Long flights are good for several things. Naps are one. Writing notes is another. Dithering over whether you look perfect enough for your boyfriend, unfortunately, is a third. And when your boyfriend's a Duke...
Ten minutes before the plane's due to land, she's opening her compact and examining herself in the mirror and repainting her lips. Ten minutes after the plane's landed, she's stepping onto the causeway with her single lone suitcase; her titian hair's worn down in a carefree, casual flip style that had to have cost at least five hundred dollars. Her lipstick is Frosted Plum; her eyeshadow, lightly applied, Gold Dust. She wears small double rows of gold hoop earrings in either ear, a sky blue scarf lightly tied around her throat.
Her blouse is white and what could best be called gypsy style, leaving her shoulders bared, showing off the lingering golden tan from Oahu. It's paired with a long crimson skirt with a swirling gold and black pattern around the hem. Black ballet slippers are on her feet, and more gold bracelets chase up and down her arm.
A small black bag's slung over her shoulder, and her suitcase (Louis Vuitton, of course) is black and gold as well.
Where is he? Let me get my phone... Maddie takes a post by the gate to the luggage concourse, fishing her cellphone out of her bag and turning it back on with one elegantly manicured and painted (Frosted Plum to match her lips) fingernail. Unconsciously, she sucks on her lower lip. It's impossible for her to not be self-conscious about it...
There is never a quiet moment in Heathrow...
International travelers, business and pleasure alike, swarm the concourse. It used to be that meeting someone, particular a loved someone, was a rite of romantic passage. You could be there at the gate, with a smile, with flowers, with a helpful hand at the very least. But now, guests and waiting loved ones are quartered off, made to wait nearly all the way to the baggage claim.
Your phone plays its I have a text message song...
Waiting for you inside, first tall man that looks like he misses his girlfriend, to the left right behind the barricade.
The barricade is a red nylon stretch tape. Not quite the velvet rope, but not far off...
Where is she... probably the last to deplane. That's usually how it works.
Balthazar, beautiful in his reds, stands just past the barricade that separates secure space from free space. His brown hair, some interplay between cinnamon and cocoa, is mussed out of his face. The caramel complexion that had darkened in his time in the Hawaiian sun remains as rich, seeming all the more so with the crimson he wears. The pants are fitted, some cotton that, while not painted on, compromise between fitted and tailored. The shirt, the same crimson as the pants, is tissue thin but not transparent. The soft, worn cotton whispers against the contours of his form. He wants desperately to be barefoot or sandaled, but he is wearing shoes: red Converse. It was the only London-appropriate compromise he could make. The cinnamon colored eyes flicker their attention here, there, everywhere, waiting for the crowds to part for you.
And there you are, my Maddie. In plums and reds and whites, the colors I love best. Your shoulders bared for the kiss of the sun...
"Pardon," he murmurs to the woman next to him as he moves past her (she sighs, turning to watch him go). He doesn't notice her or pause.
Between you is a connection of summer sun. It draws him to you; you, to him. The air zips between you, filled with the kinetic energy, the electrical charge of desire.
She receives the text message, reads it and smiles, going pink in the cheeks as she reads it, smiling and then straightening up. She brushes her hair back from her face, half-closing her eyes as if to squint against a summer sun...
It is somehow appropriate, with you anywhere in range...
"Baz!" Her accent is unmistakably American; so too, her body language. All hesitations and uncertainties are forgotten with the lighting up of her eyes, and she trots towards you with a wide, open-hearted smile.
The trot breaks into a run, and she drops her suitcase not far from you, and flings herself at you. You will catch her, right? Maddie certainly believes you will. She doesn't care if the Queen herself is watching.
Warmth surrounds you. It rushes up your spine, it lights each of your chakras as you are caught, held, and lifted. The plums of your mouth are plucked by his own lips, suckled and savored like the fruit they are. There is a swirling flame, his tongue around your own. You create and complete a circuit, a spell.
The taste of honey...
Of fragrant wine...
And a resin burns sweetly beneath your skin, perfumed and intoxicating -- in the center of your heart, at the base of your groin.
Cinnamon eyes open, sparkling between long lifted lashes as he parts the kiss. Your plum is on his lips. He wears it, and you, well. Balthazar smiles, holding you easily as crowds move curiously by. "I missed you," he whispers. "And I have messed up your make-up, oes?" He could dance with you here, lie with you here. His eyes are not shy in their banqueting. "You look amazing. The eyes... the hair... did you look into my phone to know purple and gold and red are special weaknesses of mine, or did you just guess... extraordinarily well," he all but purrs it, his eyes masting as he kisses you again. "It is going to take all night to get home," he chuckles suddenly. "I would rather carry you than your bags."
She wraps her arms around you, closing her eyes as you kiss her, and well, she stays kissed. Her lips stay parted, and makeup? What's that about makeup? "Wow," Maddie breathes out. "I thought I missed you. I guess not as much as I really did miss you."
She laughs, almost giggles, looking a bit giddy as she looks up at you. She is blushing, flushed, ready to be with you and with no other thought. "Maybe we, um. Maybe we had better go, though. I mean. Get out of the way. I mean. Get to your place. I'm glad you like it."
She is glad. But right now all she can think about is not clothes. It's about the absence of clothes and the presence of you.
Balthazar smiles, suns and stars in the crinkle of his eyelids. "Okay. One more though. It's a long drive," he murmurs, the grin remaining through another plucking of your lips. "I do like it. Very much. Can you tell? I am Mister Obvious. Okay," that was to himself. Okay, Balthazar. No meteors in the airport. They frown on that generally.
The warmth remains, tingles against your skin (and his) as he slides you back to your feet. He takes both of your bags as any well-bred, well-raised man would, and he turns to lead you out. His hands are full, but that does not mean that his eyes cannot embrace. They remain on you, with only flicking glances given to navigation. "I can't believe you're actually here," Balthazar says quietly, winding in and out of the traffic to the main doors. "I'm in the garage. Is there anything you need for tonight?" he wonders.
But his look hopes not...
And between you, the air is thick and heated, humid though the London late-spring afternoon is cooling rapidly. It parts for you both, bowing to get out of the way. Balthazar looks away from you as you and he cross the pedestrian walkway to preferred parking. Well, being a Duke has to have some privileges. There, in the first space is the black Land Rover with Welsh tags.
She is reluctant to stand apart from you, looking at you sidelong, still blushing as she adjusts her skirts, adjusts her top, glances down at herself to see if her nipples are showing. My, isn't it chilly in here!
"Food," Maddie tells you, breathlessly, hugging her arms over her chest. "The stuff in first class wasn't too bad, but it still wasn't really what I call food, and anyway, I couldn't eat. So if you feed me, that's all I really need..."
Well, maybe not all...
Visions pop into her head, unbidden; memories of Oahu, thoughts and ideas you've expressed, she's had on her own. She hesitates, trying to figure out which side of the car she should enter. "You have a really big ... car."
"This side," he quietly guides you to the opposite door -- left hand side. That'll take some getting used to. He unlocks it with a press of the keypad, at the same time activating the back hatch. "Do you like Indian food at all, or are you in the mood for something specific? We could have something delivered if you like."
Your bags stowed, the back closed, Balthazar sees you to your seat, holding the door for you as you settle and then closing it securely. He is settling on his side of the... large car. There is more than the trace of a smile as he leans toward you. "It's very roomy, and for once, it's clean. Usually, there are instruments back there." But now? Now it is clean, comfortable and wide open -- apart from your bags.
"I will be happy to feed you," his mouth slides into a warm, smile. It lights up his expression, and he simmers as the car's engine turns over. "I have been looking forward to it, in fact," Balthazar murmurs. "I haven't been able to eat a piece of fruit without tasting you for weeks."
It is there again...
The cinnamon, savoring warmth of his mouth, the electricity that sparks from tongue to tongue. Balthazar parts the kiss with a sigh and a smile. "Longest drive ever. Okay..." he says again to himself, settling back in his own seat, his seatbelt clicking into place.
She blushes again. "I don't think I taste like fruit," Maddie murmurs, giving you a sidelong look as she slides onto the seat, reaching awkwardly for the seatbelt. She has only the one suitcase, and her purse; leaving plenty of room. She smiles at you, and then, less idly than self-consciously, she reaches for your hand.
Just as you bend to kiss her again...
She sighs against your mouth, kissing you back with a little press of her head, pulling back to suck at her lower lip as if to taste herself and see if she does in fact taste like fruit. Blushing like a rose, Maddie focuses her gaze on the road.
Longest. Drive. EVER.
Balthazar chuckles as the car begins to move. "Like peaches and oranges," he quietly insists. "With a little hint of strawberry..."
The late afternoon is bright as you head out of the garage. The circling sites of a still unfamiliar terrain blur past you.
"I have a surprise for you," Balthazar smiles, glancing to you, whenever he can, amid watching the road. His hands move against the steering wheel, a series of buttons pressed until music -- also unfamiliar, it's a new song -- begins.
It is playful...
It is fiery...
You can feel the energy, like a sun reactor, at the beat of the drums and the sound of his voice:
Interplanetary Janet
(Dammit) She's got nothing on you
You blast in, fantastic
You comet girl, you...
Heathrow is left behind. Ahead, the view of London. It's not so far a drive after all. One hand on the wheel, he reaches over and borrows one of yours for the drive. Fingers steeple and play, and little shocks travel all the way to your toes.
You nova
You're super
You're brilliant, aren't you?
I want you
Come over
You comet girl, you...
Three minutes, five minutes, six minutes, ten. Sun in Oahu has come and gone and and two others too. The car picks up speed at the burst of another song, faster paced that the rest:
Sea salt
orange peel
Board wax
Electric eel
She's just
My kind
I'm losing
My mind...
Ride me
Ride me
Ride me
Ride the wave...
Balthazar glances over to you, his fingers tickling the inside of your palm. Roman candle sparks color your skin in sensation, and he smiles.
She is still blushing, but she snuggles up to you a little bit, leaning towards you as much as her seatbelt will allow. "So you've been busy," Maddie allows. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but ... I am. Thank you."
Her hand has somehow ended up on your thigh, and she glances sidelong, shivering and then sticking her tongue out at you playfully. "So. How much longer until we get to your place?"
She can't wait...
He radiates heat. It travels from his thigh to your fingers, and then is suffuse within you, beneath your skin. He is the flush that blooms there. Beneath the crimson cotton, there is a twitch of muscle, the slight lift of his leg both in driving and to meet you, nudge you. Balthazar forces his eyes on the road, his smile trailing in a sideways canter. "We're actually almost there. It's not that far from the airport, really." He looks to you. "It just feels like forever at the moment."
He lifts the armrest to his chair, giving your hand (and his) as much liberty as the seatbelts will allow. The hand that held yours, the one now resting on his thigh, slides along your own. The curl of his fingers bunches the fabric of your skirt in his grasp. "I have been busy," Balthazar grins, "I had to do something. The other one isn't quite ready yet."
You see the sign for Shepherd's Bush. The Land Rover exits the motorway, circling into his neighborhood. There are the terraces, lined up neatly. "There we are," he murmurs. Balthazar looks to you as he pulls up to 315 Uxbridge Road and the terrace that awaits you both. Flesh tightens beneath your hand, beneath the cotton, and the air is squeezed with urgency. "Welcome to your home away from home," he says quietly, the car parked and stopped. Lashes lift and lower as he takes a moment to revel that you're here. Your seat belt clicks, released as he spreads your mouth beneath his own in a sudden, consuming kiss.
Fiery, the thrill that runs from joined tongues to the ends of your nerves. It is dance. It is song. It is devouringly slow, and your lips are blushed, the pulp of your mouth surrendered, reluctantly, with a strong suckle. The chiming of a second buckle being undone rings in the close quarters of the car.
Any doubts she might have been having during the period of parting are evaporated right now. She feels as if she might evaporate, in a cloud of steam and expiration. The car's parked, and you undo her seatbelt and she trembles as if it were her bra instead.
She slides abruptly forward, from her seat to your lap, ignoring the way that her skirt rakes all the way up to the dainty white lace and silk unmentionables with their violet rosettes, ignoring everything except the feel of you up to her.
So the destination's been reached. First things first. "I love you, Baz," Maddie whispers, sliding herself up against you with a little shiver. "Kiss me again?"
From the body to the soul...
Where our hearts lead we must go...
Wherever Love may flow...
You call the sun to the surface of his skin. You bring honey to his tongue. Your words blow upon the resin embers in his soul, stirring them to a fragrant fire. The touch of his hand to your face brings with it shuddering pleasure, the coil of fire that flicks at you as surely as a tongue. The radiating warmth of fiery wings you cannot yet see surround you in the grasp of his arms. Balthazar gathers you onto his lap, your purple flowers tossed against his crimson like petals from the fingers of the Adoring.
"I love you, Maddie," Balthazar says, thumb grazing your lips. "You make me feel... everything." There is nothing but This. No traffic. No street. No neighbors. No thought but this: a kiss. His eyes drift closed behind the veil of dark lashes. As his fingers slide upward, slipping between the chemise and skirt you wear, his mouth opens to yours.
And Inspiration is there in the honeyed grasp...
In the tangle of mouths, Delight fills you, tickling your belly...
Sunlight lives on his tongue and with it the Enlightenment of Love.
A hand slides against a thigh to run over the meadow and petals of purple flowers.
How do people deal with such desire? How does anyone get anything done? Maddie has no idea; the thought occurs to her, vaguely, dimly, somewhere in the snake part of her brain which doesn't add up to higher functionality. She slides closer to you, whimpering softly.
There is nothing subtle about how she feels. It is as blatant as fire and as urgent as a tidal pull. Her fingers slide into your hair as her mouth yields to your own. "Baz..."
Her thighs spread for you, without any thought of shame. As Adam and Eve, so too she matches you, without even thinking about it...
Paradise Found...
The smells, the sounds, the feel, the taste -- it is the Desire of the heavens, that which never knew a Fall of Man or Woman. It is meteoric and shivering, like the quiver of honeysuckle in summer breezes. That kiss, that kiss were Paradise is know and restored.
Your fingers in his hair -- you cannot see the fire you stir, but in a parallel universe, fiery wings shudder, flames coiling, fire igniting where strands of hair once stood. And in that conflagration, he kisses you, his mouth spreading yours luxuriously.
His fingers slide against the violeted blooms, then around your thighs to cup you to him. There is from somewhere the ringing of a distant chime. It takes a moment for you to realize that it is the opening of the car's door. You are carried, held to him, straddling and cupped.
The fruit of your mouth is turned to a sweet pulp, the sugar sipped from it as the kiss tangles and deepens. The motion of his stride bumps him against you, between your thighs. His hands cradle you, rolling your hips forward and back to match his steps. And the connection is immediate, the need immediate. Balthazar suckles at your tongue as he opens the door to the terrace and carries you inside.
Cinnamon eyes sparkle, resonant, as dark lashes lift, his eyes on you. His deft tongue, honeyed, curls visibly before your lips, teasing entry, as if your lips were yet virginal. He trills it within your mouth, flicking against your own tongue. It will be echoed between your thighs (oh, let it be). Clothes begin to drip from you both onto the floor.
The noises she makes, oh, nobody could mistake them for innocence. The way you lift her, the way you bump against her, it makes her feel so sweetly vulnerable and so destroyingly needy that she cannot even speak of it. Please, please, please...
The way you move her, the way there is that roll of her hips against your own, she whimpers again, she begs without words.
The Taming of Maddie West...
She has no idea what your place even looks like, anymore. All she can focus on is you. What she feels, even if she cannot see the entire truth, it is Real. It is important. "Baz..."
You are set upon your feet again, held as you are lowered. And he looks to you. Between him, between you, there is cosmic connectivity. He is beneath your skin; you are beneath his. You speak his name, and he comes to you, called so easily, fully. His eyes on you, unblinking, Balthazar bends, capturing your mouth with a sudden kiss, one of tenderness and adoration.
He adores you. What do you need of clothing, which such adulation? On the floor, your top. Then his. Then your skirt; then his trousers. Balthazar slowly falls to his knees, his open mouth sliding against your stomach. His hands slide into your purple meadow, fingers hooking cotton and lace and drawing them downward.
He sits, his back against the sofa, his hands cupping you to him. You become the golden bowl of the sun at his lips, his tongue sliding between the folds of your flesh, curling and spiraling.
At the base of your spine and between your legs, that spiraling calls up the soul's Delight, and it spreads throughout your body.
Ecstatic, Balthazar closes his eyes, his head tipping back slightly. His tongue is a wild flame, flickering in all directions. In his throat, there sounds the long, musical pull of a toned sigh.
She is trembling, and if you didn't hold her, she would fall down. There's no way she could keep to her own feet, not now; her legs have turned into water. She watches you as wide-eyed and with as much trepidation as any virgin, watching with tremblingly parted lips.
This is all almost too much..."Oh!" She cries out as your mouth moves against her, her hands moving against your shoulders. Eyelashes flutter as if they were your wings, the tight little nubbins of her nipples lifting with her breasts with her shudder. She does not even say your name, now.
This is more like a dream of sex than I ever thought sex could be...
You are held in gentle hands, held to his mouth, golden chalice. You become the banquet and the Adored. You become what nourishes him and he what sustains you. Between your thighs, a beautiful face, and cinnamon eyes open to look at you. And you, your hands on his shoulders, your thighs held open and parted in his hand, can see him, the trilling motion of his tongue, the suckling of your lips like the wedges of an orange.
His own lashes fan up and down in the rolling and the closing of his eyes. He speaks against you, his tongue and lips swirling and pressing poetry between your thighs. Persian odes to his love for you that, while inaudible, are very much tangible. The dancing Ls of that language, that poetry, slide and curl around you, little consonants tripping in light flicks. Honey and sunlight live between your thighs, and all the power and magic of summer's unfolding.
Balthazar lifts his eyes to look at you again, to beam beneath you, Adoring, as you become the center of the helix of Pleasure. "I love you," he murmurs there, he breathes it, and his tongue slips within you, his last vowel lost in a moan of music. The hands that hold you quite nearly aloft, curl your hips to meet the thrust of his tongue.
It is like drowning; the longer you speak, the longer you hold her there, the more liquid the world becomes. The harder it becomes to breathe, until all that she is seeing are motes of dancing sunlight from far away, explosions of light and color. Her fingernails clutch at you, and she squirms with a little moaning squeal of delight and desperation.
"Please," Maddie gasps, body racked with quivering, "oh, Baz, please. I need you in me!"
How do women survive this? She would wonder it if she could think straight, but who can think straight? It is not like surfing, because there is the entire lack of balance, the entire lack of control. Instead, she is finding herself in the position of surrendering herself to you - entirely.
On the water, you are perfectly balanced. You are focused. The ocean pulls you along and you move together. It is like sex you said, like prayer. You are his ocean. This is his surfing. Everything else -- music, the world(s) beyond this terrace -- doesn't exist. For Balthazar, there is only one star in the firmament; there is only one focus.
Cradling you from hands to arms, you are lowered. Do you sense movement? Or is it, instead, like floating -- a feather softly whispering to soil. It comes slowly, this motion. Dance. Tai Chi. The infinitely graceful motions of the yogi.
And then the focus becomes clear. As he brings you to his lap, his legs crossed in a lotus position beneath you, you feel the pressure and delight of his hard member as it slowly fills you, slowly and completely. And the universe becomes fitted, snapping into position and to place as you are placed on him.
Balthazar guides your legs around his waist -- the lotus flower now in full bloom as you wrap them -- and with a smile, his arms complete the circuit around your waist. Small movements are all it takes, the smallest to move him where he is held deep and fast. His hips rock, he rocks sitting upon the floor, you rock upon him, his hands cupping your heart-shaped rear.
It is a dance...
It is a wild coupling...
It is a prayer...
In ecstatic pleasure, Balthazar tips back his head slightly, his eyes masting -- but not closing, not completely. He wants to see you, watch you, as he moves you. As it and you move him.
Oh, god...
It is more religion than she can handle. You fill her so deeply; her eyes roll back, she whimpers, leaning into you, making such sounds in her throat as could never be reproduced deliberately. Wrapping her legs around your waist means her weight is committed entirely to your lap; she is so full of you, it almost aches.
And yet, she can't resist; her body reacts whether she would have intended or not. It is a dance; it is the oldest dance. "Baz!" Maddie bites her lip, her arms around your neck, holding herself steady on one plane, at least, even as the rest spin wildly out of control.
The voice you have heard sing, the body you have seen move on stage move now in concert. There is a musical sound to his breaths, and a rhythm like percussion. His skin is dotted with sweat, and his back burns with the wings that wish to be freed but can't be. It is the worst (and best) sort of restraints. Balthazar smiles as you snug up to him, his body your rock, your anchor, and he enfolds you, his skin heated and flushed a darker caramel. And the cologne he wears, something Eastern perhaps, fills the air around you both with scents of honey and myrrh. He turns his head to breathe at your ear, to kiss and suckle the lobe there. "My sweet love, yes...."
Meteors race across a far away sky and land within a warm, aquamarine sea. Where fire and water meet, lava and star glass become an island. Smoke and salt-steam rise from the roiling sea, just as our breaths hiss and sigh from our mouths. I see them move. I make them move. I see us move... we make us move...
Closing his eyes, Balthazar begins to rock more deeply, the thrusts harder, longer. Between the petals of his favorite flower, he buries himself, finds himself, finds divinity. Each thrust that ends in you, in you where you end, thrusts him into golden fire, into the sun, the loins of a star, into his own being.
You call the honey from the heart of the hive. You blow on the coals and ignite the fire. You call me to join you. I find myself Home.
Cinnamon eyes sparkle with amber glints of risen flame as Balthazar opens his eyes, ecstatic. He rocks faster, your bodies becoming an engine, a reactor. Between you, you form a star, a nova in the throbbing mass of nerves.
She is making such sounds, now. She would be calling on god, if she were only so coherent. As it is, she isn't coherent at all; the harder you thrust, the louder her mewling little cries become; and the wetter she becomes, and tighter at the same time, as her muscles respond with quivering urgency to the growing storm.
Her arms are so close around your neck, she buries her face in your shoulder. You are a brilliant, dazzling thing, and she? She is just along for the ride, aware of her own helplessness, her own need. Even now, even with you inside of her, there are parts of her unfurling, unfolding, opening and expanding to you in the same way as a flower; in the same way as a galaxy. There is nothing she could do to halt it. There is nothing she could do to even understand it. Every nerve in her body is touched by your fire, and it belongs to you with a cosmic sort of surrender.
Maddie West does not know what's hit her. She's not even aware of herself as a human being with an identity of her own, anymore. All of it is stripped away, leaving her bathed in the glow of perspiration and musk and sex and energy that she has never felt before.
Her fingernails bite into your shoulders, and she lets out a squeal that would be a raw-throated scream if her opened mouth were not partially stoppered by her lips pressing against your bicep. It isn't even oh, god now; it's white noise at its most primal as she tenses, writhes, hips circling and bumping yours in a jangling frenzy. She can't escape you; you're so deep in her. And it just doesn't seem to want to stop.
That's it...
That's It...
Nirvana...
You open the doors, you throw up the shades and gates and all the windows to let the sun rain in. Visible light, tangible illumination, enlightenment -- it is all the same. And in the burst of energy, in the center of the nova... supernova... there is peace. Balthazar marvels at it. If he had the wherewithal of coherent Thought, he too might comment...
My god... it's full of stars...
His hips bump you upward, a strong thrust -- can you feel him twitch? His arms catch and lift you off of his erection, but still cradled on his lap. It is pressed, rising between you, swollen and jetting his release as his body moves in sympathetic thrusting, dancing with you still, even if no longer within you. His hands lead your hands to him, stroking and tugging on the skin until the fountain halts.
"God," Balthazar mutters at your mouth, his head bending, resting against your shoulder as cups you to him again, his arms drawing you in close. His length twitches between you where it is pressed. Balthazar sighs, his breaths pounding from him. He kisses your neck to your lips and opens his eyes, the cinnamon gaze glazed in amazement.
She cries out, whimpering, squirming and moving in your grasp with a hunger that has her still quivering, moueing with hunger and satisfaction and discontent. There is a part of her, primal and on edge, which craves you inside of herself; even after the eruption, it is her desire. She twitches, shuddering, even while you hold her close, eyes closed and lips parted.
With sex like this, who could ever go anywhere else?
Maddie quivers, keeping her eyes closed as slowly, slowly atomic particles reassemble themselves somewhere in her brain. "Baz," she murmurs, nuzzling in against you, eyes still closed. "How did you end up with me...?"
He chuckles, the soft laughter of a man who holds Nirvana on his tongue. How could one not be giddy? "You ambushed me, don't you remember? You brought me food and you barged in. Came through that door," he nods to the front door, "...to the sofa," a glance to his left, to the unused sofa. Well, it was unused. Holding you securely, Balthazar stands, shaking legs notwithstanding, and he walks you over to the sofa. The sofa squeaks as he settles on it, you on him. His hand moves through your hair. "You reached out a hand to help a friend," Balthazar whispers. "And that is how..."
A hand brushes your hair back and tilts your face to his. The kiss is suckling sweet, savoring and slow. "You are beautiful and sweet. You bring out the best in me. I am glad you ended up with me." A hand traces along your spine, fingers circling along your rear and back up your side. "However it happened."
Balthazar looks to the ceiling, his eyes dazzled from the galactic burst. It moves over him, a dusting of golden afterglow like honey powder on the skin.
She moans a little as you lift her, as you carry her to the sofa, snuggling into you with eyes closed. "I didn't know you," Maddie whispers. "You weren't a friend. You were just ... somebody I needed to help, is all."
She whimpers and sighs, ahing at the ceiling as you kiss her lips, nipples all erect as she rests against you with the trickle of sweat rolling along her spine. "That made my brain shut down. I want you to know that. It was - almost scary, really."
Rolling a little, until you and he lie upon your sides facing one another, Balthazar brings a hand to your face, damp auburn hair brushed back. You hair is thoroughly mussed. He is tender now, gentle, in all the ways that he was overwhelming before. "It's not supposed to be scary," he notes quietly. His cinnamon eyes look at you, your face. "I'm sorry, Madison. Scaring you... was not my intention."
And though he is floating in the nebulaic euphoria that only Nirvana can bring, there is concern on his face, hovering there on the edges of his blissful expression. It is an odd thing to be at once blissful and at once concerned.
"You were a friend to me that day," he says. "Even though you didn't know me. You were sweet when I needed sweetness. I didn't even know I needed it, but it bounded through my door anyway." His lips move in a little smile, thoughtful.
"I'm not scared," Maddie insists, leaning in against you, eyes stubbornly closed. "It's scary. It doesn't mean I am scared."
She sighs, nuzzling briefly and settling without opening her eyes. "I ... just ... I don't know why exactly I felt so strongly. I just knew it had to hurt, and I had to do something about it. So I did. Mumsie still hasn't found out about my swiping her credit card number, by the way..."
His eyebrows knit together a bit. Eyes closed, you miss the expression of beatific befuddlement. His arms around you, Balthazar holds you. He kisses the crown of your head. "What is scary about it? Like falling off a cliff?" he wonders, his mouth twitching a smile. "Is it at least a good kind of scary?" His fingers curl and uncurl against your scalp.
Another kiss on your head: "I won't be telling her anything anytime soon," he murmurs. "You told me all of it in Oahu, remember? You said you got to know me through your sister's letters, and the songs. So... as to why you are here? I only have the answer that ... I do not really know, but I am glad you are here. Even if I am a little scary..."
"A little like falling off a cliff," Maddie admits. She sighs again, quietly exhaling between pursed lips. "I've just - I've never felt anything like it, Baz. It's a little scary to have so little - so little way of affecting my own reactions to it. You know how sometimes when you're surfing, you get pulled under and you don't know exactly where you're going to surface - or if you're going to surface? It's a little like that."
She shivers, shrugging and clinging to you. "It isn't that it doesn't feel good. I just ... I've never felt anything like it. It's nothing like the more experienced girls said it'd be like, you know?"
As long as I live, I will never understand the West Women...
His hands move along your skin as he feels you shiver, as if to warm you. His skin, naturally warm and still heated from recent loving, is better than a blanket. "Well, their boyfriends were probably never instructed in the kama sutra starting at ten, like I was. But I did not mean it to be so... disarming?" Is that even it? "It is supposed to connect us, not make you nervous."
I heard the universe click. Did you? You are the key that turns me, Maddie. But that doesn't mean that I am yours.
Balthazar's arms lightly hug you to his chest. "I should have given you a bit more warning, perhaps. Or... maybe explained it on the way..."
"You were what." Maddie frowns, opening her eyes and peering at you. "Wait, wait. Kama Sutra? I'm not my sister, mistress of the arcane inoculation against ignorance, But isn't the Kama Sutra that book of, like, weird sexual positions from India or something?"
She sighs, turning and biting your shoulder a bit. "I'm sorry, but it's kind of weird for a kid to be learning about sex at ten. That's - just weird, Baz. Anyway, it definitely connected us. I just - I think before we start doing kama whatsis, maybe I should enroll in a beginner's class."
She frowns, shrinking into herself a bit and sighing. "Let me up. I need to pee."
Balthazar rolls over, sitting up so you can get up to pee. "It's not just about that," he counters quietly, evenly. The blissfulness dissolves into normalcy. "It's about the art of love. Platonic love, friendship, and yes... later... sexual love, fertility. Anyway," he exhales, "I'm going to order something to eat. Do you mind Indian or would you prefer something else?"
He is standing and stretching, no thought to his nudity. He goes to his trousers on the floor and fishes out his portable device.
This is... not going as I imagined it would go. Universe, you have a funny way of showing your affection. I wish I could just stretch my wings. She isn't ready for the lotus... she's certainly not ready for the Truth...
He glances to you as you make your way down the hall. He watches you go, his wings slipping out for a little stretch when you close the door. By the time you return, he's in his white boxers sitting on the sofa, a bare foot propped on the table, paging through the touch-screen of the device.
"Indian's fine," Maddie calls over her shoulder. "I'll be back in a few..."
Time to answer nature's call - and, of course, to rinse off a bit. She comes back still naked (her clothes, she has no idea where they are) to find you half dressed. "...Oh. Hm. I guess I should put something on, shouldn't I."
Her hair is still rumpled from being carried and tossed and fucked so thoroughly; she was without shame until she saw your boxers. Now she seems recalled to her nudity, covering herself self-consciously as she looks around for her clothes. "Did you order already?"
Everything's in a pile on the floor. His. Hers. He's not half dressed, not even a quarter. Balthazar looks up at you as you come back. "No, not yet. I was just looking at the menu. Here," he motions for you to join him (what else should he do?). "I recommend the red or yellow curry. It is spicy, but there is a little sweetness to it too. And naan... ah, naan is a flat bread," he explains, "...they have the plain, which is good. But I like the naan stuffed with cherries." Naturally, he would.
There is a self-consciousness, even a little awkwardness. "I'm sorry, Maddie," he says finally. "I know my life sounds strange. And what I do is strange." Apparently. "I am not from Boston or London. In my culture it is not ...odd for someone to be raised to have awareness of things that maybe in other cultures are not ... I do not know the right word here. Acceptable? Or expected. I wasn't having sex at ten, if that makes you feel better about any of this. I lost my virginity at fourteen. Still young, I guess. But... not ten..."
She settles up next to you and overlapping with you, leaning up against you comfortably and companionably as she looks over the menu. "Oh, I know what naan is. Dad was stationed in the Indian Ocean when I was ... six? I think that's right. We got to eat a lot of Indian and Malay food," Maddie grins up at you brightly for a moment, then down at the small screen. "I used to love naan with peanut butter and honey. Not so much anymore, but when I was six, it was the best thing in the world."
She looks up at you again as you change the topic, and the grin shifts to a more serious expression; one of intent as she looks at you, and she nods slowly. "Okay," Maddie answers you simply. "As long as it's not - well, as long as you weren't being all abused or something. We'll figure it out, right? We're different people and we come from different places. We just need to build a map, that's all."
She gives you a sidelong look, then pokes you lightly in the ribs. "We can't do it all at once, you know. You met my family. They weren't everything you expected either, were they? Probably once I meet your family things will fall into place a little more. We don't have to rush it, do we? I'm right here. Unless you think it'd be better if I went somewhere else?"
Flush to you, and he needed that, Balthazar tips his head to look to you. He doesn't twitch or jostle from the poke to his ribs. "I know. There is so much to tell you, show you, you cannot guess how much," he murmurs. "Which is not a comment on what you can understand," he notes quickly, if quietly. "Just... it is, I think, so different. We... need a map," he smiles a little. "And a compass. Maybe a few stars."
Balthazar is quiet as he looks at you a moment. "No... we don't have to rush it. We shouldn't rush it." Not anymore than we already have. "And I really don't want you to be anywhere but here. I want you to stay. I hope you will." But he will understand if you do not. "Red curry?" he wonders quietly. He has ordered one for himself, and rosewater tea, and naan (three different kinds), and coconut pudding.
Those cinnamon eyes, cupped by long lashes look to you, with gentleness and love, with a little of his own fear, with the brightness of excitement. Like he is standing and staring over the edge of his own cliff...
"I'm staying." She says it quietly, but firmly, and also nonchalantly. So there. "We'll figure it out, Baz. Mmm... get me some vindaloo, if it's any good? Oh, and some mulligatawny soup."
She smiles at you, and there is love in her own face, and trust, concerns laid to rest (at least, for now). Maddie settles back, still naked, and puts her feet in your lap. "I love you," she tells you contentedly. "It's funny, but I feel at home with you."
"Vindaloo," he croons out as he sits back on the sofa. He surrenders his lap to you, however you wish to employ it. Veendaloo it sounds like. He glances over to you, lounging like a naked Cleopatra on his sofa. His mouth slowly forms a smile, and the shine in his eyes takes a distinctly different tone. He presses the button -- the order is sent. He sets the PDA on the table as he rests back against the sofa. The warmth of his hand rests in the center of your chest.
"My home is your home," Balthazar murmurs. "And when the food arrives, my bed will be your table. We'll go upstairs to eat. Maybe to the terrace if you like. It is good to sit up there in the dark, watching the city lights crowd out the stars. Though, I prefer stars," he notes.
He bends, his mouth landing in the center of your belly. He closes his eyes there. "I love you, too." It is a reminder. And a hope.
Her hands both fold over your one, holding it to her chest, and she grins. "Can we sit on the terrace naked and shock the neighbors?" Maddie asks impertinently. "Or would it be entirely too cold?"
She sits up and forward, sliding herself onto your lap and wrapping her arms around your neck. With eyes closed, she kisses your cheek. "Forever, Baz."
There is relief when you pile into him as if he were an electric blanket, when you wrap yourself around him. He finds peace and ease in that. Balthazar winds his arms around you, turning his head to catch a kiss of your lips. "It's enclosed, so.. it will be warm. As warm as we want it to be. We can shock the neighbors in comfort," he smiles. "Comfort and style..."
It is there again, the golden connection that wraps around you both, that pulls him to you, you to him. It vibrates, strummed, and the chord of it buzzes in his ear. "I'm going to hold you to that," Balthazar whispers.
And in the quiet of Uxbridge Road, while curry and vindaloo are on their way, Balthazar plucks the last plums from your lips, sweet fruit nibbled and sucked. You have such promise... if we can both learn to be patient... but how best to teach, how best to show you, and not overwhelm you?
Posted by rowan at May 11, 2009 10:33 PM
