November 05, 2002.11.05.02. - let me see what i can do [rune][north jersey, rune's condo]
(rune)
Morning (...afternoon.) comes late. Wan November light filters through the blinds obscuring the two west-facing windows and the digital alarm clock on the bedside table glows dull red (4:00 p.m.) in the swimming ambient light.It's good not to think; better not to move; and best not to attempt either of those tasks simultaneously, lest the foggy pressure hovering about her temples descend and bloom into a full-blown hangover. Rune has been awake for half-an-hour, watching the shadows crawl slowly up the wall as the sun falls toward the horizon and taking inventory. The incipient hangover is oddly counterbalanced by the languid sprawl of limbs, the pleasant ache center low in her belly and the distinct warmth of the body beside her. She is loathe to move.
Dark hair fans out on the black sheets, dull in comparison to the silken sheen, but her pale limbs are a stark constrast to the unremitting black. Rune moves only to breathe, but even her slow deep breaths exert a tidal pull on the waterbed, which rolls gently beneath them. Eventually, she lifts a hand to wipe some of the sleep from her eyes; it comes away soot-stained from the make-up she never managed to remove last night. Her eyes flicker over the faint smear of dark eyeshadow and mascara, and her lips curl upward into a cat-n-cream grin.
Though she desperately needs a shower, she doesn't want to move. No, not at all.
(james)
deep breath sighs
the gentle waving sway disturbed
some kraken beneath the black silk covered tides that slowly roll beneath them
fingers curl slow tickle across her belly
smile curving unconscious lips
gravity slides them closer from the waterbed's giveshadows climb the walls
dappling the charcoal stripes across his back
he sees not the time
he sees not the wane of the sun as it slowly plunders the earth
he sees not even the pale curves and swells of the body next to himnot with his eyes, anyway
even in sleep
he can see her by the points of wamrth shared between them
he can see her by the scents drifting smokily within each breath
he can see her by the exquisite aches punctuating the slow rise towards consciousnessbut he does not wake.... not yet
(rune)
Beyond them, silence. The neighbors are off to work or school, and the roommates mercifully absent. Electricity hums faintly through the walls and the low whine of traffic continues as ever in the distance as little more than white, ambient noise, the urban equivalent of babbling brooks or wind rustling through dry leaves.She drags herself up by slow degree, careful lest the rolling wake of the of the waterbed jolt him abruptly from his (the musing curve of her mouth slides briefly into a smirk) well-deserved rest. Resting now on one crooked elbow, Rune surveys her situation as a general would his battlefield. James blocks her exit to the left, and crawling over the width of the bed would send it into ever great rolling swells.
Deft fingers brush a stray dreadlock from his cheek as she makes her decision and begins a slow shimmy down his side to the foot of the bed, then carefully. Pale feet, pale calfs, pale curving thighs flail in the dim light, awkward as a turtle turned on its back, until her feet find the floor and her hands find leverage on the hard frame of the bed. She swings herself upright then, turning to calm the rolling mattress with a steadying hand, then pads away to the bathroom. The door between bedroom and bathroom snicks closed, and the dull roar of the shower breaks the womb-like silence of the late afternoon.
(james)
even in his sleep
even in her careful shimmy and slide
the lazy sprawl of fingers across skin tighten to feel it slip way beneath themand somewhere, once he's begun reaching what could be considered near the surface of this magickal mystical tingling primordial ooze his body had become at some exhausted point of the night
he realizes the bed does sway, however lightly
in itself protesting her departure
he realizes the faint growth of chill in the air
in itself hurt and withdrawing from her departure
he realizes he does in deed know this thing called consciousnessso very careful is the venture of opening his eyes
which promptly close again
ow.
he's not sure whether it's the thundering rainfall in his ears or if the shower truly runs... has been running
gentle..... easy does it now..... a single dark eye peeks open
twisting in slow roll on the undulating surface to glance the light peeking from beneath bathroom doorthe stretch is even more tentative
mother of gaia James what did she do to you
a grin slowly finds its way through the mental fog to his face
at least he's sure of his belonging here this morningthough he may not be moving far
at least not yet
the room attempting to dislodge him firmly upon sitting up(rune)
Four aspirin and two glasses of water downed the way she downs Xanax of an evening, quick and sure and desperate to self-medicate as the shower runs hot and then hotter. She waits until it's steaming and then waits until it's scalding and then waits until it's pounding from the six separate nozzels (and you know that didn't come standard with the condo. Nothing but the best for the very spoiled Rune) like molten lava before stepping carefully inside.The steam clears sinuses thickened and clogged from the long night of debauchery and the staccato tattoo of water against her skull rivals and distracts her from the viselike grip of her looming hangover. When at last she emerges fifteen or twenty minutes later, the worst edge of the hangover has receded to a low dull throb matched by the other (and far more pleasant) aches lingering in the long, lean form.
The usual round of brushing, exfoliating, scrubbing, tweaking, studying, moisturing and pampering follows, though with a heightened awareness of her body - the turn of ankle and the curve of hip, the smooth roll of flank and even the sinuous twist of spine - until at last she settles a short red robe over her skin still tingling pink from the steaming shower and shakes her still-wet hair free from her scrubbed-clean face.
Another glance in the mirror - no, that won't do at all - and an application of smokey mascara and smooth red lipstick - much better - before she grabs grabs the bottle of aspirin and fills a glass of water and peeks back into her darkened room.
(james)
the sheer contrast
sleep tousseled (maybe more than just sleep tousseled) dreads spidering in disarray around his face
pink trails crisscrossing tanned flesh only memories of her nails
strong body curved to allow elbows rest on his knees
head hanging..... draped.... into his hands
bedraggled, fuckered, sore and satiated
the Ahroun recovering after battle
the slippery silk pooled around his waist
soft obsidian waves snaking from the bed to surround his hips and pull him back into the watery depths of oblivious sleepdark eyes shy from the emerging light
glancing up
fingers slow slide over his cheeks to bene xath his chin
a grin (warm, affectionate, almost shy) quirking lips"I was...."
oh my, how loud that is
swallowing thickly before trying again
softly
carefully".... attempting to make my way in to join you.... the bed hasn't let go yet....."
and neither has this hangover
in fact
it seems to be tightening it's grip
he's sure she can hear the tribal drums just thundering behind his eyes".... though I think you broke me anyway...."
(rune)
Oh that look she sends skimming his way across the long thin bands of wan light and pale gray shadow and slipslides into the room (more silk, and red, draped across the curves and shadowed valleys of her lean form, catching against the door and whispering quiet against steampinked skin) - that look is nothing close to innocent.Even if the room is spinning counter to the bed's clockwise, he can see - he can feel - the slow smug crawl of it down from his light-shy eyes, down over his grinning mouth, down the long lean line of his chest to the sheets pooled about his hips and then right. back. up. again.
She crosses the rest of the distant in two slow steps. The smug (satiated) smirk curling almost primal on her (already painted) mouth softens into something rarer but still (half-)remembered through the the hazy fog long, long journey through the night and into the first dim hours of the morning.
"Strange," the smirk bleeding into the smile bleeding into a strange amalgam of the two, the tall cool glass held out and pressed into hand, followed by four (more? a dark groomed brow lifts in query) aspirin, "...you don't look broken to me."
(james)
starting at the pad of feet across the plush carpet
lean calves
long thighs
the tease of sinfully red silk swaying across the tops
how it clings and teases with each step
serpent writhe to expose -just- enough pale skin beneath
oh. my. god.pick your jaw up off the floor, James, that's rude
fingers finally react and curl around the cool hard glass
odd.... that seems to be a running theme
washing the asprin down with a grateful smile
draining the water completely in some desperate attempt at rehydrationhe does nothing to resist her draw
he did not before, he's not going to start now
he very well invites that look to continue
rough palm stretching fingers to smear through the crimson spilling over her hip
delighting in the slide of silk across skin
thigh, hip, the curves leading to the valley of her lower back
the smile once shy changes
challenges
predatorystrong arm flexes to draw her down into his lap
red melting against black
Walker smoothing against Gnawer
glass set aside
hot breath slinking just beneath the curve of her jaw"Then you'll have to try harder...."
(rune)
Well, then.There is a running theme here: the slow sink of her weight sends the damn bed rolling like undulating sea serpent until she settles and stills, soft white knees firm about his hips. The slow dark fall of sooty lashes over the smoldering cinders of dark eyes in another scorching trail of a look. That one, all over again.
(I think we've been here before.)
One silken arm settles in a mirroring arc about his shoulder; the slim hand twisting hard into his toussled dreads. She finds his free hand with her own, guides it to the loose-tied knot slipping low on her abdomen, and tugs it free. The robe falls open, falls soft from the long white curve of her shoulders, falls like water in slow motion to pool over his curving arm, falls free.
The inky tendrils of her still-wet hair dance forward to brush cool against his jaw as swoops to devour (again) his grinning mouth like a bird of fucking prey, but so. damn. slow.
The gauntlet has been thrown; the challenge accepted; and the voice in his mind is slow and heavy and sure as metal made molten.
Let me see what I can do.
Posted by james at November 05, 2002 12:00 AM
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