unpavemypaths | open post

[His forehead presses closer, his face disappearing into her neck, where every breath smells and tastes like her. He feels rubbed raw, inside out, still trying to catch his breath and hold on to the moment that is slipping through his fingers like water, never really there, even if it felt like it. God, why can’t she be his? Why can’t this be their forever? He thought life was cruel enough before all of this, all his memories torn up and thrown out for him to stumble through at random, why couldn’t he at least have something good?]

I want you. Genie, I only want you. [It’s nonsensical, whispered, small and guilty, like a confession. Maybe all of his lives do want her, even when someone else is in the picture. How else can he explain how his heart beats in time with hers? How his hands remember the feel of her body, the press of her skin? How his very bones ache when she isn’t around? She has rewritten every fiber of his being, every cell in his body screaming her name. How can he not belong to her?]

You have me. You always have.

[She can't keep the sadness out of her voice, though. At some point that changes, they both have to know that. Imogene never really asked why it is he puts that distance between them when the older version comes around, but she's picked up enough to know that he's with his soulmate at that point, at least usually.

She wants to tell him it's going to be okay for both of them, but fuck if it doesn't feel that way right now, so she just says, softly:] I'm all yours.

[He nods against her neck again, feeling guilty for not telling her about Lyn. That his other version found her. Eventually it’s going to come out and he feels like it will hurt Genie more than him. He doesn’t say anything, just presses another kiss to her neck. After a moment, he slowly lets her down, his own arms tired, her legs still shaky, unfortunately they can’t stay like that forever, no matter how hard he tries.

He stays close once she’s on her own feet again, immediately pulling her to him in an embrace, soaking up as much comfort as he can, offering it as well, knowing it won’t be here for much longer. He presses a kiss to her temple, to the tip of her ear, whispering,] I just wish we had more time.

[She doesn't mind being put down as long as he's not moving away. Her arms resettle around him, hand moving softly up and down his back, her cheek against his chest. Breathing him in while she still can.]

Me too. [She turns her head enough to press a kiss into his shoulder softly, resting her forehead there, eyes closed.] But -- you know where I am now. The next time you can come looking for me.

[And hopefully, if they're both lucky, nothing will have changed by then, he won't have someone else or something she has to worry about spoiling. Maybe they'll get to steal away at least a couple more times first.]

I will. [Emphatic and quick. No matter what his body is doing, or where the present version of him is he’ll always seek out Imogene. He needs at least a bit more of this or he’ll go insane, can’t even consider that it would be the last time.

He buries his head in her hair again, holding onto her, reluctant to move, even as the sweat cools on their skin and they become sticky messes, he refuses to pull away. Even when they were together before, things were rarely like this, their intimacy often interrupted or rushed, always having to keep quiet in case someone else in the house would hear. They didn’t get a chance to bask in the afterglow, to comfort and hold each other. It’s bittersweet to have it now, to discover a new and beautiful aspect of their relationship and not know if it could be, not only the first, but final time it ever happens.]

[She loses track of time, loses track of everything, just holding on to him. It's a rare thing these days. She's always running from one thing to the other, keeping herself busy so she doesn't have enough time to think so much. It's easier to push that away with his arms around her. Easier to just breathe for a little while.

She doesn't know how long it's been when she does shift, pulling away just so she can lean up and kiss him softly, offering a crooked smile.] Come on. We should clean up a little. [Not that she's going to let him out of her sight while she does that. Or at all, until he's gone, this version of him at least.]

[There’s a fair amount of grumbling when she pulls away but it would probably be good to clean up some. And it doesn’t seem like she’s pulling away completely, staying close, keeping a hand on him in someway. He falls into step behind her when she suggests it, his arms wrapping around her middle, his face still nuzzling into her neck, harder to walk but satisfies his urge to stay attached to her like a barnacle.]

How many orgasms can a person have before they pass out? Should we go for the record? [It’s mostly a joke but give him another hour and who knows.]

It's probably in one of my textbooks somewhere, if you feel like looking. [She's laughing a little, letting him cling on to her even as she leads him to the bathroom. The shower sounds like an exhausting amount of standing, but there's washcloths and towels on a little rack inside the door, and it doesn't take much to clean up enough to feel better. She's never quite out of reach, her hands careful and tender against him, taking care of him in a way she never really got to do before.

She should probably find more clothes, should encourage him to eat and call people to tell them he's okay, something useful like that -- instead she just kisses him soundly once she's done.]

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