TITLE: Touch me?

AUTHOR: Patricia RD



PAIRING: Gwen/Lilah, sort off.


SUMMARY: Some nights are harder than others for Gwen.

DISCLAIMER: Not my characters.

DISTRIBUTION: My site. List sites. Anyone else ask first please.

DEDICATED: To Ambs, for asking for Gwen slash so many times. And for the beta.


The woman sits alone in the bar, sipping single malt scotch, enjoying this moment by herself, probably unaware of Gwen, the younger woman shrouded in the darkness of the corner table. Gwen doesnít mind the location. The better to watch the other woman without being noticed.

Lilah, the womanís name is Lilah. Late twenties, lawyer, single. Little bits of information that Gwen had started collecting from the first time he saw Lilah at the bar. By now she also knows Lilah liked Baracci shoes and diamonds, green was her favorite color, her perfume was Chanel Number 5. She even caught a bit of it one time. Gwen had deliberately lingered at the exit, watching Lilah on her way out. A gloved hand moved forward slowly, almost reaching for the creamy silk of the sleeve under the Armani jacket. But it stopped just in time and moved back, almost as if Lilah was too hot to the touch.

The again, Lilah wasnít the one with problem now, was she?

Gwen hasnít tried to get closer after that night. Itís better this way, watching Lilah from afar, Tracing delicate curves and soft skin with eyes and not hands. Sometimes even daring to close her eyes and visualize actual human contact. Hands on bare flesh, lips exploring, arms wrapped around each other and a gentle good night. Hey, it doesnít have to be one of those sweet, love last forever kind of thing. A little touch. Thatís what itís all about. And hereís a woman that Gwen wouldnít mind being touched by. Beautiful, powerful, strong and lonely. Gwen gets that better than anyone.

Now Lilah is getting up, ready to go. Gwen places her hands on the table, willing them to be still, closing her eyes and not opening until she knows Lilah is gone.

Maybe tomorrow will be different, Gwen thinks as she pays her own tab and heads out. Maybe tomorrow thereíll be a way to touch people. There wonít be a cold, too big for her, empty bed. Sheíll go straight to the bar, introduce herself, and hope for the best.

Yes, maybe tomorrow.

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