Missed By A Mile
by SwaySlayer
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The characters in this little ditty have free will and do
everything of their own accord – all within the confines of copyright
laws of course. JW owns them and I just get to play with them for
the new year.
Author's Note: It's been eons since I've written a fic so what, you
ask, is the reason for my return? My girlfriend has gone to explore
the world for six months and is currently swinging on a hammock in
Mexico, drinking Coronas and trying not to regard my excessive emails
as pathetic. I miss her. I have no one to be naughty with. *sniff*
Feedback: I'm job-hunting. Blow my skirt up a little.
I'm waiting for her at the airport twenty minutes earlier than necessary. I really don't care if it's an anally retentive thing to do. I've been mocked for less, and besides, it's been a year and I'm allowed to be excited. A group of school kids on what seems to be some kind of science tour trundle past me and I can't help but feel sorry for their frazzled teacher/tour guide. I raise my eyebrows as her troop goes by and she manages to raise a weak smile while yelling at some poor boy named Monty. I don't feel sorry for Monty. He'll probably grow up to be an investment banker while I remain an expert in getting blood, dust and grime out of good shoes. Maybe I should audition for one of those infomercials. You know the ones. It's 2:00am, a zillion degrees, you can't sleep and suddenly there's a woman on television acting as your personal messiah, because she's found a set of steak knives that "cut through metal!" I'd be the spokesperson for a deep, stain-remover that you can use for any difficult laundry jobs. I can see it now: me in full gridiron uniform being tackled into the mud; me as a teacher with little kids putting their sticky little hands all over my pristine white shirt; me in a cemetery at night going Slayer-tastic on a group of vamps and a fungus demon. Somehow I don't think the world is ready for a stain- remover that strong.
Strength makes me think of her again, or more specifically, how allowing herself to be weak has further enabled her strength. Some of us are born strong. It's in our blood, in our drive; it's the way we take a breath in the morning and how we lie down in bed at night. I accept my strength as a gift and marvel at others – like her – who have cultivated it amongst the direst of hardships. Truth be told, she'd kick my ass if she knew I was having these thoughts. Never one for sentimentality, she balks at any mention of "triumph over adversity" or "against all odds" or any other Hallmark movie catchphrases that have too often been used to describe her. As someone once said to me: "You're one hell of a woman", and I struggle to find anything more perfect to describe her.
Actually, I could possibly throw "tardy" into the mix as I find my toe tapping impatiently as the first few passengers begin to trickle off her flight. I watch, as the bedraggled travelers fall into the arms of waiting loved ones or formally shake hands with a driver holding a sign that says "Mr. Hackett". I was going to make a sign but decided that her first sighting of me should be dork-free. I have it in the car just to prove I made it though. Sadly, there was glitter involved and I'm relatively sure my backseat now resembles a drag queen's dressing room. I'll vacuum over the weekend, although truth be told, I've done enough vacuuming over the past few days to last me an eternity. It's for the same reason I was here early: I'm nervous. More nervous than I've ever been in my entire life, and yes, it's completely unfounded. She's the surest thing of my existence, and on a practical level I know that the moment she steps through those doors, it's going to be better than glorious. But that doesn't mean I don't have fears. What if she's changed? What if I've changed? I mean, we've been in contact the whole time, by phone, by fax, by email, but you can never see whether their eyes shine or catch the scent of the last place they've been. I know intrinsically that she's not going to smell like plane food or have matted hair from friction-filled synthetic fiber seats. She's going to intoxicate my senses with her own, undeniable, carefully constructed scent of…nothing. She is herself and nothing else.
As the seconds tick by, snippets of her phone calls and letters dart through my mind. Her description of a sunrise in Sao Paolo, the way she pretends to be judgmental when she's really fascinated by culture, how she radiates a heat through the receiver that's enough to make my legs melt into my feet. In case you haven't realised it by the plethora of declarations so far, I'm very much in love with her. It would be bordering on obsession if it weren't for the fact that my affections are returned, although in all honesty, there are days when I suspect that a restraining order is imminent. Today however, the only thing imminent is my waning patience and her impending arrival. I have a single black tulip to present to her. No red roses or pink carnations. We both hate clichés, but as I catch the first glimpse of her figure striding through the clear glass doors, I slowly begin to embrace one particularly overdone formula.
It begins with what seems like a walk through molasses, slow motion as performed by a snail on Valium. She makes her way steadily through the smattering of passengers blocking her way while I, in as much of a trance as I could possibly be in while awake, move ever-so- slightly in her direction. I must be moving faster than I'm aware of because milliseconds later I'm close enough to inhale the scents emanating from her body. I blink once more and the world disappears into a dark abyss as her mouth covers mine. Somewhere in the back of my mind I'm aware of the elderly couple staring at us, and the teenagers sniggering to each other, but it's all lost to the warmth of her body and strength of her kiss. Neither of us wants to pull away, so we perform that strange maneuver whereby our mouths gradually shift to each other's cheeks and necks – eventually culminating in a tight embrace. She's the first to pull back and she takes me by the shoulders with enquiring eyes. I smile at first, but as her scrutiny lingers I begin to feel uncomfortable. I unconsciously brush a strand of my hair behind my ear and feel a twinge of annoyance. As said annoyance appears on my face she smiles widely and in that mediated, slightly husky tone she says:
"Hey you." I brandish the tulip and she dips her nose deep into its petals, inhaling profoundly as I watch with unrestrained amounts of fascination. Everything she does seems new to me and I'm thoroughly enjoying it. She takes the flower from me and intertwines her fingers with mine as we begin a slow walk to the airport car park. Not surprisingly, I launch into a babble-fest and begin peppering her with inane questions about obscure places. She smiles and answers politely and I can tell that there is a peace surrounding her. Either that or she drank a lot on the plane. No baby bottles of booze that I can see, so I guess it's the former. The airport is dark and everything appears to be cordoned off, but I feel like I'm waltzing through an open field, flinging daisy petals around. She's definitely noticed my overwhelming "ray of sunshine" performance and she chuckles softly to herself. I come to a dead halt. Slayer hearing: a curse for some, a gift to others. I adopt an overtly petulant pose.
"Are you laughing at me?" She tilts her head to the left and raises an eyebrow.
"No. I'm laughing with you."
"That would work if I was also channeling Chuckles the Happy-Clappy Clown, but as far as I can tell, you're the only one getting your jollies." Her face changes and it's a look I've imagined receiving for 12 long months. My knees begin to head for the floor.
"We can make you an appointment to get yours." She puts her mouth close to my ear and I'm pretty sure my kneecaps are now made of jelly. "If it pleases you." I turn to her until our eyes are close enough to reflect light into each other.
"Oh it does. In fact, it pleases me right now." We mash our lips together with such force that our teeth knock together and we engage in some heavy duty kissing before an old Japanese man smacks the wheel of his trolley into her ankle. She lets out a small yelp and hisses "motherfucker!" under her breath. I giggle and take her backpack from her. "Come on. They sting you for parking underground." She grumbles something about speed limits in airports, rubs her ankle and wraps her arm around my waist as we walk.
"Where'd you parked Chuckles Jr?" I gesture towards the general area of the dark, dank airport parking. It's an endless chasm from where we stand. She rolls her eyes.
"I saw that!"
"You were meant to."
"I think I parked in the purple section." She kisses me on the forehead.
"Purple it is. Let's walk."
Fifteen minutes later I begin to think that the purple indicators may have been blue. Or green. Come to think of it, in this foreboding underground car park, most of the colour indicators look black. I'm screwed.
"B?"
"Yes?"
"You didn't happen to go colour-blind while I was away, did you?" I shoot her a death look but I think she misses it in the dim lighting. "Let's catch a shuttle bus home. I don't want to spend my first hour back lost in a modern day tomb carrying the backpack I wore for twelve months." I clear my throat loudly.
"I believe I'm carrying the backpack Muscles." We round a corner and suddenly, the car park ceases to exit. Large amounts of scaffolding with plastic draped casually over it stares at us solemnly. "Shit." I drop the backpack to the floor, close my eyes and attempt some strange form of meditation-cum-prayer to locate my wayward vehicle. She steps in behind me and wraps her arms around my upper body. I place my arms over hers and lean back into her embrace. Her lips find my neck and my knees begin to perform their gravitational pull again. I ease myself around to face her. Her dark eyes are shining. At first I think it's a reflection from a stray piece of light, but as my hand brushes against her face I realise its origin.
"Faith…" She runs her thumb over my lips.
"I missed you. I can feel the warmth of your skin, I can smell the shampoo you use, I can taste your mouth when I kiss you and it's a little overwhelming. Actually, more than overwhelming. I'm… whelmed." I can feel a soft smile dance across my lips.
"I whelm you?"
"Don't make fun."
"I'm not. I'm flattered that you'd make up an entirely new word for the way I make you feel." She's so close to me my body begins to think it's merging with hers.
"Try find a word for this." Milliseconds elapse and I'm pinned against a thick concrete slab, her fingers like dragonflies darting all over my body. A soft brush against my hip, a small pressure on my back, a blazing touch between my thighs. The confines of the space have my ragged breaths muffled against reams of plastic and our position in the corner is preventing any echoes escaping. Our mouths are locked together in a kiss so fierce it defies life or death. I want nothing more than to scream the feelings attacking my senses but the immediacy of our respective needs rejects any such action.
I propel myself off the wall and plunge the two of us through two sheets of plastic. We land in the middle of the scaffolding with windows of clear curtains enveloping us. I remove her shirt in one swift movement and tug off mine. Her hands find the exposed skin of my abdomen and burn imprints with their need. Shoes, socks, pants and belts find themselves removed from eager bodies and we follow that with an all-out attack on each other's underwear. Her hands slip into the cups of my bra and firmly massage my breasts. I inhale sharply as my nipples respond to the attention and run my fingers through her dark locks as her mouth goes to work. In my frenetic state, I manage to deprive her of her own bra and in unison; we press our bodies against each other, drinking in the sensation of hot skin against skin. I sink my teeth into the top of her shoulder and she reciprocates by thrusting her hand deep between my thighs. My tongue finds her breast and she digs her fingers hard into my back. It's a cyclone of tactile movement, sustained by the steady humming between our legs. I divest myself of underwear and watch with unabashed desire as she does the same. The air hangs loosely around us. One long inhalation of breath, and we head for the epicentre.
Our limbs are wrapped around each other like an octopus playing tag and the sweat from our bodies begins to lay a thin sheen of condensation on the sheets of plastic. I run my tongue over her bottom lip and she moans to let me know her patience is waning, but before I can react she's buried a finger inside me. My cry is muffled as she dips her tongue into my mouth and crushes her lips against mine. We breathe in each other's exhalations as she begins a slow rhythm inside me. I'm close to blacking out, but desire keeps me alert. I grab a handful of her hair with my hand, and with the other, drive a finger into her. As the vast wetness encompasses my hand I realise the full extent of her desire and withdraw only to add another finger. Air hisses through her teeth as she attempts to focus through the haze of pleasure I'm providing her with. Another earth-crushing kiss reveals two fingers inside me and when I open my eyes, she's smiling. Not a soft smile, not lustful, not questioning, just pure joy and soon it's my eyes that are shining.
The movements of our fingers as we bring each other to climax are not synchronized. They are not simultaneous or harmonious. I drive my fingers into her fast and deep, only slowing when I bring her to the brink and pull back again. She gives me time to build, slowly stroking my lips and clit until I grit my teeth and demand she satisfy me. As the pace and intensity of our strokes increases one thought permeates my fugue state of pleasure. This is not making love. This is pure, unadulterated, necessary, overdue, gorgeous fucking. The future holds many nights of intimacy and love. Right now, all I care about is us, and how long we can make each other sweat. Not that I have any concept of time as her arm envelops me in a death grip. I can feel her body begin to rumble and little sparks of lust begin sizzling in my stomach. With her arm still tightly wound around my waist, and using me as leverage, she leans back and grinds her hips onto my hand. The new angle obviously creates the desired effect and soon she is a vision: golden skin, raven hair, blood mouth and avenging angel as an orgasm rips through her. I can only stare as she allows the ripples and their aftershocks to roll over her, and just as I'm prepared to kiss her overworked mouth, my body hits rewind.
Every sensation I've felt since she pushed me against the wall comes flooding back and as her energy returns she has me on the verge of tears. I cry for every inch of pleasure that she gives me, and cry for every day she was away. My own climax tears through me with a ferocity that increases my weeping and it is only once the shudders have settled to a soft shake that she takes me into her arms. My tears mix with the perspiration on her skin. We sit together until a cold wind persuades us to forego our nakedness, but even then we accessorise with kisses and soft touches. She pushes aside a sheet of plastic and I step through, almost tripping over her hastily abandoned backpack. She follows and stares meaningfully around the corner.
"I guess we'd better try find the car." She hikes the backpack onto her shoulders. "Have you got the ticket?" I pat down my pockets before a flash of memory points to the ticket currently residing in my lost car.
"Shit." I look at her with mock helplessness.
"There is no way you are going to play coy after what you just did to me."
"Pot. Kettle. Black. Feel free to choose." She sweeps me up into her arms and grins broadly.
"I choose you."
"Oh my god! Me too! We're like, totally twins!" She rolls her eyes. "I saw that!"
"You were meant to." We round the corner and leave behind the structure that holds the secret to our fevered tryst. "So what do you say B? Right lane purple? Left lane blue?" I grab her by the hand and start walking.
"Let's just find the car smartass."
Fate steps in and a few minutes later, we locate my lonely auto, sitting patiently in the pink section. I open the car and catch the remnants of a smirk as she throws her pack into the trunk. She comes round to the driver's side and holds out her hand.
"Keys please." True, my driving prowess isn't exactly exemplary but I've managed twelve months accident-free without her. I stand my ground.
"How about, 'no thanks'?" She cocks a hip and before I can yell foul, she's meshing her mouth against mine in an apocalyptic kiss. She pulls away and grins.
"Keys please." I drop them into her palm and make my way to the passenger side on wobbly legs. We get in and she starts the engine. I place my hand on her arm and she turns to see intensity written on my face. Before I can continue, she steps in.
"I love you. Nothing's changed. I'm yours. And you can't exchange me for a new model." I kiss her lightly on the lips but my expression hasn't changed. "Is there something else?" I draw circles on her leg.
"It's just that…our little….because we….you know the proximity….on account of us being at the airport, do we get to join the 'club'?"
She laughs like the woman I love and puts on her sunglasses as we exit the car park.
"Sorry baby. We missed it by a mile."