Free To Be Free by Marie-Ange Langlois

don't know how you manage to
do that," he whispers, breath tickling whatever exposed skin it can
find as it skirts over me. I suppress a shiver, letting my curious
amusement leak into my voice.
    "Do what?" I question, and his
fingers relax now, resting easily at the small of my back. Some of
his hair is tickling my face, and I press it back with my hand.
    "Manage to calm me the way you
do," he specifies, and here I can't help but laugh lightly,
practically boneless in his arms.
    Like this, I can see why his
wife loved him and why his friend didn't say no. Quinn is the kind
of man who, upon touch, radiates comfort and safety, feels like a
home and simply puts you at ease when you're around him. I'm
agitated by nature thanks to a certain something that happened to
me in my life, and yet...
    You're not the one who should
be saying that, Quinn.
    "When I was
younger - around fourteen to seventeen - all I wanted when I was
hurt, alone and afraid, was to have someone hold me like this. To
tell me everything would be alright, even if it was a lie," I reply
evenly, the mere mentioning of that time making me tense up. His
hands rub soothing circles along my back in response, and I feel my
lips tug into a smile, closing my eyes. "I wanted a place to call
home; someone I could see and think safety , and could tell I was loved.
Of course, I didn't get that."
    He whispers a thank you, his
usually collected and smooth voice hoarse, and a faint pressure on
my neck right where it meets my shoulder. Then he slowly pulls
back, and as our eyes meet there's nothing but reluctance in the
way hands fall from shoulders to biceps and back to waist, fingers
clinging carefully to slick fabric. Finally, he pulls his hands
away and the change in angle makes mine slip down to his wrists,
eyes falling downwards with a sheepish smile.
    Funny, I didn't run a
marathon.
     
     
     
     
To Be
Vulnerable
    QUINN
     
    The trail of fire remains,
burning pleasantly along my skin as we make way once more, avoiding
conversation. After the awkward clearing of throats and the avoided
eye contact, we geared up again and continued on our way through
the trail, long after the sun has set.
    The clouds part, revealing the
night sky and Seb sighs gratefully, stating something about being
able to navigate with the stars and throwing a small, sheepish
smile my way. Our clothes have dried substantially since, the warm
winds caressing our skin as we make headway.
    Why did I do
that...? I frown as I watch the man walk
along in front of me, my eyes falling to that one spot on his right
shoulder where, for but a second, I kissed his person.
    Nine leans forward slightly,
squinting as he stares at something just beyond his field of vision
- right before his face lights up and he turns to face me, grinning
from ear to ear.
    I shouldn't feel guilty at all
for looking at him - it's not like I was looking at his-
    "We made it!" Seb shouts,
running back to me and grabbing my hand before I can protest. He
then pulls me along, running through the mostly dried-out dirt
beneath us and towing me along. I stumble after him, his antics
somewhat amusing to me despite the situation.
    Ass. I was going to say ass, by
the way.
    We race through the winding
path, the moon disappearing behind the horizon a witness along with
the stars as we reach a shack thrown alongside a clearing clearly
meant for campers, a fire pit set up for that very purpose. It's
old, to say the least, with aged boards making up the walls and a
few shingles missing from the roof from nature's merciless beating.
One of the steps leading up to the door is broken, and the
floorboards creak under our combined weight as we carefully slip
inside.
    The inside smells of mildew and
old wood, the macromite on our suits bathing the inside in a
curious blue and yellow light. Once I shut the creaking door behind
me, we dump our burden near it and look around.
    Obviously time hasn't been kind
to this place, to say the least. A family of racoons