Post by Jack Lupus on Jul 1, 2007 1:01:27 GMT -5
The bars are her haven, swirls of smoke and rusty music and a parade of unfamiliar faces searching, always searching. She doesn’t recognize him immediately, the man in shadow nursing a drink that she can smell from the door. His gaze is downcast, averted, but then he looks up and his green eyes are glazed over but they meet hers and they’re staring through her again, burning with that violent purpose that attracted her in the first place like a moth to the flame. Jack.
She’s in his lap and things are alternately speeding up and going in slow motion. She knows where this is going but she doesn’t stop it because she can’t remember where it came from. She has to concentrate, pulling wandering lips away from his to gasp against his neck, breathing in his scent again, trying not to remember the scent of another.
His pulse is louder than the music for a moment and she uses that to get her bearings, to remember how much she took, how much more she needs to keep going, but the music starts again and she’s swallowed whole. His hand against the small of her back makes her arch forward and his lips are at her throat, soft, like a whisper.
She pulls away, stands, and the room is spinning, spinning faster and then slower like it wants to give her a fair chance. Jack is reaching, reaching, always reaching for her, telling her to come back but she shakes her heads and murmurs; “Not tonight.”
He watches her as she leaves, even as she turns away his eyes burn holes into her shirt, into her skin and past the flesh and bone until he’s looking at her heart, and it’s beating, beating, but not for him.
At the apartment she undresses for bed and falls in next to Xander, he doesn’t wake so she kisses him, gentle at first, like feathers, then harder, teeth scraping skin, and she wonders if he can taste Jack’s whiskey on her lips, if he can smell him on her like a cheap perfume the way she can sometimes smell and taste Carrie on him.
She’s in his lap and things are alternately speeding up and going in slow motion. She knows where this is going but she doesn’t stop it because she can’t remember where it came from. She has to concentrate, pulling wandering lips away from his to gasp against his neck, breathing in his scent again, trying not to remember the scent of another.
His pulse is louder than the music for a moment and she uses that to get her bearings, to remember how much she took, how much more she needs to keep going, but the music starts again and she’s swallowed whole. His hand against the small of her back makes her arch forward and his lips are at her throat, soft, like a whisper.
She pulls away, stands, and the room is spinning, spinning faster and then slower like it wants to give her a fair chance. Jack is reaching, reaching, always reaching for her, telling her to come back but she shakes her heads and murmurs; “Not tonight.”
He watches her as she leaves, even as she turns away his eyes burn holes into her shirt, into her skin and past the flesh and bone until he’s looking at her heart, and it’s beating, beating, but not for him.
At the apartment she undresses for bed and falls in next to Xander, he doesn’t wake so she kisses him, gentle at first, like feathers, then harder, teeth scraping skin, and she wonders if he can taste Jack’s whiskey on her lips, if he can smell him on her like a cheap perfume the way she can sometimes smell and taste Carrie on him.