Needed

They were acquaintances with a mutual friend, thrown together under circumstances that precluded knowing each other as anything different or more - until late one night, ensconced on the same couch, speaking with a friend of circumstances past. Hours passed and they remained but their friend drooped and slept.

He at one end upright, she reclined, her feet lain across his legs. They spoke of things, of friends, of each other and in sincere sympathy at a tale of past sorrows, she reached to touch his hand in comfort.

He surprised her, moving swiftly and capturing hers in his, offering a gentle squeeze. When she expected him to let go, however, instead he held, gently caressing.

They sat thus in the dark room, speaking in soft whispers that strained to be heard, or sitting silent in the peace disturbed only by the soft, sleep breathing of the friend. Their eyes met rarely but the gentle caresses never ceased. Hands moved over, around and through, each to each and back again, sometimes firm, sometimes feather light. Clasp of fingers intertwined only to release and trace over shapes and shadows, then to clasp again. Words came fewer, senses overloaded into touch. The warmth of his lap under her, his one hand resting gently across her legs and the ever changing kiss of palms between.

It is inevitable that fingers left to roam in the dark off lead are never satisfied with confines. They reach to stroke beyond the boundaries, caress the satiny skin of the wrist. She closed her eyes as her senses channelled to the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips and the feel of his fingertips on her. The hands returned to each other often, as if to renew the beginning before a flick released his shirt cuffs and her fingers found their way to his arm. His fingers travelled likewise, seemingly within the same breath and although the position seemed awkward, it was too steeped in gentle sensual pleasure.

"Are you ok with this?"

Their eyes met when he asked the question that had to be asked, for she was married and he was loathe to cause distress or change in her life.

"Yes." And it was. "And you?"

"Yes."

A pang of misgivings ran through her, despite the feel of his fingers drawing patterns on her arm. She had no wish to mislead him, he was far too sweet to deserve less than the truth.

"I just... needed someone tonight."

Hoping he would understand, praying he would understand.

Yes. The kiss of fingers and skin remained unchanged as the silence of the night rose over them.

The friend seems to wake and motions still. Explanations would be impossible, better to never need them. Motion resumed, the friend slept on.

She lay with her head back, better to understand what she was feeling from the shadowy touches of this near stranger. Lust, she understood. Love, she understood. This was neither, it seemed. She had no word for the pleasure gained not through base nature or emotional ties, but through the simple tactile connection of two human beings. Two somewhat lonely human beings reaching out through the spell of the night to comfort and reassure. No urgent need to do more, no undercurrent of sexual tension, no frustrate desire. Simply 'This is who I am' and nothing more.

Fingers and palms now roved the length of smooth arms from shoulder to fingertips. Firm massage one time, the next a subtle, sensuous tracing of muscle and bone beneath quivering skin. Eyes closed, sensations of touch and be touched, caress and be caressed washing over with a gentle tingling. A magical commune almost of spirit rather than of flesh, at least for her.

A movement from afar and they stilled again, easing anxious fingers from each other. Sleep won and once again a kiss of palm to palm, finger over finger. He leaned closer and she raised a hand to his face, unsure of his reaction. Running a feather finger slowly over his jawline, his cheeks, his brow, she was relieved when his own fingers unerringly found her. Tracing features gently, down the length of nose, upsweep the cheeks and dusting lightly across closed eyes. Details of touch committed to memory, sensations of contours stored. His hand stilled as he lost himself to the gentle caress of his face. One random caress across lips and a light, almost intangible kiss is released. For a moment, nothing in the world exists but the movement of lips upon fingertips upon lips.

She sat up, reaching for the shadowed side of his face. Now his fingers, resting on her Afghan covered knees, unerringly found the spaces and the gentle rubbing sent a shiver through already heightened senses. She traced the lines of his jaw and, when he raised his chin higher, gently cupped a trusting throat. Heavier exhalations, pleasure riding through their points of light contact and she leaned closer to his earring studded ear, knowing it was unfair.

"I wonder how crosses taste?"

The soft whisper hung between them and she was fearful that she had stepped over some unwritten line when his head angled and his words reached her.

"I don't know."

Gentle lips, gentler teeth nipped and nibbled at the golden lobe. Tip of tongue tracing contours and, carefully, the outline of the small earring. Flickering tongue trails scorched and subvocal moans showed evidence of pleasure. Pull back just a little, eyes closed, then open to view opposite eyes hooded with sensations. A fraction of an inch and lips met questing lips. Feather kiss, gentle touch, part, touch again. No demands, no awkwardness, merely two become one for a single, splendid instant.

An instant was all. The rising sun brought sleep too powerful to stave off longer. Endless nights never are and with a final caress, they parted.

No regrets, no troubles, no worries, no matters. A brief moment in time shared and experienced as few have. Should there be others, each would be as unexpected and each would be as special.