freedom, part 4/?
Title: Freedom 4/?
Pairing: Ana y Teresa, AETR
Rating: still 18
Spoilers: To the end of Series 5 (Temporada 5˚)
Summary: Well, that would give it all away, wouldn't it? Basically though, it's a continuation of what happened after A & T leave for Santander in 1953.
Links: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or claim to own them. I make no profit or claim to make any profit, no infringement intended, this is all just for fun, etc., etc. standard disclaimer stuff.
Please ask before archiving elsewhere. Thank you! :)
Freedom, Part 4
(Ana)
As my knee slipped between hers, Teresa moved her legs apart, allowing me to run my hand slowly up her thigh. I did it lightly, teasingly, delicately, making her tremble with anticipation and groan with frustration as I deftly skirted the area I knew ached for my touch the most, instead twisting my fingers in the course black curls above, occasionally moving higher to lightly caress her flat stomach, her chest, the curve of the side of her breast.
I traced the line of her collarbone with a fingertip. “Ana, Ana, please…” she pleaded. I grinned into her neck, knowing the longer I dragged it out, the more powerful the release would be.
“tsssst….” I whispered, brushing my lips over her neck and her throat. “What’s the hurry?”
“I need you,” she whispered back, her breathing so uneven she could barely get the words out. “I want you to be part of me, inside. Make me yours, please.”
It was a request I couldn’t deny. At that point I was again on fire as much as she was.
***
The rest of the weekend passed like a dream. We made love passionately, stopping only to shower and eat and nap when exhaustion temporarily overcame us. Each moment was an incomparable delight in itself. I never wanted to stop touching her body. I wanted her to never stop touching mine. Even when we slept it was entwined, alternating positions, my back curled into her front or hers curled into mine. When I pressed myself against her, the tiny round of my belly signifying the new life growing inside me fit perfectly in the hollow of the small of her back.
Ecstasy, bliss, I couldn’t even begin to describe how wonderful it was. For the first time, there was no mention of Héctor, no mention of confusion, no rush, no mention of a need to be elsewhere. There was no need for me to sit alone in my room writing letters detailing my own pain and confusion, letters that I’d never send, letters that like many of my feelings I had kept hidden.
We’d come so far since then, since alone in my flat I’d confessed aloud to a photograph of my mother, and myself, that no matter who I’d married or what had happened in my life, it was Teresa I loved, that I was in love with and had always been in love with.
We’d come so far since that time later in our relationship, when we’d been torn apart by convention and the threat of exposure. I recalled that torturous moment when we’d stood at the opposite sides of her door and I’d begged for forgiveness, for a chance to explain myself, for her to let me in and help her. I remembered pressing my hand against the door, wondering if hers were pressed on the same spot on the other side. She’d sent me away, and defeated, I’d left, never feeling so terribly alone.
Now, I’d never felt so loved. Every simple action since we’d left Madrid was showing how she felt for me, the look in her eyes, her touch. And tonight there was only us, claiming each other over and over. We were free to claim each other, answerable to no one in the world but ourselves.
***
Two years later (Spring, 1955)
(Teresa)
“Mama, Mama, Mama, Tita, Tita, Tita!!” came the cry of small boy running toward us, ambling in that way of toddlers that made them seem both sturdy and about to take a tumble at any given moment.
Ana and I were in the garden sitting on a thin blanket. Ana was reading the newspaper while I lay with my head resting her lap. There was a book propped up on my bent knees, but I’d closed my eyes and was half-dozing, simply enjoying the comfortable and easy serenity of the moment. It was a beautiful, cloudless spring day, warm, but cooled by the breeze that forever wafted off the nearby ocean, carrying with it a the fresh, clean aroma of sea air that in our garden mixed with the heavy scent of the flowers and created an atmosphere that could lull one to sleep in a few minutes.
Little Alejandro’s happy cries drew me from my lazy oblivion, and I yawned and sat up. Upon reaching us Alejandro flung himself into our arms, wrapping one of his little chubby ones around each of our necks, hugging tight, and then as quickly as he’d arrived, ran off, followed by a gangly black Labrador puppy whose own long legs had not caught up with his body enough to relieve him of an awkward gait and frequent falls.
I watched as Alejandro kicked around a fútbol for a while, playing with the puppy, then began to spin in circles until he fell, giggling, to the ground, his laughter escalating as the puppy, tail wagging madly, licked his face. The puppy had been a gift from Martín, who had limped up to the house one day with the little black squirming mass in his arms, thrust it toward me, remarked flatly, “Every boy needs a dog,” then turned and unceremoniously walked away. It was, however, the perfect gift. The two had been inseparable ever since.
“Ugh,” Ana said, watching the playful scene on the grass in front of us. “His kiss will be full of dog slime.” But she smiled anyway.
Alejandro was a wonderful little boy, and he grew more charming every day. Physically, he was adorable. His bright copper coloured hair shone like flames in the sun, but his face, the almond shaped eyes, the delicate aquiline nose, the slender bone structure visible even under the vestiges of baby fat, were all his mother.
His gift to his mother was a sweet disposition that belied any traces of the trauma of his conception, and an easy birth that had occurred so swiftly we hadn’t had time to make it to hospital. It was attended only by Lucía, the former nun, caring and understanding nurse, and the wife of Ana’s former doctor and friend Mauricio, who’d come to stay with us from Madrid for the last few weeks of Ana’s pregnancy.
During the labour, I’d held tightly to Ana’s hand and kissed her cheek, encouraging her, whispering that I loved her, and if Lucía realised the nature of our relationship, either then or the few weeks before, she continued to keep it discreetly to herself. When the birth was over and the tiny baby was laid in Ana’s arms, we caught each other’s eyes and smiled before turning back to look at him more closely.
Ana cradled him gently and he stared up at us, his eyes adjusting to the presence of light and then gazing back and forth between our faces.
“Where on earth did that come from?” Ana remarked at the shock of thick red hair atop his tiny head.
I knew what she was thinking. Since Marta hadn’t been Ana’s biological mother, her red hair would not have been inherited by Ana’s child. But I knew the answer and said quickly, “Mi madre. Mi madre es una pelirroja.”
“Of course! Claro que sí,” Ana smiled, “Carmen. He has Carmen’s hair.” She tenderly touched the baby’s head, then for a moment she looked more melancholy. “She would love him. I wish she were here, Mama too, and my father.”
“My mother will visit,” I said. “She promised.”
Venezuela was a long way from Santander, but my mother did not make promises she did not keep, and true to her word, a few months later, she arrived, ready to dote over her grandson, and dote she did. Everyone did, but Alejandro was never spoiled by it. He was a lively child certainly, but as he grew, it seemed his only purpose in life was to make people happy.
***
Later that evening, after Alejandro and the puppy had been put to bed, for Alejandro refused to sleep without him, Ana and I made our way leisurely up our bedroom. I still kept my clothes and some of my personal things in the room across the hall, but it was unspoken knowledge by Dionisio, and María, who cleaned the rooms, that I never slept there.
We undressed and slid between the cool sheets. The satiny fabric was luxurious against my bare skin. Living with Ana, I’d grown used to such things, some of which seemed like a silly extravagance, but which I knew to Ana were normal parts of life. Ana had always known sleek, satiny sheets, beautiful dresses, servants who brought you wine and cleared for you, but she’d told me once that if given the choice she’d trade it all for love.
I cuddled up close to her and enfolded her in my embrace. She sighed, turned in my arms to face me and with one look sent a flash of electricity through me, one that left a tingling sensation in my stomach and my chest, and made me feel weak and exhilarated at the same time. We almost always started this way, with our eyes meeting, with her long, slender fingers delicately stroking the side of my face, my hair, then curving around the back of my neck to pull my mouth to hers for a tender kiss. But often, like tonight, I quickly turned the tables, rolling over onto her, kissing her hard and long and with desperate need, wanting to feel her ache for me as I did for her. I knew she did, as I felt her arch into me and meet my kiss with equal passion and fervour.
That night, it was a long time before, spent and sated, we fell into a lovely, deep and dreamless sleep.
***
End of Part 4
*Author’s note - This story does have at least one more part and another time leap and a twist, so stay tuned.