[Just Prompts] 1 -- First Kiss
Mar. 26th, 2008 11:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elementof_risk"The decision to kiss for the first time is the most crucial in any love story. It changes the relationship of two people much more strongly than even the final surrender; because this kiss already has within it that surrender." -Emil Ludwig
The first time he saw her, he thought she was beautiful. Ineffectual, perhaps. Just a paper pusher, not even field trained, and far too easy of a target. But beautiful, nonetheless. He found himself understanding a bit more how Michael had let himself be comforted after Sydney's death, and if it was all a bit sudden, who was he to judge, really? He could imagine taking comfort quite easily.
When he discovered who she really was, what she really was, his interest spiked immeasurably. A sign, a flicker of interest, and he would have been happy to use that dressing room for exactly what the saleslady thought they were using it for, rather than just a discussion of a coup. But the way she held herself apart kept him at a distance, watchful and wary, waiting for her answer to his proposition, forced him to keep his as well.
It was a pattern that would hold, a tension they would keep, and one he never grew tired of. Would she yield? Would he force the issue? Would she?
It took his breath away, to watch her make the first kill, the passion on her face, the way she looked after, breathless and flushed, and still so cool, leading him on to the next. The flicker in her eyes after she hung up with Michael, watching his kill in Salzburg. It was delicious, the voice of the loving wife on one hand, and on the other the twisted passion in her eyes that almost promised him surrender, even as she walked away, again.
He wanted to wait, to force the issue, to make her come to him, but in the end, he made the first move, closing that gap, lips searching for hers with a need heated by blood, violence, ambition and success. She yielded, he felt it, just for a moment, her need meeting his with a heated flare, but, always the more controlled, it was she who pulled away first, walked away and left him staring after her.
But it was a promise, all the same, and when she followed through on it, adrenaline spiking the need to high enough proportions that she finally surrendered completely, he still wasn't sure who'd won the game.
By that time, he figured it didn't really matter.
The first time he saw her, he thought she was beautiful. Ineffectual, perhaps. Just a paper pusher, not even field trained, and far too easy of a target. But beautiful, nonetheless. He found himself understanding a bit more how Michael had let himself be comforted after Sydney's death, and if it was all a bit sudden, who was he to judge, really? He could imagine taking comfort quite easily.
When he discovered who she really was, what she really was, his interest spiked immeasurably. A sign, a flicker of interest, and he would have been happy to use that dressing room for exactly what the saleslady thought they were using it for, rather than just a discussion of a coup. But the way she held herself apart kept him at a distance, watchful and wary, waiting for her answer to his proposition, forced him to keep his as well.
It was a pattern that would hold, a tension they would keep, and one he never grew tired of. Would she yield? Would he force the issue? Would she?
It took his breath away, to watch her make the first kill, the passion on her face, the way she looked after, breathless and flushed, and still so cool, leading him on to the next. The flicker in her eyes after she hung up with Michael, watching his kill in Salzburg. It was delicious, the voice of the loving wife on one hand, and on the other the twisted passion in her eyes that almost promised him surrender, even as she walked away, again.
He wanted to wait, to force the issue, to make her come to him, but in the end, he made the first move, closing that gap, lips searching for hers with a need heated by blood, violence, ambition and success. She yielded, he felt it, just for a moment, her need meeting his with a heated flare, but, always the more controlled, it was she who pulled away first, walked away and left him staring after her.
But it was a promise, all the same, and when she followed through on it, adrenaline spiking the need to high enough proportions that she finally surrendered completely, he still wasn't sure who'd won the game.
By that time, he figured it didn't really matter.
