So Strange You Are My Lover
Chapter 1
Author: Silent Moon
E-mail: [email protected]
Rated: R
Genre: Romance/Alternate Reality
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~~~~~~~@
Serena lay curled with satisfaction in her lover's arms. She reflected ironically,
that, were it anyone else, she would not use the word 'lover', it was too charged--too
akin to the real thing....but as she lifted herself up to look down at him she smiled,
Darien was so gentle, and warm and utterly tender with her that he could be nothing else.
He not only fit the word lover, he enhanced it.
She glanced around the loft of his beautiful apartment. Canvases, paints, sheets, and brushes
everywhere.....light falling across it all in delightful beams from the high windows.
He was an artist....a painter.....she smiled deeper....~How did I ever end up here?~
And it was true. Serena was no artist. On the contrary she was a successful, ambitious,
well respected, married business woman. And yet here she was, in the arms of her lover, a man
who seemed her complete opposite.....
But she knew how she ended up with him. She'd been the one to make the move. She'd been the
one to find him at that party.....pick him up....begin the affair....
How long ago that all seemed now....
She looked at the clock and frowned, it was getting late. She regretfully woke Darien, her
voice soft and gentle--a voice she realized, she only used here,
"I've gotta go..."
He simply smiled, murmured something incoherantly, and pulled her in closer.
"Hey-y!" She protested.
"Isonlyearlyyet..." He slurred, sleep heavy in his voice.
She giggled but pulled away, "Come on....I have to get up!"
He sighed and released her. All the strength in the world didn't compete with the fact
that she wanted to leave. Wanted to go home and continue the life she shared with her
husband. Darien watched after her retreating figure....ivory skin, long, long golden
hair that she refused to cut even though her husband pressured her....she was not tall, but
the slender length of her limbs made her appear so.....
He waited till she disappeared into the bathroom and he heard the shower come on before turning
away again, rolling over on his back. Another night together. How many times had they made
love now? How long had it been?
It was ages since that party. Her husband had been away and she'd snuck out to it. Drank
happily and even sung a song while the pianist played. She had a beautiful voice. But she
refused to take it seriously. Apparently singing did not become a successful business tycoon,
he thought ironically.
He finally roused himself and threw on clothes. Try as he may, mornings would not stretch
to fit his desires. Though he would never admit that given the choice he'd stretch them
indefintely. That might mean that he...that he...
He shook himself free of such thoughts and headed down to make breakfast. The rest of the
apartment was tidy and clean. Comfortable furniture, fish tank, his bedroom off to the left.
But he and Serena never slept in the bedroom. The loft was their place, a bedroom, she'd said,
was too personal. He hadn't bothered to point out that his loft was the most personal place in
the world to him. The place where he put his heart and soul and thoughts on canvas every day.
It hadn't seemed important at the time.
Besides, she wouldn't understand. She knew nothing about art. Had never even been to one of
his shows. Would never.
He heard her coming down the loft steps, "Mmmmm, smells like pancakes!"
He had to smile at this.
She grinned at the apple slice on top, cut sideways so that the star showed. Apple stars.
She'd never known about them until she'd met him, he couldn't believe it, but she'd honestly
never cut an apple that way. And ever since, he put one on top of her pancakes.
They ate quietly. What were two people supposed to talk about when they were having an
affair? When they lived completely different lives? The one thing that made their affair so
safe, both thought, was how opposite they seemed. An artist and a business woman?? It was
entirely impossible. They had nothing in common. Their outlooks, philosophies, values and
goals.
Even their dress, for Darien wore the loose, rough, casual clothes of an artist, rarely
dressing up. While Serena defined the word "preppy". She looked like something out of a
magazine, and not just her trendsetting skirt and blouse business suits either, even her
weekend clothes were polo, ralph lauren sport style stripes and denim, sweaters and tidy
sandals.
But there were fine details that gave her away, Darien thought.
Details only a lover would notice.
The little bit of sparkle she always wore on her lips, the fact that she kept her hair
long. Not just long, extremely long. Her golden hair tumbled nearly to her ankles--a fact few
people knew. She wore it neatly up everyday.
These details revealed another side of her. A side that stubbornly refused to be silent, if
only to reveal itself in brief snatches of her appearance and character. But Darien kept
his opinion of this to himself as he watched her eat. There was the hint of sparkle on her
lips, like a fairy touch, hidden by the rather overwhelming business presence she had, even
here, relaxed at his table. She was one of those women that--though she ate politely, and
carefully and even gracefully--something always managed to get on her nose or cheek. It was
very endearing--though it embarassed her terribly.
"So...how's work?" He said softly, reluctant to break the reverie with half-awkward
conversation. But words were never really awkward between them.
"The usual, busy busy and busy."
He chuckled.
"How's your set coming along?" She returned, licking the syrup from her fingertips hurriedly.
"Pretty well. I don't know how happy I am with it though. I think I may change a couple of
the original pieces."
"You always say that."
"I know, but this time I mean it!"
"You always say that too."
He laughed. It was true. He did.
She smiled back at him. Wondering how on earth he really DID manage to decide when a painting
was done. When it did what he wanted. Did he pre-plan them or just start and see what
happened? She shook herself, these weren't things she needed to know. She had no business
knowing such private things about him. They were friendly with one another and that was all.
Anymore and a full-fledged relationship might develop. And that could not happen.
She sighed. She'd long given up the romantic ideals she'd cherished as a young girl. In fact
she no longer believed there was such a thing as love. Especially romantic love. Her husband
had cured her of such ridiculous fantasies. She smiled ironically.
Her husband. Alan.
He was a smart, proud, practical man. His singular drive to succeed had inspired her when
she was helpless in deciding the path her future should take. Torn between arts and sciences.
His philosophies on life and work and making the most of one's best skills had seemed so
wise and sensible. Under his guidance she'd honed her managerial skills to their finest. Now
she led a team of marketing researchers with a vision and authority unmatched in her field.
It was a very busy, life-encompassing job.....but still she snuck out to art shows and music
recitals....wondering uneasily in rare moments of solitude if perhaps a balance between the two
weren't possible.
She still loved to sing and play the piano. But these were frivolous wastes of time. Childish
impulses that needed to be nipped keenly in the bud. Or so thought her husband. She fought
him tooth and nail about having a piano but lost. Inconsequently, Darien had a piano. A
beautiful one.
So she indulged this side of her nature in secret. While her husband was away on one of his
many business trips or lectures. And so she'd met Darien. A man who'd made a living by
following the very ideals and intuitions her husband waved away with barely a second thought.
The attraction between them had been absolute and overwhelming. Even a little drunk she'd
felt her mind reel intellectually at it as well as physically. And surrendoring to her
desire had been the ultimate indulgence. The ultimate rebellion against her husband. And
likewise the ultimate pleasure. Making love with Darien was like no other experience she'd
ever had. And being that it was so absolutely satisfying both physically and intellectually,
she came back again and again.
"What are you thinking about?" Darien's voice broke her thoughts.
"Hmmm...oh nothing." She looked at her watch and stood, "I've gotta go. Meeting at 9."
"And 10 and 11 and--"
"Yes, yes, point taken."
"I'm right aren't I?"
She laughed, "As always."
She turned to leave but he caught her hand, "Will you be back soon?"
Her face grew serious, "As soon as I can." Her voice was soft and traced with the barest
of huskiness.
He smiled, "Till then."
She nodded and hurried out the door. Darien returned to the kitchen and cleaned up the
breakfast dishes, humming softly. His mind elsewhere. He was worried.
Someone was coming home, back to the city after being gone for over two years. She was his
ex-girlfriend. And he was still in love with her.
For unlike Serena, Darien's ideals were still well intact. He believed in one love, for all
of life. Ann had been his first love, and he would have faith in that love--had kept faith
these past two years.
And now she was coming home again. And she'd asked to see him.
He was worried because he would have to end the affair with Serena, and that shouldn't be
bothering him. They'd agreed long ago that if he met someone the affair would end.
It shouldn't be bothering him. But it was.
He sighed, and headed up to paint away some of his frustrations. Passing by the rumpled
make shift bed in the corner as he went. Rooting through a box near the window till he
retrieved a photo. An old photo.
A pretty red haired girl smiled out at him. Her smock coloured with paint. Ann.
An artist. It made sense. It would take an artist to understand another artist wouldn't it?
Then why was he worried?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~~~~~@
Chapter 1
Author: Silent Moon
E-mail: [email protected]
Rated: R
Genre: Romance/Alternate Reality
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~~~~~~~@
Serena lay curled with satisfaction in her lover's arms. She reflected ironically,
that, were it anyone else, she would not use the word 'lover', it was too charged--too
akin to the real thing....but as she lifted herself up to look down at him she smiled,
Darien was so gentle, and warm and utterly tender with her that he could be nothing else.
He not only fit the word lover, he enhanced it.
She glanced around the loft of his beautiful apartment. Canvases, paints, sheets, and brushes
everywhere.....light falling across it all in delightful beams from the high windows.
He was an artist....a painter.....she smiled deeper....~How did I ever end up here?~
And it was true. Serena was no artist. On the contrary she was a successful, ambitious,
well respected, married business woman. And yet here she was, in the arms of her lover, a man
who seemed her complete opposite.....
But she knew how she ended up with him. She'd been the one to make the move. She'd been the
one to find him at that party.....pick him up....begin the affair....
How long ago that all seemed now....
She looked at the clock and frowned, it was getting late. She regretfully woke Darien, her
voice soft and gentle--a voice she realized, she only used here,
"I've gotta go..."
He simply smiled, murmured something incoherantly, and pulled her in closer.
"Hey-y!" She protested.
"Isonlyearlyyet..." He slurred, sleep heavy in his voice.
She giggled but pulled away, "Come on....I have to get up!"
He sighed and released her. All the strength in the world didn't compete with the fact
that she wanted to leave. Wanted to go home and continue the life she shared with her
husband. Darien watched after her retreating figure....ivory skin, long, long golden
hair that she refused to cut even though her husband pressured her....she was not tall, but
the slender length of her limbs made her appear so.....
He waited till she disappeared into the bathroom and he heard the shower come on before turning
away again, rolling over on his back. Another night together. How many times had they made
love now? How long had it been?
It was ages since that party. Her husband had been away and she'd snuck out to it. Drank
happily and even sung a song while the pianist played. She had a beautiful voice. But she
refused to take it seriously. Apparently singing did not become a successful business tycoon,
he thought ironically.
He finally roused himself and threw on clothes. Try as he may, mornings would not stretch
to fit his desires. Though he would never admit that given the choice he'd stretch them
indefintely. That might mean that he...that he...
He shook himself free of such thoughts and headed down to make breakfast. The rest of the
apartment was tidy and clean. Comfortable furniture, fish tank, his bedroom off to the left.
But he and Serena never slept in the bedroom. The loft was their place, a bedroom, she'd said,
was too personal. He hadn't bothered to point out that his loft was the most personal place in
the world to him. The place where he put his heart and soul and thoughts on canvas every day.
It hadn't seemed important at the time.
Besides, she wouldn't understand. She knew nothing about art. Had never even been to one of
his shows. Would never.
He heard her coming down the loft steps, "Mmmmm, smells like pancakes!"
He had to smile at this.
She grinned at the apple slice on top, cut sideways so that the star showed. Apple stars.
She'd never known about them until she'd met him, he couldn't believe it, but she'd honestly
never cut an apple that way. And ever since, he put one on top of her pancakes.
They ate quietly. What were two people supposed to talk about when they were having an
affair? When they lived completely different lives? The one thing that made their affair so
safe, both thought, was how opposite they seemed. An artist and a business woman?? It was
entirely impossible. They had nothing in common. Their outlooks, philosophies, values and
goals.
Even their dress, for Darien wore the loose, rough, casual clothes of an artist, rarely
dressing up. While Serena defined the word "preppy". She looked like something out of a
magazine, and not just her trendsetting skirt and blouse business suits either, even her
weekend clothes were polo, ralph lauren sport style stripes and denim, sweaters and tidy
sandals.
But there were fine details that gave her away, Darien thought.
Details only a lover would notice.
The little bit of sparkle she always wore on her lips, the fact that she kept her hair
long. Not just long, extremely long. Her golden hair tumbled nearly to her ankles--a fact few
people knew. She wore it neatly up everyday.
These details revealed another side of her. A side that stubbornly refused to be silent, if
only to reveal itself in brief snatches of her appearance and character. But Darien kept
his opinion of this to himself as he watched her eat. There was the hint of sparkle on her
lips, like a fairy touch, hidden by the rather overwhelming business presence she had, even
here, relaxed at his table. She was one of those women that--though she ate politely, and
carefully and even gracefully--something always managed to get on her nose or cheek. It was
very endearing--though it embarassed her terribly.
"So...how's work?" He said softly, reluctant to break the reverie with half-awkward
conversation. But words were never really awkward between them.
"The usual, busy busy and busy."
He chuckled.
"How's your set coming along?" She returned, licking the syrup from her fingertips hurriedly.
"Pretty well. I don't know how happy I am with it though. I think I may change a couple of
the original pieces."
"You always say that."
"I know, but this time I mean it!"
"You always say that too."
He laughed. It was true. He did.
She smiled back at him. Wondering how on earth he really DID manage to decide when a painting
was done. When it did what he wanted. Did he pre-plan them or just start and see what
happened? She shook herself, these weren't things she needed to know. She had no business
knowing such private things about him. They were friendly with one another and that was all.
Anymore and a full-fledged relationship might develop. And that could not happen.
She sighed. She'd long given up the romantic ideals she'd cherished as a young girl. In fact
she no longer believed there was such a thing as love. Especially romantic love. Her husband
had cured her of such ridiculous fantasies. She smiled ironically.
Her husband. Alan.
He was a smart, proud, practical man. His singular drive to succeed had inspired her when
she was helpless in deciding the path her future should take. Torn between arts and sciences.
His philosophies on life and work and making the most of one's best skills had seemed so
wise and sensible. Under his guidance she'd honed her managerial skills to their finest. Now
she led a team of marketing researchers with a vision and authority unmatched in her field.
It was a very busy, life-encompassing job.....but still she snuck out to art shows and music
recitals....wondering uneasily in rare moments of solitude if perhaps a balance between the two
weren't possible.
She still loved to sing and play the piano. But these were frivolous wastes of time. Childish
impulses that needed to be nipped keenly in the bud. Or so thought her husband. She fought
him tooth and nail about having a piano but lost. Inconsequently, Darien had a piano. A
beautiful one.
So she indulged this side of her nature in secret. While her husband was away on one of his
many business trips or lectures. And so she'd met Darien. A man who'd made a living by
following the very ideals and intuitions her husband waved away with barely a second thought.
The attraction between them had been absolute and overwhelming. Even a little drunk she'd
felt her mind reel intellectually at it as well as physically. And surrendoring to her
desire had been the ultimate indulgence. The ultimate rebellion against her husband. And
likewise the ultimate pleasure. Making love with Darien was like no other experience she'd
ever had. And being that it was so absolutely satisfying both physically and intellectually,
she came back again and again.
"What are you thinking about?" Darien's voice broke her thoughts.
"Hmmm...oh nothing." She looked at her watch and stood, "I've gotta go. Meeting at 9."
"And 10 and 11 and--"
"Yes, yes, point taken."
"I'm right aren't I?"
She laughed, "As always."
She turned to leave but he caught her hand, "Will you be back soon?"
Her face grew serious, "As soon as I can." Her voice was soft and traced with the barest
of huskiness.
He smiled, "Till then."
She nodded and hurried out the door. Darien returned to the kitchen and cleaned up the
breakfast dishes, humming softly. His mind elsewhere. He was worried.
Someone was coming home, back to the city after being gone for over two years. She was his
ex-girlfriend. And he was still in love with her.
For unlike Serena, Darien's ideals were still well intact. He believed in one love, for all
of life. Ann had been his first love, and he would have faith in that love--had kept faith
these past two years.
And now she was coming home again. And she'd asked to see him.
He was worried because he would have to end the affair with Serena, and that shouldn't be
bothering him. They'd agreed long ago that if he met someone the affair would end.
It shouldn't be bothering him. But it was.
He sighed, and headed up to paint away some of his frustrations. Passing by the rumpled
make shift bed in the corner as he went. Rooting through a box near the window till he
retrieved a photo. An old photo.
A pretty red haired girl smiled out at him. Her smock coloured with paint. Ann.
An artist. It made sense. It would take an artist to understand another artist wouldn't it?
Then why was he worried?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~~~~~@