Ring that bell

[Cecily Rambolt]

In the early morn, she stood within the doorway, watching the steady rise and fall of the bare male chest. Nostrils flared, brows furrowed, full lips thinned in agitation. The blonde whirled on her bare foot, the robe she'd thrown on over the thin strapped jewel toned nightdress flared around her tanned legs. Cecily Zhefarovich, as she was coming to know herself as once again, took great pleasure in slamming the door to the bedroom she didn't share with her husband. Elisaveta was with her grandmother, who had driven her nearly insane after her parents had learned she lived. Thankfully she wouldn't have to deal with the man and woman whom she couldn't remember, although she did have to admit they were a very nice and funny older couple, obviously still in love with one another.

Which meant, Cecily sighed, storming down the winding stairs, that she and Prodan had the house. Alone. To themselves. Chipped crockery clinked with a decisive clunk onto the kitchen counter, scalding hot coffee sloshed, cream lightened black to nearly white, sugar thickened the liquid...and Cecily tossed the whole damned thing into the sink. It shattered, the sound pleasing her nerves and she didn't give a damn if it woke the man upstairs. Just the thought of him, mere feet away, had her clenching her teeth and wanting to hit something.

She was coming to hate it here. No more than she was coming to hate every single bloody aspect of her current life. It was boring, it was constrained, it wasn't her! She'd been cooped up too long, left to her own boring devices. She had become withdrawn, moody, her attitude more and more that of an uptight prudish b*tch than the fun loving woman that everyone remembered. Sparks, magic, skittered under her skin, the sensation that once had terrified her now comforted her. And at the same time added to that bitter, frustrated feeling of being locked in, not allowed to feel anything. Not allowed or expected to feel what she was feeling.

Which was fear. And anger. And something she dare not mention even to herself. The magic had no where to go but inward, making her feel like a walking, ticking time bomb. The robe, light silk, felt slimy against her skin, another constriction. With a low, frustrated growl, she whipped it off her body, whirled and threw it what she thought was a still empty doorway.

 

[Prodan Zhefarovich]

Prodan pounced on Cecily. The end.

Spoiler: Real response :r

Prodan did now know what in the world was going on, but he jerked awake when there was a crash downstairs. Not bothering getting dressed – only wearing his boxers mind you – Prodan took off down stairs. Something was wrong, and he didn’t know what it was. And it was going to stop. Something crashing was freaking him plum out. Did Asparuh get mad again? Were zombies attacking? Or rather, imperi or whatever those dead things were.

He skid to a stop when a silky robe hit him right on the face and wrapped around his head. Prodan could inhale the sweet scent of Cecily, and no robe meant less clothes on and more revealing of that gorgeous body. Prodan was beginning to become rather warm and tingly, but he shoved that away. Prodan could not force her into an act on intimacy. Not exactly… yet… Prodan slowly removed the robe and dropped it to the ground. His eyes tried to stay focused on her expression, but it failed for a moment. “What is wrong…?” Prodan had a confused expression upon his face.

 

[Cecily Rambolt]

"Wrong?" The word bit out into the room like a stray bullet, Cecily's green eyes glittered like sharpened glass. "What could possibly be wrong?" Those same eyes burned, lit from within as they raked over his skin. She jerked her head away from him and whirled to begin to clean up the mess she'd made. Midway through, she jerked her thumb back, swearing loudly as a dark dot of blood pearled on the pad. She flung the broken piece down in disgust and whirled around to begin to angrily pace, unknowingly providing Prodan a front row seat to the show; long tanned limbs, taut body, wild curls, mouth slightly dampened as she slid the bleeding tip between her lips. She glared at him before checking the cut then sassily turned to him, slammed her hands on her slim hips. Her chest moved up and down with each agitated breath, her heartbeat visibly pulsed within the slim column of her throat.

 

[Prodan Zhefarovich]

Prodan's eyes widened as Cecily sassed off and she went about cleaning her mess. Prodan wondered if he should help, but she was moving around so fast, he was afraid he would get in the way. He wanted to embrace her, to tell her everything was okay, but that was all a lie. He didn't know what to do, what to say. Nothing he could think of to do could bring a memory back. Prodan was almost out of hope now. Late at night, he often wondered if it was even worth trying. But his love for her kept him going. Prodan took a single step toward her, and he reached out to grab her gently on the shoulders, before stopping and sighing. "Look, I don't know what I can do to help. But you will have to chill out before you can solve whatever is bothering you."

 

[Cecily Rambolt]

Prodan's utter calmness was like dousing her with gasoline, his words the flame that ignited the fury. She exploded. "Don't tell me what to do! Maybe I don't want to calm down. Maybe I don't want to chill out!" She shouldered past him to the living room. Pacing should have helped Cecily, should have calmed her down, allowed her to think. It did nothing for her except to make every slide of her bare feet against the floor clench her teeth, every brush of the fabric on her body to make her grab a pillow and squeeze it between her fingers. Her nails dug into the fabric, her legs carried her in an agitated path and the familiar scent that haunted her, inflamed her, narrowed her eyes. She wanted to scream.

 

[Prodan Zhefarovich]

Prodan was getting tired of it. He wanted his Cecily back, and seeing her like this. It frustrated him. Prodan followed her and he raised his voice, more and more agitated with every word that came out of his mouth, "Don't you dare blame it on me! Or even take it out on me! It is not my fault that you lost all your damn memories!" His face resumed a cold, yet sorrowful and pissed off expression. It was only so long he would keep his cool. Now; all was lost. "I spent months pining over you! Wondering and questioning whether or not my daughter, our daughter, is going to be raised without her mother! Now that you happen to be alive all these months, you don't even know a damn thing! Elisaveta is going to be raised without her mother, because your head is too far gone! I still have hope for you, but it is slimming, faster and faster. I don't even know if it is worth it!" Prodan's deep voice echoed through the house, almost shaking it while his own bottled up emotions took violent control.

 

[Cecily Rambolt]

It was what she wanted, what she craved, to get under that easy going exterior. To dig deep and unleash his anger upon her, with her, so they could finally battle it out on even stage. Her fury twisted, shrunk into a gnarled caricature of itself; his words were like a blow but finally she knew. He loved her. He cared for her so deeply that he'd put his life on hold for her, waiting, patiently, always patient. His sadness, his sorrow, dug at hers, yet the anger would not dissipate. Nor would the need, the want, the confusion.

"Then maybe you should let me go, Prodan!" she yelled back, throwing the pillow at his gut. Anger and something all too carnal beat a heady pulse throughout her body. Prodan was like a dark god; silver eyes blazed, nearly glowing with his tormented rage, heat flushed his high cheekbones, tendons stood out, muscles clenched, bulged, skin glistened. Her green eyes, filled with discontent, slid closed, breath shaking as she took in his scent, tingling within her nostrils, filled her lungs, shook her body. Dark lashes flickered against her cheeks, rose, unveiled eyes darkened by her feelings for him.

Cecily closed the distance between them, slim fingers slid within Prodan's hair. She'd moved so quickly, as though gravity lifted it's rule just for her, feet dangling above the floor, strong arms clasped around his shoulders. Her breath fanned against his mouth, lips brushed his as she whispered. "Maybe you should." She claimed his mouth, hungrily, starved for it, for him, her body knowing his, her soul cried out at the familiarity of her once love, her mind blessedly shut down as finally, Cecily gave in.

 

[Prodan Zhefarovich]

The pillow hit him, but he was too angry to feel anything. However, the last time they were angry, they conceived Elisaveta. Would it happen again? Prodan was unsure. But he was sure that he wanted her; her scent; her taste on his tongue as the kiss deepened heavily. His desires were raised ten fold as Cecily gave in. Prodan was tormented inside, but perhaps for an hour, maybe longer of heavy sighing and much use of muscles, would he could forget about this whole mess. The whole memory thing.

With his tanned and muscular arms, he lifted Cecily off the floor and shoved her legs behind his back to hold the grip. His hands held her roughly, as angry as he was, he walked to the couch and he climbed on top of her. The poor nightgown would have to be replaced after this. Prodan completely shredded it like the hulk, just to have his hands touch the tightened skin upon her stomach. Stormy eyes closed, and a moan escaped him, as the night of desire and angered lust fulfilled the air. It was perhaps a good thing that both were angry and needed this out. Any longer... Prodan's mind went black, as the male body took full control.

 

[Cecily Rambolt]

---

Later into the night...

---

Cool wind ruffled the calendar hanging on the wall, moonlight shining weakly to illuminate the almond shaped eyes of the black cat prowling through tall grass below the bold letters of the month. A soft sigh, followed by a groan as muscles protested, broke the silence within the nearly deserted kitchen. Blonde hair slowly fell back to float as Cecily moved her head, opened her eyes, and stared in confusion as desire darkened eyes lazily took in her surroundings. The underside of the kitchen table met her gaze and for a moment, she couldn't remember falling asleep. Then remembered that she hadn't; she'd slipped into a dead faint after the last passionate round of arguing. She turned her head and could not drum up one ounce of anger for the beautiful male beside her; somewhere in the time she had returned to her old home, Cecily had become fond of her husband. She had not yet fallen in love with him, if she would at all. Yet, she admitted as her fingers lightly traced his slightly rough cheek, she wanted to.

The past hours, days, months, however long their lovemaking had lasted, from one room to the next, had shown a different side to this man. Yes he was calm, he was intelligent, he was funny. But he was also strong, passionate, and when he loved, he loved with all of himself; Prodan had given himself to her...how could she possibly stay angry with him? It just was not possible. Not now. She felt bone tired, as though made of wilted rubber, she smiled crookedly. But she wanted him all over again. Amazingly though, she admitted that it wasn't just physically. She would have to be a fool to take what he had given her, his love, his life, himself, and not want to know the man he was.

"Hi," she murmured softly.

 

[Prodan Zhefarovich]

Prodan was beyond tired. The cracks of the table, proving its weakness earlier this afternoon from a wild…day, was what the silver eyes was focused on. He had never been this tired in his life, and his lustful desires had to be satisfied for a good month. This and his honeymoon had to be the craziness nights and days he had ever experienced in his lifetime. Prodan felt Cecily gently touch his face, and he inclined his head toward her. He stared into her face, her gorgeous face that he had long ago fallen in love with. Prodan loved her.

Even without the memories. Prodan knew that she would fall in love with him sooner or later. He just hoped that with some flicker of hope, the memories could magically return. Could they magically return, or assist in the matter? Prodan debated on that in his mind. “Hi,” Prodan murmured in return. It was obvious that in his voice, which was exhausted, and the underside of the cracked table seemed like clouds to him; he was one happy man.

 

[Cecily Rambolt]

Cecily rolled and slithered snakelike over him until she was propped on his chest, the rest of her tanned body flush along the length of his side. Moonlight speared through a break in the clouds, highlighting the moss green of her eyes, giving them a fey like quality as they stared down into his. Something flickered through his eyes, something she couldn't define. Edges blurred, shapes wavered, time flashed by and for a moment, one split second, she could see those eyes, going through a million different emotions, from sunset to sundown, then bleed into black. Cecily gasped, a soft breath sucked in through moistened, pink lips as the world righted itself.

It hadn't been a memory, not in the true sense. Yet it seemed as though she had been shown something that had taken her world and turned it upside down. Long fingers slid across his cheeks, threaded through his hair. Cecily had found something, sought to hang onto it, prolong whatever it was that had just happened. Her eyes remained opened, looking into his, as her lips softly touched his. The kiss was vastly different from the first of that day. Where anger had motivated her, now it was a feeling moving within her, blossoming within her chest, lighting her eyes. She would not, could not, even speak the words within her mind, within her heart, afraid that it would disappear, as so many other things had.

 

[Prodan Zhefarovich]

Prodan welcomed any contact from her, but he said nothing for now. What was going through her mind, he best not interrupt for it could fade off into the blackness where her forgotten memories lay dormant. He had found hope once more, in having Cecily back to herself. Prodan was a patient man. The kiss was sweet, and he adored it. He softly tucked some of her hair behind her ear, and he smiled into the kiss as well. He was perfectly at ease, because this reminded him of the good old days. He slowly pulled away from her lips and he stated with a chuckle, “I think we need a new table.”

---

END!​