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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'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."

'Didn't know you had any.'

The problem is, he doesn't either. Renowned for it. But he's trying. Her shuddering when he says things like that doesn't help. Partly he wanted her to say I know but you can't. And she hasn't and now what?

I know, but you can't--the problem is, he can. And she wants him to. He just shouldn't, since it would pretty much end in disaster. Maybe if she were thinking more clearly--thinking at all--she'd have said something more diplomatic. But she didn't, so now what?

Now, she's busy trying to keep her breathing under control. She's mostly succeeding.

"It's not exactly a lot, but I get by."

She hasn't moved away from him, though. That's the next step. Hopefully.

He hasn't moved away either. He's waiting for her to do it. He keeps thinking she has to stop this and trying to think of Random but the problem with that is, everytime he does he remembers how absent he is.

So while he's waiting for her to move away he puts a hand on her leg and runs it smoothly up her thigh. It stops at the top - right at the top - and squeezes lightly.

'Perhaps you should use it now.'

Don't.

...no, do. Fuck.

Don't.

You've got to get out, you gotta get out, yougottagetout--

She wants to touch him back and she can't and it's all so goddamn frustrating she could cry.

You can't do this, not to him or to them or to Ciaran or you or--

but why can't I have what I want?

"I guess so."

She turns her head across that last scant distance and kisses him, hands reaching up to frame his face. She wants him paying attention to her, by God, to her for who she is, not just because she's convenient or he's lonely; she's memorizing this moment because she doesn't know when she'll get another, doesn't know if she'll get another but mostly she wants him to focus on her and this desperate, hungry needy kiss...

...so he won't notice when the noise of the club fades out and they're not sitting in that dark, plush booth any more, just on a half-frozen patch of ground out near the edge of the forest on the Milliways grounds.

The cold air on her skin lets her know she got it right, so she (ohgodwhatamIdoing) breaks (her heart) the kiss and stands up.

"I...I'm gonna go home now."

He kisses her back with everything he can muster right now, pressing her against him as much as he can, wanting so much just to get her clothes off and have a body against his again, anyone because he can't take it. Then he remembers that its her and not Random and she's kissing him and he moans softly into her mouth because they've been dancing round this forever and this is only the second time and might just be the last and he does really really want to fuck her.

And then it's freezing cold and she's breaking the kiss and moving away.

'OK.'

Shit. Yeah.

'OK.'

She folds her arms around herself, the posture having not a damn thing to do with the cold.

She nods jerkily. "So...so I'll see you around."

It comes out sounding much more like a question than she meant (than it should).

'Yeah.'

He waves a hand, half distracted, half irritated because he's wound so tight and now there's nowhere to go.

'Fuck it, we're always around aren't we?'

Aren't they? He turns away to glare over the lake.

'See you.'

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song_tra_bong - 2008-03-09 13:16 (UTC) - Expand

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