Standard disclaimers apply.

Notes:

          A product of writer's block and a discussion over at Gaia Online on stream-of-consciousness writing. A companion piece to something I haven't written yet. Please go easy on me.

ALMOST

By: Ryuuen

          Midnight.

          Darkness.

          Satin and silk, soft.

          Skin against skin.

          He stirs.

          "You're awake."

          A statement. An observation.

          Almost… concerned.

          "I am."

          Resignation.

          A firm embrace, warm breath against an ear – close, intimate.

          Almost… possessive.

          "Go back to sleep."

          An admonishment – taunting, gentle.

          "I can't."

          Stubborn.

          "You won't."

          Baiting.

          A growl.

          "Go away."

          A weak protest.

          Small hands on lean arms surrounding a thin waist – betrayal.

          A chuckle.

          "I can't."

          A glare directed at no one.

          Amusement.

          "You won't let me go."

          Hands withdraw – hesitant, shaking, trembling, pained. Waiting – for what?

          "I can."

          A shrug.

          "You can't."

          A challenge.

          "I will."

          A retort.

          "You won't."

          Patronizing.

          A sigh.

          "Go away."

          Play of moonlight on red silk sheets that fall away and  uncover.

          Warmth remains, subtle breathing.

          A whisper – soft, almost conspiratory.

          "I told you I can't."

          A snort.

          Sarcasm.

          "You won't."

          A chuckle.

          "That too."

          Annoyance.

          "Just leave me alone."

          A squeeze.

          "You're always alone."

          Soft, sad, sincere.

Almost… sympathetic.

A sigh.

"Everyone leaves."

Hidden messages – unreadable, cannot be deciphered.

"But, isn't that what you want?"

Curious and yet…

Another sigh.

A push – too gentle, feeble.

"Go away."

A laugh.

"You're acting like a child again."

Flat, emotionless.

"I am  a child."

Bitter, cold… lost.

"Never an innocent."

Statement.

"Innocence is a lie."

A smile – crooked, contemplative.

A flash of white, blinding.

"What is truth, then?"

Probing.

Searching.

A shrug. Honesty or naiveté.

"I don't know. You tell me."

Shifting.

Curtains swaying. A breeze blows through an open window.

An unconscious shiver.

Strong arms pull bodies closer, warmth against warmth.

"Are you cold?"

A question. A distraction.

A frown. Suspicion.

An offer.

"That did not answer my question."

A smirk.

A glare.

A gentle caress – tender, careful, soft, intimate.

Almost… intangible.

"Does this, then?"

Puzzlement.

"What?"

Another laugh – annoying, nasal.

"Does it answer your question?"

Confusion.

"Should it?"

Patience.

"Shouldn't it?"

Exasperation.

"Don't you ever get tired of this?"

"Of what?"

Shifting. Moving. Rhapsody in the dark.

A work of art – cobalt against emerald.

"Stop playing games with me."

Piercing. Harsh.

"I thought you liked them."

An indefinable flicker, gone before it registered emotion.

Turning.

Insistent.

Desperate.

"Leave me alone. Just go… Please."

Softness.

"I can't."

Softness. Vulnerability.

"Why?"

Curious.

"I want to stay."

Hands in hair, cradling. Fine hair, tickling.

Petulance, refusing to give in.

"You lie."

Silence.

Palm against cheek. Softness.

Lips on lips on open mouths – devouring, consuming, marking, claiming.

Parting – gentle, tender, careful, so soft… Intimate.

Almost… unspeakable.

"I hate you."

A moan.

A whimper.

A chuckle.

Warmth.

"I know."

A frown.

"Then why are you still here?"

Wondering. Almost… hopeful.

"Where else should I be?"

A declaration. Not a question. As though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Soft breathing.

Silence.

A sob.

Wetness on cheeks.

A calloused hand – comforting. Gentle. Tender. Careful. Soft. Intimate.

Almost… unnameable.

"Schuldich?"

Affectionate.

Nuzzling against a broad chest. Leaning into warmth.

Acknowledgement.

Hesitantly.

"There's a thin line between love and hatred, you know."

A chuckle.

A kiss… soft, gentle, tender, careful, intimate. Something else altogether.

Almost…

"I know, liebchen. I've always known."

Dawn.

Light.

Almost… but not quite.

The End.