|Filling a Void (Dolokhov/Helene)
||[Aug. 8th, 2012|04:29 pm]
Title: Filling a Void
Fandom: War and Peace
Word Count: 933
He is here again, standing in the doorway to her bedroom as though he belongs there. She had not expected anyone – Pierre is away on the estates and she is staying at her father’s – so his sudden entrance startles her. Helene takes a deep breath and slowly relaxes her hand, which had tightened on a hairclip when she’d heard the door open behind her. She looks straight ahead and meets his eyes in the mirror with as much calm as she can muster. This effort takes up all her concentration and she cannot move or speak, merely looks at his reflection, drinking it in greedily as her pulse quickens.
“Aren’t you happy to see me?” he asks, tilting his head to the side and allowing the corners of his mouth to curve into a teasing smirk.
“I wasn’t excepting you. You cannot just barge in here. Who let you in?”
“Your maid. As always.” His smirk fades and something darkens in his face, the lines around his mouth and eyes deepening as he frowns just slightly.
Helene stays silent and continues to take the pins out of her hair. Her light, soft curls fall onto her white, full shoulders, the ends of the front strands brushing the cleavage line of her nightgown. She can feel his eyes on her, roaming over her body, from her shoulders and hair to her waist and hips. She tries to ignore him, knowing that, although it is useless to fight, the thing will be so much sweeter if she waits and allows the tension between them to build. “I’m married now,” she tells him in a tone that is too flat to be cautioning.
“I heard,” he informs her dryly. “Would you like my congratulations or my condolences?” He speaks as though he is joking but Helene can tell there is a modicum of hurt behind the façade: While I risked my life on the battlefield as a common soldier you go and get married. It doesn’t matter. Even if she was free, they would never marry. She, for practical, economic reasons, he – out of pride.
“You could at least be happy for me. For my…good fortune.” She stands and turns to face him, leaning back slightly against the vanity table, her hands gripping its cool, rounded edge.
He takes one roaming look at her and crosses the room in three long strides. His hands land on her arms and squeeze a little too tightly. “Damn your fortune, Helene.” He kisses her then and she allows her eyes to fall closed, breathing in his familiar scent and opening her mouth to allow him to rediscover her lips and her tongue. His hands slide up her arms and onto her shoulders. From there, one slides up her neck and into her thick hair and the other makes its way down her back.
Helene withdraws, breathing hard, and tries to take a step away from him but the vanity behind her has her trapped. “We can’t do this anymore, Fedia,” she whispers against his lips. It is a habit now to tell him this.
“You say that every time.” He lifts her into his arms and carries her to the bed without another word. Helene doesn’t even think to struggle. She had missed his warmth and his strong arms around her, the way his hot mouth feels against the tender spot on her neck.
She struggles to undo the buttons on his uniform jacket and he helps her, throwing off the offending garment with a look of utter impatience. Helene feels her throat closing up as her breathing falters. The dim room is lit by only a couple of candles set on the windowsill and soon she can only make out shadows and bright spots of light. And his eyes. Bright blue, hard on the surface with a white-hot flame blazing in their depths. They are both undressed before she can fully put in order in her mind the erratic movement of hands, arms, legs and tongues. Helene lies back and allows Fedia Dolokhov to re-discover her body as though they were adolescence once again and he was learning her for the first time.
She moans softly as his lips close over her nipple and he sucks at it, making shivers erupt over her body. He kisses trails down her stomach and over her hips. His tongue finds her inner thigh and then a spot on her neither parts which makes sparks explode in front of her eyes and she cries out, desperate for a release which she had not had since he left for that damned army of his.
Helene pulls him up and kisses him, allowing her hands to come up and cup his face for a small, tender moment, before she whispers raggedly, “I want you to take me. I may be married, but I will always be yours.”
He lets out a sound, something between a groan and a loud sigh. She finds her body flush against his and her back pressed firmly into the silk of the sheets. He fills her with his member and Helene sighs with the delight of being whole once again. She only ever feels whole when she is with him. At all other times she is a shell of a woman, tied by expectations and unwritten rules. But in the semi-dark of her own bedroom with her Fedia claiming her as his own, she can be free and unrestricted, passionate and whole, spiraling toward one orgasm and then another. He fills the void and she loves him for it.