Trouble Has A Name (Moore)

[Rhiannon]

This was crazy and completely insane. Fate seemed to be fond of throwing the unexpected in her direction without a second thought or any sign of remorse. First Cody reemerging only to save her life and become her sire. And now another whisper from the past, Julian, had practically fallen into her lap. She doubted what had happened with him over a year ago could be considered any kind of great romance - it had been a brief meeting that'd ended in disaster. But the boxer had never left her thoughts and had vividly stayed in her mind. She'd kept his gloves on her wall and the memory of him didn't once fail to make her heart race. And here he was again and her heart couldn't do so much as beat. She'd been so surrounded by her own kind, other vampires, that she had begun to forget what it was like to be mortal. Fragile and breakable. Finite. Warm. And Moore, her strong and vivacious Moore, suddenly seemed all too human and she all too dead.

She paused in her motions to flick away a tear at the thought. The idea of him dying, the idea of him growing old and passing away was too hard for her to handle. She barely knew him but at the same time she knew him so well - and that carnal, physical lust and attraction couldn't be ignored. Rhiannon knew that it was greedy but a moment she wondered if she could turn him into a vampire too. If Venom would allow it - and if Moore would even want it. Maybe he would recoil away from the idea, recoil away from her. Call her a monster. Hate her. Push her away. Would he hate her too if she didn't give him a choice? She couldn't find it in her still heart to hate Codelious for what he'd done. It'd been a selfless act to save her life. If she did that to Julian it would be out of greed. She had to remind herself that she barely knew him, and that she was more likely than not just another name on a long list of women. A small voice spoke up then. Sure, she might have been a name on a long list. But he'd remembered her. Had looked at her and breathed her name with a ragged breath as he bled because of her. The water pounding away at her skin was hot, but her skin was covered in goosebumps.

Rhiannon didn't hear him come in and didn't hear him as he moved around in the bathroom, her head ducked under the heavy, deafening spray. And she was too lost in her own thoughts to have noticed even if the room was dead quiet. When he spoke she startled, pausing as she rinsed. A shiver went down her spine. She was here and he was there and she was bare as the day she was born and he was there, right there. Her throat worked as she swallowed hard. She'd had no idea this kind of lust existed except for Moore. None of the high school boys or college men brought a sliver of a degree of this. Only him. Only Moore. Of course there was attraction with Cody - he was charismatic and charming. But he was a lover, not a fighter. There was something about the boxer that moved her blood. He's right there!

"I trust you don't need any help?"

"I'm fine," she managed to say, though at first her voice caught. Her dark eyes flitted to the curtain, watching his silhouette as he neared the shower and Rhiannon almost felt her heart begin to race. He knelt though, then rose with a bundle in his hands - her clothes. She looked back at the knobs, trying to bring herself back to level.

"Don't take too long. I've got to shower too. Unless you like sleeping with someone smelling like sweat and the streets."

She laughed with him but it came out tight. Her mind was flashing back to the locker room - him smelling like blood and fighting. A man. Sparring had never given her the pleasure of forms, but a man who could defend himself - nay, a man who could dominate - made her moving eyes linger. Brought respect in that primitive way that modern society didn't acknowledge but still harbored. His body may smell of the streets but his sweat was that of a man that she could honor. Rhiannon's fingers clasped together tightly and she breathed in the fumes of the hot shower.

"Don't forget," came her response a second later, "I'm an athlete too. I know how to hustle." Then why was she wasting time? Staying in here wouldn't make it easier to be around him. Quite the opposite. Her body was beginning to ache with want and desire. The heat of the room, so great that even the walls were sweating, mixed with the chemistry between them could ignite. Sleep with him? They were going to share a bed, too? It was with a trembling hand that she turned off the shower.

Rhiannon peeked out from behind the curtain and saw the towel nearby - then saw him almost as close. Her throat swallowed hard again and she forced her eyes away from him to take the towel into the shower. There was the sound of it ruffling as she ran it over her dripping body and briefly over her brunette lengths, draping them over one shoulder, and all the while trying to keep her breathing steady. Again, he's right there! She wrapped the towel around her, tucking in the end and securing it further by wrapping an arm around herself, before opening the shower curtain and taking an uncertain step out, cheeks flushed. Her dark honey eyes couldn't help but look at him, and it took a force of will that she didn't know she possessed to look away. Wondered what he was thinking and wondered if she already knew. Wondered if they were thinking the same thing. She wanted Moore. Rhiannon noticed the white button up he'd provided.

"Thanks," she managed to murmur, turning to face the sink. The fighter in her warned her against turning her back on him but she ignored it. Her hands carefully unfolded the shirt, feeling the well worn, soft material between her fingers while she tried to breathe.

[Moore]

"I didn't forget," he says simply. He still remembered that night as he had the night before. It's still so very clear despite all the time since then. It's hard to forget all that had transpired between them and all that they had dealt with. It's hard to forget the pretty young woman within his locker room. It's even harder to forget that hard wit of hers that she used against the waitress that had flirted shamelessly with him. It's hard to forget the kiss they had shared.

She may be a name that had been once upon a list but that name had become a face, and that face someone with thoughts who had filled his mind over the time they had been apart. He couldn't forget Rhiannon because of the way she had touched him and certainly the way for how different she truly was compared to other women. Moore didn't exactly believe this whole "one-person-for-another," sort of thing, but this was something that warmed his heart, and mind, nonetheless. It gave him the encouragement to work for her and earn her - to keep her at his side.

She peeks around from behind that curtain and there stands Moore with his eyes flitting to hers. Yeah, he hadn't moved and was standing there like some wolf staking his claim; after all, she's his. Despite the fact that he hadn't claimed her physically, or even verbally, he felt that she was his. He'd protect her. He'd keep her safe. Anyone who dared even look at her wrong would suffer and all because he wanted her as his. All because he wanted to keep the last link to a past he had lost entirely, and wanted to know that when he wakes up, he's waking up to a world that's a reality and not some figment brought on by liquor.

So, he stands and waits then as she took up the towel and ducked behind that curtain. He could hear the motion and ripple of that terry-cloth as she dried her bare form. She's there behind that curtain and she's naked, and all Moore could do was stand there and listen; oh, and watch that sultry silhouette of hers dance with the light. How could he sleep tonight after all this? He hadn't thought things entirely through but that's part of the excitement, no? Then she was stepping out and still he stood there with that wolfish gaze of his even upon her as she shifts her gaze away.

He could smell her and taste her upon the air. His tongue brushes against his lower lip and he could scent her. She's absolutely tempting and such feels exhilerating whilst the thought of her bare flesh floods the forefront of his mind. He knew what he wanted, and did she know?

Yes.

She had to know.

What do lovers utter to one another within the safety of their home?

What do wolves do to one another within the privacy of their den?

He could bare his throat to her and pledge his fealty, or he could open that soft mouth of his and press such over the thrum of pulse; feel her lifeblood pump and find arousal within the trust she offers. Instead, he drew closer to her within that tight confined space of his bathroom. His hands reach outward and touch against that damp terry-cloth wrapped about her body, and his fingers untangle such achingly slow from her to bare the flesh of her back.

"You're still wet," he murmurs; not even taking a moment to mention what he truly meant. Then again, this was a man who knew what he wanted then and there. Either way, there's no doubt to what he was doing then, and soon that towel was being peeled off further and his hips tuck against the curve of her bottom. He presses her forward with his weight and the counter would meet her; trapping her between that warm, aching flesh of his and the cool, hard surface of the counter. His face tips and tucks to the arch of her neck then and he breathes her deep.

"Rhiannon," he murmurs her name ever so huskily with Scottish brogue and all. His hands had finally managed to undo that towel and soon slip that forward to expose her back to the warm air of the bathroom, and to the heat of his own body. His mouth presses against her ear briefly and only for that moment before his chin tucks toward his chest and hands slip between them; rough, hard palms cupping over her buttocks and kneading with fingers that bite her flesh.

Why do we dance and skirt around what we want? Why do we flit away from our passions and await minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years before taking what we want? Why do we suffer by forcing ourselves to wait when we could shed our inhibitions and indulge? Why can't we live freely within the now and savor what we can have before it's all too late?

"I want you, Rhiannon. Now."

...and his hips crush close, and his hands hold her as his chest brushes against her back. His mouth against her ear and his breath grating against that sense; lip, tongue and teeth teasing. "Rhiannon," he'd say, and she'd know she's all he wanted.

[Rhiannon]

This was damn near more than she could stand. He was behind her and yes, he smelled of sweat and street, but he hummed with life and pulsing blood and all things good and unholy. She could see his reflection in the mirror. For a moment she felt fear. The way he looked at her was predatory and animalistic - for a moment she was prey. Like he was going to devour her, like he was the dangerous one. Some kind of internal alarm went off in strong warning but Rhiannon ignored it. She would be foolish to listen. Rhia could feel him moving closer. She could hear him drawing near. The hair on the back of her neck rose and goosebumps prickled. A bead of water trickled down her spine. His hands were on her and she wasn't breathing. The warm air of the room hit her back as the boxer began to draw down the towel.

"You're still wet."

Oh Christ. Her hands grabbed onto the sink, knuckles white as her breath came out in a rush. Moore came forward and she was pinned between him and the basin in front of her. Couldn't breathe. "Rhiannon," he was saying in her ear. Couldn't breathe. Need air. The towel was falling further and his hands were on her, feeling her shamelessly. Her legs were shaking hard. Need air. Too hot. "I want you, Rhiannon. Now."

"Oh God," she gasped as he pressed himself against her, the fire of his body heat searing up her back. Her legs gave out beneath her and her weight fell onto the sink, pinned between it and the man behind her. Never before had she felt so much an innocent, every part of her mind that valued her virtue clamoring for her to pull herself together. But then again she had never been so confronted with a man that she burned for so deeply. Rhiannon's breathing was ragged and she twisted around, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she pressed herself against him. Her lips found his and she kissed him without reservation. One hand snaked around the back of his neck to pull him closer. But even with him burning her to the core, melting the ice within, it wasn't close enough. She couldn't get him near enough. Before she knew it she was sitting on the sink, breathing hard through her kisses and her subconscious tried feebly to plant her feet back on the proverbial ground. Rhiannon moaned against his mouth; "Julian..." She knew she should tell him stop, but that much wasn't easily done.

[Moore]

She's turning to meet him and the touch felt nearly unexpected. It had felt - for some time - that she had been holding herself at arm's length from him but finally they were meeting down the middle. Now they were together as they should have been that first night and Moore was taking advantage of such as much as she was. It's why he savors the feel of her hand upon the back of his neck, and soon his hands were slipping beneath her bare thighs as she sought to plant herself upon the cool counter of the sink. His body reflexively closes the distance and their mouths are upon one another.

She'd be able to feel the warmth that comes to his skin and even the muscles rippling beneath. He leaves so little untouched then as his chest brushes against her own; crushing her breasts as his mouth claims hers. His fingers run over the underside of her thighs and he savors the feel of her bare skin against his. What more could he have wanted? He knew what.

They weren't close enough for him or even for her, or so he believes. His mouth reluctantly draws from her own as she moaned against his lips. She's uttering his name but all the while he's still touching her and pulling her closer. Yet, he'd say her name: "Rhiannon," he'd breathe against her mouth before his brow bumps against her own and his hands guide her thighs to nestle against his hips. All the while his hips press closer until the very moment his hands were releasing her.

Those calloused and rough hands of his were between them and his fingertips brush over her flat stomach only to seek out his belt. It's that sound that fills the air then and there; the sound of his belt being undone. All the while his eyes are searching her own as his brow continues to bump wolfishly against her own. His mouth falls open and that tongue smooths along the line of his lower lip. He could taste her there. It's the sweet nectar of his mouth and her heat.

Then his belt was undone and the button of that denim; hands pushing them from his hips as his shirt followed soon after. His flesh bare and hard as he had been that once upon a time ago; that cinderella man dancing within the ring and dominating with fists that struck faster than lightning. Now he's standing between her thighs and his hands lift to hold her face as his mouth claims hers.

Discarded Clothing
Shed Inhibitions
Hearts Thumping

Julian, years from then, would still recall this moment as his hands stroked and touched every part of her. He could still recall the set of her chin and the column of her slender throat. He can recall the dip of the line of her back and the warmth pooling at the small of her back. He could still recall the heat of her bottom being crushed against that cool counter, and even more so the embrace of her thighs and her breasts pressing up against his hard chest. Then his hand upon hers as the other guides her own between them to touch upon his own heat. All the while his nose brushing against hers and their hot breath mingling between them.

[Rhiannon]

This was what had been fated for them.

They had both known it many moons ago when they had first laid eyes on one another. There had been something in that moment as he pumped the crowd and he saw her and she saw him. It was electric. No, it hadn't happened then but it had probably not happened for a reason. Fate had decided it wasn't the right time - this was. At this completely inconvenient moment. Why now and why here, Rhiannon might have wondered if she'd had her wits about her enough to think. But every nerve in her body was firing. It was as electric as when they first met.

Reservations were fading fast, weakening more and more with every moment that his hands were on her. She let him move her, pull her closer and then closer still. The heat he was radiating was immense; he was on fire. Her breathing was shallow and came in gasps as he drew her to the edge of the sink. Then she stopped with her inhalations completely as the world went silent except for the sound of a belt coming lose. His head touches hers and she kisses him once more, hesitation surging forward only to crash. He discarded his shirt and Rhiannon's hands slid across his shoulders before running her nails down his chest; he was as firm and hard as she remembered. Maybe even moreso now. Her fingers reach where the waist of his jeans ought to have been, but they weren't. Instead she found only a V.

She had a decision to make. In those few seconds as he stood between her legs Rhiannon knew that it was now or never. All the years of Quinn's pressing of the dangers and distractions of relationships and intimacy and her father's careful guardianship had protected her from every father's nightmare: men like Moore. Men between their daughter's thighs and carnal desires. She could tell him no. She could keep her virtue and her innocence intact. What would her mother say? The same thing that she'd always said. Don't worry about what everyone else wants and thinks and what everybody else is doing. You'll know who and you'll know when. Nobody can tell you that for you.

Moore was the man making every breath a battle as his hands consumed her and her thoughts. That's all she could hear now; air leaving her lungs roughly before she dragged another in, and him doing the same. Each second that ticked by brought growing certainty.

It was Moore.

Then he was taking her hand within his. Rhiannon sucked in a sharp breath as he pressed her palm between them. She stammered his name in his ear; "J-Julian-" There was a note of concern in her tone, maybe even doubt. Could he feel her hesitation? She could feel his throbbing lack of. Maybe she really was just a name or a number on a list. No one of consequence to him except for tonight. What happened afterwards wouldn't matter - she'd take that risk. She wanted him. The clock was ticking and midnight was coming fast - her carriage was going to turn into a pumpkin and vanish if she didn't hurry and make up her mind. She knew[/b]. It was Moore and the time was now. Rhiannon came closer to him still; the warmth of his body was finally consuming, her own temperature rising as she gave the most subtle nod.

Even Cinderella didn't get this good of a happy ending.

When her eyes opened she was still warm.

Rhiannon let out a slow exhale and stretched, burying her face in the pillow as she did. Her entire body ached and muscles she hadn't known she had were tense and sore. The night came flooding back to her - for a moment she couldn't breathe. It had to have been a dream. She was going to look around and she was going to be alone in her room at the Estate. Moore had been a figment of her imagination, along with the bare knuckle boxing and the silver back Goliath. She felt a part of herself die a little bit as she forced herself to realize the truth. None of it had really happened. Rhia closed her eyes and rolled over. A hand reached out to take her pillow from the other side of the bed to hold, but instead her hands found the hard flesh of Julian Moore.[/font]

[Moore]

"Moore, a question. Do you remember the first time you fought?"

Laughter fills the chamber as he can feel the eyes of a dozen and more men and women upon him. He could feel the press with their microphones held aloft and legal pads unfolded to catch any notes; gestures with his hands, mouth and eyes. He feels them watch him and wait upon his every breath and word both. He smiles for them as they expected, and they scratch and scribble upon their pads, and they record the way he looks then with his hands wringing. Oh, how that question took him back and made his hands ache.

How easily his own mind could make him weep for the dreams that plagued him.

"I do," he confesses.

Like the first time he had felt a woman quiver around him, the first time a man throws his fists to defend himself would ever stick out within his mind. Then everything followed thereafter was like any other passing moment. It was no different from the last but still that first fight was there ever present and Moore could recall the passing of breath and the look within his assailant's eyes. He could recall the way his flesh felt when he landed one strike after another, and he could recall how slow things had gone and felt despite the actual speed he had thrown his hands.

Every fight felt the same after up until things change.

It didn't matter who it was. It didn't matter how pretty they looked or soft they felt. They were another body under him taking his heat and seed, and they begged for him and took such without any semblance of grace. They bit their fingers tight within his back and screamed his name, and the same had been for the fights. It didn't matter their weight or height. It didn't matter the look of their eyes because the announcer called his name at the end of the night up until the day he had failed and was out boxed. Up until the night he had felt the punishment of faster hands, faster feet and youth; a young lion taking his place. He knew the first time when he was going to be knocked out but had managed to stay on his feet somehow and someway.

He likewise remembers the first time things changed with women...

She was so different and so young; so beautiful, even. With those warm eyes and soft lips, and her legs; so long and tight as she held him. She had been another common doxy and his first wife; married out of conveniance for her pregnancy, but that barely lasted and shit hit the fan. He had been young and so had she, and thins people; people change. Then getting involved with the wrong folks never helped either, but that was another story. He was a walking tragedy; an epic poem who had walked along and found himself entangled with another. Lady Fortune smiled for him and gave him his chance; another pretty young girl who touched upon him with fondness.

Rhiannon.

Bless his luck and damn him for he deserved nothing of the sort. Yet, he had and he savored the night and feel of her body under him. He savored the way she looked at him and kissed, and the way she made him feel like a man. How he smothered her with his heat and the weight of his body and released himself deep within her. How he made her swear she wouldn't leave him with his fingers tangled within her hair. How they feel asleep beside one another...and how he awoke the next morning entangled with her. Even years from then he'd speak of no regrets.

"Sleep," he'd murmur with his eyes still shut and his shifting; rolling upon his side and leaning toward closer to her as he huddled against her bare and naked body. Moore felt needed and wanted. He felt at peace and knew he had something to live for once again. Pray, now, that Lady Fortune wouldn't muck things up.

[Very belated reply but ending post for this thread until Rhia's writer comes back and a new thread is to start.]