They feel safe in the cloaking darkness. She shivers beneath his roaming hands and he is barely able to stifle his moan of pleasure at the feel of her. Everything about her makes him feel alive, on fire, and it's all he can do to keep from touching her when they aren't alone. Because he knows he can't have her. Not yet. Maybe never.

They kiss like tomorrow isn't another day. He has never known the pure beauty of this act, the intimacy of letting another person claim a part of you. She can tell, even after a few days of stealing moments with him, that he already owns a piece of her. She hasn't figured out which one yet, but she is scared that if he leaves—if it all ends—she won't be herself anymore.

They sigh in unison and pull away. She keeps her eyes closed, so she can't see that he is doing it, too. Instead he listens to her rapid breathing and the pounding of his own heart in his head. There are so many things he would tell her if she only wanted him to. But she isn't ready to talk about it and he isn't ready to push her. He knows it won't always be this way, but right now, he's content to let them be undefined. As long as they can just be.

They feel their time together ebbing away. He can see her walking away in his mind, and it makes him sad; just the thought of it. She wants to cling to him and almost tells him this. She opens her mouth but knows it would be unfair to say the words. So she swallows them and finds his hands, squeezing them tightly. It's time for her to leave him.

They start to move apart. She feels his fingers slipping from hers, but she keeps moving. He honestly believes the air around them is thicker, it takes so much energy to move his legs. But he doesn't turn around and watch her go. He doesn't have to. He's already seen it and he knows how it makes him feel. He is already lost.

*-*-*-*

She woke up feeling lonely, heavy with disappointment. It was still night, and a cool breeze blew through her half-open window, rustling her thin curtains and encouraging her to snuggle deeper into her covers.

Joey sighed and rolled toward the window, watching the gossamer fabric swaying back and forth. He had felt so real to her. She had expected to see him sitting there, watching her, knowing that she was thinking of him. There was nothing outside the window except blackness.

She hadn't slept through the night in days—not since she had admitted her feelings with an initiated kiss. Night was the only time she could think about him freely, try to sort out what was going to happen between them, how much farther she wanted to take it. He had been more up front. He told her with his eyes and with his touch just how much he wanted from her, what he was willing to give up for her.

The truth was, she wanted to give him everything he was asking for. She knew that being with him would change her, and she was ready for it. There was something so right about the way they were together, despite how very wrong it would appear to every other person who mattered to them. In times like this, though, when she could still feel him surrounding her, she almost didn't care what they would say.

She closed her eyes and wished him there, opening them slowly, only to be confronted with the empty window. If he were there, she would have told him all this. She would have made her decision, and it would have been him.

*-*-*-*

She is running to meet him. She can see him just up ahead, waiting for her with the hint of a smile on his face. She pumps her legs harder, hating the distance between them, hating how long it's taking to get to him. Her hair is flying out behind her and she is gulping air into her lungs. She wonders why he isn't trying to meet her in the middle.

Her long strides carry her to him, and he opens his arms to welcome her. She falls into him and gasps against his chest, calming only when she feels his strong hands drawing circles against her back.

"You came," he says, murmuring into her hair. She feels his voice in her chest, savoring the soft timbre of it. He hardly ever speaks when she meets him here. She misses the sound of him.

"Of course," she replies, thinking it isn't a sufficient answer. Not when he so obviously needs her assurance. But her voice sounds too loud here and she doesn't want to ruin a moment of their time together with silly words.

She reaches up with her hands and holds his face, bringing him down closer to her so she can see into his eyes. She always thought they would be dark and dangerous, but now she knows they are bright like the sea and he expresses every emotion within their depths. He is telling her how happy he is to see her, how good it feels to hold her.

He is the first to move forward into the kiss. She is used to his passion. He can attack her, devour her, and make it feel like something she wanted all along. And maybe she did, but not until him would she confront it. This kiss, the one he is moving over her parted lips, is infinitely gentle. It's the one he uses when he wants her to understand that what they are is so much more than physicality. She keeps her eyes open, waiting until he feels her gaze and returns it. It's the only way for her to tell him she knows.

She presses herself against him, gliding her thumbs across his smooth cheeks as she tugs him closer with eager hands. She slips her tongue into his mouth, and he scrapes it lightly with his teeth. She wishes that she didn't always want more when they are together, that she could exist entirely on the tender caresses he is now giving her. But she loves the fire she feels when he doesn't hold back, so she encourages him to let go. And he does.

He steps forward into her, settling her between his legs and pulling her tight against him. She almost feels as if she will fall over as he bends her backwards just the tiniest bit, but he holds her securely and she lets him tilt her head until the tips of her hair brush against his arms at her waist. His lips press into the hollow of her throat, tracing the lines of her skin with his firm tongue. She grasps at his shoulders, half wishing she could pull him over so that she could feel his weight pressing down upon her.

As if he could hear her thoughts—and it wouldn't surprise her if he could—he straightens himself up and kneels before her. His head is even with her stomach and he rests there with his arms wrapped around her hips. She strokes his short dark hair and revels in the way his warm breath penetrates her clothing.

He pulls in on her knees and she folds before him. It takes little coaxing before she gets her wish, and he has pressed her backwards and is holding himself above her. She arches up to meet him, and he follows her back down, kissing her deeply and thrusting himself against her. He hasn't yet been inside her. She hasn't yet confessed that she wants him to be. Neither has admitted the sheer magnitude of what they have.

It seems they are together for years, stroking and tasting. Every one of her nerves feels raw as she rocks against him, seeking for some sense of relief. He mimics her movements, pushing harder when her breathing becomes shallow and her nails bite into his back. She stiffens, biting her lip to keep from crying out. He is so astounded by her response that he ignores his own need. Rolling onto his back he pulls her to his chest and soothes her until her body stops shaking.

It's time for him to leave her. She closes her eyes as she feels him sit up and prepare to go. Her body feels cold and weak, and she wonders if her legs will carry her.

"Please, don't," she whispers, mindful of the silence that surrounds her.

"I'm always here," he says, and pulls himself to his feet, and walks away.

*-*-*-*

Pacey leaned against the side of her house, holding his chin in his hands as he looked in on her. The moon was just a sliver and the stars took up the entire sky. He hadn't needed the light to get here, but her room was so dark that he wished for a little illumination.

He always hated the dark. It had a bad habit of sneaking up on you and stifling you. Since he's been with her, though, he has learned to embrace it. In the dark he is free to hold her, and he is free to watch her.

He hasn't decided yet if she would be nervous or flattered that sometimes he wakes up missing her so much that he makes the short journey to her in the middle of the night. It's not even that he needs to see her, exactly, it's that he needs to see how peaceful she looks when she isn't worrying about them.

Tonight, she is curled up in her covers facing the window. He would love to climb into her room, slip in beside her, and hold her until the sun comes up. She might have even let him. But the softness in her features would disappear as soon as he made his appearance known. As long as she's not thinking of him, she can be at peace.

She sighs and he can see her shift, absently pushing her long hair away from her face. Seeing her this way makes all the consequences of their actions worth it. If she were awake, and if she would allow it, he'd tell her. He would make her realize that everything he thought was important before now pales in comparison to this. He made his choice a long time ago, and it was her.

end

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