His voice was tight and his words carefully chosen—he knew that the phones were most likely being monitored on the eve of the new rush of deployments. His hands were damp and he clutched the phone in his hand, his eyes shut tight as his mind raced. Regret, nervousness, anticipation, fear—emotions similar to these raced through his troubled mind, and finally, he spoke again. "I need to see you." He admitted, his heart pounding in his chest as he awaited her answer.
For a moment, there was silence, and he could hear her breathing. Michael waited, knowing that what he asked for was a lot, in light of her circumstances. Her father was very strict, and disapproved of their relationship, discreet as he and Laine had always tried to be.
"Come for me." She answered, finally, her voice taking on a determined edge. "I won't let you leave without saying goodbye in person."
In moments, he was in his battered Charger, racing towards her parents' house. The warning sirens were going off, and the whole base was lit up as soldiers packed and prepared. He would leave before six the next morning—could he say all the things he needed to say to her?
Michael grimaced as he approached her well lit house, and briefly considered pulling rank on her father if he made a scene. He smiled gratefully, but apprehensively when Laine dashed from outside and threw herself into the car with a terse "Drive!"
He obeyed, glancing over at her as he did so, admiring her in silence. She was dressed in jeans and a college sweatshirt, her long dark hair loose around her shoulders and her face untouched by makeup, not that she ever really needed it. Michael saw that she seemed very pale, but she was still remarkable beautiful despite it. Perhaps it was youth, Michael didn't know—whatever it was, Laine always affected him.
The miles from the base to his apartment seemed endless, and for the majority of it, they were silent. Michael felt the churning within him as he sought to know her thoughts, although parts of him wished he would never know. The grieving look on her face said it all, and he ached for her.
"Why is this happening?" She asked him, suddenly, reaching out to enclose his fingers with hers. "Michael, I'm so afraid for you…" she whispered, "And so sad for me!"
"I don't know, honey, I just don't understand either." Michael answered, squeezing her fingers. How he would miss her while he was gone, her sweet smile, her teasing ways, her intensely shocking behavior!
"I want you to make love to me."
Michael felt the words rip through him and he glanced at her again, heat rushing to his face. What a fool he was, he thought, aching for her, what a waste of a man to deny her what he so desperately wanted to give!
Michael grimaced and tried to avoid her luminous dark eyes, but he couldn't escape them. They drew him, and he smiled weakly as they focused on him penetratingly. "Michael, do you hear me? I want you to make love to me tonight." She pressed, sounding far older than her nineteen years. "I don't want you to leave me without giving me something."
"You have everything else." Michael choked. "I can't think, breathe, or exist without thoughts of you." Despair deepened his voice and he turned his bright blue eyes at her. "You know I can't…"
Her expression hardened and her eyes seemed to grow more dark. "Fuck her, Michael, she can't have you…if you love me as you say, you are useless to her. Give to me what is mine."
"Laine, please…"
Her hand released his and she hugged herself tightly, retreating from him. They drove the rest of the way in silence, and inwardly, Michael battled with himself, desperate to find the right words for her.
"Perhaps I'll be seen." She said, bitterly, when he reached for hand to help her from his car. She glared at him fiercely, and looked around, shivering in the November chill. "Aren't you scared to be seen with me?"
"I don't think anyone who looked at you would notice anyone standing beside you." Michael said softly, honestly. He touched her hair gently. "All they would see is you."
Taking her hand, he led her across the courtyard and to his apartment, which he opened without turning on the light. They entered quietly and she closed the door, saying nothing to him as he set aside his bags and latched the locks. As he reached behind her for the light, he felt her against him, her breath warm against his neck and her hands trembling. "Touch me, Michael," she pleaded, embracing him, "we don't have much time…"
Her body was strong and supple, gentle curves and firm muscle fitted perfectly into her small frame. Michael shivered to feel it beneath her clothes and he tried to block out the image of her trembling and wet beneath him. It was harder to ignore the demand of his swollen manhood pressing against her, but he struggled to contain it as he responded to her kisses, telling himself he would allow that, that her mouth would be enough to satisfy him.
They had sustained him for the last eight months, despite his desperate dissatisfaction and her growing fury. It had been all he had permitted, all that he could let her have…
She groaned against his mouth, pressing herself firmly into him. "Please, please," she whispered, "please, just this once…touch me, Michael, no one need know, this is our world, and you're leaving it, I want to remember, I need to remember…" Michael groaned, trying to pull away but the feel of her mouth on his neck was agonizingly sweet. "There will never be anyone else, you are mine, and I want you to know it, I want you to claim me, I'm yours, Michael, damn you, I'm yours!"
