song_tra_bong | (no subject)

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The door opens onto a dimly lit bar. Two men in suits sit at a table by the wall, speaking in low voices; they don't look up when Mary Anne and Ramon walk in.

Four men at the pool table in the back do look up, then go back to their game. Their rolled up sleeves show off jailhouse tattoos--tattoos that mean murderers, time served, rank in their organization. Just because they aren't staring openly doesn't mean they aren't paying attention. The fact that no one makes a fuss just yet over Ramon's machine gun is telling.

A waitress in a short skirt goes by with a tray, delivering drinks to the suits by the wall. Mary Anne heads for the bar, taking a seat that's a few stools over from the next man. She beckons the bartender over.

"Vodka for me and my friend," she says in flawless Russian. "And keep them coming. We're out on the town tonight."

The bartender shakes his head. "You picked a hell of place to come," he says, but pours the drinks all the same then wanders down to the customer at the other end of the bar.

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"He wrote around the same time as Shakespeare, before he became an assassin."

She takes a sip of vodka.

"He's a friend."

With some benefits, though they haven't really talked about that aspect since he ended up in the infirmary.

Ramon snorts. There's only one kind of 'friend' that people have, in his mind.

'Sure. Writes you stuff, does he?'

He finishes his drink and pours another. He's definitely getting fuzzy around the edges now, especially as the adrenlaine from the killing has more or less worn off and he's just left with the alcohol.

She smirks faintly around the rim of her glass.

"Nothing yet. I'll have to see how inspired he's feeling once his hand heals."

'If he really cared, he'd dictate it.'

Suddenly her constant philandering irritates him. He couldn't put his finger on why, it just does.

'This shit never bothers your husband?'

He already knows the answer but whatever. He just has another drink and, as the vodka is nearing its end, motions to the waitress to come over.

Mary Anne empties out the bottle into her glass and takes a long drink before answering.

"Hasn't bothered him yet."

She decides not to mention that the only time Ruin had seemed...bothered was after she kissed Ramon.

He already knows that because Ruin had taken the trouble to talk to him about it. He hasn't forgotten either - which is why he now smirks.

'Yes it has, and you know it.'

He turns to the waitress and barks 'Tequila - a bottle' before looking at Mary Anne to see whether she'll deny it.

Damn him and he good memory. And damn her husband's need to be chatty, while she's at it. She drains the glass.

"Alright. Doesn't bother him often," she amends, smile crooked.

'Did you get in trouble over all of that?'

He knows he did.

"Some, yeah."

The waitress is back with the tequila; Mary Anne opens the bottle and takes a swig straight from it before passing it over to Ramon.

'Good.'

He smirks and takes the bottle off her.

'So you should have. Kissing me like that.'

Damn woman.

She laughs.

"Oh, excuse me for playing the wicked temptress while you were under the influence of mind-altering...whatever and hitting on anything breathing."

'Well, yeah.'

Sure.

'You took advantage of me.'

He pauses and then grins.

'It was pretty fun getting to hit on things again though.'

He hopes she never tells Random he said that. or will, when he#s more sober.

"I was trying to keep you from taking advantage of somebody else. It's not my fault you were all sexy and articulate."

Definitely not one of her better laid plans.

"You certainly didn't seem to have lost your touch at it."

As far as she's concerned, this whole conversation is staying just between the two of them.

'You have fucked up logic.'

More drink, and he relights his cigar.

'And if there's one thing I'll never lose, it's my touch.'

Of this, he is completely sure.

"Hey, I never said I was thinking clearly at the time."

See also: Ramon, sexy and articulate.

She pours herself a glass of tequila and starts working on it.

"Oh, I believe that."

Because the thought of Ramon losing his touch is just a crime.

'Of course you weren't thinking clearly, with me being hot and everything.'

He smirks more because he likes it when hot women say things like that about it. Well, who doesn't?

'So you're saying I was only sext then? What about all the other times you've hit on me?'

"I've always thought you were sexy," she clarifies, gesturing with her glass.

"I couldn't think because you were flirting back, and that just made you sexier."

'I used to flirt back all the time,' he reminds her. He can be honest about it.

He's not sure whether this conversation counts or not. He does know he's staring at her chest every time she looks away from him.

"I know, and I'm not saying you haven't since, it's just..."

She takes a sip of tequila, as if the booze will make her more articulate.

"'S more the way you were flirting, I think--all aggressive and challenging...Like, you were determined to get laid and you'd charm somebody's pants off to do it, but there was also no way in hell you were gonna fail."

And just maybe she still remembers the way he said 'We should have done this months ago' and maybe part of her still agrees.

Part of his still does too, that's part of the problem.

'So that's what it takes, is it?'

He eyes her over the rim of his glass. Fuck. He doesn't know what the hell he's doing. On one hand, he doesn't want to cheat on Random. On the other, it's been almost two months since he's had sex and he doesn't know how much longer he can take it. There's no telling when Random might have time to come home.

'I usually get what I want you know.'

"Pretty much."
wedding bells ain't gonna chime
(it takes no fear no fear no fear and we are both afraid but you need and I want and we can't think about anybody else but that's not going to last and we know it but need to forget)
with both of us guilty of crime
Part of her, some sliver of rationality and fear in the back of her brain, thinks this was a bad idea--the killing, the club, all of it--because it's put them closer together than they've been in months and everything (the sex and the drugs and the complications) they've never dealt with is creeping back up to the surface.
and both of us sentenced to time
Even knowing that, she wouldn't change a thing about today. She can be selfish like that.
and now we're all alone
"I know."
protect me from what I want

He looks at her for a long time. A long time.

If I kiss you, we'll be fucking. And it'll destroy him.

This would be easier if he knew how Random felt about Vialle. But he doesn't and he's drunk and the music is loud and she's here and...fuck.

Eventually he just runs a hand over his face.

'Shit.'

She could read his mind.
It doesn't hurt me.
She doesn't have to.
you want to feel how it feels?
"Yeah."
you want to know, know that it doesn't hurt me?
Am I really going to have to live the rest of my life afraid to touch you, for fear of us landing in bed together? Do we keep walking on eggshells until we get used to it, or--God forbid--learn to like it?
you want to hear about the deal I'm making
We're too young and we'll live too long for that to ever work. But I guess we're not going to break things now.
and if I only could make a deal with God...
She goes back to drinking like there's a better solution in the bottom of her glass.

'Maybe we should go.'

Or maybe not. What does he know right now, really? On an impulse he leans into her and whispers against her neck.

'But just so you know, I really really want to fuck you right now.'

"Maybe--"

It's out of her mouth like a reflex, but he still has more to say. Her breath hitches and her weary acceptance of the status quo crumbles. From this close, he can probably feel her shudder.

She tilts her head, cheek not quite brushing his, but close enough for him to hear what she has to say, how rough her voice is when she says it.

"You are so fucking bad for my self control."