From: adjonas2000@yahoo.com   
      
   Cross to Bear   
      
   By Amy Jonas   
      
   Rated: R for sex and language.   
      
   Category: Jimmy/Yves   
      
   Archive: Sure.  Just let me know   
      
   Feedback: Good or bad, warmly received at adjonas2000@yahoo.com   
      
   Disclaimers: Fox and 1013 own them I just take them out to play.   
      
   Summary: The thought skitters across my mind that it's not fair to   
   use him like this but I don't care.  I need to silence the cacophony   
   of images.   
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
   I set our wine glasses on the table.  One teeters precariously on   
   the edge then falls, spilling the Merlot on the Persian rug.  The   
   dark-red liquid soaks into the fibers, slowly spreading out;   
   reminding me of fresh blood.   
      
   A tendril of fear slithers up my spine when Jimmy moves to clean it   
   up.  I don't want him to touch it.  "Leave it," I say.  He looks at   
   me; his brow furrowing his puzzlement at my remark.  Before he can   
   ask questions, I pull him into my arms.  "I missed you."  I follow   
   my admission with a kiss that starts soft and tender but soon   
   becomes long, hot and demanding.   
      
   When we break for air, he's flushed. "Wow, maybe you should go away   
   on business more often," he jokes.   
      
   I smile but his words needlessly remind me of what I cannot forget.   
   Ever since that abandoned warehouse in Spain my thoughts have   
   allowed me no peace.  The images of that atrocity haunt my every   
   waking moment.  It invades my dreams.   
      
   I need a respite even if its only for a moment.   
      
   I kiss him again, urgently, my hands wandering over his body.  The   
   thought skitters across my mind that it's not fair to use him like   
   this but I don't care.  I need to silence the cacophony of images.   
      
   I lead him into the bedroom.  He whispers how much he missed me and   
   wants me; that he loves me and how beautiful I am.  We undress each   
   other; his touch is soft and gentle, peeling my clothes from my body   
   while I yank and tug desperately until we are both naked.   
      
   The contents of the warehouse flash vividly in my mind.   
      
   After so many months I know Jimmy's body intimately.  He likes a   
   soft caress here; a firmer stroke there. If I drag my tongue over   
   this sensitive area he sighs and moans. Hard, probing kisses then   
   gentle nibbling there illicit desperate groans of pleasure. When I   
   take him into my mouth, he trembles, uttering a low, masculine sound   
   of need. I know how to bring him to bliss or like now, just short of   
   it.  I have him thinking of nothing except for one thing.   
      
   He has me on the bed and…oh God it feels so good.  His hands wander   
   over my body, alternating between a languid, soft caress and a   
   firmer touch that ignites a molten fire inside me. My blood careens   
   through my veins, bringing a sheen of sweat to my skin. His mouth is   
   hot and sweet on my fevered skin; my body taut as I arch against   
   him, trembling.   
      
   Images of that warehouse intrude.  I whimper as much from the   
   intense pleasure he is creating as the pain of those memories.   
      
   Then he is between my parted thighs, kissing, licking, exploring,   
   probing.  He knows my body intimately and soon every nerve ending is   
   a firestorm of sensation.  I moan, arching my hips against him,   
   needing release.  Needing oblivion.   
      
   He drags his thumb down, pressing it deep within me and my body   
   jolts and shudders; a hoarse cry tears from my lips.  But it's not   
   enough.  It's as if he opened a steam valve just enough to release   
   some of the pressure from my tightly coiled body.   
      
   And then he begins again.   
      
   Any other time I would be in heaven from this leisurely lovemaking   
   knowing it will culminate in an intense and passionate joining.  But   
   tonight I am in hell.   
      
   The horrors of that building batter my memory.   
      
   I don't want to think anymore. I want him inside me hammering so   
   hard and fast there is no room for thought.  No room for anything. I   
   want oblivion even if its only for a few moments.   
      
   I push him onto his back.  I straddle him,  impaling myself on him,   
   filling my body with him.   I thrust hard and fast, squeezing my   
   thighs tight around him; taking him deep inside.  His groan is of   
   surprise and pleasure.  He grasps my hips; guiding me.   I grind my   
   pelvis against his until the friction is blinding.   
      
   It's not enough.  Oh God it's not enough.  The images invade my   
   mind; my soul.   
      
   I thrust harder.  Pain overtakes pleasure.   My face is wet with   
   tears.  "Fuck me!" My voice is hoarse; my words desperate with raw   
   anguish.  It becomes a mantra.  "Fuck me.  Fuck me!  FUCK ME!"   
      
   "Yves!" Jimmy shouts, fear and confusion in his voice.  "Yves,   
   stop!"  He grabs me; pulling me off him.   
      
   "Fuck me." I don't recognize the pleading voice as my own.   
      
   He cradles me in his lap, crooning to me; stroking my hair.   I can   
   feel him trembling.  He doesn't know what to do so he continues   
   murmuring nonsensical, soothing words.  His tenderness shatters the   
   last of my control.  Hard, wrenching sobs tear out of me, burning my   
   chest.   
      
   He wants to know what is wrong but I can't tell him.  I won't tell   
   him about those atrocities I witnessed in Spain.  I don't want him   
   to ever know those horrors.   
      
   It is my cross to bear.   
      
   I will never forget those images.  They are seared into my brain   
   like so many others.   
      
   I burrow my face in his chest seeking comfort.  He pulls the sheet   
   around us, cocooning me in the warmth and strength of his arms.   
      
   We sit like that long after my sobs subside; the tears dried streaks   
   on my face.  Neither of us speak. I have neither the inclination or   
   energy.  He has no words.   He still strokes my hair.  Occasionally   
   he presses a gentle kiss on the top of my head.   
      
   I feel depleted.  Burned out.  Used up.   
      
   But in Jimmy's arms I have something I've never had before.   
   Sanctuary.   
      
      
      
   .   
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
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