Passions

Author's Note – This summer I was in a production of the musical "Footloose" that just wrapped last week. I played Vi Moore, and I was really fascinated by the dynamic between my character and her husband. I wrote this fic for my friend Tempus, who played Shaw. It's based on the character backstory he and I came up with for the show. A note— those of you who saw the show will notice I didn't model Shaw and Vi *physically* after Tempus and me; they look like what I see in my head, not like the two of us. :-D

PART I: On Any Sunday

It had been six months.

They hadn't had sex in six months.

Why this suddenly occurred to him, Shaw Moore couldn't say. Usually it remained something on which he preferred not to dwell, and kept as little thought of as any everyday thing, if one a little more unwelcome than most. But try as he might, this time Shaw was unable to dismiss the thought from his mind.

It hadn't always been that way. No, once they had been intimate to the point that it was as if they were two halves of one soul, a bond growing between them since the earliest days of their acquaintance.

He had been just eighteen years old then. He attended the small seminary school just on the edge of town, and was giving himself over heart and soul to his studies— for Shaw Moore was, to the core of him, a student of divinity. From an early age it was his dearest dream, the vocation to lead people in faith and love to salvation, to be messenger to them of hope, joy, and the love of Heaven. He planned to devote himself to this, the work and will of God, his calling, his true purpose, and above all else, his passion.

When first Vi came into his life, he was assigned to apprentice with the Reverend George Howell, and attended on the services the senior minister conducted. He met her, appropriately enough, through the church. From the deep commitment of his position, he came to know every attendant in the parish, especially those who volunteered a great deal of time of their own. Among those volunteers was a girl, sixteen years old, who with her charming disposition and her forthright dark eyes he could not help but notice. She contributed a great deal to the parish activities, helping to organize their events, participating in their charities, and when she sang with the choir, hers was the voice of an angel. Her name, he learned, was Miss Violet Rose Hunter, but everyone called her Vi.

In no time at all, he was fascinated by the girl. He was drawn immediately to her intelligence and open, engaging personality, and the cleric in him was charmed by her pure and honest devotion to her faith. But greater even than that, there was such tenderness in her, something soft and sweet and gentle that bespoke the selfless extension of a strong and loving heart. It was that, perhaps more than anything else, for which he loved her— for God help him, he soon had fallen in love.

He had been so sure that she would never look his way. No, back then she had looked to Elliot Criswell, the local young tough, who sang in the clubs and dressed in leather and kept a pack of cigarettes rolled up in his sleeve. Elliot Criswell, who was daring and dangerous and ruggedly handsome and everything Shaw Moore was not. He had heard there was something about bad boys that appealed to good girls, and he was troubled to see that even sweet, perfect Vi was not immune. He despaired of any hope of ever gaining her attention. How could Shaw compete with a boy that drove a cherry-red motorcycle and with just a toss of his dark, too-long hair could make the girls flutter and sigh? For several years, he could do nothing but love her from afar.

But in time it became clear that afar would not be enough. He was afraid to present himself to her, so much of him sure that he could never be enough. But all this was lost in the blinding light of the truth that he loved this young woman, loved her and wanted her as young men do, God help him, for all that he knew such things were to be saved only for the marriage bed. But still, he'd never felt so deeply for anyone, and that depth of feeling brought about a profound change.

There was always a fire beneath his mild exterior, heretofore inward and only for his work, but it was Vi that first brought it to light. Before then, the work of God and of saving souls had been his only passion, a deeply personal one that no one else could see. But for Vi, oh, for her, his spirit ignited into that firestorm of fervent intensity that made great everything it touched. His fascination with her, his love for her, and yes, even his plain desire for her drew out that intensity and showed it to the world.

And by some miracle, that fire seemed to draw her. It was enough to pull her eyes away from the maverick young troublemaker and toward the thoughtful, solemn-eyed boy with the call to be a man of God. There was something white-hot and passionate within that boy, and when she saw it burned for love of her, she found she could do nothing but return it.

It was at this point that Shaw Moore's life really began. With his impressive record at the seminary behind him, at twenty-one he was chosen to take over for the retiring Reverend Howell, and became the youngest minister ever to preach in Bomont. Before long he realized the time was right, time to take the next step forward, to settle down, to start a family with Vi and have her by his side forever.

He was only twenty-two, her just twenty, when he gathered his courage and asked her to become his wife. He planned the moment very carefully; after selecting an engagement ring, a simple but elegant gold band set with a small diamond-cut sapphire, he took her to walk down by the lily pond at dusk, and among ivory flowers and the fairy lights of the fireflies, he went down on one knee and took her hand.

"Violet Rose Hunter, will you marry me?"

To hear her answer was better even than he'd imagined. She threw herself into his arms and sighed, "Oh, Shaw, of course I will."

It was one of the happiest moments in all his memory. Over Elliot Criswell she had mooned and sighed, but Shaw Moore was the man with whom she chose to spend her life.

As the day of their wedding drew near, Shaw found himself struggling with anxieties with which he was not sure how to deal. He had no regrets, certainly; he felt nothing but excitement for the day itself— it was instead the wedding night that gave him pause. He was more than passingly familiar with the religious establishment's long-standing conflict about sex. In almost any event it was vilified and cautioned against, and for all that he was about to enter the one circumstance under which it was acceptable, it was difficult for him to make that mental shift after so long thinking it improper. It wasn't right that he should feel any dishonor for something that should be so sacred. He was left with deeper insecurities as well. Could he be good enough for her? Would he prove to be all she wanted? He hoped for nothing more than to be able to make her happy.

She was a vision in her gown that day, more achingly beautiful than he ever imagined. In an almost dreamlike state of wonder, he stood with her on the altar, exchanged the rings, and took the vows that would bind their souls forever. When night fell, and he brought her to their marriage bed where they would spend their first night together, he was still wracked with nervous doubt. But when he looked at her then, her dress not quite white but instead a creamy ivory showing in glorious contrast with her skin, he realized with a sudden shining clarity the power of his feeling for her. All the misgivings in the world could not deny the fact that he loved this woman, and he wanted her.

He was awkward and unsure at first, but with Vi's encouragement he grew bolder, and explored her with a touch that was at once both eager and reverent. The sensations washed over him in an overwhelming flood, indelibly printed on his memory. How her smooth, bare skin felt beneath his palms. The shape of her, as he traced it with his fingers. And most certainly, the sensation of her touch on him, the unfathomable, awesome bliss of it. When at last they joined, to his chagrin there was pain at first, but Vi knew there would be, and soon she was moving with him toward their first brilliant, breathtaking release together as husband and wife.

This was what it all meant, he understood now, what they all were meant for. To discover for himself why God made some of his children men and some of them women. To consecrate the acts of marriage that would bind them body and soul. They found their way together, and it felt so utterly right.

So began their life together, and so it seemed to continue. In those early days especially, they couldn't seem to get enough of one another. All his misgivings and doubts were swept away by the power and beauty of their love, and they expressed it as often as they could. Shaw never lost that reverent awe with which he touched her body, and he admired every unique line and curve of it. Things as small and ordinary as watching her tuck her hair behind her ear, or tap a pen against her lips, could draw out the desire in him. And when they were making love, often just feeling her go over that edge was enough to take him to climax with her.

By the end of the next year they welcomed their first child, Robert Shaw Moore, into the world. He had been awed and delighted by the miracle that was happening inside his wife, and did his utmost to be the most careful, attentive husband he could. Though she appreciated his efforts, Vi had to continually remind him that pregnancy had not turned her into a porcelain doll. When the baby was born, Shaw had fretted all through the delivery, pacing around the waiting room like a caged tiger, and though he was a man of no vices, he broke his own rules and resorted to a cigarette or two to handle his anxiety. It took a small eternity, but at last he was presented with a tiny, perfect bundle that was his firstborn child, with both mother and son safe. Three years later their daughter Ariel came along, as healthy and full of joy, and finally their family became complete.

Motherhood suited Vi, and in more ways than one. Caring and nurturing were already so much a part of her nature, but more than anything ever before, their children brought out that matchless tenderness in her, so perfect it made his heart ache to see. Such was Vi at her quintessence, he thought, her love for her children lifting her soul to its truest and most perfect form. She was at first self-conscious at the loss of her spare, more girlish figure, but Shaw liked the changes motherhood wrought in her, making her breasts fuller now and her hips take on a lush womanly roundness he found immensely appealing. Indeed, in all ways she had grown more beautiful to him, thanks to the little miracles that were their children.

As for Shaw himself, it surprised even him to discover just how much he loved those two little lives. Bobby was bright and active and looked very like his mother, dark haired, dark eyed, and growing handsome. Even so young it was clear that sweet, happy Ariel was going to be beautiful, with Vi's delicate build and shape of the face, but her coloring, her thick blonde hair and her bright blue eyes, ah, those were all Shaw's. Their shining little souls were the light and joy of his life.

As if that weren't enough, his contentment at work kept apace with his happiness at home. His deep, all-encompassing commitment to his faith brought forth from him a brilliant zeal that gave great significance to everything he preached, and he had grown into such a powerful speaker that his parish came to hang onto his every word. So deep a part of Shaw Moore was the strength of his passions, and into those things in which he truly believed, he poured all the fervor of his soul. It was that fervor the brought out the best in everyone, himself included.

He vividly recalled one particular Sunday morning when he and Vi were in his office in the rectory, readying for the convocation. Bobby and Ariel, then ages seven and four, were with the other parish children at Sunday school, where they would be learning their catechism during the service. At the moment, he was rehearsing his address for the rapt audience of Vi. As good as he was at what he did, Shaw had rarely ever composed a sermon to equal the one prepared for that morning. Inspiration had stuck him deep, and the words came to him as if by divine messenger, flawlessly and without effort. Reciting it now, he threw himself into it heart and soul, belief in every word, with all the power and the glory of his convictions behind him.

He ended with a flourish and looked exhilarated and expectant to his wife. She clapped her hands together in front of her mouth and shook her head in wonder. "Oh, Shaw, it's beautiful! I swear, when you're like this, I don't think there's anything your words can't do."

Delighted at her praise, he raked back his hair from eyes that were alight with the passion of his work. "Ah, Vi, it felt like angels were whispering in my ear!"

Caught up, he swept her up in his arms and spun her around, and she laughed in delight until he sealed her lips in a kiss that ran through him like lightning.

He had only meant for it to last a moment, but she moved against him with such loving enthusiasm that he could not help but respond in kind. To his surprise she kept on, and she drew it out long beyond his expectation, leaning back against the desk so that he had to press even closer.

"Vi," he murmured against her mouth. "Vi, what are you doing?"

She broke away from him for a moment, and for a split-second he could have sworn he saw something come over Vi, something to which he could not quite give name, something he'd never seen in her before. She perched on the edge of his desk and slid her arms around him to draw him close. She buried her face in his neck and sent her hands wandering inside his jacket, dancing along his sides, to the buttons of his shirt. His breath caught up in his chest as he realized her intent.

"Vi," he choked. "Think of where we are!"

But her only answer was to nip him lightly with her teeth so that a shiver ran all the way down his spine. His own hands seemed to move against his will, running up the length of her legs, from smooth calf to delicate knee to soft thigh, where he toyed with her garters, and then even higher, stealing far up under her skirt.

Her reaction she kept contained, but it was powerful; he could feel it run through her like a shudder. Her hands ceased their roaming and came to seize hold of the lapels of his jacket. Holding him close, she leaned back onto the desk and pulled him down with her, down so that she lay on her back with him pressing down on top of her. He fingers trailed down his chest, his belly, his belt, and lower. He gasped through his teeth as her touch jolted through him, thrilled as much as shocked.

"My God, Vi, what are wedoing?" But his body belied his words, and he was shocked to realize he was sooner and more desperately ready for her than he'd ever been.

"We can't!"

But her legs hooked around him, and drew him down and in. "Weare, Shaw," she sighed. "We alreadyare."

He had to bite down on his tongue to keep from crying out as she tore his last shred of resistance away. By instinct as much as volition he began a slow rocking motion against her. She responded immediately, moving in perfect counterpoint, rolling her hips deliciously to meet his every thrust. Her legs locked around his waist, holding him to her heat. Together they raced toward the conclusion, growing in intensity until it was enough to knock free Vi's immaculately dressed hair from its pins, and let it tumble back in shining waves.

"Shaw," she gasped, and he could feel her tighten around him. He was already at the brink when he looked at her then, his beautiful wife, always so demure and delicate, with her head thrown back, her hair loose, her ankles locked in the small of his back, caught up in the throes beneath him on his desk in the rectory. The sight was enough to send him over the edge into a shattering release, harder than any in his life, and so intense that it drove the breath from his lungs.

He lay atop her for a long time after, enjoying that feeling he always had afterward, that all the strength had run out of his limbs. Happily dazed in the afterglow, he began absently running his fingers through Vi's hair. God, it was beautiful when it was down. God,shewas beautiful, smiling at him with a vixen's smile that somehow, in this moment, seemed perfectly at home on her.

Suddenly her smile turned to alarm as she remembered what he hadn't. "The congregation!"

It was true, in a moment his parishioners would all have gathered into the church to hear service he was supposed to lead. Fortunately for him, the thought was enough to galvanize Vi back into action. She pushed him to his feet and went instantly to work on him, recovering his belt and smoothing his shirt and restoring order to his hair. Shaw submitted meekly to her ministrations, unable to do much beyond struggling to stand upright on legs that felt shaky and coltish, and marvel, stunned, at what had just happened.

"There," she announced, doing up the last button. He looked at her with wide-eyed, still stunned and pleasantly overcome.

"Vi—" he breathed, but she silenced him with an urgent gesture and shoved his sermon book into his hands.

"Go on," she told him. "They're waiting for you."

That at last shook Shaw out of his daze. Gathering his wits about him, he hurried out of the rectory and into the hall, then hustled toward the door that led to just beside the altar. To his overwhelming relief he stepped out just when the choir finished its opening song, at precisely the right moment.

After his morning greeting, he launched into his sermon with all the energy of when he practiced before Vi, and perhaps with a little something extra that hadn't been there before. He was in as perfect form as ever, in delivery and bearing both. Vi had restored his appearance to its usual impeccable neatness, excepting the minor detail that his belt had escaped one belt loop. When he discovered this later, he couldn't suppress an embarrassed little grin— though truth be told, he was more pleased than embarrassed. When Vi herself emerged, only a few minutes late, her skirt, blouse, and stockings were again in perfect order, and her dark hair was so smartly put up that no one could have guessed that only a moment ago it had been shaken loose to spread in a glossy tangle across his desk.

He believed he should have felt guilty, but found he couldn't muster much beyond a certain smug contentment. It was not in his nature to resist Vi— and how could any man have resisted that? He was only mortal human, after all! And, oh, Where had such a minx come from, to replace his demure and decorous young wife? He had no idea, but had to admit he was more than a little intrigued. Yes, perhaps it was not the most decorous thing to make love in the rectory of a church, under God's eyes in His own house, and that was his only real qualm. But, after all, it had been the ecstasy of faith that moved him to such passion, ecstasy borne of the glory of both human and spiritual love. In that, surely the Lord could find no wrong. Shaw concluded this feeling content and light of heart. They were always in God's eyes, wherever they were, and from the honorable love between a husband and a wife, there could come no sin.

The years that followed were happier than he could have ever imagined. He had two beautiful growing children, his beloved wife by his side, and his ministry was dedicated and thriving. Life could not have been more perfect.

But, as perhaps he should have known, it was not in the nature of life to be perfect. Of course it could not last.