TITLE : X Chromosome
AUTHOR : Gomey
ARCHIVE : Anywhere, just let me know so I can brag...hehe.
RATING : R
SPOILERS : Meh, probably.
DISCLAIMER : All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
SUMMARY : There must be something wrong with her X Chromosome.
NOTES : Companion piece to 'Y Chromosome'. Gil's POV.
I don't understand myself, how I can be reduced to a drooling, mumbling idiot whenever her presence nears. I mean, I've tried to do something about it - tried to play on both the offensive and the defensive, granted my offensive isn't as aggressive as it should be.
I try to make a move, and it always ends up being more awkward than anything so I usually give up. God...she must think I'm some sort of indecisive moron with no self-confidence when it comes to women. Of course, her assessment would be right - but I honestly don't want her thinking that.
I try not to be obvious, probably an unconscious defence mechanism on my behalf for when I get rejected. Hmm...rejection: there are days when I'm certain that 'no' would be the only answer to emerge from her lips, those days that I feel that she's only kept me in company out of pity. Poor lonely Gil, barely been with any women, lives through his work and eight-legged critters...poor, poor Gil. But then, there are days when the chemistry is so strong even I get a boost of courage to flirt back.
I see her turn the corner - she looks deep in thought. What I wouldn't trade to infiltrate such thoughts, given the opportunity to learn of her deepest desires and then unselfishly grant them to her, one by one, until her wish list has been completely exercised.
But what would she want with me, when she could have her pic of any man in this world, young or old. What would she want with a hermetic, cynical workaholic? What -do- you want, Catherine?
The thing with Catherine and I is, we connect so strongly on an intellectual level, that I was completely enamoured the first time we spoke. The way she held herself, expressed herself just turned me on, and I know her body would heighten any carnal experience.
And once again, I'm thinking about sex. Sex with Catherine Willows. I'm not a jealous man, but when I see the men she dates, my heart goes berserk - especially knowing that some of those unworthy men were able to experience Nirvana, even for a mere second. I wonder what her body would feel like, pinned under mine. My hands holding hers above her head, her body and mind willing to join mine.
And my pants tighten. She's approaching and I've got a hard-on. Great. Fantastic. I try to keep my eyes upwards, not wanting to react to any further temptation. Our salutation exchange is quick as I give her an affectionate smile; one that is not unknown to our relationship, but a complete mystery to my relationship with anyone else. I head towards my office, with important business to take care of. As I'm fiddling with the lock on my office door, I glance her way, still feeling her presence linger in the hallway.
Mmm, she's wearing that red shirt again...the one that just hugs her body like a second skin. My eyes flutter closed slightly, images of her peeling the shirt off running rampant in my mind - pictures so vivid I would think to reach out and touch them. To touch her.
My hands literally tingle whenever she's close by, whenever she shows too much skin. Hmm, Catherine and too much skin...I don't think that's possible. No matter how much exposure, my eyes will always crave more.
And my daydreams start again, with her willingly exposing her skin to me. Slowly...layer by layer. Sure I've seen her perform, but there's a difference between a job and a desire. I want her to want to tease me, not just because it's in her contract.
And boy does she ever tease, to an extent of unawareness on her part. The way she moves, the way she speaks, the way she looks when deep in thought, the way she smells, the way she laughs...the list is endless.
Yes, I do have a list. This list, this embarrassing list that I am constantly haunted by, whenever I try to talk myself out of loving her. Whenever I lie to myself that I don't love her. When I know deep in my heart, I'll never stop loving her.
Why? Why me? Why must I love her from afar, knowing that feelings will never be reciprocated? Why am I a masochist and still seek out her form everyday, knowing that it can never be close enough to reach?
My eyes finally focus and gently sweep upwards, landing bang-on her gaze.
Damn. I freeze, panic stricken at being caught. She starts to walk towards me, with this aggressive glimmer in her eye. If I squint and rely on blind hope, I could swear there's an almost lusty tint to her darkening orbs. I think she wants to body check me. I become anxious and clumsily reach for the handle, stumbling in and slamming the door shut, not before throwing out an apology. I might as well apologize for -something-, it's the least I can do.
I was staring. She was watching me staring. Staring at her. No...not staring, ogling. I was ogling Catherine Willows and I feel like a heel. How could I be so insensitive, so chauvinistic almost. I sigh, realizing that, that action places me in the same category as those 'others': the unworthy.
The door flies open and she enters, closing and locking the door in one swift movement. No interruptions, no escape...no witnesses. Okay, I have to accept my execution; Catherine Willows no longer takes crap for me, which actually instills a lot of pride in my heart that she's gained so much self-respect since her days with Ed. But right now, I'm terrified. Terrified and turned-on.
Is it wrong to be having these thoughts while she's awaiting a conversation? Thoughts of slamming her against the wall, of having my way with her? Then taking her home and showing what it's like to make love, and not just have sex.
She's looking for an explanation - wanting to know why I was undressing her with my eyes. I have to say it - I can't lie in front of her. Technically, I haven't been lying to her, all these years of loving her from afar. No, I haven't been lying, I've just been delaying - and I was able to live with that, painfully albeit, but still manageable.
What is it with this woman that forces me to obey her every command? There must be something wrong with her X chromosome...a spell or a ritual only known to certain women, that forces men to become their puppets, eager and put on this earth to serve only their master.
Sincerely, she wouldn't even need a spell or a potion - I've already devoted my life to making her happy, I made that promise to myself a long time ago.
She's getting impatient and I'm getting aroused. I open my mouth, preparing to utter the possibility that I have dreamed and daydreamed about for many years...words that will either make or break me.