The Volturi: "__" Would Include...

Touching Aro for the First Time

Quick Context: In this, Aro has met his true mate–something akin to a werewolf's imprint.

"It must be skin-to-skin," he quickly assured you. "I would never take the choice from you, cara." You noticed again that he wore skin-fitting leather gloves. Acting on impulse, you reached up and touched his jaw with the tips of your fingers. What is enough for him to see your memories? Unsure, you kept contact with that smooth, strong skin. His gaze grew distant, yet focused on you—as though listening to something unheard.

After a few moments, you drew your hand away. A blush filled your cheeks. "Did it work?"

In answer, his eyes grew bright as he took your hand in his and brought it to his chest. You didn't feel a heartbeat (knowing it had long been silent), but the sentiment was clear. "Regina," he breathed. "You cannot know how you honor me."

You shrugged. "You honor me. Thank you for not...well—for accepting me, I suppose." A pause. You frowned at his hands. "Do you normally wear gloves?"

Immediately, he pulled them off.

You smiled and took his hand. You examined it, holding his large hand in both of your much smaller ones. A warriors hand. What has he done with them? You could see him wielding his strength, leading armies over ancient battlefields. Imagined him through different eras in history. You blushed, thinking about him with other women–making them writhe in pleasure beneath him. He's probably an expert, what with all the time he's had.

You stilled, horrified to realize he'd just seen your little daydream. Blush spreading, you peered up at him. He was gazing at you with a knowing look. Oops.

"Sorry," you squeaked, giving a nervous chuckle. You released his hand and turned to continue down the path. After a moment, you spoke to him. "You can't blame me though. I bet if the roles were reversed you'd be thinking about it too..."

"There is no need to be embarrassed, cara."

"I'm sorry for objectifying you," you murmured. "I realize that you probably don't feel very romantic about your life or memories. I guess...well, I don't really know..." Struggling to put your thoughts into words, you impulsively grasped his hand. Looking to him, you thought, Do you understand? Did he—could he understand your thoughts as they were—abstract images and impressions rather than words? Could he see how you'd felt? Wonder at the strength he possessed—at what thousands of years could mean. Touched by the fact that he seemed to want you. Amazed and bewildered that he'd been longing centuries for a mate, and for a mate that happened to be you.

"Yes, amore, I feel them as though they are my own," he said, smiling down at you.

You felt tears prick your eyes. Still holding hands, you didn't need to voice your emotions. To be understood so completely. It was like seeing color for the first time–being able to communicate from one soul to the other.