Art
By: rain of silver stars
E-mail: moonsilverstaryahoo.com
Rated: H
Disclaimer: standard
Author's Notes: Usako and Darien are my favorite forms of Serena and Darien's
names...I realize they don't match, but I wanted them paired up that way in
this fic.... :)
I previously posted this fic on ASMR under the penname "silver star".
Last night my Beloved
was like the moon, so beautiful!
He was even brighter than the Sun.
His grace is far beyond my grasp
The rest is silence.
Rumi
He was driving into her, pounding her small soft body into the bed. And he could
hear himself moaning....disjointed sounds escaping his mouth. Had he lost control?
He wondered in disbelief.
Wondered why this girl was so irresistible....why he absolutely had to have her this
way. Something about her innocence? Her soft, listless fragility? Something white
against his darkness....Usako.
There were many ways he never saw himself. Many qualities he simply did not believe
he possessed. But she changed that.
Womanizer. He was not a womanizer. He didn't go around banging women left and right.
Didn't go around at all. And the passion he felt for her with his body matched only
the passion he held for his work....and it was laced with the same untamed obsession.
Lustful. He had never felt lustful. Never. And now...lust was something wildly out
of control. And she let him. He could not understand....why did she let him take
her like this?
She lay beneath him trembling and sighing....and when she came she made that delightful
little moan in his ear that made him realize he would have to have her again. He was
addicted.
He followed her to ecstasy then, gasping and moaning himself...his hands slipping hotly
down her body, over her breasts, down to grip her hips and steady...something--himself
maybe?...as everything else became a blur.
He collapsed on top of her as they both struggled to breath. Why did it always feel
this way?
Then he pulled away, feeling her body jerk with still hot pleasure--too much for the senses.
He rolled over beside her and tugged the sheet over her shivering body. Then he drew
her into his arms with a gentleness he knew he did not possess.
He'd never been gentle. He'd never wanted to.
But Usako....she simply lay there deserving it. Drawing it to her by the magic
of her very existence.
He knew he did not deserve her. She was something beautiful with foggy edges that
deserved some light-bearing creature to match her. And he was far from that. So
he held her gently and knew she could feel that he did it for her. That he made
himself that way because he wanted to give it to her. And long moments later a small,
slender arm arched gracefully over his side and settled, small palm pressing into his
back.
He closed his eyes and squeezed her closer, feeling her bury her small face beneath his
neck.
Usako.
She was an angel. He'd heard tell of men that thought some women were like angels.
But he knew, at that moment, that they were all completely wrong and mislead. Only
this girl could ever be compared to an angel.
It was not meant in a flowery way. It was not flattery. It was gruff and hard and
sincere. But if she were an angel, God help him that made him something evil.
Perhaps not evil. He was not mean or cruel...not unkind. Simply silent and dark.
Definitely dark.
That was it. They were like light and darkness. Moonlight and shadow.
What did they have in common? In this tangle of bodies....what held them together this
way inside?
He wondered this as she slept against him. They were both quiet. Neither used
words to speak. But where he was fierce and focused she was soft and determined. She
made everything softer...
In drawing....when they'd looked at each other's work that day...getting up to circle
the studio room, he'd seen hers...everything softened...beautified so subtly.
And he'd watched her look at his work--her eyes widening as she stopped in front of the
easel, leaning in closer then to get a better look at it. He was gifted, his smooth,
confident strokes capturing not only the accuracy of the image but something of his own
presence as well. Something of the dark richness of his soul.
Darien. Dark, quiet, stern. A beautiful man but unapproachable. He simply came,
stared intently at what he was drawing and left. But that day, she was to catch him
focusing that intense stare at her, as she looked at his work. She could tell his eyes
were blue...she shouldn't have been able to but she could.
He took her in then....small, thin....soft. She had the most beautiful shaped eyes...alight
with some quality he could not place but admired. And the angle of her face against her neck
and shoulders made her look like a dancer....
After class he'd stalked over and taken her arm, asking her gruffly to go for coffee. His
voice was like that...harsh, gruff...and he was a man of few words. His hands spoke for
him...his art...
He'd gripped his coffee and watched her sip gently at her own. Usagi. A japanese name.
But then, his mother was japanese so he knew that. Knew instantly how to soften it and make
it his....Usako.....
Possessive. He'd never been possessive before.
He stared across the table at her. Something about her...irresistible. Frail. Soft.
Sweet. The curve of her eyes...the angle of her throat. She was pale...like an iris.
But he had no words to speak this to her. So he'd boldly asked to draw her...let his
pencil capture those qualities. Why had she agreed?
And in his loft then, she's stood barefoot on the old, hardwood floor, light
spilling over at melting angles amongst his easels. And he'd deftly slipped off her
clothes...layers of white and cream and beige spilling down.
He couldn't remember now if he'd drawn her and then they'd made love or if they'd made
love and then he'd drawn her. It didn't matter.
He remembered reaching out to touch her. Violating the artist model relationship....not
that it had really been that in the first place. It was an intimacy. He'd undressed her.
It was he trying to capture and captivate....to speak and explore what he found in her.
Her skin had felt as soft as her drawings. He remembered saying that...though it sounded
harsh to his ears.
Then he'd pulled her into his arms and kissed her roughly. He'd held her tight, too
tight and run his hands down her smooth back. And she'd let him. Let him touch her
with hungry hands. And he had. Wondering at himself all the while.
He'd pushed her to the bed and she'd helped him pull off his own clothes before some kind
of blind instinct had taken over. His hands were running over her breasts, possessing
and massaging. The arch of her hip had done something startling to his senses...like
an electric shock. As though all his thoughts had left him. All but her.
He recalled nipping at her neck...why he could not say. But it had been wonderful.
But he had not been gentle. Not at all. He remembered thrusting into her, his eyes
shutting involuntarily at the stab of pleasure it gave him, and he took her hands and pressed
them back over her shoulders into the bed. Her eyes had been closed and he'd kissed her
deeply, hotly.
And then he was falling into her, sinking and then raising up to drop again. He was
pressing her hard against the bed, pouding her just as he was now. And wondering
just the same, why he was driven so relentlessly to want her. Usako.
Perhaps he'd drawn her before and after they'd made love? For he remembered sitting naked
on the floor with his sketchpad and drawing her, late in the night. And when his pencil
wasn't enough to capture the feel of her, he'd gone over and just let his hands feel her
directly. Let them gather her in.
His lips were at her neck, at her breasts. How was her stomach so soft? However did
her legs hold any strength when they were so pale and slender?
She was a mystery.
He carried her hungrily back to bed and this time he noticed the small, choked moan she
sang out in his ear as she came. And he savored it.
He could not recall savoring anything before that.
It made it sacred.
And when he'd sat up to grab the sheet for she was shaking, she'd sat up too. And when
their eyes met he knew she thought he was reaching for her clothes...wanting her to leave.
A strange pang shot through him.
This girl was meant to be held and stroked...and protected. Not sent home after sex.
Protective. He'd never been protective.
He'd pulled the sheet up, frowning at her and gathered her close to lay down.
And that was how his best friend Andrew came to find him in his loft, scattered drawings
in pencil and charcoal of a beautiful woman with soft eyes gazing so intently out across
the easels and floor. And in his bed, there she was, tucked up and sleeping on his chest,
her arm curled at her side covering her breasts, the sheet draped over their waists.
Darien had one arm around her and as she stirred slightly his other came up instinctivly
to her tangle of wavy blonde hair to sooth her back into a deep sleep.
Andrew had stared in surprise.
If Darien ever had a girl over--which was rare--she never stayed the night. Ever.
Then again...he never drew them either.
Andrew left.
Now here he was again, holding her against him. Feeling her heartbeat. Something about
her...
"Usako..." He breathed. Suddenly he was aching to offer her the tenderness she so rightly
deserved.
More than him. She deserved more than him. This would be the last night. He would
release her after this.
Her wide blue eyes opened and she gazed up at him looking so serious and curious and true.
His large hand touched under her chin very lightly.
"You're beautiful." It was all he could say.
She said nothing but leaned up very cautiously and kissed him oh-so-softly on the mouth.
His eyes watched her, kept watching her as she pulled away.
Then she burrowed back into that nook between his chin and his chest and he felt her
lips against his throat just briefly before that impossibly slender arm wound around him
and with a deep breath she drifted off to sleep again.
He sighed heavily.
He didn't want to let her go. Why WAS that?
He had to. He absolutely had to.
He watched her in drawing class. Watched her draw. Watched her eyes. Watched her beauty.
It was like drinking from a forbidden fountain. Where water always tastes as sweet as
the first sip...
He shook himself and looked away.
It was wrong. It was so wrong for him to take her.
But she looked up then, caught his eyes with that look....that look he could not resist.
The tension flared up as though the room were empty--how was that possible?
And after class he found himself stalking up to her, pressing her back against the wall,
and uttering the now-familiar words, "Come over tonight?"
His voice sounded gravally....harsh....he didn't realize his eyes said something else
entirely. His deep navy eyes that so entranced all he gazed at....but he only ever
gazed at Usako.
She nodded mutely.
He opened the door to her later and drank her in. She wasn't wearing her rough cotton
art clothes...she was dressed up. She wore a beautiful silk kimono.....her hair tossled
up loosly, her eyes outlined in gray, her lips shiny and full.
"Usako?" He gasped out.
"I'm sorry." She said softly, "I had a concert this afteroon...I came straight from there."
"Concert?"
A tiny, barely detectable smile ticked at the corners of her mouth then, "Yes. I sing."
It was all she said.
She sang? This silent, graceful, beautiful girl sang?
He pulled her inside. Then he stopped, gripping her shoulders still and gazing down at her
he searched her eyes. And he knew, inexplicably, that he wanted to hear her sing.
Very much.
But he wouldn't. He would forbid himself. He must stop taking her this way...
But as she looked up into his eyes he felt all his thoughts melt away.
"You look....pretty..." He whispered as he leaned down to kiss her. And he tried
to do it more carefully this time.....as though it matched her dress. As though it
needed to be softer because she was.
She slipped her arms about his neck then and he found himself slipping the kimono off...
He let it fall to the floor before grasping her up and pulling her into the bedroom.
Then control rushed away like a burst of air. He hurried out of his own clothes and settled
atop her, running his hands down her body.
"Usako..."
And this time, as they brushed over her breasts, she took his hands with hers, and kept
them there, eyes closed, as though savoring it.
He watched her face....and leaned down to kiss her. Then he kept his hands there,
massaging her soft soft skin, wondering why it was so satisfying for his hands to meet
her body there.
He kissed her neck and felt her legs fold back and draw him in...then impatiently wind
around his hips to jerk him closer.
Then he was sinking again....in one deep, hard stab of his body....and the moan that
escaped everytime anew could not be stopped.
They were gasping as they made love, soft sounds, choked sounds.....strange sighs.
He felt like the darkest being on earth as he thrust hard against her over and over.
Didn't she deserve to have a man move slowly, slip in and out gently, murmuring poems of
love into her ears?
Didn't she deserve white sheets and candles?
Instead, she was entangled in his savage loss of control....his navy sheets with splotches
of paint....his dark, gruff, unromantic body.
Her hands were in his black hair...then sliding down to his hips to grip him tightly--did
she know that made him crazy?
Did she know how every involuntary buck of her body made him lose his mind completely?
Most importantly, did she know she was an angel? A soft, white, sweet creature too
beautiful to be taken this way?
She made that cry in his ear again as her body shuddered beneath him. The way she shook
in his arms. The way her body throbbed around him. He couldn't get enough. Not now,
not ever.
He thrust harder and harder and heard himself gasp and then let out a low moan as he came.
It was bliss. It was better than anything. It was more than even the feeling that made
him draw. More than the urge. Art.
He lay gasping on top of her before kissing her neck, still inside her. His hands tangled
in her hair, his eyes searching her now languid ones.
He kissed her mouth and pulled away. Staring down into her eyes he felt so agonizingly
close to what she was...and yet....
"I can't be tender enough...." He confessed wretchedly and she frowned in surprise.
Complete surprise.
He buried his face in her neck, "I can't be tender enough Usako....."
and then, so quietly she barely heard, "....forgive me...."
Her hands slipped up into his hair and cradeled his head close for long moments. He finally
slipped over to her side and his hands traced carefully over her body...as though he did
not know how to touch her the way that he wanted.
He caressed the skin across her tummy.
"You're soft."
She smiled and turned to get closer to him, "You're warm."
He squeezed her tightly against him then, then lay her back in both is arms, looking
into her eyes with something roughly akin to sadness...but fiercer.
"You deserve more....."
There. He said it.
He watched a strange emotion flicker in her eyes.
She knew. She knew what he meant. She knew this was the last time.
He did not know she lay awake all night.
He let her be in drawing class after that. No more coffees. No more making love
in the loft.
And it was empty without her.
He watched her walking so many times....a soft sweater around her shoulders, even though it
was warm out. She was so small...so slender...always catching a chill.
He bit back his own remoarse harshly.
But he snuck into one of her concerts and listened to her sing. Softly, beautifully...
...haunting...watched how she nearly faltered when she spotted him. Their eyes holding
strangely as she sang.
He'd quickly left.
He did not go to another one. He did not speak to her.
And he did not go after her....until he walked into the college lounge one afternoon and
saw another man standing close to her.
He was leaning close and smiling, talking to her.
She watched him with wary eyes--he could see the hesitation.
He could see the hunger in the other man's eyes. That same hunger as his own. To touch
and possess.
He felt something inside of him burn.
Jealousy.
He'd never been jealous.
Possession.
He'd never been possessive.
He stalked over to the friendly young blonde man and Usako. Suddenly it didn't matter
that she deserved someone the opposite of himself.
He realized he would rather struggle with his own lack of tenderness, then watch another
man have her.
The man touched her shoulder and she drew away.
He hurried.
In a heartbeat he was to her, one arm settled possessively around her shoulders.
"Darien..." She said with quiet surprise.
"Usako." He acknowleged, then turned to fix his dark eyes on the young man, who faltered
and hurried away.
He swung her around in his arms then and leaned down to meet her beautiful eyes. The shape
of them....so lovely. All of her was lovely. All of her was made of love.
"Usako...be mine?" He heard himself inexplicably asking.
But he had to have her. For himself alone. For always.
Her eyes had looked incredulous for a fraction of a moment. Then she's smiled that oh-so-soft
smile and slipped her arms about him, leaning up to say yes with her lips against his own.
He wondered only, why him?
It was the question he'd carried since the first time their eyes met...the first time their
bodies met.
And that night, when he took her home.....he carefully stripped her. Ran his hands slowly
over her....touching, caressing. His lips left trails...down her shoulders, over her breasts,
making her gasp when he ventured between her legs.
He carried her to bed and tried desperately to keep his control. But it lasted only a few
strokes. In and out as they both gasped and moaned, then he lost it again and the rhythm
became intense. She made that incomparable noise in his ear, they touched bliss and he
collapsed on top of her...
"Angel..." He gasped into her ear as he shakily reclaimed his breath.
His hands traced her body later....his hands that spoke more than his voice. And
he forced his voice to speak. To stumble out with all the things his eyes took in from
her.
How her eyes were shaped like no others.
How her neck arched like a dancers.
How making love to her was so beautiful it hurt.
How he did not know the way to translate love....but he would learn.
Then he'd slept .....and when he'd awoken it was to find his bed empty. Usako sat
naked on the floor, sketchpad in her lap, watching him intently as her fingers worked
the paper.
He rose and came round to see. And there he was.....drawn with her soft angles and
foggy edges....beautified. He was beautiful to her.
That was why...
He sat down beside her and tilted her face to his, "Promise you'll always see me this way?"
She smiled then, putting the drawing away and bringing her hands to his face,
"I promise."
Then she leaned closer, wrapping her body around his so that his thoughts swam carelessly.
"I see you that way because that is how you are...my love...."
He savored the words. So much.
He joined their bodies again and kissed her, lingering and pressing his lips back trying
to be soft, "Usako, aisheteru....."
"I know," She'd soothed into his ear as her arms slipped around him, "I love you too."
After which words fell away....sketches fell away....everything fell away but silence,
night, and love....
By: rain of silver stars
E-mail: moonsilverstaryahoo.com
Rated: H
Disclaimer: standard
Author's Notes: Usako and Darien are my favorite forms of Serena and Darien's
names...I realize they don't match, but I wanted them paired up that way in
this fic.... :)
I previously posted this fic on ASMR under the penname "silver star".
Last night my Beloved
was like the moon, so beautiful!
He was even brighter than the Sun.
His grace is far beyond my grasp
The rest is silence.
Rumi
He was driving into her, pounding her small soft body into the bed. And he could
hear himself moaning....disjointed sounds escaping his mouth. Had he lost control?
He wondered in disbelief.
Wondered why this girl was so irresistible....why he absolutely had to have her this
way. Something about her innocence? Her soft, listless fragility? Something white
against his darkness....Usako.
There were many ways he never saw himself. Many qualities he simply did not believe
he possessed. But she changed that.
Womanizer. He was not a womanizer. He didn't go around banging women left and right.
Didn't go around at all. And the passion he felt for her with his body matched only
the passion he held for his work....and it was laced with the same untamed obsession.
Lustful. He had never felt lustful. Never. And now...lust was something wildly out
of control. And she let him. He could not understand....why did she let him take
her like this?
She lay beneath him trembling and sighing....and when she came she made that delightful
little moan in his ear that made him realize he would have to have her again. He was
addicted.
He followed her to ecstasy then, gasping and moaning himself...his hands slipping hotly
down her body, over her breasts, down to grip her hips and steady...something--himself
maybe?...as everything else became a blur.
He collapsed on top of her as they both struggled to breath. Why did it always feel
this way?
Then he pulled away, feeling her body jerk with still hot pleasure--too much for the senses.
He rolled over beside her and tugged the sheet over her shivering body. Then he drew
her into his arms with a gentleness he knew he did not possess.
He'd never been gentle. He'd never wanted to.
But Usako....she simply lay there deserving it. Drawing it to her by the magic
of her very existence.
He knew he did not deserve her. She was something beautiful with foggy edges that
deserved some light-bearing creature to match her. And he was far from that. So
he held her gently and knew she could feel that he did it for her. That he made
himself that way because he wanted to give it to her. And long moments later a small,
slender arm arched gracefully over his side and settled, small palm pressing into his
back.
He closed his eyes and squeezed her closer, feeling her bury her small face beneath his
neck.
Usako.
She was an angel. He'd heard tell of men that thought some women were like angels.
But he knew, at that moment, that they were all completely wrong and mislead. Only
this girl could ever be compared to an angel.
It was not meant in a flowery way. It was not flattery. It was gruff and hard and
sincere. But if she were an angel, God help him that made him something evil.
Perhaps not evil. He was not mean or cruel...not unkind. Simply silent and dark.
Definitely dark.
That was it. They were like light and darkness. Moonlight and shadow.
What did they have in common? In this tangle of bodies....what held them together this
way inside?
He wondered this as she slept against him. They were both quiet. Neither used
words to speak. But where he was fierce and focused she was soft and determined. She
made everything softer...
In drawing....when they'd looked at each other's work that day...getting up to circle
the studio room, he'd seen hers...everything softened...beautified so subtly.
And he'd watched her look at his work--her eyes widening as she stopped in front of the
easel, leaning in closer then to get a better look at it. He was gifted, his smooth,
confident strokes capturing not only the accuracy of the image but something of his own
presence as well. Something of the dark richness of his soul.
Darien. Dark, quiet, stern. A beautiful man but unapproachable. He simply came,
stared intently at what he was drawing and left. But that day, she was to catch him
focusing that intense stare at her, as she looked at his work. She could tell his eyes
were blue...she shouldn't have been able to but she could.
He took her in then....small, thin....soft. She had the most beautiful shaped eyes...alight
with some quality he could not place but admired. And the angle of her face against her neck
and shoulders made her look like a dancer....
After class he'd stalked over and taken her arm, asking her gruffly to go for coffee. His
voice was like that...harsh, gruff...and he was a man of few words. His hands spoke for
him...his art...
He'd gripped his coffee and watched her sip gently at her own. Usagi. A japanese name.
But then, his mother was japanese so he knew that. Knew instantly how to soften it and make
it his....Usako.....
Possessive. He'd never been possessive before.
He stared across the table at her. Something about her...irresistible. Frail. Soft.
Sweet. The curve of her eyes...the angle of her throat. She was pale...like an iris.
But he had no words to speak this to her. So he'd boldly asked to draw her...let his
pencil capture those qualities. Why had she agreed?
And in his loft then, she's stood barefoot on the old, hardwood floor, light
spilling over at melting angles amongst his easels. And he'd deftly slipped off her
clothes...layers of white and cream and beige spilling down.
He couldn't remember now if he'd drawn her and then they'd made love or if they'd made
love and then he'd drawn her. It didn't matter.
He remembered reaching out to touch her. Violating the artist model relationship....not
that it had really been that in the first place. It was an intimacy. He'd undressed her.
It was he trying to capture and captivate....to speak and explore what he found in her.
Her skin had felt as soft as her drawings. He remembered saying that...though it sounded
harsh to his ears.
Then he'd pulled her into his arms and kissed her roughly. He'd held her tight, too
tight and run his hands down her smooth back. And she'd let him. Let him touch her
with hungry hands. And he had. Wondering at himself all the while.
He'd pushed her to the bed and she'd helped him pull off his own clothes before some kind
of blind instinct had taken over. His hands were running over her breasts, possessing
and massaging. The arch of her hip had done something startling to his senses...like
an electric shock. As though all his thoughts had left him. All but her.
He recalled nipping at her neck...why he could not say. But it had been wonderful.
But he had not been gentle. Not at all. He remembered thrusting into her, his eyes
shutting involuntarily at the stab of pleasure it gave him, and he took her hands and pressed
them back over her shoulders into the bed. Her eyes had been closed and he'd kissed her
deeply, hotly.
And then he was falling into her, sinking and then raising up to drop again. He was
pressing her hard against the bed, pouding her just as he was now. And wondering
just the same, why he was driven so relentlessly to want her. Usako.
Perhaps he'd drawn her before and after they'd made love? For he remembered sitting naked
on the floor with his sketchpad and drawing her, late in the night. And when his pencil
wasn't enough to capture the feel of her, he'd gone over and just let his hands feel her
directly. Let them gather her in.
His lips were at her neck, at her breasts. How was her stomach so soft? However did
her legs hold any strength when they were so pale and slender?
She was a mystery.
He carried her hungrily back to bed and this time he noticed the small, choked moan she
sang out in his ear as she came. And he savored it.
He could not recall savoring anything before that.
It made it sacred.
And when he'd sat up to grab the sheet for she was shaking, she'd sat up too. And when
their eyes met he knew she thought he was reaching for her clothes...wanting her to leave.
A strange pang shot through him.
This girl was meant to be held and stroked...and protected. Not sent home after sex.
Protective. He'd never been protective.
He'd pulled the sheet up, frowning at her and gathered her close to lay down.
And that was how his best friend Andrew came to find him in his loft, scattered drawings
in pencil and charcoal of a beautiful woman with soft eyes gazing so intently out across
the easels and floor. And in his bed, there she was, tucked up and sleeping on his chest,
her arm curled at her side covering her breasts, the sheet draped over their waists.
Darien had one arm around her and as she stirred slightly his other came up instinctivly
to her tangle of wavy blonde hair to sooth her back into a deep sleep.
Andrew had stared in surprise.
If Darien ever had a girl over--which was rare--she never stayed the night. Ever.
Then again...he never drew them either.
Andrew left.
Now here he was again, holding her against him. Feeling her heartbeat. Something about
her...
"Usako..." He breathed. Suddenly he was aching to offer her the tenderness she so rightly
deserved.
More than him. She deserved more than him. This would be the last night. He would
release her after this.
Her wide blue eyes opened and she gazed up at him looking so serious and curious and true.
His large hand touched under her chin very lightly.
"You're beautiful." It was all he could say.
She said nothing but leaned up very cautiously and kissed him oh-so-softly on the mouth.
His eyes watched her, kept watching her as she pulled away.
Then she burrowed back into that nook between his chin and his chest and he felt her
lips against his throat just briefly before that impossibly slender arm wound around him
and with a deep breath she drifted off to sleep again.
He sighed heavily.
He didn't want to let her go. Why WAS that?
He had to. He absolutely had to.
He watched her in drawing class. Watched her draw. Watched her eyes. Watched her beauty.
It was like drinking from a forbidden fountain. Where water always tastes as sweet as
the first sip...
He shook himself and looked away.
It was wrong. It was so wrong for him to take her.
But she looked up then, caught his eyes with that look....that look he could not resist.
The tension flared up as though the room were empty--how was that possible?
And after class he found himself stalking up to her, pressing her back against the wall,
and uttering the now-familiar words, "Come over tonight?"
His voice sounded gravally....harsh....he didn't realize his eyes said something else
entirely. His deep navy eyes that so entranced all he gazed at....but he only ever
gazed at Usako.
She nodded mutely.
He opened the door to her later and drank her in. She wasn't wearing her rough cotton
art clothes...she was dressed up. She wore a beautiful silk kimono.....her hair tossled
up loosly, her eyes outlined in gray, her lips shiny and full.
"Usako?" He gasped out.
"I'm sorry." She said softly, "I had a concert this afteroon...I came straight from there."
"Concert?"
A tiny, barely detectable smile ticked at the corners of her mouth then, "Yes. I sing."
It was all she said.
She sang? This silent, graceful, beautiful girl sang?
He pulled her inside. Then he stopped, gripping her shoulders still and gazing down at her
he searched her eyes. And he knew, inexplicably, that he wanted to hear her sing.
Very much.
But he wouldn't. He would forbid himself. He must stop taking her this way...
But as she looked up into his eyes he felt all his thoughts melt away.
"You look....pretty..." He whispered as he leaned down to kiss her. And he tried
to do it more carefully this time.....as though it matched her dress. As though it
needed to be softer because she was.
She slipped her arms about his neck then and he found himself slipping the kimono off...
He let it fall to the floor before grasping her up and pulling her into the bedroom.
Then control rushed away like a burst of air. He hurried out of his own clothes and settled
atop her, running his hands down her body.
"Usako..."
And this time, as they brushed over her breasts, she took his hands with hers, and kept
them there, eyes closed, as though savoring it.
He watched her face....and leaned down to kiss her. Then he kept his hands there,
massaging her soft soft skin, wondering why it was so satisfying for his hands to meet
her body there.
He kissed her neck and felt her legs fold back and draw him in...then impatiently wind
around his hips to jerk him closer.
Then he was sinking again....in one deep, hard stab of his body....and the moan that
escaped everytime anew could not be stopped.
They were gasping as they made love, soft sounds, choked sounds.....strange sighs.
He felt like the darkest being on earth as he thrust hard against her over and over.
Didn't she deserve to have a man move slowly, slip in and out gently, murmuring poems of
love into her ears?
Didn't she deserve white sheets and candles?
Instead, she was entangled in his savage loss of control....his navy sheets with splotches
of paint....his dark, gruff, unromantic body.
Her hands were in his black hair...then sliding down to his hips to grip him tightly--did
she know that made him crazy?
Did she know how every involuntary buck of her body made him lose his mind completely?
Most importantly, did she know she was an angel? A soft, white, sweet creature too
beautiful to be taken this way?
She made that cry in his ear again as her body shuddered beneath him. The way she shook
in his arms. The way her body throbbed around him. He couldn't get enough. Not now,
not ever.
He thrust harder and harder and heard himself gasp and then let out a low moan as he came.
It was bliss. It was better than anything. It was more than even the feeling that made
him draw. More than the urge. Art.
He lay gasping on top of her before kissing her neck, still inside her. His hands tangled
in her hair, his eyes searching her now languid ones.
He kissed her mouth and pulled away. Staring down into her eyes he felt so agonizingly
close to what she was...and yet....
"I can't be tender enough...." He confessed wretchedly and she frowned in surprise.
Complete surprise.
He buried his face in her neck, "I can't be tender enough Usako....."
and then, so quietly she barely heard, "....forgive me...."
Her hands slipped up into his hair and cradeled his head close for long moments. He finally
slipped over to her side and his hands traced carefully over her body...as though he did
not know how to touch her the way that he wanted.
He caressed the skin across her tummy.
"You're soft."
She smiled and turned to get closer to him, "You're warm."
He squeezed her tightly against him then, then lay her back in both is arms, looking
into her eyes with something roughly akin to sadness...but fiercer.
"You deserve more....."
There. He said it.
He watched a strange emotion flicker in her eyes.
She knew. She knew what he meant. She knew this was the last time.
He did not know she lay awake all night.
He let her be in drawing class after that. No more coffees. No more making love
in the loft.
And it was empty without her.
He watched her walking so many times....a soft sweater around her shoulders, even though it
was warm out. She was so small...so slender...always catching a chill.
He bit back his own remoarse harshly.
But he snuck into one of her concerts and listened to her sing. Softly, beautifully...
...haunting...watched how she nearly faltered when she spotted him. Their eyes holding
strangely as she sang.
He'd quickly left.
He did not go to another one. He did not speak to her.
And he did not go after her....until he walked into the college lounge one afternoon and
saw another man standing close to her.
He was leaning close and smiling, talking to her.
She watched him with wary eyes--he could see the hesitation.
He could see the hunger in the other man's eyes. That same hunger as his own. To touch
and possess.
He felt something inside of him burn.
Jealousy.
He'd never been jealous.
Possession.
He'd never been possessive.
He stalked over to the friendly young blonde man and Usako. Suddenly it didn't matter
that she deserved someone the opposite of himself.
He realized he would rather struggle with his own lack of tenderness, then watch another
man have her.
The man touched her shoulder and she drew away.
He hurried.
In a heartbeat he was to her, one arm settled possessively around her shoulders.
"Darien..." She said with quiet surprise.
"Usako." He acknowleged, then turned to fix his dark eyes on the young man, who faltered
and hurried away.
He swung her around in his arms then and leaned down to meet her beautiful eyes. The shape
of them....so lovely. All of her was lovely. All of her was made of love.
"Usako...be mine?" He heard himself inexplicably asking.
But he had to have her. For himself alone. For always.
Her eyes had looked incredulous for a fraction of a moment. Then she's smiled that oh-so-soft
smile and slipped her arms about him, leaning up to say yes with her lips against his own.
He wondered only, why him?
It was the question he'd carried since the first time their eyes met...the first time their
bodies met.
And that night, when he took her home.....he carefully stripped her. Ran his hands slowly
over her....touching, caressing. His lips left trails...down her shoulders, over her breasts,
making her gasp when he ventured between her legs.
He carried her to bed and tried desperately to keep his control. But it lasted only a few
strokes. In and out as they both gasped and moaned, then he lost it again and the rhythm
became intense. She made that incomparable noise in his ear, they touched bliss and he
collapsed on top of her...
"Angel..." He gasped into her ear as he shakily reclaimed his breath.
His hands traced her body later....his hands that spoke more than his voice. And
he forced his voice to speak. To stumble out with all the things his eyes took in from
her.
How her eyes were shaped like no others.
How her neck arched like a dancers.
How making love to her was so beautiful it hurt.
How he did not know the way to translate love....but he would learn.
Then he'd slept .....and when he'd awoken it was to find his bed empty. Usako sat
naked on the floor, sketchpad in her lap, watching him intently as her fingers worked
the paper.
He rose and came round to see. And there he was.....drawn with her soft angles and
foggy edges....beautified. He was beautiful to her.
That was why...
He sat down beside her and tilted her face to his, "Promise you'll always see me this way?"
She smiled then, putting the drawing away and bringing her hands to his face,
"I promise."
Then she leaned closer, wrapping her body around his so that his thoughts swam carelessly.
"I see you that way because that is how you are...my love...."
He savored the words. So much.
He joined their bodies again and kissed her, lingering and pressing his lips back trying
to be soft, "Usako, aisheteru....."
"I know," She'd soothed into his ear as her arms slipped around him, "I love you too."
After which words fell away....sketches fell away....everything fell away but silence,
night, and love....