Never Apart

Angie

"Parting is all we know of heaven
And all we need of hell

- Emily Dickenson
 

For the first time in many years, Vincent and Catherine were apart.

Catherine had gone to visit Nancy for a few days because her friend needed her. Nancy had had a miscarriage and was coping badly. Her husband had phoned Catherine and admitted he was at his wit’s end. His voice, rough with lack of sleep and despair, had been all she’d needed to galvanize her.

Catherine owed Nancy a debt of gratitude for her help at a time of crisis. Nancy’s matter-of-fact talk had helped her realize that the road to a "happy life" was not without bumps and curves. She and Vincent had been at a crossroads in their relationship then. Now, their life was filled with wonders unimagined at the time. Perhaps she could impart that happiness to Nancy.

She packed hurriedly and left with a quick goodbye kiss and a promise to return as soon as she could. Understandably, she could not say when that would be.

Now, two days after her departure, Vincent was feeling her physical absence like a pain. Even though their bond kept them close emotionally, it wasn’t enough.

Little Jacob, now six, seemed less concerned than his father. He had been occasionally pensive in his classes, according to Brooke, but Vincent could be accused of that too. In fact, he was distracted to a far higher degree. Twice he found himself wandering down a tunnel, with no memory as to how he got there – or worse, what he had set out to do.

Father tried to interest him in sorting a shipment of books that had recently arrived, but when Vincent put a children’s book in the reference pile and a mechanics manual in the children’s pile, Father had heaved a huge sigh.

"Vincent, your mind isn’t on this task, delightful as it is. Vincent?"

Vincent looked up, tried to get his swirling thoughts under control, glanced at the book in his hand blindly, then met Father’s eyes. The sympathy he saw there was almost his undoing.

"I … I’m sorry, Father. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel … like I’ve lost something and forgotten what it is."

Father looked concerned. He didn’t have to ask what Vincent thought he had lost.

"Surely, your bond with Catherine is unimpaired. Isn’t it?"

"Yes – but her emotions are not the ones I’m used to – that I’ve known for so long. She’s completely absorbed in her friend. I can feel her concern, her pain almost, but …"

"But those concerns haven’t left much room for you. Is that it? Aren’t you being a bit selfish, Vincent? After all, Catherine had a life before she met you. She has almost completely divorced herself from it in order to help us and be with you and a mother to Jacob. This time, an old friend needs her. She would not be your Catherine if she had declined to help."

"I know that, Father. It’s not selfishness on my part – at least I hope not. I just miss knowing exactly where she is, and knowing she’s within reach in minutes, safe. I’m so used to feeling her warmth and love around my heart almost every minute of every day. It’s still there, but it seems somehow … static, distant. That hasn’t happened in a very long time."

"Vincent, you know Catherine’s safe where she is. Perhaps you need to shunt these thoughts onto a sideline during the day. I think that’s what your son does. He can feel Catherine through the bond, just as you can. That’s enough comfort for him."

Vincent sighed. How could he explain to Father that it wasn’t just her emotions as she thought of him he was missing. He missed her physical presence too, the way she leaned close against him when they hugged, her kisses on his lips, their lovemaking at night, her stroking his manhood into hardness every morning. These special moments were part of his daily existence. He felt lost without those reminders of their love. He caught himself. Just thinking about those reminders made his groin ache.

He looked at Father again and saw the understanding in his eyes. Neither man had to say anything. Then Father’s face got a thoughtful expression.

"Vincent, surely Catherine isn’t busy all night with her friend. Perhaps you should try to use your bond to … um … communicate - in those hours when you are both feeling the separation."

Vincent had been reluctant to try that, mainly because he had no idea what Catherine was doing. Now he reassessed the idea. Surely, if it wasn’t convenient, Catherine would let him know along the bond. Yes, it would give him comfort to feel her strongly, however briefly.

"You’re right, Father. I’m sure she’s feeling the separation too. I have been holding back, not wanting to distract her. But I can’t go on like this. Tonight, I’ll see what can be done."

The decision gave Vincent some peace of mind and he finished sorting the books with Father, almost enjoying the work. He even saw a title or two that intrigued him. He made a mental note to borrow them when he had reduced the unread pile on his own table somewhat.

He and Jacob stayed Below that night. Their son liked to sleep in the boy’s dorm as often as he could. Vincent suspected the attraction was the mischief that existed whenever several boys were together, but was just as happy to have his chamber to himself that night. It was a place he had often spent dreaming of Catherine in those early days of their love. It seemed appropriate now.

Vincent took off all his clothes and slid under the heavy quilt. Then he stretched out and cleared his mind of everything except Catherine, making sure that his bond with Jacob was kept apart. He reached out along the bond, seeking the woman who meant everything to him. He had hardly opened himself completely when he felt her surprise and joy. Catherine!

…

That first day and night at Nancy’s, Catherine missed Vincent desperately. It was worse than being homesick. She could feel his love along their bond, as well as little Jacob’s, but it was remote somehow. She missed knowing he was close, missed the feel of his hirsute body next to hers at night, watching him stretch like a cat in the morning, his purr after they made love.

Then she realized he was probably dampening his own reactions to their separation, in order to allow her the emotional freedom to help her friend. She was grateful for that consideration – at least during the day.

Nancy had been a wreck when she’d arrived, listless and thin, with no appetite. Catherine had been shocked at the difference from her last visit. Nancy had aged, of course, as had she, but there was more.

Eight years ago, Nancy had been a pillar of strength and Catherine had cried on her shoulder with the pain she had felt after leaving Vincent in the tunnels, as upset as she. He had told her they should end their relationship, that he couldn’t bear to see her upset and know himself the cause. Later, she had realized she had to make a decision – and that he had wanted to give her the space to do so. She couldn’t keep dragging him along on her emotional rollercoaster. It wasn’t fair. The visit to Nancy’s had focused her thoughts. She knew then that she couldn’t live without him – and didn’t want to. She’d known he would be there waiting at the culvert. His joy was as great as her own when they hugged and kissed. After that, their love had been a constant source of comfort to them both. It had grown and blossomed – and at last given them a gift beyond price – their son, Jacob.

Now it was Nancy who needed to be brought out of herself, to see the love which waited for her. The next day, Catherine had taken Nancy into the garden and sat her down in the gazebo with a pitcher of lemonade and a plate of chocolate brownies. She had held her friend’s hand and, for lack of any other topic, had talked about her own life, about what had happened since she’df cried on Nancy’s shoulder, and been comforted, those many years ago.

Catherine could not go into great detail, of course. She did not mention the underground world, just that the man in her life was different, but so special, those differences only made her love him the more.

Nancy had become interested and then curious. She had asked questions about Vincent, of course, and Catherine had described him in terms any woman would understand. She praised his strength, his voice, his intelligence, his long golden hair, even his lovemaking, but had not mentioned what set him apart. They didn’t matter to her, but she couldn’t share them with anyone else, not without his knowing. By the time she had finished, she had also hinted at the challenges they had faced as a couple. Nancy was now looking more like her old self, less self-absorbed. Colour had returned to her face and her eyes looked less haunted. She had remembered her long ago curiosity about the special man in Catherine’s life.

The big question remained, and Catherine was not surprised when her friend asked it.

"Then why is he forced to remain hidden, Cathy? He sounds like a wonderful man, someone anyone would be privileged to meet."

Catherine’s mouth had quirked as she considered her reply. She had spoken softly and looked her friend in the eye.

"He IS very special, Nancy. I love him with all that I am, and he loves me the same way. But he looks very different. Not ugly – at least to me – but … unique, unusual. To those who can’t see beyond appearances, he would be … frightening.

"But Nancy, he is the most loving, most gentle man I have ever known. He’s seen the expression on people’s faces when they first meet him. It hurts him – and me. You see, we have an empathic connection. We’ve been … connected, ever since he saved my life. He is everything to me. I will shield him from those who can’t understand with my last breath. He is my life. And we have Jacob, our son. He doesn’t resemble Vincent, but he has his father’s greatness of spirit, his passion for learning – and his loving nature. We’re very happy. Nothing else can matter in the face of that."

Nancy had risen from her chair and she and Catherine had hugged for long minutes.

"Oh, Cathy," she said at last. "Thanks for telling me this. I won’t ask for any more details. Perhaps I can meet your Vincent one day. You make me ashamed of myself. You’ve dealt with challenges that I can’t even imagine, that no one could. Yet here you are - helping a stupid, weak, distraught woman deal with something thousands of other women have survived. I’m blessed with a loving family. I’ve put them through hell, Cathy!"

Catherine had held her friend’s hand and spoken carefully.

"No, Nancy, not hell. They don’t judge you, any more than I do. Don’t be ashamed. I have shouldered my challenges willingly – but it hasn’t always been easy. You didn’t choose to have a miscarriage. That’s the difference. But it wasn’t your fault. And I envy you as much now as I did all those years ago. You have friends and family, children and a husband who can accompany you on vacations, to the opera, the museums. My life will never be completely normal. Nancy, you are strong and have so much to be thankful for. Your strength saved me eight years ago. You made me understand my heart. You’ve always known your own."

Nancy had broken out crying then, and she and Catherine had sat down on the gazebo steps and held each other. Catherine had stroked her hair and rubbed her back. She pulled her love from deep inside and tried to surround Nancy with some of what she and Vincent shared. She’d felt her friend relax. When she had looked up at last, it was with a slight smile. The healing could begin.

That night, her mission a success, Catherine found she needed Vincent desperately. She took off her clothes, lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. Then she opened her side of the bond completely. She knew he was there, loving her as much as she did him, but she wasn’t sure if she should initiate anything.

Then she felt him connect to her, so strong and so welcome that her joy exploded down the bond like lightning, before she could stop it. Vincent replied in kind.

…

Over the seven years of their lovemaking, Catherine and Vincent had come to know each other’s bodies very well. Although they could not read each other’s minds, their bond transmitted emotions with great detail. As they engaged in foreplay, their thoughts engendered emotions that were specific to what they were doing and feeling with hand, tongue and lips - but always tempered with other sensations. The feel of their skin touching, their breath on each other, their kisses – all either enhanced or muted their emotional reactions as they touched each other in their secret places – or anywhere else.

For instance, Catherine had discovered that if she explored the cleft in Vincent’s upper lip with her tongue, and touched his manhood, he would reach near climax very quickly. Vincent had found that his lips on Catherine’s nipples, coupled with his manhood pushing against her thighs, would do the same thing.

Now, separated by distance, they would make new discoveries, impossible any other way.

…

Catherine sent Vincent a surge of love and desire, so strong that he felt his manhood rise to attention. He returned it with interest and felt her emotions soften into the deep passion that always warmed him through and through.

Why had he not thought of this before? She must have been waiting for him to make the overture. She did not have quite the proficiency with their bond that he had, but surely she knew he would be missing her. Well, it didn’t matter. Vincent concentrated, wondering whether they could make love along their bond. They both needed the release, he sensed. And there was only one way to find out.

First he had to make sure she wanted to play this lover’s game. How could he do that? There was only one way. He couldn’t pretend – he’d have to be physically committed as well. He closed his eyes and reached down between his legs. He wrapped his hands around his testicles and hefted them, as he knew Catherine liked to do. The sensation, even in his own hands, made him groan and an erotic shiver ran through him. He knew that would be transmitted along the bond.

After so many years as lovers, Catherine could have no doubt about what he was doing. He waited.

Lying spread-eagled on the bed, naked under the sheets, Catherine felt Vincent’s sudden erotic shudder and knew exactly what he had done. Only one thing felt like that to her, but this was more intense, more … pure. Of course, there were no other distractions now. She let Vincent know she would play with a flash of desire along their bond.

Catherine imagined replacing his hands with her own and began stroking those furry globes, as she loved to do. She could almost feel him purr as she did so. He loved to be touched – anywhere. She knew he felt her fantasy, transmitted via her own love of the sensation she knew so well. She felt what amounted to a gasp along their bond.

Vincent let Catherine fantasize about his testicles and decided that he needed some fantasy of his own. He imagined his hand sliding down between her legs, stroking the curly hair there, softly, sensuously. He didn’t try to move any further, yet.

It was Catherine’s turn to gasp as she realized what he was doing with those wonderful – if imaginary - hands of his. She sighed, momentarily losing track of what her own hands were supposed to be doing.

Then she got a grip on herself and moved her phantom hands up his shaft, slowly, squeezing just a little. She could imagine it hard and hot under her hands, as it always was by this time in their foreplay. She used both hands now to pull him up, just a little, and surround his crown with her fingers. He was so large, it took both hands to do it justice. Then she imagined moving her hands to one side and sliding her body along him, so that his engorged organ rested between her breasts. She sighed in contentment.

She felt another shudder – one that told her he would explode if she wasn’t careful. It was too soon. She relaxed and just held him against her. It was his move now.

Vincent groaned. He had no doubt what she was imagining. She loved to feel his manhood between her breasts and her emotions along the bond at that time were soft and joyous. Then he suddenly felt her stillness and realized it was his turn again.

He imagined he spread apart her labia with his fingers and slowly began to move his index finger into the warm wet slot that waited for him. He found the little nub and coaxed it into swollen anticipation. Then he paused again. He didn’t want to bring her to climax just yet.

Catherine shivered as she felt Vincent fantasizing about her clitoris. She felt his joy at the contact, at stroking the moist and fevered place he loved. His fingers were warm and softly-haired and there was just that frisson of danger from his nails. Once again, she gave herself over to sensation and forgot her own role. Vincent, she realized at last, had much better control. Get a grip, Chandler, she told herself, and chuckled at the pun.

She realized they were both on the brink of climax now. Perhaps there was no need to prolong the agony. Fire was running along her skin and she felt as if she were going to spontaneously combust. She didn’t want that – not without Vincent doing the same. The next move would have to be done with care. Their bond would help her fine-tune it.

She imagined herself moving up his body, until his manhood was between her legs. It would be fully erect now and she would be able to clasp it between her thighs, feel that hot, eager length pulsing with desire. She let him know she was ready to proceed, if he was.

Vincent shuddered as the bond told him what she was doing. Now his manhood was burning, as he realized where she imagined it to be. She paused and he sent a quiver of erotic desire down the bond.

Canting her hips upwards, as if to make sure he was positioned properly, she felt his warmth as she let him slide into the hot wetness waiting for him. Slowly she imagined herself easing onto his shaft until he was buried inside her completely. They became one aching desire.

Vincent groaned as he felt Catherine open to him. He wanted to feel her body and imagined his hands cupping her buttocks. He tilted his hips a little on the bed, as he would have if she was there, and felt her warm moistness surrounding his manhood. He felt himself swell in anticipation, throbbing and filling her.

Suddenly, there was no more separation. They groaned in unison, many miles apart, and knew they had. Their urgency was extreme now. They writhed on their distant beds, moved against each other, felt their heat build to an inferno. Then in a flash, they both surrendered and a luscious orgasm engulfed them, sending waves of sated passion and love back and forth along their bond until their joy carried them into a place of complete surrender and love. Then Vincent’s deep, silent roar seemed to shimmer down the bond and Catherine quivered and gasped in delight.

Vincent let his hips fall back to the bed in exhaustion, then felt the warmth of his ejaculation on his stomach and sighed in happiness. He felt Catherine relax in response and realize her own liquid was warming the inside of her thighs. Despite their relative positions, he now felt himself lying atop her. His manhood was between her thighs, flaccid. He could feel her soft warmth under him, her legs resting between his own, her breasts with their hard nipples against his chest.

Catherine felt Vincent relax and knew he was now on top of her in his fantasy. She loved to feel his muscled softness against her this way, iron under velvet. He no longer worried about his weight on her. She imagined herself hugging him close, felt the slick wetness between them, the tingle of their bond as their love enclosed them.

Then Vincent imagined her lips, open and soft, and gathered them in his mouth, massaged them and stroked them with his tongue. He felt Catherine reach out to him, push her tongue between his teeth and wrap it around his own.

Suddenly, still wrapped in the afterglow of his climax and Catherine’s joy, Vincent realized he was purring. He felt better than he had since she left, sated and relaxed.

The calm and delight he sent along the bond told Catherine he was vibrating with his purr and she imagined it running along her body in waves, as it always did. Oh yes, this purr was remarkable. It seeped into her bones and garnered a response from her that seemed to go beyond anything she had felt before. It was as if their bodies had merged at last, were one – even as distant as they were. She held onto that sensation, let it carry her into sleep.

Vincent felt Catherine’s response and realized she knew he was purring and that their bond was tangled into a kind of love knot that made them inseparable. He felt her drift into contented sleep and let himself follow her.

…

The next day, Catherine went down to breakfast, drawn by the delightful smells. In the kitchen, Nancy was working like a dervish, making pancakes, bacon, sausages and scrambled eggs. Toast was already piled on a plate and the smell of herbed oven fries was coming from the oven. A coffee pot was sending out wonderful waves of fragrant Columbian.

Catherine took over watching the eggs and sausages, while Nancy put the now crisp bacon on a warming platter and opened up the oven to extract the oven fries.

As she was doing this, the rest of the family came into the kitchen and regarded the two women and all the activity with amazement.

Nancy looked at them and laughed. Catherine, who had begun to load up the kitchen table with food, went back for the coffee pot and gave her a smile. She looked at the stunned crowd in the doorway and laughed too.

"Come on, you guys! It’s getting cold!"

After breakfast, Nancy and Catherine went to the gazebo again. Nancy was smiling as she looked at her friend. There was something different about Cathy today. She seemed less tense, more relaxed and happy. Nancy knew it was not just her own recovery that had brought that about.

If she had not known it to be impossible, Nancy would have thought Vincent had paid a visited during the night. Then her eyes widened as she looked at Catherine. There was that unmistakable softness around the eyes that always gave lovers away. They had been together - but not in the physical sense!

Catherine saw the knowledge appear on her friend’s face and nodded. Nothing more was said. Nancy couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t be an invasion of the lovers’ privacy. She realized it was another aspect of the miracle of their love.

"Oh, Cathy. How can I ever thank you? You’ve given me a new lease on life."

"Nonsense, Nancy. I think you were ready to heal when I got here. You were groping around in a dark place, though. I merely distracted you so you realized that place was just a line on the ground and you could just step over it."

Nancy hugged Catherine to her, wondering anew why this woman had so much strength in her small frame. Then she knew the answer. She looked at Catherine and saw the agreement there. Catherine smiled.

"Nancy, no thanks are necessary. It’s been a pleasure. You know, I believe that life never throws anything at us we can’t deal with, if we try, if we have confidence in ourselves. We never see the truly impossible things. We each have to face ourselves first, realize we are strong, and find the solution best for us. Sometimes we have to change our way of thinking, adapt, see a problem from a different angle – but there’s always an answer.

"Vincent taught me that. His challenges are very real, but he has never let them define him. He’s amazing, Nancy. He has no animosity, no hatred in him. He is what he is – and he has taught me the importance of accepting oneself and giving love in full measure. It’s a gift beyond price.

"He complements me, and I him. We are two halves of a whole. There is nothing more I could want."

Nancy smiled again.

"Cathy, if you don’t say I can meet this man of yours, I will haunt your dreams until you do."

"All right, Nancy. I don’t know when that will be, but I’ll try to work out something. Perhaps you can come to New York and stay with us for a few days. There’s a great deal at stake in this – not just Vincent and Jacob. It will take some planning, and you must come alone and never tell anyone what you see. Can you pretend you’re just going on a shopping trip, or something, and visiting an old friend?"

Nancy saw that Catherine was serious and wondered what other secrets she was hiding.

"Catherine, you know I would never betray a confidence. You have my word that whatever you say is necessary, I will do – and tell no one. But I want very much to meet your family."

"Then you will, Nancy. I’ll pack my bags and go home now. I’ll be in touch, as soon as I can. Please be patient."

Two hours later, Catherine was driving back to New York, her mind full of plans for Nancy’s visit. It would be nice to have her friend around for a few days in her city. Vincent would welcome her. The tunnel community would need some advance warning and preparation, but she had no doubt that Nancy would be loved there too. It would happen, but right now, she had more immediate concerns.

Catherine parked the car in the garage she rented down the street from the brownstone. She could feel Vincent’s anticipation as she walked down the sidewalk and up the steps to their home. His eagerness to see her was almost overwhelming. She felt a hot flash along their bond that warmed her core as she turned her key in the lock and opened the door. It was dark in the hallway with the door closed. She dropped her suitcase on the floor and waited for her eyes to adjust. Then she saw him. He was standing at the foot of the stairs, completely and beautifully naked.

Without a thought, Catherine tore off her clothes and let them fall to the floor. In a moment she was enveloped in his arms, his delightfully soft and hairy body welded to her own, their passion enclosing them, shutting out everything else. She sighed and looked up at his face. He dropped a kiss on her lips that fired her anew. Without a word, he bent down, lifted her in his arms and carried her upstairs to their bedroom.

Vincent laid Catherine gently on the bed, then stretched out beside her, filling his eyes with her beauty for long moments. She let her eyes travel his length and then rest on his manhood, aroused in swollen anticipation, with unfettered passion. Then he gathered her in his arms and pulled her to him, winding his legs around hers as if he had to touch her in as many places at once as possible. She felt that need too, and hugged him close, pulling his head down so she could smother his face with kisses, real ones this time. He was wonderfully solid in her arms now. She whispered under his hair into an ear.

"Oh, Vincent."

"Catherine," his voice was the silken rasp she loved above all others, almost a purr.

There were no more words for a long time. They needed none now or ever, together or apart.

END