Under the Grey
Playlist: You've Been Loved by Joseph Arthur : Silver Girl by Patrick Park
The truth was, he couldn't stop thinking about her. Snowflake eyes that changed from blue to grey, depending on the weather and her mood. Pale, perfect skin. He'd always been enthralled with the stretch from the swell of her breasts to the smooth sleekness of her stomach; that long, sloping space that he would lay his head on, post coital. When they'd be locked in the afterglow, her slender fingers curling through his hair, his arms spread out over her, one lying along her legs. Legs that went on longer than he'd thought possible; the pants she wore were cut well, but didn't lend themselves to the vision he'd been presented with when they'd come off. Those deceptively long legs.
She'd been almost shy the first time she'd undressed in front of him; different than the lawyers and receptionists he'd bedded since who had flaunted their bodies in front of him, needing his eyes on them, the knowledge their gym-pumped and sauna perfected bodies were turning him on. None of them realised he was imagining them as a pale nymph, ethereal in her lightness, almost transparent in the muted light of his apartment.
Ever since he'd first seen her, standing in the sunlight outside Philly PD, he'd wanted to claim her. Her hair was messy in the breeze, the cardboard coffee cup in her hand lazily letting steam off into the chilly morning. Her suit was grey, her shirt white. He still remembered pausing to look at her, so still amongst the scurrying foot traffic, while she waited there in shades of grey. Then she turned when someone called out. Her jacket flapped and the lining was hot pink, effervescent on her sombre appearance. That had been what had sealed the deal; he wanted to get to know the woman underneath the grey.
He still wasn't sure he'd known her, not completely. He'd known what it had felt like to have those legs wrapped around him, what if felt like to hold her to him, her thin frame warming his front, what it felt like to feel her soft lips under his, her sweet tongue sliding into his mouth. But that was all physical; the scent of her, the feel of her. He hadn't heard her history, why she decided homicide was the place for her, why she never talked about her family. He'd been left to imagine what might have happened between her and her sister, why she had pictures of dead people on her bedroom walls, why she pulled away from him when he talked about a future with the two of them in it together. She was, as he'd realised too late, an enigma, so unlike any other woman he'd dated. She seemed to resent the casualness of their relationship, but when it became too comfortable and close, she'd backed away. She'd been shy at first in the bedroom, letting him lead. After a while, the wildcat, the pink in her coat had appeared, and he'd thought he might be getting to her. Instead, she'd started to get to him.
Their first kiss was as perfect as he'd imagined; a little cautious, a little new. He'd wanted to kiss her that night as soon as he'd put his hand on her waist, moved her away from the street side of the pavement, let his palm linger. Even through her coat he'd felt the fineness of her figure, had wanted to be able to feel it without clothes on. She'd nearly managed to evade him, but he'd captured her, put his briefcase down on the soft snow, leant in to lips that were carefully parted, breathing a warmth into him that was welcome on the snowy night.
Now he was lying above sheets in a room that hadn't dreamed of being as cold as he'd been that Philly night. He was in a city where it never snowed, but he could never feel as warm as when he'd been in the snow with her then.
Rolling onto his side, pulling a pillow over to mask the fact that the double bed held only him, he wondered what she was doing now. Whether she was deep in dreams, kept warm by the disabled cats that had always made an appearance in the bed when they woke up in the morning. Or if there was someone else in her bed; the partner she had, who'd instantly disliked him, maybe some other lucky bastard who'd managed to get to her, who had been sucked under her spell.
Sighing, realising he wasn't going to get any more sleep for the night, Kite released the pillow and lay onto his back before pulling himself into a sitting position. Four in the morning and the street outside his apartment was quiet, the car sounds from a few blocks over the only noise that infiltrated the stillness. Padding out to the kitchen in boxers and bare feet, Kite pulled a carton of juice out of the 'fridge and had a long drink. His new job was just as stressful as the old; still pandering to pressures from politicians, police bureaucracy, victim's families who had gone too long without 'justice'; whatever that was anymore, he wasn't sure he knew. Truth was, he'd moved here to get away from here. He'd thought he could handle it; just another break up, that he'd initiated. But instead, seeing her had become awkward, not only because they were now no more than mutual strangers who had seen each other naked but because every time he caught a glimpse of her somewhere in PPD, every time he saw her in her dark clothes, her hair still messy, still carelessly uptwisted he wanted her back. He wanted to be able to call her at night, just to hear her breathe, wanted to feel comfortable walking into her bedroom, hanging his jacket on her bed, knowing he would be waking up with her and the cats. He wanted it back so much that it hurt him to see her. To see the image presented to the world, and to know that the underneath, the hot pink, was something he'd managed to get a glimpse into and consequently throw away because he hadn't been able to accept any less than all of her. These days, he'd be happy to have half of her; he'd let her hold her secrets and deal them out to him slowly so that he could hold them as close to him as she did to her, so that they could share looks across the room. So that she'd smile that irrepressible smile at him, the one that he never failed to smile back to. So that he could walk her home in the snow every night, no matter how late it was. They'd share their day, kiss on the corner, interlock arms to share warmth. And he'd let her have her guarded history, and her absent family and her pictures on the wall if he could have all that.
There might be a chapter two. In real time rather than expressly in Kite's head at godawful hours of the morning! Sorry for all discrepancies of time line, place, etc etc. I'm not American. I barely know the geography of my own country. Besides, people, this is fanfic. Give us some room to move, don't kill the artist yada yada yada. Review, please .