Above, Below and In Between / Continuation of The Rest Is Silence (Hard R )

Above, Below and In Between / Continuation of The Rest Is Silence Hard R
Above, Below and In Between SND, After Vincent’s illness they have their nights of reckoning and moved forward. Adult Rating/Hard R for conjugal bliss. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = Neither of their lives was ever simple. Yet since their triumph over John Pater and Catherine’s bringing Vincent back from the edge of his greatest darkness they had seemed to feel bathed in a hallowed light.  It was as if their worlds had come together to give them a break. It had been a stroke of pure luck that Joe had recovered from his explosion injuries upstate with a cousin. By avoiding the political fray caused by Gabriel and Moreno Joe healed slowly under the tender scrutiny of loving eyes. Gabriel and Moreno, yes well, those two vermin had gotten in each other’s way and found that two men on a roof with handguns could effectively terminate each other. News of the drama had played out on the 11 o’clock news, with Catherine cautiously circling the TV in Peter’s brownstone. Why was she with Peter? She had suffered from a cyst on her ovary, and her need to rest and heal drove Peter to insist on her moving in with him.  This relocation and the security around the “black book” case rendered her incommunicado from the rest of the world. She hadn’t expected the cyst and when her initial symptoms erupted she made a trip below, thinking she was just feeling “off”, surely being with Vincent would raise her spirits, ease her pain. “Catherine” Vincent’s concern registered at the sight of his love clinging to the portal to his chamber, wan and sweating. “What is it? Where is your pain?” he caught her up into his arms, dashing to Father as she passed out with relief at reaching her love. “Vincent, you have not been well…yourself.” Father was ready with an admonition as Vincent placed her on the table top before the tunnel patriarch, “What . . . . .” “I had no choice but to carry her here, I feel Catherine is dangerously ill,” Vincent stared from anxious eyes as Father evaluated her symptoms and agreed to move her to Peter’s. = = = = = = = = = “Did you think you were pregnant?” Peter peered at Catherine over the clipboard, once they were in the pristine examination room. Catherine’s eyes dodged her Godfather. Would he believe that she had “joined” with Vincent while he lay delirious? “We loved, once” her voice hushed as she pondered whether Vincent’s child would hold within her, with all his humanity she could only hope. “Cathy, once?” Dr. Alcott’s face registered incredulity. He wore a worried expression as he went about the steps to ready her for the sonogram. “I couldn’t lose him, Peter, I felt him slipping away, it was the only thing I could do, to hold him, to let him know how much I love him” Catherine’s eyes showed her fatigue, concern and some confusion of her current diagnosis. The sonogram revealed the cyst and as Catherine recuperated she wore a mantle of sadness that nearly sang a dirge with her movements.  Catherine’s return after her medical treatment cast a wave of Vincent’s concern.  With this recovery he read her emotions and blue mood and shadowed her movements anticipating her needs for silence and conversation or tea and muffins.  Yet Vincent watched over his shoulder, second guessing the unidentifiable feeling she hosted deep within herself. For the week following her health scare she stayed with Vincent in the same way he had coddled her after the attack.  He sat guard in his chair, sleeping nights on a pallet beside her.  He never ventured an intimate touch; the closest he came to her was when he wrapped a brotherly arm around her shoulder to walk her back to her threshold at the end of the week. Catherine was resigned; they were not lovers in the real sense, how many times had he hung back from an ultimate joining? Catherine hadn’t even felt the time was right to reveal their “loving” to him and now, she’d sit with her arms encircling her self-perceived emptiness. The hours found her studying the patterns in the quilt, the nub of the crocheted wool. How many times had he thrust her back Above to find a “happy life” with a topsider to live her full potential? The bulk of her recovery time above was spent, pacing the balcony as if it were a “Widow’s Walk” on a stormy seacoast. Vincent buried himself in tunnel problems others could have remedied. He had seemed to dial down his bond, knowing she was safe within her apartment, not examining every nuance emanating from her. Catherine understood his guardianship and she wanted to trade that for his ardor. She ached that he wasn’t tuned into her as he had in the past; she ached that she couldn’t take the vibrancy of a new life to him as evidence of their loving. She felt broken so she nested with a book or long phone chats to Nancy or Jenny. = = = = = = = = “Catherine hasn’t been seen Below lately, Vincent, how is her recovery?” Father’s concern was sincere, yet he felt he had to probe as Vincent had been unfocused, withdrawn. “I feel she needs some time to reconcile all the turmoil in her office, Moreno’s involvement in such a dirty deal has appalled her” Vincent toyed with the chess piece, not quite ready to commit to a move. Father read the slope of his son’s broad shoulders; Vincent was at a loss here. “Feet of clay, yes, it can come as a shock when someone you respect is revealed as a façade” Father’s scrutiny wasn’t directed toward Catherine, he was watching his son’s expressions, his distracted air. Vincent had distanced himself from any comments on her health, and knowing her aloneness Father proposed, “Would she like to visit for the weekend?” the patriarch kept his voice light, not pushing. “I don’t believe it would be wise at this time, no, not this weekend” Vincent’s pensive eyes scanned the chessboard as if for an answer to all of life’s questions.  Before Father could engage more conversation, Vincent nodded, “I’m taking a book to the Flemings, did you have anything to add?” and barely waited for Father to shake his head “no”. Their chess game stalled. The tunnel held the cold; it held his accustomed darkness and Vincent perused the stony walls as if they also held the answer to his and Catherine’s unrest. Something happened between them and since his awakening there was barely a Bond. Although he saw no bruises or scratches on her Vincent worried. Matters that had been black or white were now taking on shades of grey, vibrant scarlets and verdant greens.  Vincent felt he had gone 12 rounds boxing himself. As the days apart progressed, in the mornings he felt none of her aspirations for a good day and by noon he wondered how her work was progressing. Tonight, if he felt as dark as last night he’d venture up prepared to discover whatever she had to share. Could he reconcile his turbulent feelings? Vincent’s dreams had been full of uncommon physical rapture. His belief in his animal “self” had been melting away since emerging from the cavern alongside Catherine.  In flashes he had seen her delivering loving expressions of her devotion, his dreams stimulated by her running her fingers thru his thick mane of golden hair.  He felt his flesh come alive under her light touch as she skimmed the light hairs covering his chest. When the dreams climaxed, he found himself delightfully released, feeling more man and less beast. Had this last “illness” released him? = = = = = = = = = = = The night air moved the scents of the city into her living room.  The restaurant down the street had begun a new menu, heavy with garlic and she laughed that if the problem with her life had been a “vampire” the ambient garlic would have whisked the bloodsucker away. Reclining on the lounge chair she wasn’t waiting for Vincent, she was waiting for an epiphany.  She had to come clean about the cavern, about her hopes for them as a couple. The ginger on the air lulled her into a doze and the sight of her, calm with hands folded over her book brought a flame of desire to Vincent as he dropped to the balcony floor. He simply could not break the spell of the moment. Vincent counted his breathes as they shortened just watching her.  Her peignoir set draping her in ivory quite like a bride awaiting her groom. The breeze moved a strand of her hair across her lips and he watched her breath cause her hair to shiver. Dare he catch the strand from her and bless her with kisses? He silently knelt, reading her as she dozed, then with his index finger he caught the hair and flipped it off her face. She did not move.  His gaze caught the moonlight on her eyelashes and this close he sensed her inviting scent. He swallowed the air in deep breaths, hoping to carry her bouquet within himself back to his chamber. With his second deep breath she shifted and sighed, was she dreaming, could she be dreaming of them? He fought it no longer; he lowered his lips slowly, promising himself that his kiss would be glancing. Within her dream she invited his kisses and his embrace. Within sleep’s embrace she took him into herself as she had on the sand floor weeks ago. While she relived the rapture of him buried deep within her, Vincent’s lips caught her spark and she reached out metaphysically to him.  Vincent felt Catherine’s lithe arms embrace him with such reality that his only recourse was to reach out to her, embrace her and draw her into his own lap. Together their lips fused ever so lightly yet ever so long.  Their furtive moans blended as their kiss continued and their bodies melted together.  When their mutual need for air became apparent they awoke wide eyed and aghast. “Catherine, I. . .” Frozen, Vincent’s azure eyes held her spellbound.  She could never remember them seeing each other like this. “No apologies, I have ached for you….. Do NOT say a word” her eyes implored along with her words. Catherine held his hands captive although he had the strength to retreat he was captivated by her soft entreaty. “Catherine, this would surely not end well, besides you’re recovering” Vincent’s concern wracked his expression, his heart bled for her. “I’ve missed you, Vincent, we need to talk…..we never spoke about what happened down there” She held on to him, wishing he would follow her into her living room. Held by her soft voice, they rose together and he caught her in an unexpected embrace. Their bodies melted into each other. “Talk? These are not words I’m feeling Catherine, I’m feeling desire rising like a demon inside me” his husky confession hypnotized her and his honesty in admitting his desire drove her into a new level of joy. Silence spoke volumes between them in those seconds and she broke from his embrace and dragged him toward the doors. “No talk out here, Vincent, I have significant thoughts I need to share with you”. With only a scant bond present what could prepare him for what she could tell him? The sun had set on those fortunate days.  His mind swirled with blood stained skies.  Vincent saw his hand in hers and dreaded what she could imagine to draw him into her living room. All their experiences had been here on the balcony, was he ready to hear whatever private thoughts she had? His mouth ran dry as he prayed to whatever god would listen. “Vincent, would you enjoy some tea?” she was already preparing the cups and the igniting the stove. He followed mutely, bracing himself. The whistle broke his reverie and his golden head shook to bring him back to their reality.  Now sitting with cups nestled in their hands they stared at each other. Catherine swallowed and began, “Love, all my prayers were answered in that cave”. She had stunned and confused him with those words. His eyes widened as he girded himself for more of her revelations. “You were tripping into such darkness, your breathing, your heartbeat – I felt all of it slipping away” She looked to the French doors and the sconces on the wall. Then Catherine watched Vincent slowly lick his bottom lip, his hands delivering the cup to feel the aromatic steam on his face. “I whispered, I cried, I beat on you . . . . . nothing seemed to revive you” Catherine’s eyes glazed with unshed tears. Vincent knew from Father’s account, she was alone with him – the two of them had been alone yet nothing was clear from those moments. “I took you” Catherine confessed to his face, “I felt you slip so far, far away and I knew in my heart that I had to take your life into my hands” Her metaphoric words left Vincent in the dark, her whispers made him beg for clarity, “You took me?” his head shook with misunderstanding and when his head settled in that delightful tilt that pulled at her heart she continued. “My dreams for us took flight when I truly bared myself to you, I kissed your still lips, I untied the layers of your shirts, your trousers, and you were cold in the dark.  I knew if I could warm you, I could bring you back” Her innocence in describing these steps confused him, what was she confessing? “Time has caught us within unbelievable times, Catherine.  Your bravery has saved my life, I have no words” his self-effacing way enchanted her. “Vincent, I literally took you.  No poetry here, I took you – I undressed myself and I rode you.  I took you into myself and at that moment when I covered your body with mine your heart took flight” Her eyes dug for his understanding. The thought of using the vernacular of the day or medical terms seemed coarse or insufficient, unfulfilling. Stillness echoed around them as the candles flickered. Within the moments of silence Vincent felt a familiar stirring; something in Catherine’s eyes elicited such a distinguishing sensation.  This was the feeling that had bled back to him in momentary flashes in the past few weeks. “Time catches us, Catherine, yet I don’t know exactly where time took us then. . . . . .Now, where are you going with this?” “We loved, Vincent, I made love to you as a woman loves a man” Now her face wore the flush of remembering their rapture. He caught her expression and blushed underneath a curtain of bronze hair. “When I rode you, and make no mistake about it.  I rode you hard your heart, your breathing came back, you clutched me with those hands of yours and your lips sought me, all of me. Your hands tenderly held my hips to yours” Her words were like a siren’s song threatening his soul to a rocky shoreline. “Your thrusts told me you were into it with me, that you could love me, passionately and carefully” “I thought it had to be a dream; I have relived this dream, Catherine.” His voice trembled. “Time….Vincent; we let time pass us by when we argued about your differences.  Now it is time to catch the experiences with both hands….together” Catherine’s hands placed the tea cup carefully on the coffee table and slid closer to Vincent where he sat pressed against the end of the love seat. “Because of the dreams I found myself asking, what have I done?” Vincent confessed. “You came back to me, Vincent. You let me bring you back from the brink of death and we breathed life into each other, that there could be a happy life between us. Time didn’t catch us, Vincent; we caught each other” her eyes dropped to the floor, suddenly demure, “and we were freed by that” “Catherine, no……” he pressed himself into the back of the sofa, his eyes narrowing until he drove the heels of his hands into his closed eyes. “This is what becomes of us? Lovers lost in a third world?” “No, Vincent, I can’t let it all go, let it all flow away because you can’t recall the feeling of us enjoying each other” Catherine’s shoulder brushed his and he dropped his hands into his lap. “I love you too much to do that.” “Then our freedom was while I was in a delirious haze?” Vincent’s eyes sought her answer. “Our freedom is within each other’s arms, living our love together” Catherine’s lips moved slowly while Vincent focused on the memories those lips had buried within his subconscious. “I want more, I need more”. Catherine begged. “We’ll feel our love, share it freely, learn from it” Catherine implored, her hand crept to his shoulder and she felt him melt under her touch. “And so it begins for us, to live our dream” Vincent slid to the floor, capturing Catherine around her waist, “Show me what we shared, my Love” he pulled her to the edge of the sofa where he fit comfortably within her knees. As he felt the heat rise off of her, she felt a soft rumbling – almost a purr. “Take me to the bedroom, Vincent” She slid dangerously close to him. “I believe I’m about to have a déjà vu experience” Vincent uncharacteristically smiled, revealing his canines. “This time, you could be the one on top” Catherine jested as she rose, pressing him back to rest on his heels. It was no use denying it; he was tied to her by his heartstrings. = = = = = = = = = = As the clouds crossed the moon and pink fingers of dawn filled their view Vincent shook his head at facing their new reality.  The sheets were damp with their heady sweat; their bodies entwined flesh pliant and welcoming to each other’s touches.  Enough of the past, enough of his recounting his shortcomings or his differences, in the embrace of this fresh morning Vincent and Catherine were becoming the couple they were destined to be. “Can you make it home without that smile on your face?” Catherine giggled, lying back on the pillow, her arm catching his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. “What? Today I've got nothing to do but smile.” He was ebullient in their discovered sensuality. “Nothing but explain to Father why you’ve been out until sunrise . . . . .” Catherine curled a length of his hair around her finger, “and you come back. . . .” “Smiling like a Cheshire cat” Vincent’s comment caught her off guard and she shook her head at his joke. “If it makes you happy, Vincent, then I’m happy” Catherine traced her fingertip down his jaw until it drew behind his ear and tickled him. “Now you’ve done it” he feigned a growl at her sensual touch and caught her to flip her over him.  With a squeal and a sigh her body fell on his and they swayed from side to side kissing progressively longer and harder. When their kisses melted his resolve to leave before dawn, he took her briskly and passionately. The act of Vincent dressing to leave became a sensuous reverse strip tease.  Catherine sat up in bed, her arms around her knees as she watched him pulling on socks, then his thin linen breeches that captured his swaying manhood now long and relaxed. She pointed around her bedroom to his strewn clothes and giggled in the half light, forgetting his night sight.  He seemed to enjoy her direction, taking unusual care to draw on his clothing for her enjoyment. Now he crawled toward her on the bed and placed a single kiss on the tip of her nose. “I Take My Leave of You, I do, my love, take leave of you, may God's good grace go with us both*”, his words dissolved with the warmth of his breath and she hoped to carry that breath with her all day. “Will you come below tonight?” “I will” Catherine promised. “I believe you know what I’m going to ask” Vincent’s confidence was flowing as he sat on the bedside, putting on his boots. “What, love, are you going to ask?” Catherine grinned wide and moved to her knees behind him, catching his shoulders in her gentle hands. “I, who own nothing, ask you, who have given me everything, to be my wife” Vincent smiled over his shoulder at her as he rose to leave. “You own my heart, forever, and yes, I’ll be yours” Catherine stepped from the bed, naked and sated, covered in the scent of their love.  As their fingers separated she closed her eyes as he left for the first time thru the bedroom doors.  In the solitude of her apartment she replayed the hours of their loving, knowing their life together was their destiny. = = = = = = = = = = = = = Within a few evenings Vincent and Catherine spoke simple vows before a small gathering. Celebrating with a banquet from Henry, they broke apart Sticky Rice Cake and fed each other ripe, fat cherries for fertility, merrymaking, and festivity; tangerines and pomelos for luck and abundance. From that bridal morning on…..Vincent was different.  Was it the sex thing? Not that Catherine was complaining, but when it was just the two of them there was a subtle change in him, a feral undercurrent with an increasing dose of passionate dominance thrown in for good measure. His shoulders were more square, his smile more frequent, his eyes sparkled in Catherine’s presence. “The brownstone I saw, Vincent it’s available. . . . . I could move to Trial Division. Stop all the insane investigating” Catherine’s idea bore sweet fruit. So their life detoured from the pleasant balcony of their beginnings to a respite four stories tall ready to be filled with the sounds of their abundant happiness.  By Winterfest they held a family fete in the dining room warmed by the deep cherry wood and velvet draperies drawn tightly over the louvered wood shutters. Security within his humanity developed more of Vincent’s talents, growing into the full measure of a man, alongside of Cullen and Kanin they realized their need to shoulder the burdens of policing the Tunnels.  Vincent spent his new time in a basement workshop working wood into graceful furnishings for their new home.  Catherine was spellbound by the scent of wood dust within his musky head of golden tresses.  Many evenings Vincent traded aura of the wood and sweat for Catherine’s loving fingers working ginger soap into lather all over his labor sculpted body. “It does a body good to have this whirlpool tub” He felt self-conscious that his lifestyle had advanced to a generous soaking tub equipped with jets.  Catherine adjusted the dimmer to lower the bank of lights as she lit the shelf’s candle collection, a joining gift from Rebecca. “It does my body good to have my husband scrub my back” Catherine blushed as she untied her robe and turned to let it slip from her shoulders.  Vincent’s rapt attention caused him to hold his breath until his tongue rode his lips to dampen them.  The candle’s glint caught the white of his canines as his smile widened; Catherine answered his flirting by wrapping her arms over her delicate pink nipples as she took tiny steps toward him in the fragrant, bubbling water. “I’ll be happy to scrub your…..front” she demurred as she slid into the tub with him. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = Yet, his carnal nature held Vincent to what he perceived as “human”, although he accepted Catherine’s nips and love bites he restrained himself to lapping his sueded tongue or nibbles with his unique lips. Catherine’s wide green/gray eyes roiled with a hunger, she needed to feel his power, she desired backing into his embrace and feel his hands wrap around her, as if stroking honey from a honeycomb.  As the New Year approached she found herself throwing a hip check into him in the kitchen or grinding back into him as he approached with dirty dishes from the dinner table. Their bond had begun to return to him as they shared more and further intimacies endorsed their dreams and acted out their fantasies. Yet each time when Catherine rolled to her stomach or extended her neck Vincent avoided what it connoted with a more “human” posture. Consider the night they had the argument after they caught site of the couple in the Park. In their bedroom when she exposed her neck to him, lying there totally still, waiting in silence, she knew exactly what she was doing. At that moment, they could have had a discussion about “amour publique”, but that single act said what words couldn’t as she “spoke” to her husband that he would immediately understand. Somehow she thought that if this was months ago he, most likely, would have acknowledged the need to retreat, find another way through their “path”. But now, in their married state, he most definitely took her up on it – in spades – without a word being said about it. Then take last night, a worthy instance of the feral undercurrent. There wasn’t anything she could put her finger on, other than the fact that he came back to the brownstone …well…with one thing on his mind, and frankly, Catherine wasn’t going to think about the reasons why. “I brought home Pot Stickers and Mu Shu Pork” she announced as she pushed thru the brownstone’s foyer. Catherine stepped out of her pumps and headed toward the kitchen where she heard Vincent setting the table.  The bud vase held a single red rose, his intended message clear. “Ah, the red rose tonight?” She caught his smirk over his shoulder as he reached into the cabinet.  He was wide open to her throwing her arms around his lean waist. “Have I told you how much I enjoy your new clothes?”  Catherine’s hands skimmed the chambray shirt simply worn over a Henley; she could feel the planes of his muscles and his quickening heartbeat. “Every evening, especially when I take them off” Vincent’s arm lowered to catch her hand, delivering a kiss into her palm before he held it to his cheek.  Steaming cartons sat on the counter and suffice it to say other appetites were satisfied. Tonight there was an unmistakable urgency in Vincent, his marking her more than usual, licking, telling her how delicious she was and how she thrilled him, all things that generally are not front and center in his pillow talk. They had tangled and “danced” then fell into dreamy sleep.  Catherine was on her side facing Vincent, curled up next to him, the top of her head touching the top of his arm. Her left hand, out from under the edge of the quilt Mary had made for them jammed between them, resting gently on his bicep, her head and hand the only parts of her not under it.  Vincent silently thanked the fates; he had come to understand how adorable Catherine was when she was like this. Through the Bond he knew, Catherine was dreaming, which usually comprised a jumble of vignettes, snippets of her life rearranged, circumstances changed to create a new story or to reinvent history. No big surprise, Vincent felt transfused, loving her dreams of them best, always a nice prelude to…you know…except of course when they’re about one of their past “Difference” discussions, but sometimes even those were entertaining, especially when they reinvented history to their advantage. It was always stimulating and illuminating to see the machinations of his wife’s mind. Vincent knew, it was their Bond, it sounded invasive, but on those rare occasions when he did eavesdrop on Catherine’s emotions, when he lingered to “intrude”, the filter quickly went back into place. Being separate from the world, Vincent hadn’t built concrete dreams – he had conjured the images from literature or strung together images described by those who COULD go above. Her dreams, you could say was just one more way he lived vicariously through Catherine. This evening, though, she dreamed of Elliott. It didn’t happen often. The first time, well…okay, Vincent admitted it, the first time…okay, he was jealous, actually it drew on anger as deep as any he held for John Pater and it hurt too. Elliott was lurking from beyond the grave, glaring from behind the roaring flames of the Compass Rose. Vincent ruminated, “How do I compete with all that he was?” Then he remembered their conversation when she said she couldn’t accept Elliott’s brand of love, just his marriage proposal. Besides, they were joined now, right? Certainly on those sporadic instances, let’s just say Vincent constantly made sure she didn’t think about Elliott when she woke up. Vincent couldn’t really blame her, though, it’s her subconscious mind, not what she’s consciously thinking, and he had realized it isn’t about being with Elliott as much as Catherine tying up the loose ends of her life, her mind reorganizing the past to better fit with the present. So, at those times, Vincent would usually bow out. = = = = = = = = One evening, after a grueling Council meeting when Vincent’s returning light steps thru the bedroom carried him closer he watched Catherine in bed, laying on her side, facing away from his side of the bed. Vincent hadn’t had a “side” of the bed since Devin left.  This “sharing” was multitudes better than his early life. Sharing a king size bed with Catherine felt so much better to share the lumpy bed with Devin. She was wearing one of her watercolor gowns, the quilt over her. On that cusp between sleep and waking, he felt her disquiet as he looked down at her from the foot of the bed, moving to his side of the bed he stripped off his clothes. Vincent slowly got into bed, moving against her, and spooning to her he gently draped an arm across her waist. Vincent’s emotions swelled as he breathed her in, eyes closed, nose moving across her hair, her scent filling him. Oh……. She has no idea what she did to him on a daily basis. He raised his head and kissed her gowned shoulder lightly; his mouth lingered, and rested his cheek against her, listening to her. “Catherine…” Her shoulder dropped, she moved her head forward, turning and pressing it into the pillow under her, exposing her neck. It was more than a husband’s simple joy looking down at his wife, a current coursed through him as he gazed at her translucent skin and saw her pulse, now quickening under her skin. This powerful feeling caused Vincent to close his eyes. His leonine head moved back and tilted as he breathed in Catherine’s fragrant call . ... A wave of power, arousal, and absolute desire overwhelmed him. He wanted her, wanted to devour her in kisses, lapping his suede tongue over every part of her – but he hesitated, looking at her, so still, trusting, waiting. Summoning restraint before his mouth descended, the tip of his tongue touched her, circling before flattening against her skin, kissing her, leaving, and moving back, his mouth on her neck, canines pressing gently into skin, nipping her gently as his hand pushed the gown off her shoulder and moved to unbutton the gown front.  Vincent could feel her body shuddering, the force of his thirst ruling against instinct, as he pulled the gown up over her hip. Catherine rolled toward him, pushing under his furred weight, her arm moving over and around his broad neck, her fingers running through his golden hair, coming to rest on trident of fur down the nape of his neck. Moving partially onto her, his distinctive mouth on hers, open, tongues meeting, kissing hungrily, a restrained hand on her breast pressing, her hand reaching for him, her palm rubbing the tip of his manhood, fingers reaching down to caress his most intimate places. Vincent’s hand skimmed down her torso, his knuckle exploring her, she moaned through their kissing, her hips began to move against his thumb as he stroked her, the fleshy heel of his palm stroking over her mound. Travelling down her body, grasping the edge of a pillow, pushing the covers off, his tongue teased her hardening nipple, taking it up in his mouth, suckling; she arched her back at the force of it, gasping. Descending canines on her flesh, almost-biting, teasing, his purr and soft growls mingling with her moans and smothered sighs, Vincent shoved the pillow under her raised buttocks. His tongue delved into her, her back arching as he moved up the front of her, closing his mouth on her, sucking, she thrashed, her hands reaching, trying to pull his head hard against her, his mouth consuming her. Fingers slick with her, the flood of her arousal surrounding them, she teetered on the edge, head back, mouth open, panting, and he slowed his hand as he knelt, balancing weight on strong, spread legs. Vincent raised her legs up against his chest and leaned forward, looking at her, her face full of longing, “Please…” Her hips tipped forward, she was exposed to him like an O’Keefe flower.  The sight of her readiness gave him a shiver as he looked down to see himself plunge deep into her. Resisting the primal urge to throw his head back with a rumble of a growl now just a measured sigh escaped him, “Oh. Catherine”. What is bliss now he has “his Catherine”? Is it the simple feeling of her hand in his or the complexity of being totally joined, his hardness buried within her warm muscled flesh? Yes, his Catherine so warm and wet, one hand moving down on her, the other bringing her foot level with his mouth, closing on the arch of her foot, tongue moving, canines pressing and pulling. His tawny hips pulled back and thrust totally into her, again and again, the rhythm taking both to the edge of completion, his muscled frame swaying, holding her legs to steady himself. Vincent’s raspy tongue cascaded down her leg as he played at nicking at her calf; he lapped at the perspiration behind her knee as Catherine’s gentle fingertips caressed him. When they shared a look he feasted on her expression of lust and leaned forward between her legs, “Come here…” She flung her arms around his neck, raising herself, mouths hard against each other, kissing through moans, him moving relentlessly into her.  Vincent leaned back, pushing into her as she cried out writhing uncontrollably. He felt that telltale tightening from the bottom of his toes and ached for completion, he moved her leg off of him as he pushed the other from him toward her shoulder, turning it slightly, a furred hand on her ankle, bracing her leg against her body, his tongue running down the length of it, reaching the soft skin behind her knee, then to stop, his head moved back, his mouth opened, leaving a love bite there with the feral marks as evidence. The union of her warmth throttling his steely length, his thrilling at the feel of her flesh under his lips led him to pulse within her.  Vincent’s ears tuned to the sounds of their Bond, their coming rapture, he felt the rumble of his heartbeat, the cadence of her ecstasy, and anticipated the post coital silence of their night. . . . .Everything else falling away they rose together into an escalating shower of white light. His mouth left her reluctantly, ever so conscious of searching surreptitiously for punctures with his tongue. Still joined to her, Vincent leaned forward, scooping her up, bringing her up against his sweat gleamed chest  her robe still on her forearms and now tight around her waist, trailing behind her. Holding it as she freed her arms, Vincent wrapped around her in a tight embrace, Catherine’s legs around his lean hips, foreheads dancing against each other. She rested her head on his brawny golden shoulder, her arms around her love, her face nuzzling the strong chords of his neck. She whispered, “I’m in love with everything you are…” Vincent returned the adoration and kissed her shoulder. “As I love you.” Vincent listened to the sound of the night, hearing her relaxed breathing and steady heartbeat, and feeling her body up against his.  They lay, breathing in the scent of their love, the heady honeyed scent of spent bodies, each of them secretly admitting they could stay like this forever. Her hands slid slowly down his back, coming to rest just above his buttocks. Looking up at him, she relished that smile he rarely showed even in his world before she fell asleep.  = = = = = = = = = Hearing the sound of the shower water running over Vincent, she argued with herself, struggling between berating or for being childish and naïve – did she really expect to slay the dragon who breathed the fiery gospel of his “animal side”? Even though Catherine knew there were things about their life “above” that would take years to iron out it didn’t change the angst that had consumed her on the nights she had wanted to drive him a bit wilder. Yet, she had to measure the distance carefully knowing how he objected to her giving up everything. She stared at the bathroom door and sighed, he couldn’t stay in there forever. She opened the door to see him step out of the shower, roughing his furred flesh with the bath sheet,  his sculptured body appearing twice….his rear view closest to her and his mirrored image, that delectably muscled chest, facing the mirrored wall. He extended his hand to her, “Look, at us...” She grasped his hand. “I do, whenever I can.” He stepped toward her. “Come here.” He wrapped his muscle chorded arms around her, hugging her, and leaned back, looking down. “What do you want to do today?” “That’s a loaded question” She smirked and brushed her face in the damp furred center of his chest. “Are you armed to answer it?” He turned her slightly and quickly scooped her up in his arms. “VINCENT!” her exclamation nearly surprised him. “Yes, my love?” He leaned down, his mouth stirring hers. “What are you doing?” Her arms intuitively move around his neck. “I’m taking you back to bed.” “You are?” Vincent moved his face toward her. “I thought you wanted to spend the morning….” They shared that look of mutual curiosity. “…in bed.” “Were you…?” He looked at her innocently. “Stop doing that!” “What?” He pretended not to know what she spoke about, suddenly interested in something across the room. “Don’t be coy with me.” He leaned down and bestowed a brusque kiss, straightened, and moved toward the bed. “Come on, you really can’t blame me, I’m hungry for you. You’ve said yourself; we have to make up for lost time” Vincent playfully dropped her on the bed and followed to drop onto his knees, stroking her hair, enrapt in her early morning glow. “I know this is new ground, Catherine, being married, sharing an Above and a Below life, we’re in this together” “Yes, we are plowing new ground” She outlined his lower lip with the tip of her finger. Catherine watched his breath begin to labor. “Uh huh…” wordless sounds mingled between them. She sighed, stretching languorously against him, his mouth on hers, she asked, “all day?” “We simply cannot spend the entire day in bed unless we begin early” He then kissed more insistently, his right arm moving under her, maneuvering her, his other hand sliding off her hip, as a pair of nails filed a bit dull trailed over her buttocks, the surprise of his filed nails drawing rows of electricity across the roundness of her flesh. Their bodies met in a joyous fission, his furred chest dragging across her silken back, Catherine driving against him wanting more. Vincent’s pelvis instinctively pressed against her pillowed buttocks and as her breath caught she felt him hard against her, “Mmmmnn,” her delicate hand moved blindly, reaching for his steely length. Her touch pushed the air out of him as he felt her fingers glancing at first on his satin skin. As if his voice was expelled by her grasp he rasped into her ear, just above a whisper, “Oh, my Love.” Bent over her kneeling form, Vincent’s hands move up from the gentle slope of her hips, rushing to catch the outsides of her breasts. Who was moaning? Who was sighing? Neither cared, they touched on uncharted paths too excited that he was ready to press into her this way, Catherine submitted to whatever touch Vincent was issuing – now as gentle strokes moved in a graceful arc over her shoulder blades she felt his warm exhalations and the power of his hips moving in tandem with her rhythm. His mouth on her neck, his hands cupping ready breasts, moving by the grace of their Bond, feeling her joy at this position he pressed the heel of his hand, then fingers encircling her nipple Does it excite Vincent more to rely on their Bond? Without seeing her expressions, he tuned into her and trailed open mouthed kisses over her spine, her shoulder; the hollow of her neck. He kissed hungrily, her bearing back into him matching his urgency, canines pressing against her neck, his mouth consuming her. His thumb and index finger hungrily grasped her nipple; his pressure the perfect balance between pleasure and pain.  He caught her heart’s transmission, as she rocked into him with more fervor; hungry to feel him buried within her. Vincent murmured “mine”, his fingers woven into her hair, licking the length of her spine, whispering his mantra of “mine, forever” between flicking butterfly kisses with his tongue, the tip of it following her shoulder and back to her spine, ever so often canines dragging as her moans confirm what the Bond declared. “ahaaahhhhhhhh” she moaned lasciviously, feeling the pull of his mouth within the deepest part of her. Now eager to please her, his thumbs slid across her belly to meet over her navel, as his fingers threaded into her curls at the apex of her thighs. Pushing harder against him, he retreated down her spine, pulling away from her.  This absence of his heat caused her to cry out, “No, closer, fill me” and he ached to bury himself within her honeyed center. “Please.” She cried out to the heavens to rein him back to her. Weak with anticipation Catherine gulped air and pressed back, following his retreat, only to have Vincent catch her hips gently and knee her thighs a bit further apart. Feeling her heat, scenting her ardor he caught his rigid length and gently dragged this hot flesh back and forth across her soft buttocks, “This is what you want?” he let his weighty heat rest on her as he bent to whisper his question. Catherine’s answer was a resounding hiss of “yes, yes, yessssss” With her blessing Vincent drew back and trailed the flesh of his fingers between her thighs and up her hot wet center, then coated himself with her honey. Posing a tender push, his thickness spread her waiting flesh and they savored the newness of these sensations. She held him tightly, arching back to grab every centimeter of his fevered length. When she realized his intent to please her this way, her heart soared and that reflected in their Bond.  Armed with her encouragement, Vincent lost himself in their awesome shared sensations. “AAaahhhhhhhh………” they shared the wordless exclamation. She held him within her, grasping and hungry as his hips moved first slowly, then slapped feverishly against her.  As their bodies bloomed with the sheen of their exertion they reveled in their passion’s new dance. Knowing Catherine’s desire to feel to him this way initially had disturbed him, wasn’t it animalistic to mount her, to dominate her without facing each other? It was what she wanted, for so long. Sliding, thrusting all within the sounds of their excitement Vincent found she was slipping toward the white light of completion, dragging him closely along. Filling her powerfully, cradling her soft hips in his hands, her name on his lips he cried out “Yes, yes, yes” before he buried his furred nose in her waves of tousled hair.  Between her magnetic pull and his energetic drive he was impelled to draw her sweet flesh into his ravenous mouth. One of his hands grasped her breast; the other cradled her hip as she moved with him without thinking, his mouth open, canines pressing against her declaring through his kiss, “Catherine, Oh, you’re indescribable.” His noble face buried in her hair, inhaling, and his mouth moved kisses to rest on her neck, his lips against her skin where her pulse beat a fervid rhythm. Arching deeply, head thrown back to move into his bite, meeting his mouth, praying for the piercing kiss a shudder ran thru Catherine’s body. As they neared the beckoning light, continuing to move together, he moved his head slightly, his mouth trailed from her neck to her ear, “I love you, Catherine” They were seized together and sent hurling thru a refining heat that burned away the world, only they remained in the afterglow. Gracefully, Vincent fell back onto his heels and drew Catherine back with him, he held her close to his chest, rivulets of sweat between them. “Do you have any idea how delicious you are…you thrill me….” As Vincent regained his strength he leaned back enjoying the weight of Catherine’s spent body against his. Their bodies had crashed together, now they were recovering together.  Their dance was graceful and infinite. Now there was nothing but their joining and the warmth emanating from where their bodies joined. Nothing else mattered, but Vincent being within her. His fingers threaded between hers as their breathing slowed together. Letting go of the tension holding them up they fell to their sides, still joined. The tide of their orgasm receded and crested taking them into a peaceful middle world between Above and Below. It was their world between worlds. Finis Rusty Hough Bader writes Moonlight Inspired Fanfic also at this site *I Take My Leave of You  (15th century) by Džore Držić, translated by Wikisource