DISCLAIMER: To type, or not to type? That is the question. Whether 'tis
nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous NBC execs,
ER writers, and WB henchmen. Or to take up a pen against the sea of bad
and abandoned plot lines, and by opposing, create new ones. Aye, there's
the rub.
Okay, so I kinda crapped out on that one. Blame NBC, and gimme a break - I'm saving my creativity for down the page.
This installment is dedicated, heart and soul, to Rocket Launcher, who helped me remember why I started in the first place when I briefly lost my way.
"R" - Does she mean ready and rarin' to go? Heh!
There was a palpable tremble in the air.
His eyes, so dark, so guarded. His tongue, once at play so visibly beneath the skin of his cheek, had retreated into the depths of his mouth. His pulse, throbbing through one well-defined vein beneath her palm as they both pressed against the panel of the door.
"Elizabeth," his voice husky, gravelly.
"Robert?" God, was that her? A tone so breathy, so feminine?
"It's been a real bitch of a day."
She slipped her fingers in between his, sliding her fingertips down between wood and flesh. "That it has."
He was staring at her hand, burning a hole through to his own, and deeper.
"This is not exactly the best time for -" He faltered a bit as the soft pads covering delicate bone pressed against his palm.
"For what?" Elizabeth prompted gently.
His eyes dragged their way to hers, and she silently lifted his hand from the door. She guided it to her face, felt it heat the air next to her cheek...
Until he jerked away from her as if she were trying to guide him into an open flame. "I don't have time for games such as these, Lizzie." He disentangled his fingers from hers and took a defensive step backwards. He was unguarded, uncomfortable, and raging at his own demeanor for betraying him as such. "Do us both a favor, Dr. Corday. Get the hell out of my office."
He gave her his back, slowly, deliberately before crossing the room to the window on the opposite side of his desk. Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly, a dozen scenarios rising in her brain.
She could slip out the door. He'd let her go, and they would never speak of it again.
She could turn on him hotly, demand an explanation. Back him into a corner, and watch him pounce his way out. The verbal fencing promised to be brilliant.
She could goad him, laugh at him. Attack while his fortress was laid open wide. And it would all end there. His crush, his infatuation, his desire would evaporate under heated fury and humiliation. She would earn his hatred, his contempt. Then maybe she could sleep at night and not awaken with that moist, nagging ache her visions of him always left her with. Maybe that would be best. End it all here in one fell swoop.
Before she could open her mouth, her legs were carrying her across the room. She moved up behind him...
....and time seemed to freeze in one clear, crystalline stretch where she saw his muscles tighten as he sensed her proximity, saw the fine hair at the base of his skull stand on end in anticipation, heard the click of his jaw as he clamped teeth together, and she could hear him railing at her in his mind - "go away, go away, GO AWAY"....
She touched his shoulder, and he jerked like a live wire. "Elizabeth." Voice full of warning, taut, strained, like a sheet spread over too much mattress.
Lovely analogy.
She spread her fingers, scrubs under palm, flesh beneath fingertips. She flicked her nails lightly against the rise of his neck. He whirled, grabbing her wrist in a painful vise and wrenching it away. Their faces were inches apart, his breath was snorting from flared nostrils, and his fingers were burning a brand into her skin. He was furious - more so then she had ever seen. Amazingly, Elizabeth found herself smiling. He flinched away, eyeing her suspiciously. "What in the hell has gotten into you?"
Oh, my dear Rocket, not nearly enough....
The fingers of her free hand found his locked elbow, slid up over the tensed muscle of his forearm, and gently grasped the wrist holding hers prisoner. Her voice, a soft, seductive purr. "Robert? You're hurting me." Triumph and regret met in the battlefield of his eyes, but Elizabeth chose not to wait to see who would be the victor. Instead, she moved his hand, guiding hers closer. She stretched her fingers, reaching, then released her grip on him as he completed the journey, bringing her palm to his face. He covered the back of her hand with his and leaned into her touch, his lips grazing the tender flesh inside her wrist. Yet even as his body began to respond, his mouth still battled. Yes, that mouth....
"You cannot possibly want this," he murmured hoarsely. "You're out of your mind."
She lifted her other hand to his opposite cheek.
"No, Robert. For the first time, in a very long time, I'm thinking quite clearly."
He uttered a barking sob as she covered his lips with hers.
The sensation was exquisite. Soft and strong, rigid yet flexible, salty and sweet, and at long last, yielding. She caught his earlobes between index and middle fingers, ran thumbs along his jaw. Exhaling warm breath across his skin, she parted her lips slightly to mesh them better with his. She realized she had lowered her lashes, and she lifted them slowly, needing to see his reaction.
It seemed he had never closed his eyes, for the instant her lids parted their gazes locked with a nearly audible click. The swirling brown was full of question, of reservation, of suspicion. Holding his stare, she moved her lips tenderly against his, and saw the first edgings of a new emotion rise.
Hope.
It flooded her heart with longing, with desire. Still holding his face in her hands, she deliberately closed her eyes once more, tilted her head slightly, and parted his lips with her tongue. An electric thrill ran through her body as she absorbed his flavor. Musky, sweet, with a hint of bitterness that may have come from their earlier defeat in the OR, or from the cup of stale coffee that sat on his desk blotter. She could feel desire and restraint still at war within him, and she slid her hands down rigid arms, guiding them around her waist. It was like moving a marionette; there was no give whatsoever. She pulled her mouth away from his and lay her head on his shoulder, knowing the curls captured on top of her head would caress his cheek. "Robert," she murmured softly. "Hold me."
Stubble grazing her jaw, angular nose brushing her neck, and his face was pressed against her, and his arms were tightening around her, molding to her body, one hand flattened and pressed between her shoulder blades, the other clutching her sweater at the small of her back. She moved her own arms around broad shoulders now trembling ever so slightly and pulled him against her, feeling the racing of his heart pound against her own chest. "Elizabeth?" His voice, sleepy, meek, mild. She didn't like it. She shushed him, to no avail. "Elizabeth." Well, stronger this time. More Romano.
"Yes, Robert?" She didn't lift her head.
"What -" he cleared his throat. "What exactly are we doing here?"
Elizabeth lifted her head to face him, searching for the most appropriate response. Everything that leapt to mind was just wrong somehow - too sleazy, too coy, too patronizing, too timid. Then, finally....
"Don't you know?"
Time suspended once more, and Elizabeth saw him the way, she now realized, she'd always wanted to. Not as the bombastic surgeon who sniped his superiority to all who crossed his path. Not as the ruthless administrator who had raised the sadistic torture of his subordinates to the level of art. Not as the ruthless predator who would stop at nothing to have her attention. The Robert Romano who stood loosely held in her arms was merely a man, perfect and flawed, confident and scared, needing and aloof, certain and unsure, and more vulnerable than any human being would ever dare to be.
He'd been her teacher, imparting surgical wisdom that no one else ever could. Teaching skills never mastered by other hands.
He'd been her antagonist, doling out obstacles, making her jump, watching her climb. Willing her forward, making her ten times the doctor she would have been had they not crossed paths
He'd been her partner, diving with her into the recesses of the human body, seeking injury to heal, damage to repair, disease to eradicate. Standing by her side when she beat death, and when it defeated her.
He'd been her friend. A bizarre camaraderie, a mysterious, elusive amity, but one that pulled her all the same.
And now, after all that had passed, she wanted him as her love.
As realization crept over her, her face illuminated in a peaceful smile. Romano started a bit, and it occurred to Elizabeth how completely ill- equipped the man was to handle the gesture she was offering. "Robert? If you don't want this - if you're not ready...." Her words trailed off as her fingers played tenderly at the base of his neck. "It really isn't polite to leave a lady wondering."
His face softened, eyes clouded. He began to shake his head from side to side, lowering his eyes, unable to meet her gaze. And now Elizabeth was embarrassed, even guilty, for disarming him so. "I - I can't.....Lizzie, I don't think - "
She placed two fingers over his lips.
"Good." She whispered softly. "Don't think." She brought her lips to his once more. For a brief moment they hovered, immobile.
And then the dam within him broke. His arms tightened around her, hands sliding up her back and plunging into the depths of her hair, fingers working desperately to set it wild and free about her shoulders. His lips parted, his tongue danced against hers, and he drew breath from her lungs into his own. His body moved against hers, solid against soft, and she could just feel....
He yanked her brutally away from him. They stood gasping for breath, regarding each other with molten surprise. His hands still in her hair, her arms clutching at his waist, bodies trembling with anticipation. His lips curled in a grin. "Hard or soft?"
Well, he made quite a recovery. She blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
He rolled his tongue over his lower teeth, making her weak in the knees. Well, weaker. "Desk or sofa, Dr. Corday. The choice should be yours; after all, it is your back."
She blanched slightly, and he chuckled. Even here, even now, he was trying to keep her in her place. Well, that was her Robert. She ran her thumb over his lips, smiling as he nipped at it.
"Who says you get to be on top?"
A throaty growl, and she was pressed against him once more. And it was more than any dream, any vision, and fevered imagining locked inside her brain. It was real. He was real. Solid, warm, welcoming. His fingers moving in her hair, his lips pressed against her own, his arms, his chest, and lower, and suddenly her control was gone, and she was swept away on a wave of pure euphoria, and closing her eyes, she held on to him for dear life.
He was moving her, moving against her. The world shifted, tilted, and something cool and smooth and inviting was embracing her from behind. His weight was on her and her leg slid up, her calf settling into the cradle of his knee. She clawed his scrub top up over his head, and was rewarded with muscular shoulders and mildly defined pectorals and delightfully masculine skin. He twitched as she flattened her palm over his heart and traced her thumb over flesh that rose to greet her touch. His mouth left hers and he gasped slightly for air, throwing his head back. She could not resist the temptation of his exposed throat, and she lifted her head to trace the shoreline of the hollow with the tip of her tongue. He grabbed the back of her head, to guide or to support, she was not sure which. She pressed her other hand against the other side of his chest, fingers tracing the line where pale skin became rosy. The arm caressing the small of her back moved around to her stomach, found the hem of her shirt, and tented fingers began to bare her skin. Elizabeth breathed in raggedly as the fabric briefly covered her face, then was gone. Lace and elastic followed behind, and his breath caught in a gasp. "Elizabeth..."
Romano was frozen above her, and she watched as the gravity of the situation settled squarely on his shoulders. His hand hovered above her, warming sensitive skin, but not making contact. His face was a squall of emotion - desire, need, doubt, and fear twisting features she had memorized in spite of herself. She arched, moving herself into his touch. His eyes glazed a bit, his tongue darting out to wet parched lips. She marveled at the heat stoked within his palm, how it made her bare skin at its borders rise with a chill. He closed his eyes briefly, battling for control.
Control, control, always the issue.
She reached up, gently covered his hand with her own. Pressing him closer. Her other hand made its way to his neck in a gentle caress. Mild pressure, pulling him down, finding his lips with her own, kissing, tasting, breathing in his scent. Slender fingers stroked silky soft hair covering the well-defined base of his skull. Her mouth moved against his with renewed hunger. Restrained response, maddening. She hope her voice was encouraging as she spoke his name languidly, tasting the word as it rolled off her tongue. "Robert." The flavor suited her, so she sampled again. "Robert." She shifted beneath him, hips relaxing and turning, then nudging gently.
"Robert, love..."
A strangled moan ?his? ?hers?, and some unseen wave crashed over them both, pushing him to her. Slow and steady turned hasty and desperate, cotton and linen taking leave in whispers, mouths meeting, fingers tangling, bodies merging, and all that was left was the swirling rainbow of colors exploding behind her eyes and his voice in her ear. He led and she followed and she guided and he responded, give and take and need and want and touch and taste and higher and deeper and more and more. Together, culmination, unity, harmony, and she cried out his name, her tears wetting his cheeks as his mouth traced her jaw. He held her, he rocked her, he made her complete.
And even when her nails raked blood from his back and her teeth closed harshly on his neck, he stayed.
Okay, so I kinda crapped out on that one. Blame NBC, and gimme a break - I'm saving my creativity for down the page.
This installment is dedicated, heart and soul, to Rocket Launcher, who helped me remember why I started in the first place when I briefly lost my way.
"R" - Does she mean ready and rarin' to go? Heh!
There was a palpable tremble in the air.
His eyes, so dark, so guarded. His tongue, once at play so visibly beneath the skin of his cheek, had retreated into the depths of his mouth. His pulse, throbbing through one well-defined vein beneath her palm as they both pressed against the panel of the door.
"Elizabeth," his voice husky, gravelly.
"Robert?" God, was that her? A tone so breathy, so feminine?
"It's been a real bitch of a day."
She slipped her fingers in between his, sliding her fingertips down between wood and flesh. "That it has."
He was staring at her hand, burning a hole through to his own, and deeper.
"This is not exactly the best time for -" He faltered a bit as the soft pads covering delicate bone pressed against his palm.
"For what?" Elizabeth prompted gently.
His eyes dragged their way to hers, and she silently lifted his hand from the door. She guided it to her face, felt it heat the air next to her cheek...
Until he jerked away from her as if she were trying to guide him into an open flame. "I don't have time for games such as these, Lizzie." He disentangled his fingers from hers and took a defensive step backwards. He was unguarded, uncomfortable, and raging at his own demeanor for betraying him as such. "Do us both a favor, Dr. Corday. Get the hell out of my office."
He gave her his back, slowly, deliberately before crossing the room to the window on the opposite side of his desk. Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly, a dozen scenarios rising in her brain.
She could slip out the door. He'd let her go, and they would never speak of it again.
She could turn on him hotly, demand an explanation. Back him into a corner, and watch him pounce his way out. The verbal fencing promised to be brilliant.
She could goad him, laugh at him. Attack while his fortress was laid open wide. And it would all end there. His crush, his infatuation, his desire would evaporate under heated fury and humiliation. She would earn his hatred, his contempt. Then maybe she could sleep at night and not awaken with that moist, nagging ache her visions of him always left her with. Maybe that would be best. End it all here in one fell swoop.
Before she could open her mouth, her legs were carrying her across the room. She moved up behind him...
....and time seemed to freeze in one clear, crystalline stretch where she saw his muscles tighten as he sensed her proximity, saw the fine hair at the base of his skull stand on end in anticipation, heard the click of his jaw as he clamped teeth together, and she could hear him railing at her in his mind - "go away, go away, GO AWAY"....
She touched his shoulder, and he jerked like a live wire. "Elizabeth." Voice full of warning, taut, strained, like a sheet spread over too much mattress.
Lovely analogy.
She spread her fingers, scrubs under palm, flesh beneath fingertips. She flicked her nails lightly against the rise of his neck. He whirled, grabbing her wrist in a painful vise and wrenching it away. Their faces were inches apart, his breath was snorting from flared nostrils, and his fingers were burning a brand into her skin. He was furious - more so then she had ever seen. Amazingly, Elizabeth found herself smiling. He flinched away, eyeing her suspiciously. "What in the hell has gotten into you?"
Oh, my dear Rocket, not nearly enough....
The fingers of her free hand found his locked elbow, slid up over the tensed muscle of his forearm, and gently grasped the wrist holding hers prisoner. Her voice, a soft, seductive purr. "Robert? You're hurting me." Triumph and regret met in the battlefield of his eyes, but Elizabeth chose not to wait to see who would be the victor. Instead, she moved his hand, guiding hers closer. She stretched her fingers, reaching, then released her grip on him as he completed the journey, bringing her palm to his face. He covered the back of her hand with his and leaned into her touch, his lips grazing the tender flesh inside her wrist. Yet even as his body began to respond, his mouth still battled. Yes, that mouth....
"You cannot possibly want this," he murmured hoarsely. "You're out of your mind."
She lifted her other hand to his opposite cheek.
"No, Robert. For the first time, in a very long time, I'm thinking quite clearly."
He uttered a barking sob as she covered his lips with hers.
The sensation was exquisite. Soft and strong, rigid yet flexible, salty and sweet, and at long last, yielding. She caught his earlobes between index and middle fingers, ran thumbs along his jaw. Exhaling warm breath across his skin, she parted her lips slightly to mesh them better with his. She realized she had lowered her lashes, and she lifted them slowly, needing to see his reaction.
It seemed he had never closed his eyes, for the instant her lids parted their gazes locked with a nearly audible click. The swirling brown was full of question, of reservation, of suspicion. Holding his stare, she moved her lips tenderly against his, and saw the first edgings of a new emotion rise.
Hope.
It flooded her heart with longing, with desire. Still holding his face in her hands, she deliberately closed her eyes once more, tilted her head slightly, and parted his lips with her tongue. An electric thrill ran through her body as she absorbed his flavor. Musky, sweet, with a hint of bitterness that may have come from their earlier defeat in the OR, or from the cup of stale coffee that sat on his desk blotter. She could feel desire and restraint still at war within him, and she slid her hands down rigid arms, guiding them around her waist. It was like moving a marionette; there was no give whatsoever. She pulled her mouth away from his and lay her head on his shoulder, knowing the curls captured on top of her head would caress his cheek. "Robert," she murmured softly. "Hold me."
Stubble grazing her jaw, angular nose brushing her neck, and his face was pressed against her, and his arms were tightening around her, molding to her body, one hand flattened and pressed between her shoulder blades, the other clutching her sweater at the small of her back. She moved her own arms around broad shoulders now trembling ever so slightly and pulled him against her, feeling the racing of his heart pound against her own chest. "Elizabeth?" His voice, sleepy, meek, mild. She didn't like it. She shushed him, to no avail. "Elizabeth." Well, stronger this time. More Romano.
"Yes, Robert?" She didn't lift her head.
"What -" he cleared his throat. "What exactly are we doing here?"
Elizabeth lifted her head to face him, searching for the most appropriate response. Everything that leapt to mind was just wrong somehow - too sleazy, too coy, too patronizing, too timid. Then, finally....
"Don't you know?"
Time suspended once more, and Elizabeth saw him the way, she now realized, she'd always wanted to. Not as the bombastic surgeon who sniped his superiority to all who crossed his path. Not as the ruthless administrator who had raised the sadistic torture of his subordinates to the level of art. Not as the ruthless predator who would stop at nothing to have her attention. The Robert Romano who stood loosely held in her arms was merely a man, perfect and flawed, confident and scared, needing and aloof, certain and unsure, and more vulnerable than any human being would ever dare to be.
He'd been her teacher, imparting surgical wisdom that no one else ever could. Teaching skills never mastered by other hands.
He'd been her antagonist, doling out obstacles, making her jump, watching her climb. Willing her forward, making her ten times the doctor she would have been had they not crossed paths
He'd been her partner, diving with her into the recesses of the human body, seeking injury to heal, damage to repair, disease to eradicate. Standing by her side when she beat death, and when it defeated her.
He'd been her friend. A bizarre camaraderie, a mysterious, elusive amity, but one that pulled her all the same.
And now, after all that had passed, she wanted him as her love.
As realization crept over her, her face illuminated in a peaceful smile. Romano started a bit, and it occurred to Elizabeth how completely ill- equipped the man was to handle the gesture she was offering. "Robert? If you don't want this - if you're not ready...." Her words trailed off as her fingers played tenderly at the base of his neck. "It really isn't polite to leave a lady wondering."
His face softened, eyes clouded. He began to shake his head from side to side, lowering his eyes, unable to meet her gaze. And now Elizabeth was embarrassed, even guilty, for disarming him so. "I - I can't.....Lizzie, I don't think - "
She placed two fingers over his lips.
"Good." She whispered softly. "Don't think." She brought her lips to his once more. For a brief moment they hovered, immobile.
And then the dam within him broke. His arms tightened around her, hands sliding up her back and plunging into the depths of her hair, fingers working desperately to set it wild and free about her shoulders. His lips parted, his tongue danced against hers, and he drew breath from her lungs into his own. His body moved against hers, solid against soft, and she could just feel....
He yanked her brutally away from him. They stood gasping for breath, regarding each other with molten surprise. His hands still in her hair, her arms clutching at his waist, bodies trembling with anticipation. His lips curled in a grin. "Hard or soft?"
Well, he made quite a recovery. She blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
He rolled his tongue over his lower teeth, making her weak in the knees. Well, weaker. "Desk or sofa, Dr. Corday. The choice should be yours; after all, it is your back."
She blanched slightly, and he chuckled. Even here, even now, he was trying to keep her in her place. Well, that was her Robert. She ran her thumb over his lips, smiling as he nipped at it.
"Who says you get to be on top?"
A throaty growl, and she was pressed against him once more. And it was more than any dream, any vision, and fevered imagining locked inside her brain. It was real. He was real. Solid, warm, welcoming. His fingers moving in her hair, his lips pressed against her own, his arms, his chest, and lower, and suddenly her control was gone, and she was swept away on a wave of pure euphoria, and closing her eyes, she held on to him for dear life.
He was moving her, moving against her. The world shifted, tilted, and something cool and smooth and inviting was embracing her from behind. His weight was on her and her leg slid up, her calf settling into the cradle of his knee. She clawed his scrub top up over his head, and was rewarded with muscular shoulders and mildly defined pectorals and delightfully masculine skin. He twitched as she flattened her palm over his heart and traced her thumb over flesh that rose to greet her touch. His mouth left hers and he gasped slightly for air, throwing his head back. She could not resist the temptation of his exposed throat, and she lifted her head to trace the shoreline of the hollow with the tip of her tongue. He grabbed the back of her head, to guide or to support, she was not sure which. She pressed her other hand against the other side of his chest, fingers tracing the line where pale skin became rosy. The arm caressing the small of her back moved around to her stomach, found the hem of her shirt, and tented fingers began to bare her skin. Elizabeth breathed in raggedly as the fabric briefly covered her face, then was gone. Lace and elastic followed behind, and his breath caught in a gasp. "Elizabeth..."
Romano was frozen above her, and she watched as the gravity of the situation settled squarely on his shoulders. His hand hovered above her, warming sensitive skin, but not making contact. His face was a squall of emotion - desire, need, doubt, and fear twisting features she had memorized in spite of herself. She arched, moving herself into his touch. His eyes glazed a bit, his tongue darting out to wet parched lips. She marveled at the heat stoked within his palm, how it made her bare skin at its borders rise with a chill. He closed his eyes briefly, battling for control.
Control, control, always the issue.
She reached up, gently covered his hand with her own. Pressing him closer. Her other hand made its way to his neck in a gentle caress. Mild pressure, pulling him down, finding his lips with her own, kissing, tasting, breathing in his scent. Slender fingers stroked silky soft hair covering the well-defined base of his skull. Her mouth moved against his with renewed hunger. Restrained response, maddening. She hope her voice was encouraging as she spoke his name languidly, tasting the word as it rolled off her tongue. "Robert." The flavor suited her, so she sampled again. "Robert." She shifted beneath him, hips relaxing and turning, then nudging gently.
"Robert, love..."
A strangled moan ?his? ?hers?, and some unseen wave crashed over them both, pushing him to her. Slow and steady turned hasty and desperate, cotton and linen taking leave in whispers, mouths meeting, fingers tangling, bodies merging, and all that was left was the swirling rainbow of colors exploding behind her eyes and his voice in her ear. He led and she followed and she guided and he responded, give and take and need and want and touch and taste and higher and deeper and more and more. Together, culmination, unity, harmony, and she cried out his name, her tears wetting his cheeks as his mouth traced her jaw. He held her, he rocked her, he made her complete.
And even when her nails raked blood from his back and her teeth closed harshly on his neck, he stayed.