Title: Creation

Author: Zenia

Fandom: Blakes 7

Pairing: Blake/Avon

Rating: PG

Archive: No, I think I might play with this a bit more. When it's ready you

can link it up to my page, as always. <g>

E-mail: illandri2@aol.com

Disclaimers: Blake, Avon, Liberator, etc, don't belong to me. But by god I

wish they did. All that angst, all that pain, all that tragedy...yum!

Summary: Avon yearns

Creation

by Zenia

I dreamt you.

Created out of fear and passion, I am shaken when you stand before me,

demanding that I care. All I want is to wrap a curl about my finger and pull

your head down, gently, to mine

I molded you.

Like a gem-cutter, I am meticulous. Meteing out words that shape and smooth

each facet of your character. Do not crack. Do not shatter. I can show you

care.

I created you.

After you materialize from nothing, I run my hands over your face and chest.

You look down with eyes like honey. Or do I imagine the affection? Skin,

warm and mooth beneath my hands. I sink to your feet. Such perfect feet.

You, you touch me. Your fingers trail along my nose, trace my lips, then

slide down to my jaw. Remember to breathe. With my tongue I map the lines

of your palm. Taste salt, taste warmth, taste you.

I imagined you.

I want you to speak my name with the soft rumble of your voice. With a

smile--flash of teeth, crinkle of eyes--make me follow you. Construct an

image of perfection: you and I in an embrace. Speak to me of memory. Do not

laugh. Clench your hands into fists and command me go. Or stay. Or...lie

in your bed, naked, until you touch me. I wake, sweating, wondering what is

left.

I separated from you.

When you left I thought, freedom at last, but something of you echoes.

Promise of a cause. Promise and trust. Slavery. I would damn you to burn.

As I burn. Touching pains, touching--

When did your hands become so callused?

I...

Ah, poetry cannot help that I dreamt you.

I needed you.

I need you.

Still.