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Date Posted: 23:02:56 12/08/08 Mon
Author: Odelle
Author Host/IP: CPE0013f7f24246-CM0013f7f24242.cpe.net.cable.rogers.com / 99.234.121.213
Subject: When A Time Comes (Chapter 9)
In reply to: Odelle 's message, "When A Time Comes" on 13:03:27 12/03/08 Wed

The drapes stirred, opened.

Michael watched as the entry slipped closed behind her. Nikita. Mouth parted to draw breath, his eyes instantly full, he didn’t realize he was standing. She was so beautiful. So exquisitely present. He was quaking from core to skin, breathing erratically. Nikita was standing before him. Not real. Not possible. He let out a sound like a mournful groan, and walked toward her.

She gasped when he moved, recognizing him as real, as present. Michael was standing before her. Michael. In front of her. Just steps away. Her heart thundered in her ears. She felt her tears slide down her cheeks, her chest heaving as she watched her beautiful beloved come toward her. Knowing her emotions mirrored his own.

They met somewhere between. Nikita shook her head, eyes closed, head bowed. Completely overwhelmed; wondering how this could be possible. Praying so hard that it was truly real. Hoping against all else that this wasn’t another of her fantasies come to life.

Michael’s eyes perused her face, his mouth shaking, moving with unstarted words. He wanted to say so much, to honour her gift of coming with some sentiment. But none would come. With his fingertips, he dared to touch her and draw her face up to him. Her glasses shielded her from him, and he gently raised his hand to remove them from her.

She let out a chuckle, which sounded more like a sob, at the familiarity of the act. She closed her eyes as tears escaped to run freely down her face. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t imagine. Please, please! her soul begged for something it didn’t comprehend. And she closed the last space between them, sliding her cheek to line up with his. Fit to him perfectly.

He gasped at the contact as something sparked into a blaze between them; running from one into the other with such a force that they both groaned. He slid his arms around her, and pressed his face into her neck, breathing her into himself. Nothing felt more alive than this moment. She felt so infinitely soft, and smelled sweeter than any fragrance he had ever breathed. Unable to stop the words, unable to refuse them voice, he placed his lips at the shell of her ear and softly whispered, “I love you.”

Her body shuddered, and she squeezed her eyes shut to press the words deep in her soul. To use them to unlock the heaviest chains holding her heart captive. His voice was so rough and familiar. She felt a wetness at her neck, and knew her beautiful Michael wept as she did. With joy, with fear, with worry, with peace. She felt the pull of their souls greeting one another timidly, unsure.

Overwhelmed, she had to see him, had to touch him. She leaned back enough to free one hand, tracing it down the side of his face. His eyes flutter closed, utterly overcome. She stroked his jaw, across his lips, up to his hair to run her fingers through the silk. Her Michael. Her beautiful Michael.

He simply held her. Shaking, unable to let her go. Before him was his strength as well as his weakness – a cataclysmic combination that brought his heart to its knees. He opened his eyes and loved her with their depths. Her eyes were magnificent. Giant pools of the Mediterranean. Oh, how he had missed her incredible eyes. His arms moved as if to holder her closer, though they were already sealed together from toe to chest.

She shook her head, biting her lip as her emotions threatened another wave. “Mi-chael…” she sighed, disbelieving that the name could cross her lips. She closed her eyes to savour it. Somehow, she couldn’t remember the last time she had said it. The last time it caused her such wonder.

He nodded softly, and leaned forward to press his lips to the top of her head, remaining there as she breathed out a long exhale. One of them shook again, as the flame that had begun at their first contact continued to spread through their veins. It made them both feel alive, aware.

He pulled back to cup her face, shaking his head with sorrow, “I’m so sorry.”

“No,” she was vehement, looking at him and shaking her head firmly, “None of that.”

He took her hand up slowly, kissing the back in acknowledgement. No, not now. He had so much to make up for, so much to apologise for. It would undoubtedly take him a lifetime, or two, to begin to heal the deep wounds between them. But not now, not in this incredibly divine, sweet moment.

His lips quirked slightly, as he remembered his lines – the ones he planned for the last hours sitting in this room, waiting for this moment. “Have coffee with me,” he whispered shyly.

Not a question, typical Michael – she chuckled softly. “Okay.”

He led her gently to the opposite chair, but retained her hand. If it pushed her, so be it. He needed her, needed to touch her, to feel her, to know she was really before him.

Her eyes kept drinking him in; she couldn’t imagine ever looking away from their exquisite grey-green depths ever again. She felt like there had never been anything other than this. She couldn’t imagine that the years had passed, that it wasn’t yesterday that they were sitting here on a cold October afternoon.

Michael watched her emotions in her eyes – loved that they were held open for him. Loved that he was allowed an intimate glimpse into her being.

“This is familiar, but it’s not,” she whispered and chuckled timidly. Her head bowed, though she kept his gaze.

He stroked one finger over the back of her hand, were it lay in his grip. His eyes were strong and serious, “You are so beautiful.” So beautiful. She was infinitely more exquisite than his memories and fantasies, combined. Her hair looked gloriously soft, and spun of gold. It framed her face and rested above her shoulders in untamed beauty.

She smiled softly, her eyes skipping at the compliment to watch their hands. Her other hand joined the first, and flipped his fingers over to trace his palm gently.

His eyes roved over her face freely, before resting on their hands as well.

“Tell me about Adam.” Once the words left, she couldn’t believe she had the strength to ask them, and all the assumptions that could be made from his answer.

Michael took a big breath, causing her to look up at him. “He…” the corner of his mouth lifted imperceptibly, “doesn’t need me any more.” It was a question. A bold – probably stupid – question.

She was silent and waited for him to continue.

“He finished a full year living away, at Harvard in the States. I thought it was best if he…experienced all those things, while I was still there.”

She smiled softly, aware of what he might have experienced, “Girls, Beer…”

“He got drunk a lot,” Michael chuckled softly, “Had sex a few times, and learned how to take care of himself – to pay bills, work hard, do his own laundry.”

“You mean to tell me you’ve been doing his laundry all this time?” she said with humour in her sweet, low voice.

He couldn’t believe how much her voice stirred him. It rocketed right into his bones, made them liquid. Worse, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t remembered that effect, for some of his better fantasies. He shook his head, “The few times he tried, he decided to test on my clothes.”

His gentle humour always made her grin. He was so stunning, this man who was awakening something within her once more; something she thought he wouldn’t find within her again. He looked just the same. His hair was just a little shorter, the curls grazing his collar. And it was faintly streaked with grey at the sides when the light moved the right way. But his broad shoulders felt like they surrounded her, around their small table. So familiar and secure. His hands were the same rough, strong texture that her skin remembered like an inerasable brand. And his incredibly delicious, subtly silky voice was heaven. Pure heaven. She wished he wouldn’t keep stopping his story, so characteristically.

“Tell me more,” she squeezed his hand tenderly.

“I moved him into a brownstone near the campus, last month. He’s living there with some friends; friends who will take care of him.” Her eyes held the question of what he meant by that last addition. Michael found it hard to tell her what he had done, knew it would show her his permanence. “Then, once he was settled, I told him I was going home.” He met her eyes, trying to gage her reaction, trying to prepare her for what he had done. “Two weeks ago, I had a body double made, dental work, and drove my Mercedes into the propane tank at a gas station.”

Her mouth parted, as she shook her head, “But Adam, does he think…?”

“No, he knows what ‘Home’ was to me,” he took a deep breath, swallowing, “I told him I would see him graduate, see him marry, watch his child be baptized,” he shook his head softly, “But he knows that he won’t be seeing me again.”

Nikita’s eyes showed him her sadness for Adam. “How do you feel about that?”

Michael looked up and away from her gaze, “I know I should feel guilty, Ni-ki-ta. But I don’t, not now. I can’t.” Especially not now, when he finally felt complete, alive, whole – here, with her. Only with her. He looked at her to see her eyes shut, a fresh tear emerging from her fanned lashes. It hurt his heart, knowing that it disappointed her that he should hurt his son this way.

“Say it again,” she whispered softly, opening her swimming gaze to him. His eyes looked confused, frightened to again say words he knew she didn’t approve of. He didn’t want to hurt her with those truths again. “My name, please,” she smiled softly, timidly, “say it again.”

Her request thundered into him, and he closed his eyes briefly. Loving this woman unspeakably. “Ni-ki-ta,” he whispered, unable to hold back his grin. It sounded like honey from his lips – and he knew he would say it a thousand times more if she would smile softly at him like that again.

“Mmm,” she sighed, leaning her head back to savour the way his tongue caressed the syllables. The air shifted in the room as she heard him slip from his chair. She opened her eyes to see him on his knees next to her chair, his face sliding up to her ear. Her smile of satisfaction at his presence was all the encouragement he needed.

He whispered softly into the little lobe, “Dance with me, ‘kita.” She visibly shuddered at the warm puff on her ear, the intimate term of endearment, and placed her hand on his shoulder in immediate answer.

He drew them both up and together. He held the hand he had yet to let go of, while his other gently embraced the small of her back. Her wonderful fingers knew just what his soul craved, as they slid knowingly up his shoulder to slip into the curls at the base of his neck, and play there. His mouth parted as his soul groaned in satisfaction.

Their eyes locked, held. They rocked slowly back and forth, back and forth melodiously. For an infinite time, they enjoyed the silence and peace of the act. Revelled in the joy of searching the depths of one another’s gaze. Gloried in the simple ability to love.

************

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