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 Post subject: Cold Feet, by mamaboolj, Elias/Nicole, R
PostPosted: Wed Apr 22, 2009 1:14 am 
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Joined: Mon Apr 20, 2009 8:00 pm
Posts: 189
Location: neither here nor there
Title: Cold Feet
Author: Mamaboolj
Fandom: Whistler
Characters: Elias Noth/Nicole Miller
Spoilers: 2x06 Always a Bridesmaid
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1100
Disclaimer: Owned by CTV, not me. I'm just filling in the blanks. Please don't sue.
Author's Notes: Thanks to Rebelliousrose for the wonderful beta and title suggestions. If you all like this, I may write more of these two.

“I’m tired of being alone,” Elias admits, kissing Nicole again, more passionately this time. As their embrace becomes more insistent, he slides his hands down the back of her winter jacket and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her tightly toward him. Nicole draws her legs from the well below the steering wheel and clumsily climbs over the cup holder between them. In her haste to swing her left leg over his, she bangs her knee on the gear shift. “Ow” she exclaims even as she straddles him in the tight confines of the front seat of her car. Elias sniggers as he reaches underneath her coat to rub her bare knee. “Jerk!” Nicole playfully hits his chest and then stops his laughter with another kiss.

They continue to explore each other, kissing, massaging, nuzzling. “Let’s go inside,” Nicole breathlessly suggests as she pushes back his rain-soaked jacket to nip at his earlobes more easily. She shivers involuntarily from the cold – and Elias’s tongue licking the small of her throat.

Elias pulls away and shifts uncomfortably in the front seat beneath her. “Nicole, let’s not rush things, all right?”

“Well, can we not rush things in my house instead of this cold, cramped car?”

“I don’t know.” Elias wipes a streak of condensation with his index finger from the passenger window of her car. “It seems pretty steamy in here, actually.”

Really, though, he wants to follow Nicole inside, to hold her through the night. The trouble is, she wants more than holding. Hell, he wants more. Sometimes. Most of the time. When he’s not worrying about the risks to her health. When he’s not fighting her attempts to break through the walls he has carefully constructed around himself over time. Walls that let him deal with his demons, make peace with his past, and keep his anger in check. But, she is so beautiful, and persistent, and it has been so long since he kissed a woman, let alone made love to one.

Nicole gazes at him with those eager blue eyes and lips pursed somewhere between a childish pout and a flirtatious smile.

“Okay.” He surrenders once again to his keen attraction to her, just as he has time and again since the day Nicole showed up uninvited at his house, bribing Sabre with smoked salmon and duck pate. But the doubt and fear are always there, holding him back, making him act like an ass to this woman he desires in so many ways.

“Just for a few minutes, though. I have to get home to let Sabre out.”

Elias sits on Nicole’s sofa as he listens to her rummaging in the refrigerator. He surveys the small, crowded, and decidedly feminine living room; the butterfly sculpture he made for her rests in the center of the mantle, flanked by pictures of Nicole with a girl who must be her sister. Another familiar item stares up at him from the coffee table. He picks up the dog-eared copy of Art Forum featuring his work. Nicole has highlighted passages such as “accepted payment only for the cost of materials” and “a notoriously caustic and reclusive personality.” Elias makes a mental note to tell the United Way to keep their mouths shut next time and to thank Matthew when he is in New York next week for upholding his image.

“Elias!” Nicole calls from the kitchen. “Would you like a glass of wine? Or a beer?”

“I’ll pass,” he answers, tossing the magazine back onto the top of the neat stack on the coffee table.

He hears the refrigerator door shut and then Nicole’s heels clicking on the kitchen’s linoleum floor. She appears in the doorway, clearly embarrassed. “You don’t drink, do you?

“Not so great for the liver.”

“I have juice? Mineral water?”

“I’m fine, Nicole. Why don’t you stop playing hostess and come here?”

Elias watches her cross the room. She wears a dress totally unsuited to Whistler’s climate - no wonder she was so cold in the car. A halter of gauzy, warm-hued fabric tied in a bow behind her graceful neck. He imagines the dress sliding from her body, cascading down her slender frame into a pool of pinks and reds at her feet. Nicole slips onto the sofa next to him. Elias pulls her closer, caressing the silky skin of her exposed shoulder, barely fighting the urge to unfasten those thin straps. As she kisses her way from his jaw to his cheekbones, Nicole sneaks her hand beneath both his flannel and t-shirt and rubs the taut muscles of his chest and abs. His body responds immediately to her touch. God, he wants her so badly, needs to feel her smooth skin pressed against his, himself deep inside the warmth of her.

“Nicole, I have to go.” He stands abruptly. “Sabre is going to tear the place apart and piss on my studio floor if I don’t let him out soon.”

“I could come with you.”

“No.” He says with more conviction than he feels. He averts his eyes from the disappointment, frustration, and hurt written on Nicole’s face.

“Elias. Why are you doing this? You come to my house, tell me you’re tired of being alone. And now you’re just going to leave?”

“Nicole, you know why I’m doing this. I’m just not ready.”

“And when will you be ready, Elias?”

“I don’t know. Maybe never.” He grabs his jacket from the chair and pulls it on as they both walk toward the door. They stand facing each other. He fights the urge to pull her close, press his mouth to hers, taste the sweetness of her breath. Instead he reaches out and gently squeezes her arm as he bends down and brushes his lips to her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” She opens the door, and cold air floods the room. The rain has turned to snow, and a thin blanket of white already covers her car, the driveway, and the street.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, Nicole,” he promises as he walks past her, out the door and into the silently falling snow.

“Goodbye, Elias.”

She obviously doubts he will call. But he knows he will. Just as he invited her back to his studio, donated the sculpture to the auction, told her he had HIV. Something about this woman has grabbed him and will not let go, no matter how hard he tries to push her – or to pull himself – away.

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Caleb's Hope Donate your time or money or both if you can. Buy beads or t-shirts when they became available. Feel free to PM - mamaboolj - for more information.


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