They made her look like a Beatle, from many different countries all at once......God, how did you ignite a nerdy girl?

This was extremely disconcerting. He was terrifed of insulting her...especially at that particular moment. He thought he would probably never forget it...ever. It was that intimately wonderful.

"I know,", she said, calmly. "They're ten years out of date. The woman in Walmart told me. I stopped looking for another pair then, and left. I thought she'd start in on my sweater next." She sighed.

"Alas....... I'm doomed to creative disshevelment.."

She sighed,. drew her head back, and stared at him, worriedly. "Should I be concerned, do you think?" Her mouth twitched slightly. "Now you'll think I'm tarty. I get....ah....fervent about things... "

He was watching her nipple. He wished fervently, and suddenly, for more disshevelment. He thought he might fall down with it.

He looked at her face, very seriously. "No", he said..."and this turtleneck makes you look very feminine...But I think we should go to bed now, okay?" He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, near her glasses arm, softly. ..."Do you mind?"

"Should we have a full conversation first, do you think?"she replied, equally seriously."We might feel bad, otherwise."

He sighed, concernedlly. Then he looked at her face, raising her hand to his mouth, to touch it softly. "Ah, nerdy egghead woman I need...." he sighed again, and looked into her face.