Richelle Mead - Succubus Dreams

"Yeah." I settled back into the couch's softness. "It's not even about sex anymore."

"I noticed that. It's boring stuff, actually."

"Boring?"

He shrugged. "You know. Typical relationship stuff. Spending time with each other. Trust. Communication. Love isn't always about grand forces of the universe keeping us apart."

Unless, I thought, you considered the difference in length between a mortal life and an immortal one. I didn't know why Seth's lifespan was bothering me lately. I'd understood the complications on an intellectual level when we'd first started dating, but I hadn't really had such visceral reactions until recently. Him getting shot hadn't helped, I supposed. And speaking of which…

"I never thanked you," I told him.

"For what?"

"For risking your life for mine."

"But you can't di—"

"Yeah, yeah. We've already established that, like, a hundred times. And the wisdom—or lack thereof—of your actions aside, it was sweet and brave and…and, well, thank you."

Seth moved his hand over mine and squeezed it. "There's nothing to thank me for."

I stood up. "Well, now that we've got the sentimental stuff out of the way, let's get down to business. Take off your clothes."

Seth started. "Wai—what?"

"Well," I amended, "except for your boxers."

"Are we going to second base after all?"

"Just do it."

While he stripped, I gathered some things from his kitchen, as well as from a tote bag I'd brought. When I returned to the living room, he was sitting in the center of the couch in boxers only. They were soft gray flannel. Adorable.

I sat down on the floor in front of him, moving a bowl of warm water beside me. After dipping a washcloth into the water, I slowly began rubbing it over his feet.

Seth was quiet for several moments. Then: "You getting Biblical on me? Didn't somebody wash Jesus' feet?"

I rewet the cloth and began moving up one of his legs. "Don't worry," I told him. "I don't expect you to turn this water into wine. At least not until I'm done." I moved the washcloth over Seth's calf. It was leanly muscled, covered in tawny brown hair. "The foot washing tradition is bigger than the Bible. You find it everywhere, long before New Testament times, in lots of other cultures. Kings. Generals. They all got this treatment."

"You wash a lot of kings' and generals' feet?" he teased.

"Yeah, actually."

"Oh. Well. I don't think I'm really in that league."

I smiled and moved on to the other calf. "Not true. Poets and bards used to have as much prestige as kings. Lots of them got this too."

"I miss the good old days. Now we're lucky if we get paid."

I washed his thigh, careful to avoid the bandaged wound. "Yeah, true. But people also don't threaten to behead you if they don't like what you wrote."

"You obviously haven't read some of my reviews."

"I only read the good ones."

I finished both legs and dropped the washcloth into the water. I scooted the bowl away. Seth started to get up, but I shooed him back down.

"Nope. Not finished." I reached for a bottle of massage oil I'd brought and poured some on my hands. It smelled like almonds. "That was just to get you clean."

With as much deliberation as I'd performed the washing, I massaged the oil into his skin, starting with his feet once again. Washing can be sensual, but rubbing someone with oil is doubly so. Triple, even. The light banter faded between us. Seth simply watched, wonder and arousal on his face as I worked my way up. And as I met his gaze, I saw more than just those feelings. The love in his eyes was so powerful, I needed to look away. Seth had an amazing grasp of the English language, but there were days when that skill was nothing compared to what he told me in his looks.

When I finished his legs, I climbed up behind him on the couch and worked on his back and chest too. I'd been giving massages almost as long as I'd been dancing. I knew exactly what to do, knew where all the muscle groups were and how to unkink them. Seth had a lot of stiffness and knots in his back, either from bad laptop posture or stress. Maybe both.

At last, the job was complete. Heedless of oil on me or the couch, he leaned back and pulled me to his chest. My cheek rested on his smooth, slick skin, and the scent of almond and Seth enveloped me.

"Ah, Georgina," he sighed. "I wish I could return that."

"I'll just pretend you did."

He sighed again. "I hate the pretending."

"Yeah."

"I mean it. Really hate it."

The vehemence in his voice startled me. I lifted my head up. "You okay?"

"Yeah…I'm just…I don't know." He shook his head. "Frustrated, I guess."

"Sexually frustrated?"

"Sure…but it's more than that. Do you ever think about us…just, you know, doing it maybe once?"

"No," I said immediately. "Absolutely not."

"I'd take the risk."

"The shooting addled your brain. You've always been the strong one, remember?"

"The shooting's made me think about what life means, that's all." He sounded just like Maddie. How could such a foolish gesture on his part be inspiring so many people? Was I too jaded? Could I no longer relate to humans? "And I mean, I can't even reciprocate a simple massage. You perform all the time for me…but what do you get? You must be the one who's sexually frustrated. The stuff you do on the side…well, that doesn't matter. Sometimes I think Hugh was right. You do suffer more than me."

"No, I don't. The sex stuff bugs me, but I can handle it."

"I hope I can," said Seth. "When I was in the hospital, I had this weird moment where I started thinking about how I write about all these action-packed things but don't live any of it. O'Neill has dozens of great romances, but me? I can't even have one."

"It sucks," I agreed. "But with the risks…well. We know this is how it has to be."

"What about the rest?"

"Hmm?"

Seth shifted slightly so that he could look into my face. "Do you really think about me dying? Do you worry about me?"

"Sometimes."

"Am I going to cause you pain in the end?"

"No," I said breezily. "Of course not."

He pulled me back to his chest. "I love you, Georgina. You give me more joy than I ever expected to find in this life. I want to be with you…" He ran a hand through my hair, tangling it in his fingers. "But not if it's going to do more harm than good. I don't want you to hurt. I don't want you to spend the rest of my life worrying about my body and my soul. I don't want you to cry when I'm gone."

A lump formed in my throat, and I thought I might actually start crying then and there. There was something in his voice, a strange and ominous note that scared me for reasons I couldn't entirely explain. I dug my fingers into his skin and pressed myself closer to him.

"No more," I whispered. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. It isn't relevant."

Seth tightened his grip on me and didn't respond. We went to bed after that, speaking little. He snuggled against me, resting his head on my chest. I ran my fingers through his hair, taking in his scent and his feel. As he slipped into sleep, I thought about what he'd said about what puts meaning into life. I thought about wanting and needing.

And what I needed right then was energy. Tawny'd wiped me out, and there was no way I was going to start shifting back to the body I'd been born with. Still touching Seth's hair, I thought how easy it would be to just lean down and kiss him. Really kiss him. And kiss him and kiss him…

Wanting and needing.

Regretfully, I slipped out of bed. Seth was a heavy sleeper and simply rolled to his side, never coming close to waking. With a wistful look, I left the condo and used my last bit of energy to put on a different shape. Finding a victim wasn't hard—further reinforcing how absurd the whole Tawny thing was—and in less than two hours, I was back in bed with Seth and recharged. That creepy voice didn't speak to me, for which I was grateful. Sad but sated, I fell asleep.