DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but my own name.
SPOILERS: spoilers for Season one, mentions of sexual moments, and thoughts about love.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
FEEDBACK: To spheeris1[at]yahoo.com

isn't it?
By spheeris1



It's a pause, somewhere above her mouth, and you capture it with your lips. Capture it and take it away again. Playful. Magical. She calls you magical sometimes, like you've cast a spell over her.

She adores you. She sees your specialness. She smiles at you, all soft and warm, and it causes your insides to go on fire. No one has looked at you like that. Not ever.

It's a moment, somewhere between her legs, and you capture it with your tongue. Capture it and keep it close. Hold it to your bare chest, shut your eyes, and dream about it after she has let you go.

She tastes like home. You've not had a home in so long. Maybe you never had one to start with.
But she can be your home now – her heart, her body, her dark stare from beneath you...

It's love, isn't it? Isn't this what love is made up of, shock and sensation pounding at your bones, heat and sweat and other amazing things?

Love makes it easy, easy to kill him. Love makes it right, doesn't it?



Word gets around, sly like a starving dog, and you give her a little something she needs, something she craves. Everyone wants to feel special, don't they?

She falls into your arms, tripping over her feelings, weak gaze so sick with affection, and you kiss her, kiss her for hours on end. You kiss her between the light of day and the shadows, you wrap her up in you like a fog.

Her head tips backwards. You leave a mark on her thigh.

" I love you... I love you... "

You'd laugh but your lungs are busy, breathing her in and breathing her out again. Is this love for a girl left behind by the world? Is this love when there is nothing else left to ache for? But you hold her all the same, you 'shhh' her sighs and let her hear the beating of your heart.

You let her hear whatever she wants to.
That's love, isn't it? Isn't love the sweetest of lies?



He doesn't know you, only what you tell him. And so you tell him half-truths, because half-truths make for a better deception anyway. And you are made of smoke, made of mirrors.

You try out normal. Fits like a badly tailored pair of slacks.
You call him your boyfriend. Just another useless word in your mouth.
You stare at his body on the floor and you wonder what his last thoughts were, did he realize that you were a figment of his desire, of his kindness, of his stupidity?

He thought it was something more than it was. He thought he could be special. He thought it could be love, didn't he?

He was a fool, wasn't he?



There's a tickle at the back of you throat, you clear it and clear it, but still it comes back. You cough and she smiles at you nervously, excitedly, and you blink her back into focus.

Right. That's right.
You've got a game to play.

And she's a lovely distraction, willing and eager, and she doesn't ask many questions, not with your lips on hers and not with your hands on her skin and not even as you dress her up in another person's clothes. She's so accommodating, so ready to be naughty, so ready to be yours for a night or two.

No mention of love.
No need to do much baiting.
No stumbling blocks.

Still, there's that itch you cannot scratch, not with orgasms and not with changing her name, not for all the times you sneak around and she pretends to find you.

She's pretty when she comes, flushed in all the right places. And you grin at her, you with your devil-may-care yarns and innocent-looking gaze, and she covers her face with the sheet, shy, like you haven't just fucked her and seen everything.

You flop back onto the bed and you look at the ceiling and you clear your throat and you scratch your thigh and you wonder what Eve Polastri is doing right now.

You wonder about Eve a lot, don't you?
You think about her all the time, don't you?

You cough. Your nails drag back and forth. And you want... you want and want and want, don't you?



Oh, she is special. Fucking spectacular. Maddening and magical, too. And she comes on so strong, so wild, but smart as well, and if she were water, you'd drink her dry. You want her inside of you, in every way possible, and then maybe you'd know for sure if this is –

Oh, she is glorious. Determined, maybe a bit crazy, too. She says dangerous things to you and your heart cannot take it, cannot take this fierce beating, cannot take so much pure desire and if she wants to know you, if she really wants to see you, then you'll let her, you'll let her have it all because this might be –

Oh, she is everything. Absolutely everything. And the two of you are side by side, on your bed, and you've thought of this moment about a million times, a million times of her body this close, of pretending your fingers are hers, of pulling her into you and never letting her go, and you grow wet at just the nearness of her, at just the possibility of more, and it feels so much like –

Oh... is this love... surprise and agony and blood between you, is this love? Deadly and honest. Sharp. Intimate. Longing and regret. Everything and nothing... oh, this is love, isn't it?

Isn't it?

The End

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