Dawn

"What are you still doing here," she says. An angry hand rubbing across her lips. Her eyes narrow, boring through him.

"You didn't tell me to leave."

"So leave."

He drops his eyes, moving back to his book propped up against his stomach, pressing himself into the chair.

"You did your duty. You took your pity on me and brought me home. Now go."

His soundlessness and his stillness make her top lip curl in a snarl. She moves quickly to him, taking the book and overdramatically slamming it to the ground.

"Get out."

"No."

"You aren't getting a thing from me."

"If I wanted your "thing" I would have had it by now."

"Really."

"Yes, really. Now lay back down. You were much more enjoyable when you were asleep."

"Fuck you."

"I already said no."

He picks his book back up and begins to read again, smirking, his cheeks reddened slightly.

She stands there, staring, steaming, in that requisite hands on the hips stance. "Then why stay. You're only pissing me off."

In that calming manner that has already infuriated her, he lays the book aside, and moves to her. He stands so close so quickly she almost loses her breath, yet her depleted spirit makes it hard for her to react. All she sees are his eyes, the ones she earlier called, with no lack of dripping sarcasm, cold and menacing - "lawyer's eyes." This time, they trap her in her spot, the steel blue changed to soft aqua. She starts back, but he grabs her hand, her icey fingers curling around his before she can think.

"I'm not leaving. You've been mumbling in your sleep about not seeing another dawn, you were yelling it, you were crying...I almost woke you, but you woke yourself up."

"I'm not going back to sleep. The dreaming...it's too much."

"Then don't. I'll stay up with you. To help you greet the dawn."

Unsteadily, she looks at him. The dried tears pulling at her reddened cheeks. His finger traces down one of them moving the hair aside. She sways against him, and she feels him against her. She inhales unconsciously, breathing him in, him, this man she's known for mere hours. His arms catch her, lifting her up and moving her back to the leather couch. He slides in behind her, she doesn't fight, she doesn't leave, she doesn't curse him as his arms encircle her.

She lays there, still. She, for the first time in a month, doesn't feel compelled to say anything. And he doesn't feel obligated to offer any forced words of sympathy. Instead, he holds her, both of them staring out the huge window, for hours, dozing on and off without realizing it. Waking in slightly shifted positions, each one getting more and more comfortable. And she is amazed at this.

She thinks she's dreaming, good dreams, safe dreams.

He nudges her. "Look," he whispers. The first deep orange stripes marking the sky. Her eyes open.

"See? You made it."

She sighs gently, and relaxes into him. He feels her fall asleep, and he lifts her, he carries her to her bed, he entertains a notion of undressing her and decides against it. He pulls the blankets around her, blackens the room, and picks up the phone.

Hours later, her eyes blink awake, disoriented, wondering. She's naked, her clothes in a twisted pile next to her on the floor. She stands, pulling the silk robe around her and notices the smoke billowing outside on the balcony. She drags the chenille blanket off the bed and pushes open the door. He starts as she approaches, coughing in surprise. She reaches for his cigarettes, lights one and inhales deeply, settling next to him on another chair.

"I didn't do that" he says, his eyes travelling the length of her barely clad body.

"I know. I don't wear clothes to bed; if I fall asleep with them on, I pull them off."

She grins, curling her legs under, wrapping the blanket around her. They watch again in silence as the sun dips below the horizon, the sky unnaturally clear, streaking with a myriad of colors. She notices the bag. "What's that?"

"I'm staying for the weekend."

Laughter erupts from her. "What?? No you're not."

"Yes I am. It's a long weekend and it's obvious to me that you need me. Or at least need someone around. And I'm not leaving until I think you're ready to be alone."

She starts to protest again, but doesn't. They watch the sun drop away. She glances at him as he exhales, watching the smoke drift in slowly curling cascades, filling the winter night. She shivers and he says, "Let's go in. I have dinner for us."

They glance at each other over the steaming food, her stomach almost aching as it's filled, not having been fed properly for weeks in now. He tries not to stare at her while she sighs, giving her the space she's so plainly made known that she needs.

Instead, he absorbs the minutes of the days, comfortably minding her, not intruding on her, not demanding a thing from her. He amuses himself with the objects she hasn't noticed in awhile, busies himself cleaning while she isn't in the room.

He senses what she needs before she thinks it. He feeds her, he draws baths for her, he studies her. He comforts her without words, she opens to him without persuasion.

That night he lays on the couch, his eyes drooping, watching the same stars she stares at a floor above him. His hand rests on top of the slight bulge forming beneath his boxers; his hand curling around the shaft. Gripping it as he thinks of her. He chuckles, reluctantly, pulling his hand away, thinking, "Your cock is not your brain, you idiot." He turns over and drifts off.

Her fingers dawdle over her own sex, rubbing with the gentle flats of her fingertips, surprising herself at how wet she is; she's felt it all day, but she ignored it. But now, as her fingers drift just inside her lips, probing with increasing pressure, she pays attention. She recognizes her feelings and scoffs at herself. She doesn't stop, no; she dips her fingers into her grasping walls, thrusting them deeply into her, her clit pulsing and pressing flush to her palm. She tries to push his image from her mind, replacing it with another, but it turns into him, his eyes, his lips, his hands, again and again and again, until she moans into her pillow, she cums into spreading fingers, she writhes in an exhausted fury.

The second night, he sleeps next to her, his arm curling around her, holding her as she weeps while dreaming, his soft whispers soothing her. He catches himself over and over inhaling her scent, burying his face in her hair, keeping his hips tilted as far from her body as possible, unwilling to give into his libido. She had spent the last few hours gasping out words through her tears, and he carried her again to her bed, laying down with her, urging her to sleep. She dreams in his arms.

The third night he starts to leave. She sees him, and she panics. It's not that she doesn't want to be alone (but she doesn't); it's that she doesn't want to be without him. She reaches for him, her hand gripping his forearm. He turns, sees her face and drops his bags, his hands empty for only a moment before cupping her face and pulling her to his lips. She lets out a soft sigh and submits to him, her body presses to his, molds to his. He steps forward, leaning her into the wall, his lips hungry for her, sucking at her lips, dragging his tongue against her chin, seeking her neck, his hand grazing the side of her breast as it presses down her side. She moans, and he nips at her neck in response. Her hands tighten on his arms, gripping into him, feeling herself slipping against the wall; he slides his thigh between hers, anchoring her, holding her there, his eyes meet hers, twinkling, accompanied by his sly smile. She quells the nervous giggle and begins to undo his shirt.

Her lips cover his chest as it's revealed to her, her tongue gliding against his skin, tasting it. He yanks the material away from his arms and cradles her head in his hands while she explores his skin, her teeth catching on first one, then the other nipple. His groan causes her to suck her lips around the tight tiny bud and he chuckles, pushing her back off him, flattening her to the wall. She unconsciously rolls her hips, gasping softly at the sudden contact of her jean-covered pussy against his own covered thigh, and glances up at him in surprise. His fingers begin to undo her own shirt, his mind urging him to grasp her breasts immediately upon exposure, but he waits, he undresses her slowly, revealing her smooth skin, her stomach, her shoulders, her arms. Her hands press flat to the wall and she almost starts to plead with him to touch her, but then he does.

Teasing her with fingertips against the curves of her breasts. He hears her breath catch but he ignores it, taking his time with her, sliding over every inch of her skin. Along the line of her jeans. Tracing her collarbone. One hand drifting up between her breasts, the other smoothing her hair back. Eyes watching her face. Hands making her tremble. She wavers against his leg and he knows she wants him.

Without having touched her erect nipples, he begins to undo her jeans, dropping his thigh down and easing her to the floor. Her hands move to his shoulders as he descends to his knees, sliding her pants down, her silent moans almost whimpering out of her, crazy with desire for his touch, for him. He lifts his eyes, and is met with her glistening shaved pussy, lips red, swollen, clit peeking through. His eyes flick up to hers and he grins, pressing his stubbled chin straight into her, pinning her ass to the wall. She presses back against him, sliding her cunt right against his face, searching for his mouth to cover her. He relents, willingly, opening his mouth to cover her drenched pussy, sucking, his tongue sloshing around her clit and lips, and she grips his shoulders, she clutches at him, nails digging already.

He drives his tongue into her pussy, fucking it with his long strong tongue, his flicking her clit back and forth, her hips meet him, back and forth, up and down, in no time he has her writhing against the wall, against his mouth, and she starts to moan out loud already. So fast, he has taken her so fast to the edge of an orgasm that she hasn't felt in a long time. His hands are holding her thighs wide and hard to the wall, she feels the bruises already from his hands, she doesn't care, she growls for more, (don't stop, fuck fuck, yes, oh god yes….) her hands move from his shoulders to his hair, nearly ripping it from his scalp as he slurps at her pussy, her sweet juices flowing steadily into his mouth, drenching his face, and she lifts up on her toes, her calves so tight, she thought she'd collapse. But he holds her, his hands and his face, balancing her there, her body shaking, slamming into the wall, her screams filling the kitchen. He doesn't want to stop, but he hears her, hears her sudden change of moans, changed to whimpers, he feels hot tears against his back and he releases her. She slips down to the floor and finds his lips, smiling through her tears, her hands fumbling for his pants, her tongue laps at her cum, covering his chin, her face getting red from his new whiskers. His hands circle her face and pushes her back from him.

"Are you ok?"

He chuckles, "Stupid question, sorry. But I mean, I hope that was ok. I didn't mean to…so fast…"

She laughs gently at his words, and nods, unable to speak, her eyes shining, focused on his kind face. She takes his hand and they rise; she leads him up the stairs and she finishes undressing him, her hands slipping around his cock, caressing his balls, fingers running the length of the shaft. She studies his cock, grips it softly and traces his skin. He shuts his eyes to her soft touch and rests his hands on her shoulders, lips pressing to her forehead. Her thumb slips into the slit, smearing the wetness gathered there and he groans, softly, she hears it and she does it again, pressing, swirling around his cock head. Her tongue licks at her lips, almost by habit, and she grins, whispering, "Your turn, right?"

He starts a lame protest and she presses her fingers to his lips before it slips through. In a moment, she's on her knees, her lips swallowing his cock slowly, letting him feel each hard inch slide past her tight lips, her tongue meeting his thick prick as it stretches into her. He tries to pull back, afraid to thrust but she digs her hands into his cheeks and presses him forward, her throat gagging around his head and he groans, he grips into her hair and he holds her there before allowing her to pull back. His eyes watch her in thrilled surprise, watching as her red lips stretch around his throbbing prick, the delight on her face as it fills her mouth, hearing her moans that almost drown his, (thinking this girl loves this as much I do,) and he starts to fuck her. He fucks her mouth, testing each deeper and faster shove into her mouth, gauging her reaction, and becoming happily surprised with each suck in return, each hold by her muscles. She becomes the first woman he's ever had make love to his cock.

All others seemed to just tolerate it until he came. He begins to drive his shaft into her, his hands gripping onto her head, holding it steady as he rams it deep and she moans around his cock and he gives her more. He feels her soft fingers slipping around his balls, she feels their tightness and she swallows him faster, she slides her fingers around his balls and coaxes them to release. Her ears perk at the deep growl and she shoves him deep into her mouth, drinking immediately at the cum the fills her, the thick hot cum shooting down her throat. He yanks back and fucks it back again, grunting, spilling more into her, watching as it drips from her lips down onto her breasts and he shoves again, his body tense, his fingers tight in her hair. He sees her eyes watching him and they stare at each other, her tongue darting around his cock. He pulls out of her and lifts her, pressing her back onto the bed, dropping next to her. He pulls himself over her, hovering above her, his tongue lapping up her breasts, cleaning the cum from her. She giggles watching him, gasps for more as he grips his teeth around her nipples, tries to pull his head up to her lips but he pins her hands above her head, holding her there.

"What kind of a girl are you?"

She grins. "The kind who likes sex."

His eyes don't leave hers.

"Good."

He pushes her hands up and curls her fingers around the bars. She holds them tight, moaning as his tongue presses back down to her nipples, her body arching, raising up to his lips for more, oh please more, she murmurs to him.

"Everything I have is yours," he whispers back. She weeps silently, knowing that dawn is theirs.