Nature or Nurture Ch. 03

A few weeks later, as she is treating Vincent's wounds, she feels very glad that most of the cuts are healing nicely.

'Are you happy?' her charge asks her with a sonorous male voice, but a child-like inflection.

In reply, she hugs him lovingly.

'Very happy. Your wounds are almost better.'

His strong hand moves towards the only wound that is still not healed well, the one on his right temple. Adison takes his hand in both of her own.

'Please try not to touch it, dear. It might get infected again.'

He complains, 'It itches.'

'I know it itches, it is healing, and that always itches. I'll put some of that lotion on it, to cool it down.'

She lets go of his hand to fetch the bottle, then rubs it on the healing wound. Vincent clearly enjoys the feeling, laying his head on her lap and closing his eyes like a cat that is stroked the right way for as long as she touches the scar.

She rubs him a bit longer than is strictly necessary, pleased that she no longer needs to hurt him to keep the wounds clean. He has been through so much, and he has been so laid-back and patient about it, even sweet, that he deserves a soothing touch as well.

The wound is still a bit swollen, making him feverish and sleepy by spells, and Adison is concerned about possible scarring in such a visible place. When she stops, he looks at her.

'Will you read to me?'

'In a moment, dear, you go find a book,' she replies, clearing up the materials and straightening the bed. She settles on it, and Vincent hands her a volume of poetry, then reclines in her lap again.

'No, you're going to read to me, so you'd better sit up and hold the book.'

He does sit up, but in her arms. He clearly needs a lot of physical contact, just like a child.

'Into the woods, the lady ran,' he reads, then looks at her. Poetry seems a strange choice of teaching material, but teaching Vincent is not at all like teaching a child. He can concentrate much longer, and seems to already have a developed taste in literature, a decided preference for romantic poetry. And he seems to remember words and expressions, learning to speak really quickly, and learning to read and write easily too. He must have been literate, even well-read in his former life.

She remembers fondly how she has taught him to walk, which was not very difficult, his body being rather muscled and his balance quite good.

'What are you thinking of?' Vincent asks, 'you're thinking again.'

He is studying her with his weird yellow eyes, out of place in his innocent beardless face with its pale skin and hair growing in inky black.

She touches his face and says, 'I was thinking of the first time you walked'.

He remembers. 'It was easy, walking. Dressing was hard. Eating is good, except drinking milk, I don't like milk.'

'Luckily you don't have to drink it, my father always made me when I was young,'

Her father would laugh if he knew she was a governess after all, only raising an adult instead of a child. And no parents either, so maybe he'd count her lucky. But she hasn't written him the entire truth, just that she had a challenging case close to her room.

'You're doing it again, thinking,' she hears the clear baritone, 'let's play.'

She has taught Vincent wrestling, to help activate all his muscles after the weeks of healing and to keep the scars supple so they don't heal too tightly. But they love doing it ,too. She jumps him, pushing him flat on the bed. They struggle and roll, each now on top, now on the bottom. Adison suspects Vincent of cheating, letting her win every other round.

For he is clearly much stronger than she is, with his adult body, larger weight and longer limbs. But she admires him for already realizing that an even match is more fun than winning all the time. He is such a nice boy, and growing up so fast!

Suddenly, Vincent breaks off the match, and watches the stairs with trepidation. He no longer hides behind her when the doctor comes to check on them and to bring dinner, but he clearly doesn't like the visits.

'The doctor comes, ' he voices his disquiet.

'Why do you dislike him so, Vincent? He's never hurt you. I hurt you a lot treating those wounds, and you like me.'

He jumps her, and corrects her.

'I don't like you, I love you Adison!'

And again he evades the question.

'Try to be nice to him, Vincent, he is as concerned about you as I am,' Adison tells him, and it seems he really does try.

Sometimes the doctor visits when Vincent is asleep, and Adison and him talk about medicine deep into the night.

'You amaze me, Adison, the way you've gotten those awful wounds to heal with virtually no scarring. How do you do it?'

Adison is flattered.

'It's part cleaning well, and good nursing, but I also have had the advantage of Chinese medical training. It is quite profound.'

He continues, 'I know your main interest lies with the living, but when Vincent is ready to either stay alone for awhile, or come along, will you come visit my workshop?'

Now Adison is really flattered.

'Of course I will, doctor, I'd love to see your work. Your field of science means much to modern medicine, teaching us much we need to know to help people get diagnosed and cured.'

He notices her use of 'we', meaning she sees herself as a doctor, not a nurse, and he totally agrees. She will be a great doctor someday. He has been hatching a plan, and he decides to ask her straight away what she thinks of it.

'How would you like to start a medical practice with me, treat the living I mean? I diagnose and you treat, put simply.'

She looks at him, stunned by his trust in her.

'I'd love that!'

From that moment on they make their plans and become fast friends. They get very close, but never intimate. The doctor just isn't the type to love anything but his work, Adison knows. She regrets that only a little, she gets plenty of love from her patient, and she doesn't feel awkward about it, for he is like a child, still developing, and children need a lot of love.

Slowly, as Vincent improves in abilities, he also improves in looks. Adison catches him looking in a mirror, studying his own face. He touches the scar on his temple, now healed and though clearly visible, not disfiguring.

'This will never fade completely, will it?'

Adison shakes her head, not trusting herself to speak.

'Will my hair cover it when it is longer?'

Adison has spent some thought on that.

'I think I can cut it so it will, layer it over your temple, making it look fuller. Do you want me to try?'

He looks at her eagerly.

'Yes, please, right now?'

She agrees and gets the scissors.

'Now please sit very still, and do not make me laugh, or you'll regret the results.'

He promises, and since he still loves her to touch him with her soft, clever hands, he doesn't mind sitting still at all, enjoying the process and getting a bit sleepy as a result.

The new hairstyle is quite a success, covering the scar nicely at first sight. As he checks the result in the mirror, she assures him, 'It will look even better when it grows a bit more. It looks good on you.'

His gaze moves from his hair to his face.

'Why is my face so pale?'

Adison doesn't know, but she says, ' Some people have dark skin, some light. Yours is very light. And you have not been out in the sun for months.'

'You have not been either, and you are not so white.'

'Maybe I was browner to begin with,' she retorts.

Then his eyes get a good lookover.

'My eyes really are an unnatural colour.'

This is a statement, not a question, and Adison cannot deny it, so she speaks the truth.

'Indeed they are. People usually don't have yellow eyes, they have blue, grey or green eyes. Some even have brown eyes. I don't know why yours are yellow, but I think they look good on you.'

And now, looking at her as intently as he studied his own likeness in the mirror, he can see that she speaks the truth.

The development of his body seems to fascinate Vincent, the hair growing back on chest, arms and legs, and his crotch. He has no beard though, making him look younger than the probable age of his body.

He is developing muscles, working out on the attic floor and from the beams. He loves to recite the poems from the doctor's and Adison's book collections, but he has no interest in medicine. When the doctor and Adison discuss cases and interpret drawings, he picks up a book.

Adison no longer feels like his mother, but more like a sister. She is very happy to notice that he is more willing to talk to the doctor, fortunately they share a taste in poetry.

Vincent and Adison explore the doctor's house and library together, they do chores, they cook and clean and still play together.

'Why do you always cry when I read to you or play a sketch?'

She protests, 'I don't always cry, you often make me laugh, too, but when you play a pathetic scene or read a sad poem, you touch me, making me cry. Making me cry in a good way, Vincent. You move me with your interpretation of language.'

They still sleep together, and when she strokes his hair, or holds or caresses him, he enjoys it, but he wants to return the caresses as well. Vincent has grown up quickly, and he is now nearly the man that his body looks like.

Of course Adison is completely unaware of this. She has from the first felt a special bond to Vincent, from seeing him suffer so much and trying to help him, to practically raising him as if he were the younger brother she never had in her childhood. But, raised very sheltered herself, she knows little of the world and of the things that go on between men and women.

Adison has naturally seen that Vincent has all the parts a man should have, and she even asks the doctor if he will ever function as a man, purely out of medical interest. The doctor himself doesn't know, and Adison forgets about it.

With her eighteen years of life among her parents and their elderly scientist friends, and her only experience with a younger man the doctor, who is so single mindedly living in pursuit of knowledge that he is still as pure as she is, how is she to know about men?

Still living together as innocents, without taboos or shame, Adison and Vincent have shared their bed since the first night. For practicality when he was severely wounded, for habit and comfort when he was recovered.

Now they are reclining on the bed close to each other, reading a book together by the light of a candle, dressed casually for the warm night in the attic. Vincent reads aloud, his accent clear, his voice a nice baritone.

Adison, listening with appreciation, absently traces the healed scars on his chest with her hand, glad they are fading to white already. She feels satisfaction for a job well done.

Then suddenly, something is different. Vincent no longer feels bonelessly relaxed, his accent has changed.

'Do these still hurt?' she asks. She has hurt him a lot, getting those awful wounds to heal up this nicely. He doesn't answer, and slowly she looks up at him, to read his mind from the look in his eyes.

But the expression there is new, she has never seen him look this intense since that first shocking night together, when they formed the bond that makes them both feel so much as one. She has always known he has very strong feelings, she just hasn't seen them since then. What causes them to surface now?

His reading has stilled, the book forgotten. Adison has stopped exploring the scars, afraid to cause him pain. Finally he finds his voice, thick with feeling,

'Please don't stop...'

It seems he can't say more, arousing Adison's curiosity. She complies, tracing the scar down his chest, along his stomach, all the while keeping her attention on his eyes, the fire in them growing. His nice, comfortable smell intensifies, making her feel warm inside. Very warm inside.

She realizes that they are no longer like brother and sister.

Deliberately, she moves her hand even further down, stroking the fine curly hairs, expecting to see his male part tensing as well. She is not mistaken, it is clearly functioning just fine, standing out proudly. Still mostly curious, she reaches out for it, just to feel its soft skin stretched tight.

This is all too much for Vincent. His heated tension just cannot be contained anymore and he quickly moves towards her, practically grabbing her in a passionate embrace.

His sudden, forceful move does not frighten her, it only flares up the heat inside of her. He is incredibly strong, much stronger than she has ever expected him to be, but his touch is careful and light. She finds herself in his arms, face to face with the man she knows so well by now that she could draw his every feature, every hair from memory. Just before they share a heated kiss she feels drawn to lightly touch the newly healed scar on his right temple. Her touch sends a another shock of passion through him, one she shares when their mouths finally meet.

The heat of their first kiss leaves them both a bit out of breath and stunned by its intensity. They lie on their backs, trying to take in what just happened.

But the fire is still there, and soon they are facing again, and touching again. And kissing again, touching at the same time. Their touching intensifies, until Vincent takes a moment to regain his self-control, forcing his passion down, to slow down.

He wants to make this last, make it count.

And he is instinctively afraid of scaring Adison with his physical strength and his intense feelings. Adison, sensing his reticence, slows down a little too, though not at all afraid of his passion but relishing it. This gorgeous, almost wild creature is focussing all his strength and all his feeling on her, barely controlling it and overpowering her with it. She wants it all, but she does want it to last, to have that passion as long as possible.

Tempering the heat, they find the tenderness.

Exploring their intimate places and finding the most sensitive spots, they touch every inch of the other's skin with more than just their hands. They know one another so well, have seen the other undressed so often, have caressed each other frequently, felt each other nightly without passion when they slept together for comfort. Now they get to explore the same places, and some others, with intense heat, with a passion so much stronger because it has lain dormant for so long. They drink in each others smells, and tastes, exploring with their tongues and mouths as much as their hands.

Then at last, her passion nearly sated, Adison wants to experience the beast in him in its full glory, eager to unchain its hot temper and feel herself totally overcome by its sheer strength.

So she convinces him to let go of his control by teasing his soft-skinned, but heat-hardened male part with her warm, moist tongue and mouth. She can feel the pressure in him building up to an almost unbearable height.

Then Vincent has to let go, and their bodies meet in the ultimate embrace, for the first time, a time they will remember forever.