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Torey

altfic in passion_perfect

Life and Breath -- Part 2/?

Title: Life and Breath
Author: Pink Rabbit Productions
Fandom: Guiding Light
Pairing: Olivia/Natalia
Part: 2/?
Date: 25 June, '09
Rating: Personally, I'd call it an R, but some might consider it NC-17 at some point.
Disclaimer: The characters and situations belong to other folks far wealthier, more important (or at least with better lawyers), and hopefully more charitable and kinder than I. They include, but are not necessarily limited to CBS, Proctor and Gamble, and Telenext. The actual arrangement of words, however, remains my own as do any original characters. Meanwhile, there is likely to be all female romantic and sexual activity ahead, so if this is likely to get you, me, or anybody else arrested should you take a gander, please move along. Also, if you find that sort of thing offensive, you really probably shouldn't hang around anyplace I'm posting. Just sayin'....
Archiving: The Pink Rabbit Consortium
Spoilers: Not much, but anything's possible through the spa trip.
Timeline: Unlike some folks, I don't have an exact scene where this one takes off. However, it's definitely set after the spa trip, but before Rafe's release from the halfway house.
Earlier Parts: | Part 1 (Prologue) |

Author's Note: Heh, hopefully this won't get me killed...ducking back in time a bit. But all will be explained. I promise.
Life and Breath
by Pink Rabbit Productions

Part 2/?


Two Weeks Earlier

Mumbled words of desire slid over heated skin in the wake of silken lips that teased and tormented. Whispered in the safety of darkness, they laid claim with the same surety as the hands that stroked and played over smooth curves, sometimes dancing with fairy lightness, sometimes pressing with desperate strength. Soft suckling kisses fell along the arch of throat and collarbone, dusted the point of a slim shoulder, then seemed to land everywhere until muscles knotted and sweat beaded on fine flesh.

It was a bed and there were undoubtedly sheets somewhere, but the only surfaces that seemed to register were the warmth and silk of human flesh as they drove rivers of sensation along tormented nerve endings.

A low whimper joined the whispers of skin moving against skin, a quiet sexual concert played for two, while the world coalesced into want, liquid heat, and temptation, all given face and form with free leave to play as they wished.

"...want you..." Olivia Spencer's low contralto demand rumbled through the silken haze of moving flesh, vibrating already buzzing nerve endings and driving her lover to arch and plead with mindless abandon.

The succubi of legend couldn't possibly possess any more daunting charms than the lover twisting Natalia Rivera's body to her whims. A tiny whimper escaped her lips, the sound part surrender, part demand as fingers twined into her hair, tugging her head back, exposing her throat to warm, damp, velvet caresses delivered by kiss-swollen lips.

Wanton. That was the word to describe the way her body rippled and moved, the rhythm guided by the gentle hand that trailed down her naked back and hip. The tension on her hair eased and her head fell into the supportive strength of a taut shoulder. Molten lead seemed to run through veins no longer meant to carry mere blood even as heat and pressure pushed her to some kind of boiling point she didn't quite....


Bzzzt, bzzzt, bzzzt....

Groaning several choice invectives, Natalia Rivera rolled on her side, slapping at her alarm clock in a gesture that would usually have been far more suited to her former roommate, Olivia Spencer, than herself. Her normal morning persona was cheerful, bright, eager to meet the day, not this exhausted, surly, slit-eyed creature trying frantically to outwit a ten dollar alarm clock that was generally switched off long before it had an opportunity to herald the new day.

Apparently the damn thing was enjoying the opportunity to do its life's work because it eluded her fingers with the agility of a new colt bounding through a meadow for the first time.

Finally, she chased it down, corralled it, and when it refused to obey her command, hurled it across the room with as much force as she could muster.

It died in a final bzzzt of defiance.

Natalia didn't feel the usual burst of sympathy she normally did even for inanimate objects in distress. At that precise moment, all she could think was that it had been asking for it, and she'd make damn sure her next alarm clock knew what happened when it didn't follow orders, not to mention make sure knew better than to interrupt her dreams right when---

"Oh, God," she groaned. For once she didn't even bother to calculate the penance necessary to make amends for taking His name in vain, nor for all the images running through her brain, unformed and faintly vague though they were.

Later. She could worry about it later. At that precise moment in time, all she could worry about, consider, ruminate on, contemplate, or otherwise allow into the grey matter she charitably referred to her brain was—

A low groan escaped her lips and she flopped onto her stomach, clutching her pillow to her chest with the sort of raw desperation usually reserved for survivors of the Titanic holding on to the last life preserver. Taut muscle rippled and played across her back, the flex and contraction reminding her against her will of the dream, Olivia's hands and lips moving over her skin, Olivia's fingers in her hair, Olivia's body molded to hers in an intimate give and take.

A tiny whimper escaped her lips. And just what element did all of those thoughts and feelings have in common?

Oh, right. Olivia. Freakin'. Spencer.

Clinging more tightly to her pillow, she buried her face in its downy softness and tried to ignore the sensations raging through every nerve ending in her body courtesy of a nasty case of dreamus interruptus.

And to think, she'd almost convinced herself that sex really wasn't that big a deal, mildly pleasant at best, but equally likely to be hideously embarrassing and uncomfortable and with consequences that made the whole thing generally not worth the risk. She'd long thought the people making so much out of it really needed to find something meaningful in their lives.

Fat lot she knew.

Okay, so she still didn't know all that much about actual, let's-get-naked-with-a-real-person-in-the-room sex, but she'd found that her previously uninventive imagination had quite the knack for the subconscious kind. The details might be missing, but her body didn't seem to give a damn. It buzzed and hummed and left her trembling in ways she barely began to comprehend.

And it had been doing so with increasing frequency for several months. In fact, if she was honest, the first, far more innocent foray into a nighttime social life far more active than the daytime version had come shortly before her disastrously stupid little foray into the wonders of sex with Frank Cooper. And boy, wasn't that a what-were-you-thinking moment? Maybe she'd been hoping it would calm jangled hormones before she did something stupid like fall in love with her roommate (something which, on consideration, had already occurred by then), or perhaps it had simply been an attempt to run like hell from what she'd begun to suspect she was feeling. Either way, whether due to her own lack of interest or Frank's ineptitude, the whole idiotic incident had not only left her guilty and with a scarred psyche, but seemed to have somehow made the dreams that much more powerful. Maybe it was the contrast of what she was supposed to want versus what she actually did want intensifying her subconscious mind's determination to teach her body a few, long-avoided lessons.

All of which was on the verge of making her crazy because she knew how to solve at least part of the problem. Olivia would be more than happy to provide that particular succor.

She trembled at the thought because instinct told her that her dreams wouldn't even begin to compare to reality.

And there was a part of her that wanted it more than she could say.

Then there was the part that was scared to death of that reality and all the things it would mean. Not the commitment or the love. That was the easy part. If that was all it took, she'd already be there because they had that already.

No, it was the looks, the stares, the sense of being judged, of being different one more time in her life just when she'd finally felt settled in and like she fit for once. Olivia might thrive on standing out in a crowd, on getting in people's faces and challenging their bigotry and stupidity. Natalia hated it. Her stomach clenched and roiled violently in response to the very idea, while a painful blush suffused her skin and her brain always seemed to go on the fritz. Not her idea of fun times.

Though she'd braved it for Rafe, she reminded herself as she remembered harsh times and harsher words than anyone in Springfield was likely to hurl.

Could she do any less for Olivia? She was beginning to strongly suspect the answer was no. The other woman had wormed her way too deep into Natalia's heart, and Natalia wasn't one to love lightly or often.

Which only left the ever present religious issues.

She knew what a priest would tell her. It was a sin.

Only now that she thought about it, wasn't pretty much all sex a sin? Oh, they forgave you if it involved a husband and wife, but original sin and all that.

And what did a priest know about sex anyway? At least the kind that involved a healthy relationship and legal adults?

"Sorry," she apologized instantly, hoping God would forgive her harsh thoughts and be charitable if she was feeling a bit out of sorts toward the church. He'd given her this love after all, thrown her into Olivia's path–who probably wasn't helping on the whole charitable thoughts toward religion front—shown her the thoughtful, decent, downright kind woman hiding behind the bitter, grasping, suicidal bitch—really, there was no other word--- she'd known at first. He ought to have a little sympathy for her plight. Even without the obvious Biblical issues, loving Olivia Spencer was no small thing to be attempted without serious contemplation and possibly a very large measure of stark, unreasoning terror.

Which was probably why he'd snuck it up on her, trickling it in through the chinks in her armor instead of throwing it at her wholesale, making sure she was in so deep there was no getting out before letting her see the truth.

"God, what were you thinking?" she asked, and this time, she wasn't taking his name in vain, but asking a sincere question of a longtime friend and almost hoping for a bit of parting of the clouds and a message or two from on high.

"Hi, Natalia, this is God. Y'know that whole Leviticus thing? Major mistake in the translation there. I mean, come on, who the hell cares if you love the same gender so long as that love is sincere...not to mention that whole pox on blending wool and cotton. And sheez, who doesn't love shrimp and lobster? Really, the translator was seriously into the sacramental wine that day, so let's just forget the whole thing."

And why was it that God's voice in her head was no longer played by the stentorian tones of Charlton Heston, but rather now had a distinctly feminine bent, not to mention Olivia's wry delivery?

"I'm losing my freaking mind," she grumbled as she finally pushed to a sitting position, hair falling across her eyes and momentarily blurring the world around her. Olivia had invaded her life, her home, her thoughts, even her damned vocabulary, because she distinctly remembered a time when she'd sounded more like a Sunday school teacher than—well, not a truck driver exactly, but definitely not a Sunday school teacher.

All of which was irrelevant because the honest truth was that as insane as it all threatened to make her, it was still a thousand times better than the alternative. The sick, welling pit of dread in her stomach as she'd drawn closer to her aborted wedding to Frank proved that much. He might be a good man, but he wasn't what she wanted. She wanted Olivia.

A sharp throbbing ache reminded her of the literal truth of that statement.

Time to deal with that not-so-little problem.

One cold shower later, she made her way into the kitchen and was struck one more time by how quiet, lonely, and downright hollow her dream home had become without Olivia's morning grumbles or Emma's sunny smile.

A sad little smile twisting her lips as she remembered happier times, she did something she almost never did and eschewed a balanced breakfast in favor of a power bar. Olivia had an early morning hair appointment, which meant she'd be running at least twenty minutes late. Despite any ...distractions...Natalia was well ahead of her usual schedule and St. Michaels was on her way to work.

Not that she couldn't talk to God in her own livingroom, but the serenity of the church was often a balm when her soul was troubled. And her soul was definitely, if not troubled, then agitated.

A little quiet contemplation seemed like a good idea.

Still munching on the power bar, she grabbed her portfolio and hurried out, quickly locking up before climbing into her car and gunning out.

She never saw the tan Chevy parked on the shoulder of the road a short distance from her driveway, nor felt the impact of the covetous gaze that tracked her car until it disappeared into the distance.

* * * * * *

TBC

Comments

I can not wait for more
Then more you shall have. Just posted part 3. :)
Fic Me Now

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