He bent his face slowly to mine, laying his cool cheek against my skin. I held perfectly still.
"Mmmmmm..." he breathed.
It was very difficult, while he was touching me, to frame a coherent question. It took me a minute of scattered concentration to begin.
"It seems to be... much easier for you, now, to be close to me."
"Does it seem that way to you?" he murmured, his nose gliding to the corner of my jaw. I felt his hand, lighter than a moth's wing, brushing my damp hair back, so that his lips could touch the hollow beneath my ear.
"Much, much easier," I said, trying to exhale.
"Hmm."
"So I was wondering..." I began again, but his fingers were slowly tracing my collarbone, and I lost my train of thought.
"Yes?" he breathed.
"Why is that," my voice shook, embarrassing me, "do you think?"
I felt the tremor of his breath on my neck as he laughed. "Mind over matter."
I pulled back; as I moved, he froze - and I could no longer hear the sound of his breathing.
We stared cautiously at each other for a moment, and then, as his clenched jaw gradually relaxed, his expression became puzzled.
"Did I do something wrong?"
"No - the opposite. You're driving me crazy," I explained.
He considered that briefly, and when he spoke, he sounded pleased. "Really?" A triumphant smile slowly lit his face.
"Would you like a round of applause?" I asked sarcastically.
He grinned.
"I'm just pleasantly surprised," he clarified. "In the last hundred years or so," his voice was teasing, "I never imagined anything like this. I didn't believe I would ever find someone I wanted to be with... in another way than my brothers and sisters. And then to find, even though it's all new to me, that I'm good at it... at being with you..."
"You're good at everything," I pointed out.
He shrugged, allowing that, and we both laughed in whispers.
"But how can it be so easy now?" I pressed. "This afternoon..."
"It's not easy," he sighed. "But this afternoon, I was still... undecided. I am sorry about that, it was unforgivable for me to behave so."
"Not unforgivable," I disagreed.
"Thank you." He smiled. "You see," he continued, looking down now, "I wasn't sure if I was strong enough..." He picked up one of my hands and pressed it lightly to his face. "And while there was still that possibility that I might be... overcome" - he breathed in the scent at my wrist - "I was... susceptible. Until I made up my mind that I was strong enough, that there was no possibility at all that I would... that I ever could..."
I'd never seen him struggle so hard for words. It was so... human.
"So there's no possibility now?"
"Mind over matter," he repeated, smiling, his teeth bright even in the darkness.
"Wow, that was easy," I said.
He threw back his head and laughed, quietly as a whisper, but still exuberantly.
"Easy for you!" he amended, touching my nose with his fingertip.
And then his face was abruptly serious.
"I'm trying," he whispered, his voice pained. "If it gets to be... too much, I'm fairly sure I'll be able to leave."
I scowled. I didn't like the talk of leaving.
"And it will be harder tomorrow," he continued. "I've had the scent of you in my head all day, and I've grown amazingly desensitized. If I'm away from you for any length of time, I'll have to start over again. Not quite from scratch, though, I think."
"Don't go away, then," I responded, unable to hide the longing in my voice.
"That suits me," he replied, his face relaxing into a gentle smile. "Bring on the shackles - I'm your prisoner." But his long hands formed manacles around my wrists as he spoke. He laughed his quiet, musical laugh. He'd laughed more tonight than I'd ever heard in all the time I'd spent with him.
"You seem more... optimistic than usual," I observed. "I haven't seen you like this before."
"Isn't it supposed to be like this?" He smiled. "The glory of first love, and all that. It's incredible, isn't it, the difference between reading about something, seeing it in the pictures, and experiencing it?"
"Very different," I agreed. "More forceful than I'd imagined."
"For example" - his words flowed swiftly now, I had to concentrate to catch it all - "the emotion of jealousy. I've read about it a hundred thousand times, seen actors portray it in a thousand different plays and movies. I believed I understood that one pretty clearly. But it shocked me..." He grimaced. "Do you remember the day that Mike asked you to the dance?"
I nodded, though I remembered that day for a different reason. "The day you started talking to me again."
"I was surprised by the flare of resentment, almost fury, that I felt - I didn't recognize what it was at first. I was even more aggravated than usual that I couldn't know what you were thinking, why you refused him. Was it simply for your friend's sake? Was there someone else? I knew I had no right to care either way. I tried not to care.
"And then the line started forming," he chuckled. I scowled in the darkness.
"I waited, unreasonably anxious to hear what you would say to them, to watch your expressions. I couldn't deny the relief I felt, watching the annoyance on your face. But I couldn't be sure.
"That was the first night I came here. I wrestled all night, while watching you sleep, with the chasm between what I knew was right, moral, ethical, and what I wanted. I knew that if I continued to ignore you as I should, or if I left for a few years, till you were gone, that someday you would say yes to Mike, or someone like him. It made me angry.
"And then," he whispered, "as you were sleeping, you said my name. You spoke so clearly, at first I thought you'd woken. But you rolled over restlessly and mumbled my name once more, and sighed. The feeling that coursed through me then was unnerving, staggering. And I knew I couldn't ignore you any longer." He was silent for a moment, probably listening to the suddenly uneven pounding of my heart.
"But jealousy... it's a strange thing. So much more powerful than I would have thought. And irrational! Just now, when Charlie asked you about that vile Mike Newton..." He shook his head angrily.