Gary Leonard Oldman

Summary: Two broken souls seemingly always left of center, searching but never finding. Pasts brimming with hurt and disappointment led them both down dark winding rocky roads towards something neither of them thought they would ever find. Love, acceptance and a person to call their very own.

Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/highlandfling22/playlist/5ja0CbBj1HjBMpR77DMKDf

A/N: *all images found through Pinterest.* Currently a WIP but damn if I don't have an overload of feels for these two already.

Aha! I love that gif! Thank you so so much hun! I'm excited that you're excited! ( does that make sense? I hope it does. :-D ) I may have broken my own heart with the first bit but I can assure you the only way this can go is up. I may have ruined Eileen in this piece but please know that she's in now way like this in RP threads. I hope you enjoy my dear! P.S. I hope you don't mind but I've borrowed Helene and Harvey in passing. I may ask you if I can borrow them later on into the piece if you don't mind. *hugs* I do apologize for it being so short though. I also noticed that I've got Cage falling a little hard for our dear girl, but as he's hanging around in the background while I write he's offering bits and pieces about himself. He says he's sensitive to energies and that he knew that she was the one. Somehow their vibes were in synch and they clicked. I'd like to think he got slapped by a hard and heavy case of love at first sight. Col backs this up because she admits that she'd seen him in the club before but was too damn shy to actually go over and talk to him for fear of being rebuffed.


Side note: Setting the Scene

Song used: Host of the Seraphim - Dead Can Dance ( that Col dances to ) / Like a Hurricane - The Mission ( for Cage's POV as brief as it was )

Incense burned: Moon and Star by Hem ( along with a healthy dose of Citrus/Sandalwood room and body spray for good measure. )

A/N #2: I'm not even sure if Djarum cigarettes are legal here in the States anymore and I'm totally unsure about the UK. I used to smoke them and thought I was super cool in addition to those colored wrapper cigarettes. *sighs*  I ended up smelling like a spice rack so don't just don't kids.  Also, Nice boots is a bit of an odd term I know and I apologize but it comes from the preposition of meeting someone in a club ( most likely a darker one ) and looking someone over and going "Nice boots. Wanna #@!* ? " Does it have a different meaning in Europe? Because the last thing I want to do is offend.




There wasn’t much in this world that she found herself hating, it just wasn’t in her nature to do so. Unless you counted absurdly sunny days when snow still blanketed the ground, everything was false hope and too fleeting. Once, when she was eight she had decided to brave the weather and take to the ice rink only to fall and twist her ankle. At first she thought the ice was going to give way but the joint in her right ankle had instead. So, there Colleen sat willing herself not to cry from the pain as the absurdly bright almost spring like sun beat down upon her causing her to sweat through the layers of thick Aran wool.  Winter was meant to be biting and grey. By some grace of a higher power she was able to drag herself from the middle of the pond and onto the bank before hobbling home well past the time her mother had told her to back by. She’d ended up getting a lashing for it and she didn’t dare mention the state of her ankle for fear of getting a second switching for hiding her state from the person that supposedly loved her most. This, along with her mother’s skewed view of the world at large was why she avoided redheaded women with hawkish blue eyes like the plague itself. They were another harbinger of false security and just as much pain as a broken bone. Colleen could still hear the thuds and yells on nights when her mind wouldn’t quiet down. Her heart raced just as quickly as she willed herself yet again not to cry. Instead she curled herself into a ball and willed the memories to go back into the locked box in the back of her mind.

“Back in the box. Lock it and throw away the key.”
She often mumbled to herself as she grasped the second hand duvet and pulled it over her head. If she could somehow blot out the memories they wouldn’t bother her. If they couldn’t see her she couldn’t see them. Sometimes she was right, others she was very much wrong. Like tonight.

“If you think for one minute I’ll allow that ghastly practice in my house you are mistaken girl.”

Ma had come home from a week long visit to great aunt Myrna’s and for some reason she was fit to be tied even before Colleen had properly gotten her coat and shoes off.   
‘Cleanliness is close to godliness, Colleen.’ was what she had grown up to have drummed into her head. Problem was that by Eileen Murphy’s standards clean and tidy was never good enough. The entire house had better be sterile or so help her. She'd had her ears boxed on more than one occasion and had been lashed twice.

“What?”
It was a halting whisper as Colleen looked over her shoulder at her mother who advanced on her much like a hawk upon it’s prey. Colleen was very much a mouse, she’d always known that but today it was made abundantly clear to her.

“Don’t you dare go ‘whatting’ me, girl. I was cleaning that sty of a room of yours and found these.”

Now, contrary to popular belief Colleen’s room was anything but a sty, for another of her mother’s ‘rules’ was that they live an unadorned life. There were no posters on her bedroom walls, no make up on her dressing table. Her clothes, all handmade by either her granny Murphy or by her own hand now that she was old enough to afford her own patterns and materials were hung according to color and season. Her small collection of books were housed in a worn down apple crate under her narrow single bed and the only other thing under her bed was a hand carved box her father had given her for her fifteenth birthday. A flutter of worn card stock and muted colors caught her eye. Her tarot cards. The last thing her Granny Murphy had ever given her were heading towards the hearth and crackling fire that Eileen had stoked just before Colleen had gotten home from the meager job stocking shelves down at Wallace’s Chemist.

“Please no! Mammy you can’t!”

“Don’t you Mammy me. I’ll not have these vile evil despicable things in my home!”

Colleen had a wild grab for a few of the cards and picked up the box they had been stored in. The top, which had once had the most beautiful carving of the tree of life etched into it was nearly split in half while the bottom  had ended up in the hearth and was being reduced to embers and ash, much like the other half of the deck of cards. In her hands she held only four. While part of her cringed inwardly at the childish way she had addressed her mother her desperation to keep the two things she held so dearly from the two people in the world she missed greatly nearly broke her resolve to act her age.

‘The past, the present, and the future.’
Her mind mused as she studied the cards for a moment. Six of arrows; the lessening of difficulties, travel in order to gain distance from difficulties. The Queen of Staves; Dynamic stable enthusiasm and someone who symbolizes those strengths. The three of cups; Great satisfaction and a reason to celebrate, possibly a wedding feast. The two of cups; Harmony, love and enchantment. A balancing of souls and quite possibly marriage. Somehow that didn’t make sense to her. At all. Who would want someone like her? Her mother had said that countless times when she’d found fault with her. ‘No one’s going to want you after I’m gone, girly. That’s for damn sure, so I suppose I’m stuck with you until I die. Shame too, had you turned out right you would have had beautiful children.’

That same venomous voice barked out an order to her that she didn’t quite hear. Again it thundered into her mind.

“Give them to me.”

She had never heard her mother’s voice take such a cold tone.

“N-no.”

“I said, give them to me.”

Eileen made a grab for her daughter’s hand and latched onto her wrist instead, bending it to her will Colleen thought for a split second that her wrist was going to break. Her heart skipped beat but somehow it didn’t. Colleen found it in herself to wrench her wrist away and cradle to along with the cards in her hand to her chest. She was well past the point of tearing up and instead looked at her mother with a mixture of confusion, anger and hurt. Not matter what she was feeling at that second it wouldn't have prepared her for what came next. A solid blow landed sharp and hard across the left side of her face. Her head buzzed with pain as she felt a trickle of blood towards the corner of her eye where her mother’s ring had caught her. She knew she’d surely have a bruise to show for this. Huddle there for a moment in a heap on the sitting room floor Colleen refused to cry.

“I want you out. Can’t show emotion, can’t listen to your elders. Can’t do anything right. If you’re going to invoke the unnatural world then you’re not welcome into my house.”

Somewhere far off the sounds of a autumn storm rumbled in with the traffic that was now ever present in the bustling part of Camden she was calling home, had now for the better part of two years. She’d left the tidy little brick house just a stone’s throw from the peat bogs for life in an industrial jungle. Sometimes she still pined for what she’d never have again. A mother that loved her unconditionally. But if Eileen had been able to toss her out like the recyclables did she ever actually love Colleen at all? Perhaps not. But Col knew she had something better waiting for her and with the help of her one and only friend, Helene and Hel’s dear Dad, Harvey she was able to take stock in her situation and then make a clean break for it. She’s consulted the Cards, a brand new pack that were a gift from Hel and meditated on where it was that she should start over. It had told her England. She remembered as a child that her father had always told her that it had always been his dream to see it. He’d even danced with the idea of moving the family there but Eileen was dead set against it and banned all talk of it from the house. A smile tugged at her lips as she told Hel where she planned on going.  So, early one morning after all her ducks had been put in a row off she went never to set foot on Galway soil ever again.

She’d woken up from the spot in the middle of her bed and her heart was still pounding. Tears had slipped out and now her pillow was soaked and her hair was a tumble. One glance in the mirror had told her that a shower was needed not only to clean herself up but to calm her frayed nerves.

Letting the tub fill she took stock of the tiny flat she called home, it wasn’t much just a one bedroom with a tiny kitchen and an even smaller sitting room but it suited her just fine. Her job as a clerk at the local used book store had provided her with more than enough pay to live quite comfortably here. She and Helene still talked every day and made the trek to the different clubs around town when Hel had time off away from her work. Most nights though she went on her own to one little club that struck her fancy, Ends of the Earth. She’d found herself quite comfortable in the dim lights and the smokey air heavy with the scent of incense and clove cigarette smoke. More often than not she came for the music, most of it played mirrored her tastes and the brand of house red they carried had become a favorite. She limited herself to a glass and made small talk to those around her and danced with abandon, mostly swaying to the beat like a tree caught in the wind. Tonight was no different. There was a chill in the air and a ring around the moon, something good was going to happen. She could feel it in her bones. The one nice thing about Ends of the Earth was that the dress code was lax and it accepted all forms of expression so the velvet and Jacquard lace dress was a welcome sight. Now she could say with pride that yes, she did in fact make it herself when she was asked where she bought it.  As was her well loved dovetail overcoat she’d found in a charity shop with her shoes each piece she wore she had customized in some way or another. Had she stayed in Galway she’d have been branded a freak or a witch. Both of which she was called by her own mother. Holding her head high she greeted the barman with a nod as she sat down and checked her coat behind the bar before ordering her usual glass of water for starters. It wasn’t busy for a Wednesday which wasn’t odd if she thought about it, the crowds usually came in on Friday or Saturdays unless there was a big do going on. Tonight it was quiet, peaceful. Dead Can Dance made up the featured playlist mix tonight and the scent of Cathedral incense clung to the air. Frankincense and Myrrh mingled with the smoke of Djarum cigarettes created an ethereal scent that would surely be clinging to her by the nights end, not that she cared. She lived for moments of feeling like this. Free.
Slipping out onto the dance floor quietly she let the music move her like a leaf on the wind. She would be the first to admit that with the exception of step dancing, which she had had extensive lessons for as a child, she wasn’t much of a dancer at all unless the music spoke to her and awakened a feeling in her soul. Closing her eyes she continued to sway, long graceful arms above her head her hips slowly moving in time as her long dark hair swung behind her down her back. She failed to notice the man in the back by the bar who had come in quietly a about twenty minutes after she did.


For some reason he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Watching her, entranced before he went about ordering his drink and wondering what she looked like from the front. He’d seen her in profile for the past three months now, perhaps tonight he could pluck up the courage to ask her her name. That ring around the moon was supposed to be good luck, perhaps his was changing in the right direction. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his crumpled packet of cigarettes and lit one, blowing a smoke ring up towards the ceiling. There was something free about how that woman moved, like she had discovered herself and was now free. His smoke had burned down to a mere nothing and he'd ended up burning his fingers. Before he knew what his feet were doing he found himself out on the dance floor with her. His own eyes went wide as they danced in time and she smiled at him.

Did he have something on his face? Oh God. She's got green eyes. and she's smiling at me.

Moving closer to her he caught her scent. She smelled like summer. Wind and Rain and wild roses. He could have waxed poetic about just that. The woman pale as moonlight with hair of midnight, eyes the color of the first leaves of spring who smelled like summer and moved like the winds held her. Shaking his head slightly he noticed that she was still smiling at him and asking him something. He tried his best to form an elegant answer but the music had made it impossible so he cupped his hand to his ear and settled for a 'Wot? I'm sorry?' He heard her gentle laugh as she moved closer toward his other ear and gently laid her hand on his arm to steady herself. To say he'd felt an electric jolt was an understatement, he felt like she'd lit him on fire.

"What's your name?"

Her lips had grazed his earlobe and he felt a tingle go from his feet to the top of his head. He'd been beguiled by a dark haired Irishwoman.

"Micajah."

The thrum of the drumbeat must have muffled his response as her smile grew wider.

"Cage? I'm Colleen."

She had inadvertently given him a nickname, the first in his entire life and he loved it. This Irishwoman surely was a winsome elf as the old song he'd heard many times had proclaimed.

"Are you from County Down?"

Another bell like laugh as she shook her head and held up her hand to show him a ring. Two hands holding a heart with a crown at the top.

"Claddagh Quay, Galway."

Another song played in his head, he bowed slightly to her and offered her his hand, she accepted and he gave her a twirl around the floor all the while the line replayed in his head. 'So I took her hand and I gave her a twirl
And I lost my heart to a Galway girl.'  The song changed to some ethereal instrumental as they walked back towards the bar and settled in next to one another.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

She'd asked and he was stunned for a moment. Wasn't he supposed to offer her one? Dumbly he nodded before trying to school his features back into place.

"The house red here's lovely would you like something else?"

He shook his head as he all but gawked at her for a moment. He felt like such a creep staring at her but he found he was content to listen to her talk, at this point she could be reading the phonebook and he wouldn't have cared. They sipped their drinks and exchanged bits and pieces, half started yarns of conversations flowing easily between them. This, was a first for Cage.

"My you've given yourself a nasty little burn there haven't you?"
She asked before taking his hand in her own, he felt like some sort of giant compared to her.

"Just a cigarette burn, it's not much to worry about."

"Infection sets in quick and you have beautiful hands."
A rosy tint painted her cheeks and he adored it. It made her eyes sparkle in the light as she smiled.

"I've got an ointment if you're interested...you'd have to follow me home though."
That bewitching smile was back as she paid the tab for their drinks he sat there for a split second until the barman, Quince, nodded him on. Colleen went to collect her jacket from the side room.

"My Lad, you best catch up with her because women like her don't come along very often and women like her most certainly don't 'nice boots' every man that they meet."

"Don't I know it."
He said as he got up to follow her out into the chilly autumn air. Neither of them noticed that the ring around the moon was brighter than it had been hours before.

A/N: Remember lovelies, no glove no love! Stay safe. P.S. Wolfy dear I hope you enjoy part two! *hugs*



They walked through the brightly lit square and huddled closer as the wind picked up, odd bits of paper and old band fliers fluttering past them as they walked talking quietly the conversation littered with soft chuckles from Cage and ringing laughter from Colleen. This was first time each had smiled so much in years.  They walked passed the church and Colleen stopped to marvel for just a moment before dropping a coin into a late night street busker’s case. Their walk continued down a little alley side way short cut and before he knew it there they stood in front of a brightly painted blue door. Fishing out her keys from her bag she nodded to him.

“This is me. Come on up for a cup of tea while I mend that hand of yours.”

Cage found himself standing stock still for a moment, this was the first time he’d ever been asked up. Usually if something was going to happen it happened in the bathrooms of a club or they went back to his.

“S-sure.”

He watched as she slid the key in gave it a quick twist and then gave the door a nudge with her shoulder and apologized over her shoulder.

“Sometimes the door sticks, ‘pecially when it gets cold like tonight. I’m only two doors in on the right.”

She moved away to let him and ushered him into her tiny flat. The first thing he noticed was the fact that despite it’s small size it was comfortably laid out. A few poster prints were hanging on the wall, her bookcase was neatly set up across from her couch and packed to the brim with paperbacks whose authors he was very familiar with.  She turned up the heat and went about turning on a side lamp while she got the tea ready. Shucking off her coat and kicking off her shoes while she waited for the water in the kettle to boil she ushered him to sit down on an overstuffed couch covered by what a handmade afghan. Offering to take his jacket she gave him another smile. She had been beautiful in the low lights of the club with the incense smoke swirling around her but in the warmth of her home she was radiant. The tiny overstuffed settee and the wingback chair draped in tidy dark grey sheets with hints of an old sun faded chintz print peeked out at him. A few photo collages in oversized black frames adorned the warm cream colored walls. Most of them showed snaps of herself and another dark haired woman smiling against coastal backdrops in various places. ‘That must be her sister.’ He mused as he spotted what surely must have been her knitting basket. A sweater with varying shades of purple was nearly half finished and another much smaller one was in the making along with a pair of mittens and a neat little cap. This was very much a cozy little home, unlike his sterile black and white world back on Bayham street. He didn’t even have a couch. Just a crappy little futon that was apt to give whoever had the misfortune of dozing off on it a wicked crick in the neck upon waking. How different their worlds were, hers warm and inviting and his cold and distant.

“So, how do you take your tea?”
Her voice brought him out of his thoughts and he blinked for a moment.

“Oh, uh. Milk and two sugars, thanks.”

She popped back into the kitchen and he could have kicked himself. Was it too late to make a run for it now that she had discovered how he preferred his tea?
‘She probably think you’re a stuffy old codger now. You like Dad tea!’
That little voice in his head admonished before he could run for the hills she was back with a tea trey and a small nervous smile.

“I’m so sorry I don’t have more to offer but tomorrow’s my shopping day.  The shortbread’s homemade though.”

He hadn’t had shortbread biscuits in years and these looked particularly good at the moment. She sat down next to him on the tiny settee before taking a sip of her own tea. He could smell the bergamot and lavender and found himself comforted. Sneaking a peek at her without wanting to seem downright creepy he found that she was studying him. If it had been any other person, let alone a woman he would have been uncomfortable but something about her made him drop his defenses. He nibbled on the shortbread and attempted to keep his wits about him. His mother had been right. The way to a man’s heart was surely through his stomach. He would never ever tell her that she was right but damn he’d been stereotyped and at this particular moment he enjoyed it.  He ended up going back for seconds and eventually thirds and was sorely disappointed when he found the place only held a smattering of crumbs.

“I’ve made a pig of myself.”

A gentle pat on his arm and a chuckle from her as she set her mug down made the knot in his stomach ease.

“I’m honestly not much for shortbread myself. I just made them on a whim. I’m glad you enjoyed them though.”

A warm soft hand moved gently over his cheek and brushed his lips.

“Sorry, you had a few stray crumbs.”

“Thanks.”

“So, what is it that you do again?”

“A bit of everything at the moment I’m a piercer over at Flannery’s. Looking into getting my tattoo license soon.”

He watched as Colleen’s eyes all but lit up at the mention of his job, not many women found that interesting. Come to think of it his mother hadn’t even had that sort of reaction when he told her his plans.

“That’s fantastic! I’m sure you’ll get it, you’ve got artist’s hands.”
Another tinge of pink colored her cheeks as she reached out to study his free hand. He suddenly felt self conscious of all the rings that adorned both of his hands, heavy pieces of sterling silver in various shapes. He watched as she studied the lines of his palm and traced them with her fingertips. Who knew palm reading could be such a turn on? He hadn’t until this very moment.

“You’ve got a long line for imagination and creativity. A good strong life line but a trouble love line. It’s in the past but see how it’s disconnected from the present? I see a long happy relationship in your future.”

‘With you I hope.’
He thought to himself as he felt a sting from the cigarette burn he’d inflicted on himself earlier that evening.  Her brows knit together as she looked up at him, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Let me go get you that balm. I’ll be right back.”

She left him in a whirl of black lace and jangle of beads. He found himself almost pining for her return and his heart skipped a beat she reemerged from what must have been her bedroom with a jar of something that looked like a homemade balm.  It looked like cloudy milky thick something or other in the apothecary jar.

“You’re not allergic to honey or aloe are you?”

“No, is that all that’s in there?”
The smell of roses and honey filled his nose and he quirked a brow.

“No, it’s a little raw honey, aloe, sea buckthorn oil, rosewater. A few other things. It’s my own secret recipe.”

He spied some linen bandages alongside it.  Her smile was infectious.

“It can get quite…sticky.”
She said as she worked the cap off with nimble fingers and dabbed out a bit onto her finger and true to it’s word it felt heavy and thick on his skin. She gently dabbed it in and bandaged him up.
He hadn’t wanted her touch to end, the sparks he’d felt earlier that evening as she had spoken to him had multiplied and the more time he spent in her company the more he yearned to feel them again.

“Oh, almost forgot the most important part of the healing process.”
He watched his bated breathe as she brought his hand up to her lips and placed a soft kiss upon the bandage. He had remembered his mother doing this for him when he was a child but this, was certainly not his mother and given how the reaction her lips had on him he certainly wasn’t a child. The memory of her lips brushing against his ear and now this had made his skin feel like it had been lit on fire again. He blinked and she was tidying up the extra bandages and closing the jar up. Her hair had fallen from it’s place behind her ear and once more obscured half of her face. He gingerly reached out and touched the soft dark locks and brushed them over her shoulder as his fingertips made contact with the slim ivory column of her neck. She sat straight and still, lush pink lips parted as he moved closer to her. He had never quite seen the appeal in kissing a woman’s neck but now he certainly could. Craning his neck downwards he could smell her perfume rich red roses bathed in summer rain, he felt the thrum of her pulse beneath his lips.
Peppering light kisses along her throat and over her collar bone he heard a reedy keen from her.
Both were caught by surprise as the end of the couch gave way with a solid thud and they found themselves a tangle of limbs on the floor. Somewhere along the way down he’d nipped her gently as she worked her hands over his chest and shoulders before working them up toward his hair. Both gave twinned groans of pain as one found herself bitten and he found himself getting his hair yanked.

“That’s what I get for buying a second hand couch.”
She’d said as she wiggled beneath him in a most delicious manner. Was it him or were his pants getting a bit tight? If she rolled her hips like that again he might burst.  One look at her eyes told him that he was more than welcome to spend the night but he knew he dare not push his luck. The clock over the mantel chimed a warning of one in the morning and somewhere outside their little bubble of a world the rains were pouring down as the winds blew once more, the old building she called home creaked like an ancient wooden ship out to sea.

“I’d feel horrible if I turned you out into that.”
She murmured, those lips of hers working their magic against the shell of his ear. With a wicked little grin she rolled her hips against his once more. He was sure the friction between them caused his eyes to roll back into his head for a moment.

“Then don’t.”
He found himself groaning into her neck once more as his lips found her collarbone.

“I won’t.”
Her hands had found the buckle of his pants and her nails danced over the clasp. His left hand found it’s way up to her thigh and he was pleasantly surprised to find that her knickers matched her dress. Lace on lace. He found himself wondering what color she preferred.  An edge of the hem got caught on one of his rings and he soon found his question answered as her panties gave a sound rip and he was left with a scrap of red lace in his hand.  Things were going ever so well and now they’d just gone to hell in a hand basket for him.  He felt his lower tremble a bit as he envisioned her sending him packing out into the storm with a raging hard on, a shite ton of regret and his little scrap of her panties. Perhaps he could frame them, maybe get a little plaque with the words ‘What could have been had I not hauled off and fecked it up.’ engraved on it.

He startled when she keened against him. Seems like his right hand had a mind and an agenda of it’s own tonight. The hollow of her throat had gone from milky white to a startling red. Her hands finally wrenched off his belt. Tossing the scrap of fabric over his shoulder he helped her get his pants down. He suddenly remembered that was wearing boxers. Danger Mouse boxers. He was well and truly screwed, or not so much as of this second. He was officially at strike two.

“I always liked Penfold the best.”
Was her reaction before snaking a hand under the waistband and giving him a squeeze.  She leaned up and brought her lips to his and for a second he could have sworn his heart was going to stop.
‘If her hand doesn’t stop the fun’s going to.’
The formerly snark filled voice in his voice warned. Air was becoming vital and the kiss was broken, much to their shared disappointment.

“If…you keep that up I’m not going..”

Her strokes increased and he thought he was going to burst. His eyes roamed over her face, her lips were full and swollen, cheeks and throat tinged a bright red and her eyes were alit with a fire he knew he’d never seen in anyone he’d spent the night with before. She was studying him and drinking him in. He should have felt ashamed, vulnerable, perhaps even the tiniest bit angry for her gaging his reactions but he didn’t. He felt accepted. Free. Just as she had danced at the club he felt free. Her ministrations stopped for a moment as his hand roamed over the apex of her thighs. Circling the nub there he dipped a finger in and she keened.

“Ah…perhaps we should take…oh screw it. ****.”
In a flash jewelry and clothing were strewed around the tiny apartment and Cage found himself the one laying sprawled out on the floor. She had taunted him, teased him and brought his parlously close to the edge only to stop and whisper ‘not yet, Leannán.’ in his ear. There was a moment of panic when he the condom that was in his wallet was well over the expiration date and dried out to mere nothing. She came to the rescue by ducking into her bathroom and retrieving a handful of brightly colored foil packets. In between touches and kisses as he fumbled with a packet

‘You must think I’m a **** or something.’

‘You’re anything but. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being prepared.’

‘You sure you’re not just saying that to get into my pants now would you?”

“What pants? Oh, you mean the ones I ripped off of you about ten minutes ago?”

“Cheeky bastard.”

“Darling you have no idea.”

“I’d quite like to find out.”


Colleen was free once more, a force of nature to be reckoned with as  fluid as she had been while she danced her hair draped over one of her shoulders her breasts moving in perfect time with her hips. Cage found that if he were to be struck down at this very moment he would die a very happy man. In her face and by her touch he found something. Some would call it God, others a Higher Power. He simply called it Her. In one smooth movement she was on her back once more their pace reaching a fever pitch, two sets of hands roaming over expanses of skin breathing in time as the storm raged on around them.

‘Oh G…g..ungh.”
The fluttering around him increased to a pulse as her body started to quake underneath him.

‘Micajah.’

At that exact moment he was positive he had never seen anything so beautiful or heard anyone say his name in such a way. She looked as if she had swallowed the sun, soft warm skin taking on a glow all of it’s own her eyes half closed as she rode out the wave of pleasure. Pleasure he had given her. Just as she had said his name he toppled and lost himself over the edge of the sweet oblivion. Grabbing the sheet that doubled as a slipcover and the afghan off the couch he covered them both as she settled her head onto his chest and allowed him to stroke her long dark hair. Together they drifted off to the sound of the autumn storm and the ticking of the clock.

Aha! Ohmygoodlord! This just made my entire week! I'm honored and so so glad you liked the update! I tried and I was afraid that perhaps the mechanics weren't clear enough for the scene? I had to take a moment and try to connect with what each was feeling even though it was mainly from Cage's POV ( man that's an interesting experience to write as a male character having that kind of reaction ) Please forgive me for saying this but I'm glad it got heated up! I've got a few things planned for the next chapter and a few ideas for a few more smutty scenes.