They lay spooned, with Vincent behind Catherine. Both were nude, with a light sheet pulled part way up. The moonlight streamed in from the open balcony doors. Catherine slept, but Vincent couldn’t. He didn’t want to miss a second of this wondrous time with the woman he loved and had loved, in all ways that matter to any couple in love.
Any couple. They could hardly be called any couple. Yet ... what they shared – was it so different from any couple? He thought not.
This woman - this woman had given him so much, such love and acceptance as he had never experienced before, had never expected before. She was fearless, selfless, and giving to him who was, if he were honest, not anyone she probably ever expected to love. Yet, here she was. Here he was.
He closed his eyes to better remember this night, the feelings, the touches, the closeness, and the love. Nature made what he expected to be awkward something natural and easy. Or perhaps Catherine had done that. He no longer remembered, nor cared; it had happened.
He had an advantage. His vision in low light was tremendously better than hers. And with moonlight, she was a feast. His eyes followed the roundness of her shoulder, to the curve of her waist, back up to her hip, and flowed down the length of her legs, lying entwined with his.
Sweet heaven, what the eyes see, the hand wants to touch. He could no more stop his hand from cupping her shoulder than he could stop breathing. He drew his hand down the path his eyes took, removing the sheet as he went. Her skin was so soft, so smooth compared to his. Did his skin please her like hers did him? All he had felt through the Bond was joy and contentment. He admitted that he was lost in sensation at the time and not paying as much attention to the Bond, or was sensation and feeling the same for them both? More exploration would be needed to answer that thought.
On cue, she stirred, stretching, and turning to face her marauder. She smiled happily, looking into his eyes. “I love you” reached his heart before his ears heard the words.
When she turned, his hand ended up on her opposite thigh. He thought it only fair to give that whole side of her the same attention he had given her right. She, in payback, decided to start with his brow, moving down his nose to his cheek, and then slipped her finger into his mouth where he caught it with his tongue, only to lose it when she shifted to his cleft.
She withdrew her finger to claim his mouth in a kiss. She held his face and took her leisure exploring his mouth, her tongue replacing her finger. She mapped out the territory, leaving no unexplored surface. Her tongue, small though it was compared to his, held its own in a dance with his. She finally broke the kiss to lay butterfly kisses on the soft fuzz on his cheeks, punctuating each kiss with a softly spoken, “I love you.”
She said it often to his rarely spoken. He must change that, yet he found he was largely without words, so overwhelmed with sensation as he felt. If not words, let me show her in other ways how much I love and adore her, my Catherine, my everything. Learning what she loved would be his primary task from now until eternity.
Totally distracted, his hand now cupped her breast, rasping his thumb across her nipple. How natural this all felt, yet it was all so new. Why had he fought against this so long? What a fool. What a gift she was, so patient and certain of their future. He did not deserve her, yet he vowed to cherish her the rest of his days.
His mind returned abruptly to actions, as her wandering hand had reached a ready target after splaying through the hair on his chest and the softer downy fur on his lower abdomen. Oh, sweetness and light! Do not stay thy hand for I am lost in its feel!
She rolled him to his back and joined them, starting with a slow rhythm and building to a crescendo. She murmured something about Ravel’s Bolero before once again falling asleep, this time still draped on top of him. He would never listen to that piece of music the same way again, and without a smile on his face.
Never again would he wish to be anything other than who and what he was, for he knew with a certainty that they were meant to be, to have found each other, and to love each other. Had he been different, all this would not be, and he would only be one more lost soul looking for someone to love. Catherine understood this long ago, and waited for him to make the discovery. He kissed the top of her head in blessing.
He held her in his arms, cupping her head to his chest. Such precious life to protect. He never felt so whole, so complete as he did now. A peace washed over him. Home. He was home, at last, in her arms.
And to think, it all started with ... their first kiss.