Grey's Tribute

We Run

The cottage door stands ajar, so I can just slink in. My eyes fall on the Northerner. He's sitting on the couch, legs slightly spread, forearms resting on his thighs. His head lifts slightly as I enter, his grey eyes meeting mine. I brush by him unconcerned with his wants.

He's always without a shirt in the confines of the little cottage, keeping himself on full display, using the game of skin in hopes of catching my gaze roll over his body.

He has no shame.

A feeling of lust enters my mind. It's very fleeting, the briefest of thoughts, as I turn tail and walk into the bedroom, dismissing him, dismissing that thought. I don't like the way the bond makes me feel things for him. I want to only feel contempt, anger, hostility, but it's twisting inside me, making me look deeper at him. I try to push the thoughts of him away. It's not possible. I'm being bombarded with his feelings, his desires...compulsions.

Walking out the bedroom. I'm starved, I need to eat. The exertion of the run has left me with tired muscles and an empty stomach. As I open the fridge, I decide on several sandwiches. Quick and easy. He can't take his eyes off me, tracking my every move.

"Thank you for tonight." He's sincere in his thanks, honesty coming off his body in a gentle caress.

"It wasn't for you, it was for the females." I have my back to him, but can feel the change in him. He's ruffled up. Good! It's the price he's got to pay.

A deep ache in the pit of his stomach clenches and flexes with his compulsions to come and touch me. He's hardly bearing the weight of it.

"Northerner, you need to stop."

"You need to get out of my head, Meela." He shifts back on the big cushions, sinking between them. He seems at ease as he watches me.

Only I can tell that he's not as relaxed as he pretends to be. His muscles are tight, jaws clenched shut and his body tremors slightly. I give a slight smirk at how uncomfortable he is. Closing the door, I sit cross legged on the bed, eating, having indecent thoughts of what the northerner wants with me bombarded in my head.

Stomach full, I descend into a restless sleep. The nightmares are back, rendering me helpless with fright, but it's the nightmares through his eyes I see. The constriction of my throat has me gasping to take in a breath. Waking up, I feel like I'm suffocating. I'm whimpering, shaking, scared. The door slowly opens.

"Are you ok?" He calls out from behind the open door.

"I'm fine... just a... I'm fine, go back to bed."

He slowly inches his way on the bed, tentative... careful. "I'm right here. It was just a bad dream." He knows how bad those dreams can get, he lives them every night as soon as his eyes shut. I can't bring myself to tell him it was his nightmare I just lived through.

His hand ever so slowly starts to rub my back. I clench up, my muscles tight, expecting pain from him.

"I'm not going to do anything. Relax." He breaths it out into the deep night.

His fingers comb through my hair. My eyes close at the sensation of his touch. His firm fingers press against my scalp and his breath starts to hitch up. Ever so slowly, he inches closer to me, stretching his body out on the bed beside me. My breath catches in my throat.

"I'm not going to do anything," he repeats, using the same gentle voice.

He continues to massage me, inch by inch, moving to my neck, drawing swirling little circles around on my flesh. Oh, it's beautiful agony, wanting what I don't want.

He presses the side of his body against me. Over the covers, he continues to slowly draw little circles over my face with the tips of his fingers, tracing the outline of my lips. He smells my hair, pushes himself closer. He's raised up on one elbow looking down at me. I can see the moon's light reflecting in his eyes. I'm paralyzed by his warmth, my muscles refusing to move away from him. My whole body is contracted in a powerful hunger for him. I'm dizzy trying to breathe, to get enough air in.

The feeling of euphoria surrounds me.

He's having a hard time controlling himself as his compulsions grips his entire body, whispering to him, trying to break his resolve. He's fighting with every ounce of will power he has, but his eyes fall on my lips. He wants to bend his head and taste me.

Turning my head to the side, trying hard not to give in to the demons whispering what they want from him.

His nose touches my cheek as his lips brush my jaw line, feather light, creating a rise of goosebumps on my flesh. A shiver pulses through me. It's warm, creating a haze of desire. He can smell that subtle scent drifting up from under the blankets, wrapping around his nose. He inhales it deeply.

"You'll sleep better, Meela. So will I. Don't think, just close your eyes... I'm just going to hold you for a little while." His words are like liquid honey oozing out slowly, sticky and sweet.

His fingertips keep drawing little circles on my neck and face, always going back to the spot he wants to mark as his. My nerve endings are pulsing with pleasure. I'm content and close my eyes in bliss. The northerner's bond purrs heavy in my soul, wrapping around me tightly in its own cacoon of warmth and security.

He's smelling my scent, pulling it deep into his lungs. His fingers creep under the covers, trying to inch up my back, under my shirt, his compulsions getting the better of him.

"Don't."

One word stops him instantly. The compulsion in him slinks back from his fingertips, up into his arms. He's able to keep his hands at bay just because I uttered one word.

He settles in next to me, no longer touching, his breathing coming out long and slow, trying to calm himself down. I curl myself into the covers as I listen to the whispers of his compulsion wreck havoc in his body. An ebb and flow of emotions, the tugging of his wants with the pulling of my rejection is driving him into a special kind of madness.