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irwinwe

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It was a few weekend after my parents went home that I began to ruffle my feathers.  I went back to the same pub where Kane had, only about six months ago, publicly humiliated me.  The resentment had long since left me, but the memory of the clandestine passion between us had not.  I had come tonight not to dance, not to drink, and not even really to converse.  I leaned back against the bar, elbows propped on the counter, hands dangling easily over the edges.  No, I had not come here for any of those reasons.  I had come here because I wanted to feel the passion again.  

I took a long drink of my whiskey, and then exhaled on a gust after I swallowed.  Then, with water of life raging alongside my blood, I scanned the crowd with eager vigor.  Andy had brought me here earlier, but he had disappeared somewhere in the masses.  I couldn't find Vic anywhere either, so I was just left to scan the room by my lonesome.  Lust and smoke were entangled in a fever haze, and the loud rhythmic base from the DJ speakers was the theme of the mass movement.  There was carnal urgency on the air, and my breath quickened just at the thought of what this night could bring if my stars aligned to my liking.  It wasn't a moral thought, and I didn't remember my chalcedony stone when it subconsciously arose.  I remembered instead that I wasn't wearing a red lace thong for nothing.

As my thoughts were concluded, I saw a dark-haired figure loom before me.  The smoke and the strobe lighting hid his immediate features, but his dark shadow had his hands in his pockets, and his broad shoulders swaggered from side to side in an unmistakable familiarity.  It was Iain Ross.  I thought he would walk up to me and try to converse, or flash me that indolent smile.  But I, unsurprisingly, underestimated his intrepidity.  He walked up to me, and without stopping to talk politely when he was still at a reasonable distance, or without even stopping to say hello, he kept moving until his arm had encircled my waist and sealed my front to his front, our contours meshed and welded, hard muscle and soft curve.  He took a fistful of my hair and pulled it so that my face had no choice but to look up at him.  There was a hunger in those grey eyes that I'd not seen before.  I could have blamed his desire on the whiskey, as it was on his breath, but we both knew that whiskey had not caused his desire.  My Epicurean body, in rebellion against my Aristotelian mind, delighted in his nearness, and in his dominating actions, and I arched against him as easily as any woman would have.  As much as I sought equality in intellect with a man, I also sought to be physically subordinate.  Something about that had always made me feel more deliciously feminine, especially since I was very tall, and in my past it had been difficult finding a "real man".  If there was one good thing about Iain's boldness, it was that it was accompanied by an element of physical forthrightness that hinted at his supreme dominance.  And right then, that forthrightness gave away an imminent and unavoidable intention of his - kissing me.  I knew he intended to take his pleasure, and given that I was infected with the sensual pub mentality, and given that my father's eerie words about how I would never get Iain out of mind were still echoing inside of me, I did not think it would be possible to fight him.  So I kept my lips parted as his mouth began to descend.  But right before his lips touched mine, my eyes fleetingly looked passed his shoulder, and I tumbled promptly out of our passion isolation.  

The one reason why I suddenly didn't want him to kiss me was that the man I truly wanted had just walked in the door.  One reason - Kane MacAllister.  No matter what I did to try and erase Kane from my current thoughts, he reappeared.  Perhaps he really was a curse to women, I was starting to believe, just like he had told Iain he was in their youth.  But then the thought ran across my mind that I would happily agree to being cursed if I could just be his woman. 

He stood at the door, his dark form brooding and standing well above most, and he surveyed the room with the green eyes of a sleek panther.  I waited in panic for them to find me, and to settle upon me.  When they did, I saw the muscle in his jaw flex furiously.  His lips pressed together tightly, and his shoulders stiffened.  And his eyes, God, his eyes.  They flashed like a dagger with green poison on its edges, accusing, wronged, and vengeful.  Though the pit of my stomach took a turn for the worst when i saw how angry he was, I dared not turn away my gaze.  I would not let him leave here thinking he wasn't the victor.  I saw him push through a group of people, approaching us pointedly.  My heart drummed in anticipation, and I feared his until now unforseen violence.  Would he actually hurt Iain, even though Iain was his student just as I was? 

Suddenly I felt Iain tug my hair again, as if he'd finally noticed my lack of attention.  When my eyes returned to him, his lips claimed mine with urgency.  I shuddered at his sudden claiming need, and my heart drummed even harder.  For a man who I had thought acted out of little sincerity, this kiss was very much in opposition.  He kissed with his entire soul.  However, my heart did not drum solely because of his passion.  It drummed also in panic, because in my mind I was kissing the wrong man in front of the right man.  And I did not know what to do.  My chest rose and fell against Iain's hard body in panic.  I sought Kane's gaze again when Iain's lips were on mine, and gasped when I saw the danger in the green luminescence.  Iain groaned, thinking that I'd gasped on his behalf, and his mouth left mine to explore my jawline, and my throat, and my ear with his swirling tongue.  Truth be told, Iain's touch was making me crazy and frantic with want, but I wasn't sure it was making me any more crazy than Kane's open jealousy, or Kane's Eden gaze.  He was watching me intently, jaw muscles still twitching furiously, but the longer I kept my brazen gaze focused on him instead of on Iain, though Iain was the one touching me, the more relaxed he became.  He got it.  He understood what i was trying to do.  I was holding his gaze because I was imagining that it was him who was touching me, and my eyes declared that it was him I wanted.  They told the story of my timeless desire.  And his chest began to rise and fall subconsciously, and he licked his lips, right before he lifted his glass of whiskey to drink, something he did normally to settle his nerves.  The fire that ignited in his green eyes after he swallowed the fuel was like a conflagration that had sifted into my own being, and i exhaled heavily, wanting to taste the remains of it on his mouth.  Someone came to talk to him then, and he tore his gaze from mine.  That's when my feet returned to earth, and I remembered where I was and who i was with.  

(I have to go to class or else this one would have been longer...i'll finish the rest of the scene when i get back)  :)