| Subject: Chapter 287 - Part 2 (16 and above) (end of chapter 287) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Wednesday, April 25, 07:44:13am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark continued (273>)" on Monday, March 05, 07:03:06am
They came to the correct soundstage only about a minute later. On this busier part of the lot, Michael drew more attention, many of those passing stopping to stare and whisper. But he barely noticed, his focus in only one place; he only just managed to smile warmly at Peter, as they passed the man to enter the building. He had come all this way. There was no other thought now but his beloved.
It was nearly a magical moment for him, one he had dreamed of for so damn long. He saw her almost the instant he entered the building, the glow of her hair and her spirit shining so brightly as to make everyone around her appear dim; it had nothing at all to do with the lighting. He could only stop and stare, longing for her. She was almost *too* beautiful; he looked down, nearly cursed the dress which marginally hid her child from him, only one truth certain. In that second, he wanted to remove all her clothes from her and have her exist solely for his eyes.
It took him a second to cease being so overwhelmed as to be caught in a daze, finally coming back to hear Petrosian's constant harangue. But the simple sound of the director's irritating voice lit his blood, made him want to pummel him to the ground for daring to insult her. She was even so caught up in trying to ignore and survive the man's taunts that she didn't notice her husband's arrival; it was just too much. It was already nearly nighttime, was beyond when they should have stopped. Besides, his wife was pregnant, needed her rest. As Petrosian's idiocy continued, then, Michael found his voice--the sound low, but loud enough to ring around a building meant to capture sound. "Enough!" Everything before him stopped. And that was the moment when he had his wife all to himself.
It happened from the very first instant he had spoken, Nikita's eyes suddenly huge at the sight. The room was almost improbably silent, as she looked him over--this man who so utterly resembled her beloved. He was even wearing a uniform, looked trim and beautiful; her thoughts spun wildly. Had she ever even *liked* men in uniform? It didn't seem like it. They had been no nicer to either herself or her mother, when they had come over to take advantage of them in her youth; she felt herself tip slightly sideways, barely noticed Andrew's hand, as he steadied her. So this man who so resembled her beloved was . . .?
Her friends' plans could well have backfired at that moment, all their intentions to keep her safe going badly awry. She was nearly in shock, could probably have miscarried, had she been a much weaker woman. Certainly, she wasn't at all comprehending, was feeling her knees threatening to give out. And still this beautiful vision with the devouring, loving eyes approached her through the stillness, the only sounds those of his softly-approaching feet and her own, unsteady breathing--loud in her ears. When Petrosian rediscovered his voice, just as this mirage came near her, the visions were almost overwhelming; soft, final words cut him off. "She's done for the day." And then, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, she could feel her husband's soft touch on her arms.
She was half-convinced that this was some terrible sort of April Fools' Day joke, that she would find that it wasn't him at all a second later. Still, his fingers *were* light and soft over her skin, made her long for him, even if part of her mind more than wondered whether she were dreaming; her heart thumped, fears beginning. What if he had had some terrible sort of accident, a fatal one this time? What if this were only his ghost returning to say goodbye? What if . . .?
Her thoughts grew no more sensible, giving out completely a second later. Instead, his tender voice touched her, his whisper of, "I'm back, my love," nearly making her weak. She reached out to touch his face almost as an experiment, just to see whether he would disappear. Instead, slight stubble rasped over her fingertips; soft lips she remembered so well proved beautifully real beneath her touch. She let out a breath she had had no idea she was holding, the tears stinging the corners of her eyes. "Mi-chael," she breathed. And then she was finally in his arms.
He had pulled her to him as though he were afraid she might break, was just as uncertain of her reality, as she was of his. But the feeling of her cheek against his--even through the makeup--of her hands no longer resting but moving lightly over his chest, nearly made him lose control. Had they been alone, what would have come next would have been very private, indeed. But he was just aware enough to know that there were too many eyes in a crowd.
Despite this, there was still the moan in his throat, his hand finding her cheek, guiding her sweet face to his. A moment later, his lips claimed hers. And then whatever happened around them was entirely lost.
What *was* happening was, mostly, nearly comic. Petrosian was livid but was silenced by a look from an even more taciturn than usual Madeline. She stood near the stage door with Hedda and Helmut, the columnist looking far more pleased than the tutor--clearly enjoying this chance to irritate her old foe. Andrew was caught looking somewhere between jealous and wistful. And both Helmut and Rene had folded arms and absolutely gigantic grins.
Still, all of this was entirely unknown to the center of the room's attention, the couple themselves caught in a reunion which managed to be thoroughly private, even in this very public setting. They were sharing a series of kisses which were both deep and subtle, each of them rediscovering the wonder of their beloved. Each kiss aroused and awakened, healing with love, branding with desire; the memories of all the passion this could so easily lead to was maddening--but sweetly so--the heat of the moment awakening both their souls. The sound of their moans was not limited to themselves alone, yet neither of them noticed. It was heaven. But it still just didn't seem real.
This tender, adoring moment--their hands' quiet explorations of their lover's face, Michael wiping off her sweet tear, before placing his hand on her belly, relieved to feel the evidence of his child within--was paradise, a nearly tangible ache of pleasure, desire, and love, the kiss deepening all the while. But the joy of it was finally broken into by the very bright flash of a camera; the kiss broke off, the couple forced, somewhat, back into the world at large. Despite their experience with such attention, each of them winced at the next flash, forcing Helmut to stop the intruder--one hand on his shoulder; the cameraman shrugged, only doing his job. But there would be some quite amazing photos to soon show the world.
This move broke off the couple's reverie, forcing them back into a reality outside of themselves; despite the presence of some of their friends, it wasn't at all welcome. They had barely come to understand that they were really together again, that this was no mere dream. To be dragged back into reality so thoroughly . . .
They were surrounded by people quickly, however, from Helmut and Rene welcoming on one side, to Hedda rapid-firing questions on the other. Only a few observers stood apart--Madeline and Enquist among them; the gunman was half-outside the door, utterly unnoticed by the couple. "They seem quite happy together." But he didn't sound at all pleased by the fact.
The tutor was watching the scene as well, her arms crossed over herself; she looked slightly more accepting, if not at all happy, having already prepared herself for this unfortunate turn. "Give it time, Mr. Enquist. Give it time." Of all the benefits the pair had, time was not among them; she let out a deep, steadying breath. All she needed was an opening--and there would be plenty of opportunities in the days to come.
The couple themselves were unaware of this conversation, were simply stunned--every new camera flash making them blink as though they had never encountered one before. Still, despite the chaos around them, Michael found her hand, slipped it into his own--and Nikita felt an immediate, utter calm, as their fingers intertwined. Despite the fact that they weren't alone, despite the fact that she would probably be deprived of him again very soon, she wouldn't despair yet. Neither of them would. For now, they were truly together; a joint sigh left them. This was all the miracles they would ask for, just now.
[End of Part 287]
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