song_tra_bong | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Mary Anne is pretty sure she's found the right world. That knowledge isn't as comforting as she'd thought it would be.

The trail leads her to a hotel, where she almost drops the ball. The description of the man sounds like Ramon, but the presence of two kids throw her. She almost lets it go.

Almost.

But then she figures the guy could be mistaken, or maybe it's part of Ramon's cover, or maybe...

She follows the lead.

Ramon (she's assuming it's Ramon) did a good job of covering his tracks. But there are still things to point the way: someone cleaned the cabin, stocked it with food. Even false names on rental paperwork are names, and they're names she's seen before.

(Spain, France, Switzerland)

She doesn't think she's assuming any more.

She rents a motorcycle, an offroad number with chunky tires and an engine that growls like a bear. She rides it most of the way up the mountain, before parking it and hiding it off the side of the road. She continues the rest of the distance on foot.

There's a gun in the small of her back, money and ammo in the bag at her hip; knives in all the usual places. She thinks she's right, but it's important to be prepared.

She steps up onto the porch, careful not to let the boards creak, then knocks on the door.

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She watches him right back.

(don't you say it don't you dare)

"...do I have something on my face?"

His immediate response is to laugh, then to bite back his own response. Thankfully, he is more successful than she is because his was a hell of a lot more crude.

He shakes his head, looking somewhat smug, and holds the bottle back out to her.

Mary Anne arches an eyebrow, but takes the bottle back.

"Thanks."

He leans back against the armrest, still looking at her from under half-lowered lids. It's as if the answer to some burning question might be in her face but he can't quite work out what it is.

'Seen Gorlim at all?'

She shakes her head.

"Not for a while, no."

Ramon nods and finally looks away from her. He's fine with it being silent for a while because everything in the room is slowing down a little bit for him. So he watches the fire for a while, before saying, quietly;

'Come to bed with me.'

Mary Anne sets the bottle down, sits up straight.

"Say that again."

There's no question in the words.

It's more like an plea.

His eyes move to her, then he turns his head and sits up too, sideways on the sofa so he's looking right at her.

'Come to bed with me.'

It doesn't need embellishing.

She stays absolutely still for a moment.

act now or lose this chance forever

Then, she lunges through the space between them and kisses him fiercely.

He reaches for her as she moves, pulls her hard against him and kisses her back. Christ, it feels good to touch someone again.

She wraps her arms around his neck, the fingers of one hand twining in his hair.

(Bed, hell; they'll be lucky if they make it off the couch.)

He slips one hand under her clothes to rest on her back just for the feel of some skin; the other is tight on her ass and he's growling quietly into her mouth because it's been a long time for him and this is promising to be everything he hoped it would.

The fingers on her back brush the tattoo and she shivers, trying to arch into the touch and away from it at the same time.

She settles her knees to either side of his hips, knocking a couple pillows to the floor.

He doesn't realise that she might not want the tattoo touched but it doesn't matter anyway; as soon as she straddles his hips his hands move, one arm wrapped around her, trying to push her down harder on to him, the other under her shirt, finding her tits because he's missed those and hers are fucking glorious.

She doesn't mind it touched, but it's a strange feeling; she likes it, all the same.

She takes the hint and grinds her hips down, while trailing kisses down his jaw and throat.

That gets a strangled moan out of him and he's pulling her shirt up, wanting it out of the way.

'Get this off.'

It isn't until her shirt is halfway over her head that she realizes she can't remember if he knows about her scar. Her bra provides some coverage, but not enough.

This thought passes through her brain in an instant, and then she's flinging her shirt across the room and turning her attention back to layering a mix of kisses and bites to the corner of his jaw.

He runs a trail of kisses cown her neck, across her collarbone and down, and it's only when his lips brush it do they stop. He pulls back and his brow creases as he looks at it, then up at her face with an enquiring sort of expression.

You're his property?

She traces the edges of his face with her fingertips. Her smile is small, but honest, but sad.

"It doesn't mean what you think," she murmurs.

She could have gotten rid of it, when she took the mark. Could have healed it away. The reason has nothing to do with belonging, or how she feels about him.

"It's about what I let him do, and why I can't forget that.

But don't look at him." She takes one of his hands, covers the scar with his palm.

"Look at me." Hand over his, she leans in and kisses him.

He doesn't understand at all. But the thought flashes across his mind that he can hardly judge - he's wearing a ring that he could take off, only he can't, doesn't want to, won't. He can't cast stones about ownership or relationships when he doesn't even understand his own.

Besides, he is not going to spoil this. It feels too good to stop. So he kisses her back, fingers stroking her sides under he pulls back and says, throatily;

'C'mon, upstairs. Lets do it properly.'

She leans in just long enough to whisper in his ear, "Show me the way."

Then she climbs off of his lap, standing up. And if she takes her sweet time about it, well, she's always been a tease.

He half-smiles at her, shaking his head because he knows exactly what she's doing but hey, there's nothing wrong with teasing and there's always time to pay her back later. Besides, it's a really nice view.

He kisses her again when he's standing, slow and soft, then takes her hand and tugs her gently in the direction of the stairs.

The payback is half the fun of teasing.

She has just long enough to think that she will never, ever get tired of kissing him, before she follows him to the stairs.

He keeps hold of her hand as he leads the way, rounding a corner in the hallway at the top to open the door to his room. It's quite large with plush furnishings but neat because he hasn't brought much with him. Not that she'll really get a chance to notice much anyway seeing as how he pins her to the wall - not violently, just firmly - and claims her mouth again as soon as the door is closed behind them.

And doesn't this feel deliciously familiar.

(We should have done this months ago.)

The memory is so vivid that for a moment she almost answers him out loud, but this time is different. This time, there isn't a petrifying knot of nervous tension in her stomach. This time, there isn't a gnawing (guilt) worry in the back of her mind.
isn't there? should there be
This time is so much better.
not tonight
She slides one leg between his and hauls him closer with a hand on his hip.