[ it’s definitely not something she’s going to be able to let slide without calling him out on it — because it’s her, and it wouldn’t be her usual method of teasing to not give him a little crap along the way. (it sure as hell sounds like the car he mentioned, at least from the sounds of that engine — better make sure you’ve switched to hands-free, frank.) ]
Guess I’ll have to be the judge of that. [ god, she’s just going to blame the mature hour for what keeps coming out of her mouth, because she hasn’t had nearly enough whiskey to justify this. ]
I don't know. I'm pretty confident in what I've got to offer.
[ he'll have set that phone on speaker for the sake of driving, but with one hand on the wheel, the other is still too busy rubbing over his mouth, as if maybe the gesture might help with controlling the words that are coming from it. ]
Well, damn. Why’d it take me this long to have you over for that drink, then? I’ve been missing out this whole time.
[ the grin is probably audible in her voice, that tension in her words because all of it feels wildly off-course from where they started — and yet she’s almost compelled to see it through, every last part of what could turn out to be a really bad idea. ]
Well, I couldn't be caught spoiling you. Can't have people thinking you're my favorite customer.
[ is she? that's definitely not what he's saying. not that he isn't having to press his lips tight together when he cracks a grin, one that's almost out of disbelief of their playful banter, a step different from their usual, but still fairly consistent with their brand. ]
Maybe not. But I am the one who makes sure you have your work cut out for you.
[ home repair, that’s what they’re talking about, or at least toeing the line between that subject and something else now — which isn’t necessarily out of their normal realm of joking, but adopts a different connotation in light of everything else. the fact that he’s on his way over. the fact that she’s waiting for him with drinks poured.
speaking of, maybe she’ll take another small sip while she’s still on the line with him now. ]
Yeah, you've definitely been keeping me on my toes. I sure don't get enough sleep either with how much you work me.
[ home repair. obviously. clearly.
and he's nearing her place now, the trip far shorter than if he had to go on his own feet, especially with the lack of any sense of traffic at 4 in the morning (not that the roads get too busy in the first place). any chance of turning back seems to be last this far along, though he's left any consideration of that possibility long before he'd even left the diner. ]
[ an audible snort, half of which gets muffled with her mouth against the rim of her glass. ]
Please, you can’t even blame me for that much anymore, Mr. 9 to 5. [ he’d been the one to snag that extra gig at the diner to begin with, thus ensuring that a good chunk of his waking hours would now be spent serving fries and milkshakes.
she does straighten somewhat when she hears the rumble of an engine from down the street, leaning forward to set her glass down for the time being. ] Feel free to block the truck in. [ it’s not like she’s planning on going anywhere after this, and it’ll be her way of ending the call by then, leaving him to pull into the gravel driveway. only once she hears the footsteps coming up the front porch does she remember that rotted-out floorboard and she rushes to warn him, throwing open the door and leaning out across the threshold. ] Don’t forget the — uh, the bad wood, right there.
Yeah, I'm still pinning plenty of the blame on you.
[ it's the last words he gets in before they end that call, on account of his arrival, following her directions with the parking. once he turns off the engine, he doesn't immediately step out, leaning back into his seat as he takes in a deep breath, one final gathered moment to reconsider the reasons for his being here.
it doesn't have to mean anything at all, doesn't need to be anything beside a drink or two with someone he's come to accept as being a fairly decent friend to have in this town (he also won't think of how the last time he'd shared a drink with a woman at this hour, it'd been with beth, the last time he'd let himself get too carried away).
rubbing at his eyes one final time, he finally steps out, styrofoam in hand until he's stepping onto that familiar porch, door swinging open.
and he'll chew his lip when he sees her, dressed as casually as she is, the simplicity of it forcing him to gnaw at a smile. ] Yeah, I've got the flaws of this foundation memorized by now. [ he raises the container in his hand then, as he steps around the floorboards carefully, working his way to the entrance, standing there in well-worn jeans and a denim button-up that was never fully closed up, flaps loosely open at his collar. the hair of his chin has grown longer in recent days too, as well as the longer locks atop his head, not carefully combed through, even if the beard seems fairly maintained. ]
Come bearing gifts. Hoping it'll win me some points over Jack.
[ and here’s the thing: she doesn’t really have time to react to him being here because she’s already rushing out to meet him, primarily with his safety in mind (or so she thinks) but the haste of her movement doesn’t allow her to really consider what she’ll do once she’s standing there, watching him take the steps up to the porch. it’s still dark out, at this hour, save for the soft, gold-tinted illumination coming off the porch light and as he comes into full view, open collar and longer hair, she can’t blame the pace at which she’d consumed that whiskey for the sudden flip-flopping in her gut.
instead, she curves fingers against the edge of the doorframe, looking up at him (she’s forced to, given that she’s in bare feet now instead of the boots that normally boost her up a couple inches) before her gaze swoops down to the container in his hand and the smell of something fresh and fried wafts toward her nose as he shifts it in his grasp. ]
You didn’t. [ she’ll snatch it from his hand and crack it open right there on the porch, plucking one fry up between thumb and index and biting into it with a groan of satisfaction. ] Oh my God, you did. [ and for all their talk about “drinking,” she could kiss him for this right here and now, but she’ll take a few steps back inside the house first, closing up the container while she polishes off the fry she’s pilfered already. ] Well, he’s still here if you want to make use of him first.
[ somehow the extra effort he'd put into making that batch of fries on a whim has been worth it for the brief glance at the unfiltered joy that sprouts on her face upon seeing them. laughter slips quietly when she chomps shamelessly on one, nodding along by the time she gives a repeat of that initial offer. ]
It'd be an honor. [ there's almost a politeness to it, along with the simple shrug that follows, taking those final steps required to follow her there into the house.
even though he's done it about a hundred times, frequent visits leading him in through that threshold on plenty of occasions for him to fix another wall or appliance, something feels different about tonight, which might have a great deal to do with the time he's arrived, never having been here at such a late (or early) hour. ] Where to? [ kitchen? living room? dining? bedroom? ]
[ sure, a part of her fantasy had involved her eating every single one of these fries, but reality doesn’t have to look like that. in other words, she’d be more than willing to share. but she’ll keep that container covered for the brief trip they make through the lower level of the house, closing the front door behind him and then jerking her head slightly in the direction of the living room that opens up off the foyer. ] In here.
[ safer, somewhat more neutral territory, with the bottle and those two glasses sitting on the small table in front of the sofa, one of which has clearly already held some whiskey although it’s mostly empty at this stage. she rounds around the furniture and then eases down to sit on one of the cushions, drawing one leg up underneath herself and leaving enough space for him to take up, and the fries are deposited on the table as she grabs for the whiskey bottle, screwing open the cap and tilting it over the clean glass. ]
Say “when” or I’m just gonna keep pouring. [ fat chance of that; she’s hardly one to waste valuable liquor, and her lips curve in a smile that make the tease more than evident. ]
[ once she directs them on where to go, he's familiar enough with the layout to get the idea of where the drinks will be supplied, soon spotting the bottle presented upon the table in front of the couch. when he sits beside her, it's with a safe distance still in between, just close enough to stay within reach of the glasses.
a short chuckle on his lips, he holds out his hand in a ceasing motion, shaking his head. ]
No, just keep it light for me. Little at a time. [ he shrugs, sparing a smile in her direction but mostly keeping his eyes forward to the drinks, forearms tucked over his knees, thumb tapping instinctively against his index. ] Been awhile since I've ... y'know, sat down with a drink like this.
Little at a time. [ she echoes it, careful not to give him more than a couple fingers before pouring herself the same amount, and then she folds herself in on her end of the couch, swiping another fry with one hand while she keeps her glass cradled in the other, resting it against the edge of her knee. ]
Yeah? Never would’ve guessed. [ it’s a gentle dig, one mostly prompted by the fact that she never does see him in a position much like this one, primarily about leisure, without any kind of responsibility tugging him in a different direction. honestly, it had taken him sustaining a serious stab wound to even get any rest; if she had to venture a guess, she’d say he rarely sleeps otherwise. she bites into one end of the fry, polishing it off before taking a sip of her drink. ]
I can’t exactly say this is my first bottle or anything, but — [ sitting here, late at night, with this particular company. ] Been a minute for me, too.
[ with the pour, he reaches out for the glass, giving it a circling tilt as he peers at the liquid within before he finally takes a gradual sip, a light hiss following at the flow of it down his throat. ]
Yeah? [ he peers to her then, head still slightly ducked but eyes offering a soft gaze. the flirtatious banter is quieter now, but with the physical closeness that had been missing in the midst of that phone call, there is a different shift.
finger tapping against the side of the glass, he speaks up softly. ] Over on tours, I'd sometimes drink with the boys. Get a little buzzed, shoot the shit, that kind of thing. But after a while, it just — you get into this habit, y'know, when you're thrown into a fight, like you gotta make sure all your senses are on. Triple fold. Cause you can't afford making any mistakes. That's when I, uh, I got into the coffee habit. Kind of made me better at what I did, just keeping awake.
[ he takes another sip, licking gently at his lip as he peers down to his fingers. ]
Even when I came back, habit never really turned off. Like I still always had to be ready for something. [ he knows why, why he has that need, but he doesn't steer into those details. not now. ] So moments like these, where I just — I don't know, just pause? It's hard to have them anymore.
[ it speaks to her own tolerance at this stage that she barely winces anymore, when the whiskey flows past her lips — there's just that overall warmth that settles in the pit of her stomach and then slowly works its way outward along her limbs, using her bloodstream to heat her extremities until the flush in her cheeks signals that it might be having more of an effect, something she'll aim to tamper down with the occasional french fry.
but when he talks, she listens, and maybe some of that's carry-over from the bar, the conversations she's been on the receiving end of since she started working there, stopping in front of people who want an open ear and getting used to the idea of giving it to them.
she listens, and she watches, studies him in profile, the way he talks about being in the service — the marines, she remembers, because in the middle of that yellow-tinted pollen haze that had driven them to share what they had, that part had come out already. she hadn't exactly had her theories as to why he drinks that much coffee, why he sleeps those few hours, why it almost feels counterintuitive for him to stay completely still (even sitting here with her, his finger taps idly against the side of the glass), but like before, with the torn photograph, he's filling in the gaps for her a little at a time. ]
Yeah. I get it, you know? It's — sitting here like this, feeling like I should be back in the fight somehow, like I was at home, gearing up for whatever kind of shitstorm that was on the horizon, and now — [ she drops her gaze to the contents of her glass, considers it for a second and then takes another sip, down the hatch. ] Not really knowing what's coming, but still having that sense that I should be doing more than what I am. It's... it's hard to turn that off.
[ she draws in a breath, the admission leaving her on her exhale. ] Even if part of me wants to, just for a little while.
[ the words come easier in her presence, and perhaps it helps that he'd been eased to share some of the history with her before, but the silence of the room, the quiet filled only with their voices in the late hour, paired with the initial sips of the alcohol that burns nicely in his throat, he doesn't feel the resistance in sharing.
and he listens in turn, eyes lifting to watch her as she takes her own moment in turning away, always surprised when her words shift from offhand jokes to something a bit more earnest, a different side of her bare in her voice. ]
Yeah, there's never really a stop to feeling uneasy. Like it could go wrong at any minute. [ and he knows that, because ultimately, it typically does go wrong.
his gaze locks on her, own breath falling soft. ] But, you know, even with — with all the shit here, everything we have to deal with, somehow, at the same time, for the first time in a while, I ... I think this is the longest I've had ... this.
[ it's true that the time of night probably factors into some of this, the emotional defenses she'd be more prepared to equip lowered with the promise of alcohol and quiet conversation — that, and the fact that given all they've shared, she knows they've reached something of an understanding with each other, the kind that two people who have seen their fair share of shit and managed to emerge out the other side mostly intact can achieve.
she shrugs one shoulder, managing a mirthless chuckle — because that's been her experience too, more often than not. ] What's that law again? Murphy's something or other? [ anything that can go wrong, will.
but she looks up at him, eyes rising without the tilt of her chin, lower lip drawn in below the upper for her to wet it quickly with a sweep of her tongue. ]
Some people would say you should try and make the most of it. For however long it pans out.
[ frank gives a soft chuckle, nodding his head as he brings the glass back to his lips, swallowing down the last remnants, chewing on his lip to suck at the lingering taste there. ]
Yeah, that old asshole, Murphy. [ which is easier to laugh at, but there's plenty of truth to it, the very idea of things going wrong if it could practically dominating every consecutive day of his life.
but with the catch of her eyes meeting his, he struggles in looking away, even as he sets the glass back down on the table, the act prompting him to shift slightly closer in her direction unintentionally. ]
Yeah, I think I've ... begun to do that a little. [ settling in his apartment, seeking out a steadier job, accepting the car, taking care of laura — ] Guess I've been seeing some of it ain't too bad. [ another chuckle, a light curve to his lips. ] Can't complain about the company.
[ it calls back to a moment similar to this one, when their gazes had met and held over a different kind of drink; he'd shifted into her space then, however unconsciously, and she hadn't realized until later that she'd practically been holding her breath.
the same holds true for right now, when he leans forward to relinquish his glass, and her knee gently jostles against the outside of his thigh.
he'd made her a promise to stay — not dedicating that to her specifically, but voicing that assurance that he'd be around in some form, to have her back with whatever ugliness reared its head afterward. and she won't pretend that whatever this is between them has shifted beyond that agreement, but it is grounded differently in the trust they now have for one another. ]
Yeah, I guess it hasn't all been awful. [ a tugging at the edges of her mouth follows, a soft smile, and then she's the one tilting forward to free her hands, setting her glass down, before her gaze finds his, briefly drops to his lips. ] There have definitely been some highlights.
[ he'd spent so much time at the start, trying to find a way out of here, insistent that he wasn't going to stick around for long. somewhere along the way, as he'd learned more names, built more unintended bonds, he'd realized he hadn't been the only one trapped, nor the only one who deserved finding a way out. nowadays, even if they're still trying to find that exit, trying to survive whatever turmoils seem to be sent their way on the regular, he's found a little more beyond that.
a few things here and there worth sticking around for.
when she leans forward, he tilts slightly, body turned subtly to face her, the weight of an arm resting against the back of the couch while his eyes focus on the features of her face, soft smiles that seem to mirror his own that attempt to be concealed. ]
Oh, yeah? [ there's a bit of a rhetorical to it, tone turned with a bit of playfulness that seems to follow up as he adds, an unintentional swiping lick to his lip preceding, ] Like what?
[ before, she might have had excuses to point to, outside factors that had all too easily manipulated the foundations of what was already there.
right now, though? she's got nothing but a handful of fries and three-quarters of a glass of whiskey in her belly to blame for what comes next, even if it doesn't happen all at once.
he pivots outward, letting one arm trail along the tops of the couch cushions, and she shrugs one shoulder as if she hasn't really given much thought to those deeper considerations, everything that happened leading up to the afternoon she curled into bed beside him and after that. the problem is that her face gives away more, the slow drag of teeth across her lower lip as she tries to subdue the fullness of that grin, ducking her head somewhat.
she's already got one knee bent beneath her, enabling her to tilt forward; the fingers of one hand find a small grip in the unbuttoned portion of his shirt, and she brings their faces level with a small tug. ] They were all like this. [ he won't get a chance to answer before her mouth finds his, soft and warm, different than the others but somehow bearing shades of the same. ]
[ months ago, he'd never have bet things between them would ever lead them to here, but even before she shifts forward, fingers curling at his shirt, he'd already assumed he'd somehow find her lips pressed to his. he sees it in the subtleties of a plenty obvious smile, the expression of a shared playfulness that matches in tone to the teases they'd exchanged only vocally tonight.
it's in the span of those brief seconds that he has the opportunity to turn away from it, to prioritize common sense for the sake of not falling into any laid out traps they'd arranged on their own — but he doesn't.
there isn't the freezing cold temperatures of an old showerhead above them nor the sticky encouragement of the pollen to twist and play with their minds, but there's nothing to confirm that this isn't another trick, another scheme influencing their actions. yet, when she kisses him, her breath warm with whiskey, grazing at his lips, he still only tastes her, and with everything that's built them up to here from the moment they'd met with blind eyes, that might be all the reassurance he needs.
warm fingertips curl against her neck, thick pad of a thumb pressed beneath her cheekbone, and he reacts with a soft sigh before his mouth responds in kind. he leans forward, following that simple tug that guides him to align evenly with her mouth for that gentle kiss, the caress of it hosting a slow fervor, merely basking in a sensation that's come to him once, twice, and still seems to overwhelm him yet a third time. ]
[ right up until she kisses him, the one thought she never stops having is about what a bad idea this is — and then she kisses him.
and she remembers all of it, the memory of his mouth against hers, past kisses she's tried to forget, to stifle down in her awareness so she doesn't waste her time thinking about what it feels like to do this, to have his hands trailing over her, the warmth of his skin emanating out from his touch — seriously, how he is always so warm — but it all comes flooding back to her anyway, in a rush. the way his fingers had swept soaking wet hair back from her face while she'd stood there, cold and shivering, only to tremble differently when he'd given her the heat of his lips. his arm wrapped across her middle to haul her over and atop him as they'd lain tangled together in his bed, those kisses defined by mounting passion until she'd inadvertently aggravated that still-healing wound.
they'd always encountered interruptions in those moments, something to force them to pump the brakes and rethink all of this, and a part of her is still waiting for that to happen, but it doesn't.
instead, she gets the slide of his hand, palm and lightly calloused fingers sweeping across the side of her face and she tilts into it, effectively deepening the kiss as a result; her mouth moves against his with a soft urgency, tender but not racing, because she's still not completely convinced this is real and she doesn't want to rush it if it is. ]
[ the night he'd kissed her in that shower, lips wet with cold droplets soon warmed with tenative caresses, it was easier to pass it off as a mistake. she'd shouted at him for it, caring little that she'd risk her life in the face of an unpredictable bear for that chance, and he'd apologized, knowing his fault in the gesture. and it was done.
the pollen was at fault for the exchanges in his bed, for a stream of kisses which he'd lost count of after the first several, easily memorizing her lips in the span of those minutes as if he'd already kissed her a thousand times. and if he had, she'd let him then, the curve of her body easy as she'd rolled into him, her warmth overtaking his bare skin, finding small contact with her own in places where her shirt had ridden up to expose her belly, his fingers curling for a secure hold around at her back. the first had been easier to excuse, but it was that memory, as influenced as it was, that was harder to forget, somehow still tasting her lips on his own even long after she'd left his side and he'd washed off the pollen from his skin.
talk of murphy's law has him believing the very same will happen here, but either the whiskey has done its part in easing the tenseness of his muscles thus allowing him to sink into this without resistence or he's determined to take the temporary heat of her mouth and run with it for whatever time he has it, valuing every shift and parting his own lips when she tilts into his palm.
his opposite hand seeks out her side, curving for a light grip against her shirt that encourages her to slide in closer. ]
[ she'd been able to find her excuses for the other kisses before — she'd been unexpectedly vulnerable, reeling from her own misplaced emotions about doc and kate and looking for someone to lose herself in, and the addition of a little recreational drug use had desensitized her to the concept of judgment. or the pollen, making her sneeze shortly before she'd curled herself into him in that bed, woken up to find him ready to kiss her again and again, prepared to let the moment take them even further than it had the first time.
but she doesn't have anything directing her forward now apart from the tension that's been hovering between them since that first meeting of mouths, curiosity and want coaxing her to find out now if those kisses were just a fluke, a result of influence, and this won't hold any of the same heat that makes desire unfurl low in her belly.
turns out third time might really be the charm after all.
with one knee bent beneath her she drifts forward at that tug on her shirt, the brief tightness of fabric drawing her nearer to him; she stops with one leg crooked across his thighs, just shy of actually seating herself in his lap yet definitely closer than where they started, and her hand comes up to cup the side of his face, his growing beard tickling the top of her lip when the kiss persists. she chuckles, withdraws just long enough to whisper against his mouth. ] Feels different. [ her fingers trail over the edge of his jaw, that longer facial hair surprisingly soft to the touch. ] With this.
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audio;
Guess I’ll have to be the judge of that. [ god, she’s just going to blame the mature hour for what keeps coming out of her mouth, because she hasn’t had nearly enough whiskey to justify this. ]
audio;
[ he'll have set that phone on speaker for the sake of driving, but with one hand on the wheel, the other is still too busy rubbing over his mouth, as if maybe the gesture might help with controlling the words that are coming from it. ]
audio;
[ the grin is probably audible in her voice, that tension in her words because all of it feels wildly off-course from where they started — and yet she’s almost compelled to see it through, every last part of what could turn out to be a really bad idea. ]
audio;
[ is she? that's definitely not what he's saying. not that he isn't having to press his lips tight together when he cracks a grin, one that's almost out of disbelief of their playful banter, a step different from their usual, but still fairly consistent with their brand. ]
audio;
[ home repair, that’s what they’re talking about, or at least toeing the line between that subject and something else now — which isn’t necessarily out of their normal realm of joking, but adopts a different connotation in light of everything else. the fact that he’s on his way over. the fact that she’s waiting for him with drinks poured.
speaking of, maybe she’ll take another small sip while she’s still on the line with him now. ]
audio;
[ home repair. obviously. clearly.
and he's nearing her place now, the trip far shorter than if he had to go on his own feet, especially with the lack of any sense of traffic at 4 in the morning (not that the roads get too busy in the first place). any chance of turning back seems to be last this far along, though he's left any consideration of that possibility long before he'd even left the diner. ]
audio → action;
Please, you can’t even blame me for that much anymore, Mr. 9 to 5. [ he’d been the one to snag that extra gig at the diner to begin with, thus ensuring that a good chunk of his waking hours would now be spent serving fries and milkshakes.
she does straighten somewhat when she hears the rumble of an engine from down the street, leaning forward to set her glass down for the time being. ] Feel free to block the truck in. [ it’s not like she’s planning on going anywhere after this, and it’ll be her way of ending the call by then, leaving him to pull into the gravel driveway. only once she hears the footsteps coming up the front porch does she remember that rotted-out floorboard and she rushes to warn him, throwing open the door and leaning out across the threshold. ] Don’t forget the — uh, the bad wood, right there.
action;
[ it's the last words he gets in before they end that call, on account of his arrival, following her directions with the parking. once he turns off the engine, he doesn't immediately step out, leaning back into his seat as he takes in a deep breath, one final gathered moment to reconsider the reasons for his being here.
it doesn't have to mean anything at all, doesn't need to be anything beside a drink or two with someone he's come to accept as being a fairly decent friend to have in this town (he also won't think of how the last time he'd shared a drink with a woman at this hour, it'd been with beth, the last time he'd let himself get too carried away).
rubbing at his eyes one final time, he finally steps out, styrofoam in hand until he's stepping onto that familiar porch, door swinging open.
and he'll chew his lip when he sees her, dressed as casually as she is, the simplicity of it forcing him to gnaw at a smile. ] Yeah, I've got the flaws of this foundation memorized by now. [ he raises the container in his hand then, as he steps around the floorboards carefully, working his way to the entrance, standing there in well-worn jeans and a denim button-up that was never fully closed up, flaps loosely open at his collar. the hair of his chin has grown longer in recent days too, as well as the longer locks atop his head, not carefully combed through, even if the beard seems fairly maintained. ]
Come bearing gifts. Hoping it'll win me some points over Jack.
action;
instead, she curves fingers against the edge of the doorframe, looking up at him (she’s forced to, given that she’s in bare feet now instead of the boots that normally boost her up a couple inches) before her gaze swoops down to the container in his hand and the smell of something fresh and fried wafts toward her nose as he shifts it in his grasp. ]
You didn’t. [ she’ll snatch it from his hand and crack it open right there on the porch, plucking one fry up between thumb and index and biting into it with a groan of satisfaction. ] Oh my God, you did. [ and for all their talk about “drinking,” she could kiss him for this right here and now, but she’ll take a few steps back inside the house first, closing up the container while she polishes off the fry she’s pilfered already. ] Well, he’s still here if you want to make use of him first.
action;
It'd be an honor. [ there's almost a politeness to it, along with the simple shrug that follows, taking those final steps required to follow her there into the house.
even though he's done it about a hundred times, frequent visits leading him in through that threshold on plenty of occasions for him to fix another wall or appliance, something feels different about tonight, which might have a great deal to do with the time he's arrived, never having been here at such a late (or early) hour. ] Where to? [ kitchen? living room? dining?
bedroom?]action;
[ safer, somewhat more neutral territory, with the bottle and those two glasses sitting on the small table in front of the sofa, one of which has clearly already held some whiskey although it’s mostly empty at this stage. she rounds around the furniture and then eases down to sit on one of the cushions, drawing one leg up underneath herself and leaving enough space for him to take up, and the fries are deposited on the table as she grabs for the whiskey bottle, screwing open the cap and tilting it over the clean glass. ]
Say “when” or I’m just gonna keep pouring. [ fat chance of that; she’s hardly one to waste valuable liquor, and her lips curve in a smile that make the tease more than evident. ]
action;
a short chuckle on his lips, he holds out his hand in a ceasing motion, shaking his head. ]
No, just keep it light for me. Little at a time. [ he shrugs, sparing a smile in her direction but mostly keeping his eyes forward to the drinks, forearms tucked over his knees, thumb tapping instinctively against his index. ] Been awhile since I've ... y'know, sat down with a drink like this.
action;
Yeah? Never would’ve guessed. [ it’s a gentle dig, one mostly prompted by the fact that she never does see him in a position much like this one, primarily about leisure, without any kind of responsibility tugging him in a different direction. honestly, it had taken him sustaining a serious stab wound to even get any rest; if she had to venture a guess, she’d say he rarely sleeps otherwise. she bites into one end of the fry, polishing it off before taking a sip of her drink. ]
I can’t exactly say this is my first bottle or anything, but — [ sitting here, late at night, with this particular company. ] Been a minute for me, too.
action;
Yeah? [ he peers to her then, head still slightly ducked but eyes offering a soft gaze. the flirtatious banter is quieter now, but with the physical closeness that had been missing in the midst of that phone call, there is a different shift.
finger tapping against the side of the glass, he speaks up softly. ] Over on tours, I'd sometimes drink with the boys. Get a little buzzed, shoot the shit, that kind of thing. But after a while, it just — you get into this habit, y'know, when you're thrown into a fight, like you gotta make sure all your senses are on. Triple fold. Cause you can't afford making any mistakes. That's when I, uh, I got into the coffee habit. Kind of made me better at what I did, just keeping awake.
[ he takes another sip, licking gently at his lip as he peers down to his fingers. ]
Even when I came back, habit never really turned off. Like I still always had to be ready for something. [ he knows why, why he has that need, but he doesn't steer into those details. not now. ] So moments like these, where I just — I don't know, just pause? It's hard to have them anymore.
action;
but when he talks, she listens, and maybe some of that's carry-over from the bar, the conversations she's been on the receiving end of since she started working there, stopping in front of people who want an open ear and getting used to the idea of giving it to them.
she listens, and she watches, studies him in profile, the way he talks about being in the service — the marines, she remembers, because in the middle of that yellow-tinted pollen haze that had driven them to share what they had, that part had come out already. she hadn't exactly had her theories as to why he drinks that much coffee, why he sleeps those few hours, why it almost feels counterintuitive for him to stay completely still (even sitting here with her, his finger taps idly against the side of the glass), but like before, with the torn photograph, he's filling in the gaps for her a little at a time. ]
Yeah. I get it, you know? It's — sitting here like this, feeling like I should be back in the fight somehow, like I was at home, gearing up for whatever kind of shitstorm that was on the horizon, and now — [ she drops her gaze to the contents of her glass, considers it for a second and then takes another sip, down the hatch. ] Not really knowing what's coming, but still having that sense that I should be doing more than what I am. It's... it's hard to turn that off.
[ she draws in a breath, the admission leaving her on her exhale. ] Even if part of me wants to, just for a little while.
action;
and he listens in turn, eyes lifting to watch her as she takes her own moment in turning away, always surprised when her words shift from offhand jokes to something a bit more earnest, a different side of her bare in her voice. ]
Yeah, there's never really a stop to feeling uneasy. Like it could go wrong at any minute. [ and he knows that, because ultimately, it typically does go wrong.
his gaze locks on her, own breath falling soft. ] But, you know, even with — with all the shit here, everything we have to deal with, somehow, at the same time, for the first time in a while, I ... I think this is the longest I've had ... this.
[ peace, maybe? something of a life? ]
action;
she shrugs one shoulder, managing a mirthless chuckle — because that's been her experience too, more often than not. ] What's that law again? Murphy's something or other? [ anything that can go wrong, will.
but she looks up at him, eyes rising without the tilt of her chin, lower lip drawn in below the upper for her to wet it quickly with a sweep of her tongue. ]
Some people would say you should try and make the most of it. For however long it pans out.
action;
Yeah, that old asshole, Murphy. [ which is easier to laugh at, but there's plenty of truth to it, the very idea of things going wrong if it could practically dominating every consecutive day of his life.
but with the catch of her eyes meeting his, he struggles in looking away, even as he sets the glass back down on the table, the act prompting him to shift slightly closer in her direction unintentionally. ]
Yeah, I think I've ... begun to do that a little. [ settling in his apartment, seeking out a steadier job, accepting the car, taking care of laura — ] Guess I've been seeing some of it ain't too bad. [ another chuckle, a light curve to his lips. ] Can't complain about the company.
action;
the same holds true for right now, when he leans forward to relinquish his glass, and her knee gently jostles against the outside of his thigh.
he'd made her a promise to stay — not dedicating that to her specifically, but voicing that assurance that he'd be around in some form, to have her back with whatever ugliness reared its head afterward. and she won't pretend that whatever this is between them has shifted beyond that agreement, but it is grounded differently in the trust they now have for one another. ]
Yeah, I guess it hasn't all been awful. [ a tugging at the edges of her mouth follows, a soft smile, and then she's the one tilting forward to free her hands, setting her glass down, before her gaze finds his, briefly drops to his lips. ] There have definitely been some highlights.
action;
a few things here and there worth sticking around for.
when she leans forward, he tilts slightly, body turned subtly to face her, the weight of an arm resting against the back of the couch while his eyes focus on the features of her face, soft smiles that seem to mirror his own that attempt to be concealed. ]
Oh, yeah? [ there's a bit of a rhetorical to it, tone turned with a bit of playfulness that seems to follow up as he adds, an unintentional swiping lick to his lip preceding, ] Like what?
action;
right now, though? she's got nothing but a handful of fries and three-quarters of a glass of whiskey in her belly to blame for what comes next, even if it doesn't happen all at once.
he pivots outward, letting one arm trail along the tops of the couch cushions, and she shrugs one shoulder as if she hasn't really given much thought to those deeper considerations, everything that happened leading up to the afternoon she curled into bed beside him and after that. the problem is that her face gives away more, the slow drag of teeth across her lower lip as she tries to subdue the fullness of that grin, ducking her head somewhat.
she's already got one knee bent beneath her, enabling her to tilt forward; the fingers of one hand find a small grip in the unbuttoned portion of his shirt, and she brings their faces level with a small tug. ] They were all like this. [ he won't get a chance to answer before her mouth finds his, soft and warm, different than the others but somehow bearing shades of the same. ]
action;
it's in the span of those brief seconds that he has the opportunity to turn away from it, to prioritize common sense for the sake of not falling into any laid out traps they'd arranged on their own — but he doesn't.
there isn't the freezing cold temperatures of an old showerhead above them nor the sticky encouragement of the pollen to twist and play with their minds, but there's nothing to confirm that this isn't another trick, another scheme influencing their actions. yet, when she kisses him, her breath warm with whiskey, grazing at his lips, he still only tastes her, and with everything that's built them up to here from the moment they'd met with blind eyes, that might be all the reassurance he needs.
warm fingertips curl against her neck, thick pad of a thumb pressed beneath her cheekbone, and he reacts with a soft sigh before his mouth responds in kind. he leans forward, following that simple tug that guides him to align evenly with her mouth for that gentle kiss, the caress of it hosting a slow fervor, merely basking in a sensation that's come to him once, twice, and still seems to overwhelm him yet a third time. ]
action;
and she remembers all of it, the memory of his mouth against hers, past kisses she's tried to forget, to stifle down in her awareness so she doesn't waste her time thinking about what it feels like to do this, to have his hands trailing over her, the warmth of his skin emanating out from his touch — seriously, how he is always so warm — but it all comes flooding back to her anyway, in a rush. the way his fingers had swept soaking wet hair back from her face while she'd stood there, cold and shivering, only to tremble differently when he'd given her the heat of his lips. his arm wrapped across her middle to haul her over and atop him as they'd lain tangled together in his bed, those kisses defined by mounting passion until she'd inadvertently aggravated that still-healing wound.
they'd always encountered interruptions in those moments, something to force them to pump the brakes and rethink all of this, and a part of her is still waiting for that to happen, but it doesn't.
instead, she gets the slide of his hand, palm and lightly calloused fingers sweeping across the side of her face and she tilts into it, effectively deepening the kiss as a result; her mouth moves against his with a soft urgency, tender but not racing, because she's still not completely convinced this is real and she doesn't want to rush it if it is. ]
action;
the pollen was at fault for the exchanges in his bed, for a stream of kisses which he'd lost count of after the first several, easily memorizing her lips in the span of those minutes as if he'd already kissed her a thousand times. and if he had, she'd let him then, the curve of her body easy as she'd rolled into him, her warmth overtaking his bare skin, finding small contact with her own in places where her shirt had ridden up to expose her belly, his fingers curling for a secure hold around at her back. the first had been easier to excuse, but it was that memory, as influenced as it was, that was harder to forget, somehow still tasting her lips on his own even long after she'd left his side and he'd washed off the pollen from his skin.
talk of murphy's law has him believing the very same will happen here, but either the whiskey has done its part in easing the tenseness of his muscles thus allowing him to sink into this without resistence or he's determined to take the temporary heat of her mouth and run with it for whatever time he has it, valuing every shift and parting his own lips when she tilts into his palm.
his opposite hand seeks out her side, curving for a light grip against her shirt that encourages her to slide in closer. ]
action;
but she doesn't have anything directing her forward now apart from the tension that's been hovering between them since that first meeting of mouths, curiosity and want coaxing her to find out now if those kisses were just a fluke, a result of influence, and this won't hold any of the same heat that makes desire unfurl low in her belly.
turns out third time might really be the charm after all.
with one knee bent beneath her she drifts forward at that tug on her shirt, the brief tightness of fabric drawing her nearer to him; she stops with one leg crooked across his thighs, just shy of actually seating herself in his lap yet definitely closer than where they started, and her hand comes up to cup the side of his face, his growing beard tickling the top of her lip when the kiss persists. she chuckles, withdraws just long enough to whisper against his mouth. ] Feels different. [ her fingers trail over the edge of his jaw, that longer facial hair surprisingly soft to the touch. ] With this.
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action; subtle nsfw probs
action; spot the nsfw
action; definitely nsfw now
action; bow chicka bow nsf-wow
action; nsfw
action; basically just nsfw from this moment on
action; 👉👉
action; nsfwww
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action; some suggestive nsfw
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action; subtle nsfw
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action; probs back on the nsfw train lbr
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