Author: Regency
Title: Shame Only Comes
Category: Adultery/Romance/AU
Spoilers/Season/Sequel: None;none;none
Pairing: Abbey/Jed; Abbey/Leo
Summary: Shame never comes when they're together.
Author's Notes: You have to guess who's who. And there'll be an AN at the end to tell you.
Disclaimer: I own no one.
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Shame...
What a misplaced emotion. Especially in her. She never feels shame when they're together, locked in an embrace that is quite truly as sinful as it feels. Their lips molded to one another's. Their bodies so in sync. An artist would call it beautiful. A priest would call it sinful. Well, she's no priest, but she has been called an artist before. What does she call it?
She calls it right. It isn't, but when she's with him, there's no one to contest her opinion. There never is. Not even him. Especially not him. He's too lost in her to call it anything. But when the act is finished, he lingers at her lips, her cheeks, her shoulders...peppering kisses over her collarbone, dipping down to tease her, reignite her flame. He always does. She is always willing.
He watches her with eyes alight, lips soft, and hands eager. She loves him. Of this, there is no doubt in either of their minds. Does she say it? Always, before, during, and after the throes of passion. She rests her weary head against his damp chest. She can hear his heart and wonders if he can hear hers. His eyes are closed, but he does not sleep. He holds her hand to his lips and kisses each of her fingertips. Can he hear her heart? She wonders.
He opens his eyes and she gasps. They are dark, cerulean blue with a passion that can't be denied. She wouldn't dare. He slides a hand behind her head, tangling his fingers in her hair, pulling her face closer to his. Their lips touch and she is his. She always was. She feels no shame.
She slips into the bedroom, trekking quietly across the floor, legs bare. She forgot her stockings. She wonders where, with him, she left them. He's not asleep. She can feel his eyes on her back. This isn't what she was wearing earlier. This isn't even hers. The silk of the shirt sticks to her skin and she almost can't wait to get it off. She doesn't want him to look at her anymore. She walks to the bathroom, still not looking into his eyes. She idly wonder what she would see. Would he remember that this was the shirt his friend had been wearing today? Would he wonder? Would he ask? The shirt slides off of her shoulders to the floor and she picks it up, putting it in a basket by the far connecting door. That's where she puts all of his clothes that she forgets to return. He never sees it there. She likes it that way.
The shower comes on, she steps in and proceedes to wash him away. His scent disappears with the soap, though his taste lingers on her tongue. She wants that tonight. She'll have that. Even with the water nearly scalding her skin, she can feel the even greater heat of his mouth all over her. She misses him already. She washes her hair. She can feel his fingers running through it, tugging gently to guide her head back to give him access to her neck. She feels a stirring inside and knows she has to get out. Her husband's waiting for her.
She wraps herself in a towel and steps out of the steamy bathroom. Pulling out her drawer, she slips on some pajamas. Her hair is still damp. He loves her hair wet. She tries not to think too much about that. She needs to sleep. She throws her towel into the hamper and walks back to sit on her side of the bed. Her back is to him. She can't look. He moves behind her and comes closer. She can feel his breath on her neck before his lips even brush her skin. That's when the shame comes.
She wonders if he realizes that someone else already touched her there tonight. Touched her there, twice. Would he believe her if she said so? His hands slide around to her front, undoing her top. She wonders, should she say that he had already done this tonight? Should she give herself away? She doesn't. She won't.
She lets him kiss her and returns the embrace. She's already exhausted, but she'll do this for his sake. She's come to realize that they make love so much alike, but so differently. His touch is more whimsical, while that of her husband is more dangerous, adventurous. Be it good or bad, she knows which of them she prefers.
They rise and fall, coming to rest in a heap of arms and legs and perspiration. He presses lazy kisses across her shoulder blades. She lies with her eyes closed, thinking of earlier in the evening. His touch. Just the thought leaves her restless. She misses him, even at her husband's side. She is not ashamed of what she's done.
Shame only comes when she and her husband make love...
and she calls out the right name.
Leo...
She's gotten so good at playing her game.
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