"You with me?" he asks, barely above a murmur.

Title: "Wake up"
Author(s): Gabe Yazimoto and Duncan Cooperstone
Character(s): Gabe, Duncan
Timeline: Current, appr. 3 months ago
Canon: Yes
Warnings: Not-so-subtly implied sexual and violent themes


He's been awake in the semi-dark for a while. Propped up on one arm and, not so much watching her in her sleep as sensing her in her sleep, the curve of her back against his stomach, the feeling of her skin on his, the sound of her breathing, her scent mixed with the accent in the air of their previous lovemaking. Looking at the line of her neck he lowers his head to kiss her shoulder and neck. She tastes like he remembers but each time is like experiencing it for the first time. Holding his breath so as not to disturb her, not until it's the right time, he slides his hand over the curve of her hip, and upwards, flat on her stomach. His other arm she uses like a pillow and he bends his wrist, fingertips tracing downward along her neck. Exhaling slowly he kisses her skin again and lets himself cup one of her breasts from behind.

She awakens with a choked gasp. He wears her out, there's no denying it, and for the past week or so, however much time has passed since that very first time (she can't remember, because somehow it feels like an instant and forever at the same time), she has slept soundly, contently, nearly every night. This one is no different, and it makes the sudden switch from asleep to awake all the more violent. Her belt, her guns, are on the corner of the bed, where they were discarded the previous night in the heat of the moment. She is all instinct, all adrenaline, and she tears away from the embrace. The motion is fluid, rattle-snake fast; she snatches a gun from its holster, rolls back and over him, pinning him down with her left hand. Her right hand presses the muzzle of the gun against his temple, her knuckles whitening. Her body is rigid and she is breathing heavily. Her eyes are wide open, wild, and for a moment there is no recognition in them, none at all.

To say she turns him about is an understatement; and understated as he generally is, it still doesn't come close. For a long while now her turn of phrase, images of her smiling in that way she sometimes does, the line of her neck, the way she moves have all come to his mind. Always unbidden and welcome in equal measure. However this, this was something new. She might not care to admit it, but she's an alpha, her wild, free passion one of things that commanded his inevitable and complete desire and attraction for her; and now, now he sees it in it's purest, most vibrant form. He lies beneath her, his gaze not leaving hers for even a heartbeat. All it would take, the slightest displacement of pressure, a squeeze a fraction of what he expends when he holds her in his arms or when she rises up over him during their coupling. That tiniest exertion from her and his life would be snuffed out right here in their bed. He breathes steadily, slowly his hands drawn up over the cotton sheet beneath, fingertips tracing her toned thighs as he settles his grasp on her hips; he's not entirely submissive to her, not even in this situation. Finally he speaks, eyes still locked with hers, his arctic blue eyes taking on that warm quality reserved for her and a single word fills the silence between them. "Gabe."

It takes a second, maybe two, but they are as long as eternity itself. Her eyes remain open wide but the tension, the expression in them goes from sharp and feral to confused, and then, as she sees him, to something resembling horror. Her right hand sinks down to the bed and she releases her vice-like grip on the gun. Her right arm supports her weight as she lowers her head, her hair falling in her face. She covers her face with her left hand, still breathing heavily, her shoulders trembling. That was close. That was much, much too close.

Quietly, one hand travels effortlessly up along her ribs, only losing contact with her for as long as it takes to sweep her hair away from her face, his fingers curling at the nape of her neck. He knows she's confused, phantom troubles nipping at her. Slowly he lifts himself up to meet her, his other arm crossing her lower back, as his eyes search for hers again. And in the space of a breath he's cradling her in his arms as if protecting her from some unseen shadow. The gravel in his voice soothing and with a warm tone. "You with me?" he asks, barely above a murmur.

She nods her head quickly, unwilling to lower her hand and look at him. Her breathing is starting to slow but her heart is beating a quick staccato in her chest still, and she shivers. "... yes," she replies, her voice hoarse. Yes, she's with him. She's present now, but she feels like screaming, and her right hand tightens for a moment around the muzzle of the gun, squeezing so hard the edges threaten to cut into her hand. She is still tense, unwilling to yield to his embrace.

Despite her assurance, she's not, not really. He doesn't pull her to him, just stays there, well within her reach. His head lowers a little, quirked a little to the side. "You're not alone any more..." His voice is still quiet, constant, immovable like the rocks of the earth beneath them. "Not any more..." he says again. "Wherever you find yourself, whatever the distance or the difficulty, you speak the word and I'll always be there for you..." He knows his words are possibility not getting through to her but it's all he can do to give her something to think on other than the dark edge she was teetering over.

She looks at him then, her eyes big and wide and almost a little sad. She nods again, quickly, and touches the sides of his face. Gently at first, fingertips barely brushing his skin, then with more purpose, more intent, until her touch is almost frantic. It's like she needs to know he's there, feel him, really feel him, and her dipping her head and kissing his mouth hard is merely an extension of that, a natural progression.

There's no reluctance, no need for him to dissect the course of events, to draw out what was plaguing her. When she was ready, wanted to, would allow herself to realise that he would be constant and steadfast for her, then she would. His trust for her is implicit, he'd follow her to hell and kick in the devil's door. Without thought or reservation he's altogether comfortable, more than that, he feels reassured, maybe even protected by her. There's no question in his mind about putting his life in her hands. As he eases into her embrace at first, developing into kissing her as desperately as she does him. Each time his lips are crushed to hers it is like the first time and yet having that indefinable familiarity.

She won't apologize with words, never been one for that, not even way back when, but the way she kisses him, the way her hands touch his skin and her thighs hug his waist might as well be an apology. Her muscles are aching from the previous, sudden tension, and she wants, no, craves his hands on her, working out the kinks, and eventually rendering her limbs soft and pliant. Not right now, though, right now she's like a predator, coiled up for the leap, and the kiss is ungentle, urgent, her teeth nipping his lip more than once. It's a kiss with a purpose, and as he sinks back down against the mattress, she follows, all too eager to forget and lose herself in him.