The Nonsense of Waiting Lovers (Part 5) (standard:romance, 594 words) [5/5] show all parts
Author: Sare	Added: Oct 11 2001	Views/Reads: 2427/0	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Again, follows from Part 4 but is its own story. For my warrior, with love.

My heart skips a beat. 

I stare up at you, my senses overloaded. 

I see you, your eyes that burn with emotion, with love, with passion,
with desire.  I see the line of your cheeks, your nose, your ears.  
Your beard.  The wind-whipped lines of your forehead, the laugh lines 
around your eyes.  The slope of your strong shoulders, the hugeness of 
your hands.  I notice the tear in your sleeve, of course I notice.  I 
love it. 

I hear you, though it's difficult in this noisy airport.  I hear your
breathing that comes more quickly with every second that we study each 
other. 

I smell you, the faint scents of soap and cologne, minty gum, and the
mingled scents of leather and horses from the jacket you carry. 

I step closer, finally.  I reach up and put my arms around your neck,
pulling you closer, and now I can feel you - your arms around me at 
last, your strong hands on my back, the rough of your beard against my 
cheek, the wall of your chest, the hardness of your thighs. 

I pull slightly away and we stare at each other from only a few inches
apart.  Standing on tiptoe, I lean in to lightly kiss your lips, then 
fall back to stand still, your arms around me.  You bend just a little, 
and now you are kissing me, and now I can taste you, tea and mint and 
you. 

Though I would stay like this forever in our first, perfect contact, I
slowly pull away.  Crowds of people surround us.  The exclaim over 
their arriving loved ones, wish safe journeys to those departing.  
Children shout, cry, laugh.  The old woman who has been my companion 
all morning, walking with a young woman who is heavily pregnant, turns 
to wave before she goes out the door.  I wave back. 

The all-consuming nervousness has left me at last, and as you take my
hand I am overwhelmed by how right it feels.  My hand was made to be 
held in yours. 

We go to the baggage-claim area.  I point out my suitcase and you pick
it up; we walk outside and get into a taxi.  You tell the driver the 
name of the hotel and I feel my heart stop, so briefly, before 
beginning to thud in my chest.  My breath gasps in my throat.  Sitting 
beside you in the car, my hand still in yours, leaning slightly against 
you. 

You begin to whisper in my ear.  The sound of your voice thrills me
beyond description.  It is an effort to concentrate on what you're 
saying to me.  I realize you're reciting a poem, the poem you wrote for 
me weeks ago. 

Arriving at the hotel we get out of the taxi, go inside and ride the
elevator up, up, into the sky.  You use the key to open the door of my 
room and then hand it to me, motioning for me to enter.  You set my 
suitcase on the floor and we stand, facing each other. 

"Should we walk awhile?" you ask.  "Or are you hungry?  Should we have
lunch?" 

"No...  come here."  You step even closer and as though by instinct your
arms come around me.  My arms around your neck pull you closer.  We 
stand there, lips searching and caressing, maybe for a few minutes, 
maybe forever. 

Eventually we separate.  We decide that we will go out.  We get ready,
go down in the elevator.  We step onto the busy sidewalk together, 
holding hands. 

Ready to face the world.


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