145AN: If you aren't interested in lemons, don't read this chapter.
Chapter 11
Evey knew what she wanted. Now that he was up and moving, functioning on his own, she could look at it objectively. Or at least as objectively as she could with a racing heart, a nervous stomach and her mind roiling in emotion when he was near. He had never been more graceful, the lines of him revealed to her. His voice, oh his voice, was like velvet, honey, sex and satin. It's depth, it's vibration rolled through her when he spoke.
She was falling fast.
The curve of his lower back, the strength in his thighs, the poise in his stance, strong and sure. She had known that he was handsome, but now she had to deal with a more revealed V. His skin was what it was, the burns didn't arouse her, but she was drawn to the sight of him. It was the vulnerability of its visibility. It was the knowledge of sensitivity, that she could touch him and he could feel it.
Evey stretched her neck, trying to distract herself from her arousal.
There was more to it, it wasn't completely physical. She had been drawn to him since the moment she had met him. He was gentlemanly, stubborn, passionate, playful, intelligent and romantic. He was intrinsically masculine, but also gentle.
She loved it all. She felt buoyed by that knowledge; that the man she loved was here, he was alive, and she felt as if she walked on air. She felt weightless. And he had said he loved her. Granted, he may have been dying, but she knew that he was currently getting as worked up as she was.
She was doing her best to make sure of it.
V knew he was in the middle of a dance he didn't know the steps to. She floated around him, one moment normal, the next looking at him with a fire in her gaze. Little touches, the grazing of legs, and lingering fingers, had wound him tight.
The worst of it was her neck. In the past, her hair had covered that part of her most of the time. Now that her hair was so short, he had an uninterrupted view of the shape of her. That gentle sloping curve from the base of her head, rolling down until it peaked at her shoulders and then disappeared beneath her dress. The sharp, graceful line of her jaw and the line that ended at her collar bone. He had never seen anything more beautiful.
They were in the kitchen, for the first time resuming their favorite past time of cooking. She pulled him down next to her at the table, bending her head toward him, and showing him what she had looked up while she waited for him to wake up. Their resources were limited, but they talked over what alterations they could make.
Her brow furrowed in concentration, her strong, straight eyebrows accentuating her dark eyes as she talked with him, V felt she was perfect. She balanced him. When he was unyielding, she was fluid. When he was shy, she pulled him toward her. V didn't know how to cope with being this undone, this in need, and this much in love with someone. He felt lost, and yet simultaneously found. She had found him. He had always been "V the symbol". She knew "V the man," and she was the only person who ever had. And still she had never seen his face.
Still thinking, he watched her run her hands through her hair. There wasn't much to run through, so her fingers seemed to caress the shape of her, and when her hand lingered at the point where her jaw met her ear, V had to mentally shake himself.
And then she stretched her neck.
Suddenly, it was too much. He was too tense, too confused, too unsure of himself to continue. Standing abruptly, without looking at her he said "Excuse me." and quickly escaped in to the bowels of the Shadow Gallery.
He found himself on the train platform, sitting on the bench she had waited on, and dissolved in to remembering. He remembered the look on her face when she had realized he meant to go to his death. He remembered the sight of her leaning in to kiss his mask, and the feel of her warm breath mingling with his own. He wondered what it would be like to feel her lips on his.
V sat, and tried to decide if he could ever allow that to happen.
Evey found him there, not too much later. He was a still as a statue, not acknowledging if he had seen her. She padded to him on bare feet, looking down in to the mask that she both loved and longed to remove. An indefinite amount of time passed, his blue eyes locked with her brown. She made a decision.
Taking one step back, her hands reached for the tie at the side of her dress. It was a wrap, and as the tie came apart, she unwrapped each side and let the dress fall off her shoulders. She didn't often wear a bra, and today had been no exception, so she stood before him wearing only plain black knickers. Heart pounding, eyes still caught in his gaze as he watched her, she hooked her thumbs in to her waistband and revealed the last of herself to him.
She took the step forward, and his gaze broke from her eyes, looking at her body as she came to him. Only when she gripped his shoulders as she straddled his lap did she notice he wasn't breathing.
Face to face, eyes locked together again, she spoke. "I want to make something clear V. I have no expectations. That mask never has to come off, for the rest of our days. I want what ever you are willing to give. You once told me that you were not the face beneath the mask, that that face wasn't you. I get it, I'm okay, because I know you. I see who you are. And I love you."
She paused, wanting him to process what she had said. She simply held his gaze, enraptured by the blue eyes showing such emotion, and she gently smiled at him, wearing her heart in her eyes. After a moment, her smile grew, and she bent her mouth to his ear.
"My only regret is not feeling your lips against my skin." She felt him shiver slightly as her breath found its way to his flesh. "But I can live with your hands."
At this she gently gripped his hands in hers, pressing one in to curve of her waist, bringing the other to the base of her neck. She threw her head back and pressed down, feeling his fingers on her skin. She heard his intake of breath, and it was her turn to shiver.
Her hands left his and traveled to his shoulders, feeling the strength in him, and she lightly ghosted her hands down his biceps. When one hand slipped up to his neck, running along the edge of his shirt, she brought her fingers to the first button of his collar, and slipped it free.
His hands seemed to snap to life, both tightening against her. His fingers ran up and down the column of her throat, lingering and exploring. When it trailed lower over her sternum, she looked at him. Both of their chests were heaving with deep breaths as the hand at her waist moved over her skin to trace the seam of her breast.
She looked in to his face, the smiling visage of Guy Fawkes a strange counterpoint for the eyes boring in to hers. He was looking at her more intensely than she had ever seen, eyes narrowed but burning as his hands both moved to the edge of her breasts. When his open palms lightly grazed the tips of her, she gasped and pressed her torso forward and in to him.
Suddenly, they were both desperate, hands moving, his running up her spine and over the tops of her thighs as she finally finished unbuttoning him and ran her hands over the muscles of his torso. He was clutching her to him, her pelvis mashing with his. She buried her face in to his neck, kissing along the flesh of his jaw below the mask.
Time passed strangely, both quickly and slowly, and they breathed as one, hearts pounding, bodies and hands crushing together, and Evey was in heaven. Though when her fingers moved to the waist of his trousers, time seemed to stop as he gripped her wrists and pulled her hands away.
Panting, she stared in to his eyes, wondering what had gone wrong. He simply held her there, arms outstretched, body trembling, and he closed his eyes at the question in hers. After a moment, he brought her hands down to their laps, cradling them in his. He stared down at their hands, and Evey began to panic. What was going on?
When his hands disentangled from hers and moved to the side of his mask, her breath caught. He didn't look at her, eyes firmly shut as he released the buckles. Finally, one open palm gripped the front of it, and with a trembling breath escaping him, he removed the mask from his face.
His eyes remained closed, and she suspected he didn't want to know her initial reaction. She looked her fill, nothing really surprising her. She knew what his flesh looked like, and this was merely a continuation. His nose, cheeks, chin and forehead were the same mottled red as his hands, deeply burned. His lips were remarkably normal and full, and she wondered if he had pressed them together when he held his breath in the fire. His nostrils were distorted but his nose was almost aristocratic, and the cheekbones gracefully ran below the distorted skin.
When he opened his eyes, her world seemed to fall away, and she was lost in the sea of her love for him. He smiled at her, seeing the love in her eyes, and when he did, she discovered he was beautiful.
She looked back at his lips, and knew she needed to feel them, to finally connect with him. She leaned in and kissed him, feathering kisses at first, but they soon deepened. Arms wrapped around each other, and all they knew was their press of their mouths and bodies, quickly back to their fever pitch.
His hands started moving up and down her thighs, each pass moving more inward, and Evey moaned when he finally trailed a finger along the seam of her opening. She stopped breathing when his finger quested through her wetness, pressing in, delving inside. When he moved it in and out once, their lips still locked, she cried out in to his mouth.
Aggressive, Evey quickly undid the fastenings of his trousers, hands delving herself, and she wrapped her hand around his hardness. Shifting his pants, she moved him out, his erection touching the curls of her mound, and Evey moved. Lifting slightly, she guided him in, and sank on to his thickness, feeling herself stretching to accommodate him.
She rocked, swelled, and moved over him. His deep voice cried out, her name escaping his lips, hands clutching her arse, pulling her down on to him. She looked up, closed her eyes, and lost herself to the push and pull of their bodies.
His lips moved along her shoulders, and her hands clutched at him. Her body was singing, igniting, and electricity tingled down her spine. He was bucking up in to her, breaths gasping from his body, and when their flesh crashed together, she cried his name. She felt every bit of him, felt the perfect pressure when their hips came together, and she felt the sensation build and build with every burial of his length within her.
When their crescendo hit, her body shattering, his voice reverberating through her as they cried, their voices echoing down the tunnel of the London underground, she clutched him tightly and brushed kisses across the skin of his face.
Erm, so, yea. I could really use a review after that one. I'm a wee bit nervous. You know, a story I've been working on for almost a year, and this is only the 2nd lemon I have ever written.
But, honestly, I think I need a lemon grove in this story. ;)