Breathless (Alan Rickman Fanfic) COMPLETED

Chapter 31 Anew

Jasmine helped Mrs. Woods tuck Julia to bed and she'd hoped Alan would come tuck her in. But by the time she'd read Julia a story and turned off the lights, the quiet house told our protagonist that Alan hadn't come home yet. Maybe he and Meredith spend the night in a hotel, the thought of it however, leave a sour impact on Jasmine's braincells.

With a tired sigh, Jasmine left Julia's room and headed down the hallway, but before she made it to her room, a grumble from her stomach reminded her she'd missed dinner. Passing her door, she took the back stairs to the kitchen and decided to re-heat the leftovers from dinner, but even re-heating it in the microwave would take awhile, and she was too tired to care about cold dinner.

She almost dropped the bowl when she heard Alan say, “I suspected you hadn't eaten.”

Spinning toward the kitchen hearth, she saw him sitting in a chair in the darkness. The dim light barely lighted the kitchen, but enough to see his face and a bottle of whiskey sitting on the table next to him.

“I wasn't hungry,” she lied, setting the bowl on the counter.

He looked at her, something she felt more than saw, and a primal need flowed across the room. His shirt hanging open as he studied her in the darkness.

“Thirsty?” he lifted his glass in an unspoken offer, then chuckled without humor before downing the contents in one gulp. “Of course the proper Miss Matthews wouldn't drink whiskey, would she?”

“Mr. Rickman, you're drunk you should - “

“Back to 'Mr. Rickman' now, are we?” he poured another glass of liquor, the bottle thumping loudly as he returned it to the table. “Whatever Meredith told you and the others you know I prefer you calling me Alan, I always do.” Tipping his glass in a salute, to her, he downed the contents once more.

She watched helplessly as he suffered, unable to think of the right thing to say to ease his pain. But he filled the uncontrollable silence with something even worse.

“Do you know how my wife died?”

What has gotten into Alan, she didn't know, the topic regarding Rima is a taboo in his household. Jasmine swallowed. “She was in a car accident.”

“No.” He said, lifting his hand to correct her. “That's how she was injured. She died because of me.”

“I don't believe that for one minute.”

“Ah, but it's true.” He set his glass on the table and leaned forward to rest his head in his hands.

She waited until he ran his hands in his hair and sighed. 'When I started to pursue my passion in theatre acting at RADA, I was just a mere wardrobe assistant, dressing the actors. Theatre acting made me who I am today and Rima was with me through thick and thin. The day  the accident happen Rima and I went to the opera to celebrate our 10th year wedding anniversary.”

Jasmine crossed the kitchen as he talked and sat in a chair near him. His voice had dropped as he recounted his tale as though he wasn't really talking to her anymore, just the night.

“After the opera, we stepped out to talk with some friends. That's when it happened. I didn't even see it coming.”

There was no emotion now when he spoke, only a deadly calm that pulled at her more than ranting ever could.

“It was supposed to be me, I should be the one that died! She shoved me away while she took the hit. By the time I got to her, she was lying in the street dying. And I couldn't do anything but stare at her. She was bleeding and gasping for air.

Silence.

A low grumble from the refrigerator and the sound of his breathing filled the kitchen with sorrow.

“You're a man Alan,” she said, when she couldn't stand the tranquil any longer. “If she was hurt that bad, your freezing for a few moments didn't make a difference. It was in God's hands.”

He looked at her as though he'd only just remembered she was in the room. The corner of his mouth lifted. “Which is why I'm no longer on speaking terms with the old man.”

“You blame God.”

“It's either Him or me. You pick.”

He was sarcastic, combative, and raw, and it was all she could do not to pull him into her arms to soothe his pain. If only it were that simple.

“It was no one's fault.”

He shook his head. “Doesn't work that way, Jassy girl. It's always someone's fault, and since God has seniority, that makes mine.”

He reached for the whiskey, taking a swig without even bothering with the glass. She waited until he lowered the bottle before she stood and took it gently from his grasp.

“I think you've had enough.”

He didn't argue or resist, just looked up at her as she stood before him. And why she laid her hand against his face, she'd never know, but her touch broke him loose somehow. He covered her hand with his and turned to press a kiss into her palm.

Something inside her told her to run, but he stood and pulled her into his arms so quickly, there was no place to go.

“I need you, Jasmine,”  he murmured against her throat kissing a trail to her jaw, then across her cheek until he found her mouth.

Desperately he kissed, pulling at her lips with his until she parted and his tongue swept her mouth. She could taste the whiskey and the need as he moved against her. His hands suddenly became as desperate as his mouth, one grasping her breast as the other cupped her bottom, pulling her tighter into his embrace.

Dizzying sensations assaulted her, clouding her thoughts and sinking her deeper into him. And the hand that had stroked her breast now fumbled with the bottons of her shirt, unbclasping her bra with precision. She knew she could stop him, but she couldn't. Somewhere along the way, his need had become hers. When his lips broke free from her mouth to find her breasts, she clutched his head closer instead of shoving him away. His mouth was warm, wet and demanding as he suckled first one breast and then the other.

Never had she felt such sensations. Never had she dreamed they even existed. But she knew now she'd never forget. A cool breeze told her he was lowering her pajama from the side until, his hands grabbed her bottom, squeezing her through the thin fabric of her clothes. Her knees weakened, and a soft gasp slipped from her mouth.

Then suddenly he stopped. He dropped his hands and buried his face against her breasts as though fighting to regain control. Finally he stood and hugged her against him, her damp flesh pressing against his bared chest,  his ragged breathing matching her own.

“I'm sorry, Jasmine,” he whispered against the top of her head before he stepped back and wiped his hands down his face.

“I'm sorry,” he repated, leaving the kitchen with her feeling a lot of things, but sorry wasn't one of them.