Head Games

(1999)

By Misha Kimbril

From:Mishaminx@aol.com

They don't belong to me, I don't claim ownership, yadda yadda yadda.

I don't know where this train of thought came from, I just went with it. Ooooh, trains.... oh, sorry.

Thanks to AC for looking it over first.

Head Games

By Misha Kimbril

I don't need him.

I've been sitting here watching him for . a while. Watching him tangle himself into the bedcovers as he tosses and turns. The sun's about to peek over the horizon, but I have no worries that he'll wake anytime soon. He is not a morning person.

I don't know what kind of person I am. I've been so many people. intricately differing personas living lives, working at occupations, loving . losing. It's gotten so that I feel like an actor--give me the script, let me work out some background and let me go. Most of the time it doesn't bother me. You can go through life rather easily playing a role. and believe me, I've played them all.

I've been married 68 times. Marrying a mortal is not that difficult really. despite what MacLeod thinks. It's just another role. Another play. Another work of fiction. And always of limited duration. It's not that I didn't love them, I did. But I always knew it was temporary. They'd die and I'd move on. Or it would come to the point where *I'd* have to die and move on.

Of course the possibility of me dying--really dying-- was always there, but it really wasn't as common to meet another Immortal back then. I would sometimes go decades without ever meeting up with another of our kind, centuries without fighting.

I've never married an Immortal.

Not that I'm thinking of marrying anytime soon.

He stirs in his sleep, a hand brushing the covers from his face as his legs scrabble to be free of the sheet which binds them. He looks like a kid.

He *is* a kid, I remind myself.

Finally, he settles himself back into the comfort of sleep. He's lying on his stomach now, and has managed to completely kick free of all the bedcovers. The light is coming through the blinds, and he glows beneath its scrutiny.

I don't need him.

And, at times like this, I'm not quite sure what I'm doing with him. Aside from the obvious, of course. I didn't go looking for this. whatever this is. And after that first time, I convinced myself it was just a brief fling. a comfort during rather stressful times. After the tenth time, I decided it was a diversion that I could live with. as long as it was on my terms.

I'm not exactly sure when my terms started changing.

And now?

Now I just don't know. Five thousand years of experience, and it still all boils down to the fact that I have no idea what I'm doing. There's some irony in there, somewhere. I don't look for it, though. I've had enough irony to last several lifetimes.

The light gets slowly brighter and I glance over to the window to see the beginning of another day. Yet another day. It's a very interesting position to be in to have such a strong desire to remain alive, yet be seized at moments such as this asking myself. why?

"You're up," his voice calls to me and my eyes are drawn back to him, watching the sun shine over his hair and I find myself missing the unruly curls. His voice turns playful and he quirks his lips. "Has the apocalypse arrived already?"

I smile despite my maudlin mood. he does that to me. "No," I reply, "Hell froze over."

He laughs and I join him. It's a nice sound.

"Come back to bed," he says, simply.

I watch him for a moment, perched on his elbows, staring down that nose at me, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. I crawl back into the bed and he enfolds me in his warmth, pulling me into him and I cannot. don't even want to . resist. His mouth is on mine and I ride the whirlwind that he is, the way he glides about, touching every part of me and making me feel. just making me feel.

You'd be surprised how long you can go without feeling. I know I was.

I wrap an arm around him and roll, pulling him on top of me and he flows into the motion like he expected it. He probably did. I settle his weight on top of me, letting it pin me down. And that's what he does to me. Pins me down. Not like a weight to be borne and escaped at the earliest opportunity; but like an anchor that keeps me from floating away into the maelstrom.

He kisses me--a gentle, questioning kiss, one that's sole purpose is to determine my mood. my wants. my needs--

I deepen it quickly, searching the warmth of his mouth for the answers. Whether I find them there or not isn't really important, most of the time the searching is enough.

His hands roam my body, warming it with their touch, leaving trails of heat in their wake. We escalate quickly, and soon it's too much and I can't wait any longer.

"I want you, now," I moan into his ear.

A few rushed preparations and he's exactly where he needs to be. where I want him to be. I quickly reach that point where my thoughts start to blur together and then mercilessly cease, leaving me with only the feel of him and me. Of him *in* me.

And then it's over in a blinding rush of sensation, and I feel him collapse on top of me as we lay there gasping for breath, recovering basic mental capacities.

Finally he looks up at me, his face still flushed and I give in to the urge to kiss him senseless. Or let him kiss me senseless, whichever comes first.

We finally break apart again, still fighting for breath.

"Thank you," I say, although I'm not exactly sure why.

He grins. "Anytime. Looked like you needed that."

"No." It comes out before I can stop it, and I keep going quickly before the look of hurt can completely fix onto his face. "It was what I wanted."

He looks at me and I can feel him searching my face, my eyes. trying to see what's going on in there, what I mean as opposed to what I say.

Hell, if I can't admit to myself what he means to me, how can I tell him?

I do want him.

I may even love him

. But I don't need him.

I don't.

He smiles suddenly, a coy smile and his eyes drop seductively. He tucks his head under my neck and wraps an arm around my chest, presses his body against my side.

And for a split-second I know. And from the look on his face, he knows. And to give voice to it would be more than I could bear. And he knows this, too.

I don't need him. I don't. Need. Him.

"I know," he says into my neck, and I realize I've said it out loud. I look down at him, but his eyes are closed. he's smiling. And he knows it's a lie, yet he plays along. For me. All for me.

Ah, the games we play.

~ Fin ~