November 10, 2002.11.10.02. - room service [rune][nameless hotel, north jersey]
(rune)
Morning....afternoon. Long bands of dimming light slant through the vertical blinds, creep across the carpet, but do not reach the bed, neglected throughout the long night before. They found it again, sometime in the early hours just before or after dawn - who can say, really? Neither had a watch at which to look, and the brightening sky outside, the light on the horizon, the growing strain of traffic on the highway just beyond, streaming into the city, or away from it, were the last things upon their minds.
She woke before him. In the gray confines of the hotel room - one opposite wall banded with the fire of the dying sun - she awoke. Long minutes passed as she lay, quiet, absorbing the heat in the body against which she sprawled, trailing an absent hand across his muscled chest, watching the strange interplay of pale skin upon tanned flesh, tracing the already fading marks she had left upon him, sometime during the long, long night.
At length she rose, the mattress depressing beneath her gathered weight before bare feet gained the floor. Crashingly loud as she is in the great wide woods, she is almost silent here. The thick carpet absorbed whatever sound her footfalls might have made, and only the whisper of fabric against flesh escaped to disturb the breathing silence. The bathroom door snicked closed, the distant roar of the shower came, endless and endless.
Half-an-hour later, she emerged, scrubbed clean, pale skin pinkened from the assault of heat and water, steam lacing in short, curling wisps into the dark hotel room that now seemed cold in comparison, to answer the knock on the door. Room service.
“I’ll take that.” - her short, smirking response to the waiter as he attempted to wheel the cart inside, followed by an arch silence and a direct, quailing stare until he at last gave up and left that task to her.
With her one free hand (the other was assigned the task of holding up the thin hotel towel that preserved some small measure of modesty), she dragged the cart inside, through the narrow entry and maneuvered it beside the bed. Once more, the mattress sinks beneath her weight, and gravity draws him so-slightly closer to her as she tucks long legs beneath her, indian-style.
Domed stainless steel lids remain untouched for now, and bemused dark eyes settle on his sleeping form, waiting for him to awaken.
(james)
the evening had waned to delicious, deviant night
the night had progressed in ethereal transience into morning with only rhythm to mark the passing hoursand it is when morning began to creep into daybreak that the battles began to still
that the creatures collapsed exhausted on the bed finally found (then used)
that still the strange balance between them lingered, unconscious, until the sun began to disappear again
that the shadows began to climb the walls he held her against
that the shadows began infiltrating this sacred ground of mattress and pillows and sheetsonly then, did the two creatures begin to find themselves again
as she woke and showered and primped
he slept bedraggled and bruised and marked
as she answered the door with arched silence and quailing stare
he only began to climb from depths of that comfortable darkness
as she sank, bemused, to watch him sleep
he, then, finally reacted to the sway of gravity moving himhe completes the roll to the side
sheets whispering this perpendicular half-curl around her half-facing him
the towel and thin cotton all that separates their skin
the mattress sinks beneath the weight of left palm
pushing until he's high enough
lips finding the pale shower pinked skin of her shoulder before his chin rests upon it
dreads tickling spill across her back
right arm snaking to let fingers trace bladed shoulders all the way around to collar bone
brows lift at the cart, the scent of food drifting past what emanates from her flesh so close
turning to mumble against shoulder sloping into neck"You've been out already?"
(rune)
Some long, slow breath finds it way from her lungs, a susurrant whisper of sound. At first, this is her only audible reply. His body curls around hers, and she arches in autonomic response to the sudden assertion of body heat that marks his presence. Rising shoulders press back against his muscled form, taunting the touch of spilling, spidering dreadlocks that dance across the smooth curve of her back.The damp cotton towel is a rough pressure, beneath it, he can feel the shape of her body - the long lean muscles that hug the serpentine length of her spine, the shoulder falling smooth to the pressure of his chin, fragrant with the scent of her bath. Her free hand captures his fingers, crawling across her collar bone, and drags them lower, lower still over slow-breathing curves rising beneath thin damp cotton.
She seeks and finds his skin - some skin, any skin - lips sliding blindly over dreadlocks, jaw grazing seeking jaw, until her parting mouth settles on the faint indentation that marks his temple. The impression of heat - warm, sultry breath on his skin, the suggestive graze of teeth, the sense-memory of her mouth curving wicked in the night.
The shiver that arcs electric along the long length of curving spine is intimately familiar to him, who knows by now the slink of her musculature and the rhythm of her body, the slow sure beat of pulse somewhere under the steaming skin taut beneath his mumbling mouth, the .animal. snarl of her need.
“Room service,” she manages at last, dark and low. He can feel the amusement that shakes her shoulders, the rumble of laughter through her torso that does not find any other voice. “I thought you mind need to refuel, after last night.
"Was I wrong?"
(james)
weight shifts as fingers are caught
a low, pleasurable sigh as his wander is redirected
pausing only to untuck damp towel and let it fall away
rough palm smoothing graceful curves
those that rise when she breaths
lower
those that sink and tighten when she laughs
legs crossing to pull her into his lap
cradling that electric shiver against his chest
fingertips play drums 'gainst the bars of her ribcage"Huhuh...."
smiled against the back of her shoulder
the back of her neck
lips and teeth and lips once more
for split second this touch between them still
(though he remembers how it writhed before)
the smooth arch of her back against the long slope of his front"You're rarely wrong."
though he cannot help the curious peek past the wet tankles of inky hair
the reflecting hitch of diaphragm
the laughter itself contagious
when so assertive before
now his tones are shy
hiding now in another slow nuzzle that buries face in damp strands"I just...... well..... room service is an urban legend, isn't it?"
(rune)
Dragged slow, she settles so easily in his lap, her body fitting to the curve of his torso, snug within his arms. The laughter that shakes her shoulders and tightens her stomach is reflected back to her through him, rumbling somewhere low in his chest, and continues, infectious, between them.“Hardly,” she murmurs at last, head curving to the side as his mouth passes across her skin, inviting further exploration. It could be haughty, her tone, were it not accompanied by another rising bout of dark, sure laughter. It would be haughty, did she not turn her head to capture his gaze before it falls back into the tangled wealth of wet black hair curving spilling free to her chin, her shoulder, just below. It is - almost - haughty, but the soft rose curve of her un-painted mouth lacks the sure edge of her customary smirk. “Room service is - “
She pauses here, and, planting her hands on either side of his crooked knees, lifts herself to unfurl one long leg and catch the bar of the cart with her foot. Leaning back for leverage, she draws the cart closer and closer, until it bumps against the edge of the mattress. Contact is broken for a moment as she leans forward to grab the closest of the gleaming silver platters, then settles back against, the plate balanced in one sure hand.
“ ... well, it’s one of the great pleasures of life.” With a flourish, she removes the dome. Heavy steam rises from the still-hot food - breakfast food, order at dinner time - long links of sausage and crisp bacon piled high, cholesterol heaven. “Whatever you want, whenever you want, howsoever you want it.”
She doesn’t mention the obvious: as long as you have the cash to pay for it.
(james)
the Gnawer takes advantage of leverage lean
shifting backwards to assist
his hands wander from hips crest up the taught stretch of belly, ribs, firm softness of breast
helping himself to the offered skin before it pulls away
once against, the assertion is replaced with boyish charm
hands sliding 'round to gather (greedily) her warmth once again
he knows not how rare these times will becomea soft, strange shine in deepest umber
for the fraction of a moment dark eyes meetunable to avoid the shining distraction of the plate flourished so close
his surprise is inevitable
his surprise is obvious
his surprise is so genuine it is almost heartbreaking
lips parting in slowly growing smile"You mean it..."
trailing off
...... does exist left unsaid between them
caught between her affirming unpainted smile and the distinctly new vision of steaming food presented in such a way
well, if vampires can exist, surely room service can, Jamey-boy
another soft laugh is hidden against her shoulderand only then does the toussled head lift
venturing to peek through the stray tangle of jungle-vine dreads
daring to reach and pluck one breakfast link from the platter
tracing its warmth as gloss across her lower lip with playful smilewomen first
packmate first
rhya first
Walker first
..... lover.... first....
dare you say it, James?
dare you question it, boy?
or will you only admit that no matter what, you will always put her first, however long it lasts, for whatever it is, for whatever reasons that will be spoken out loud"I thought you were the spoiled one..... and here you are.... spoiling me."
a glance, flippant
to the room
to the food
though, unerringly, it finds its way back
to her(rune)
The flippant glance answered with another laugh, distinctly different in timbre and quality than her often-mocking tones. Her teeth snap sharp, and graze his skin as she plucks the link from his teasing fingers. Devouring, barely tasted, the savory tidbit.Woman. Packmate. Rhya. Walker. - lover - she says nothing. She does not linger on the possibilities (she has awoken to him, she has waited for him to awaken, how many times in one short week? Such niceties she abandoned years ago, a year ago, in some other lifetime, when her world, such as it is, was still sane.) She will not consider the evidence.
“...does exist,” she murmurs when the last morsel is swallow, giving voice to his unvoiced thought. Settling closer against him, she fishes through the plate and plucks a long strip of crispy bacon, offering to him over her falling white shoulder, brushing his brow with her chin. “I am the spoiled one, but it’s fun to spoil you. You don’t expect it, and you don’t demand it. Money’s no use unspent, pleasures shared are trebled.
“Anyway,” the tracery of a familiar smirk, crawling slow across pale lips. The lowering curtain of pale (blonde) lashes, filtering the light in her dark glance. “...I didn’t always live like this, and now that I do, for the most part my kinfolk fix it so it all goes away.”
(james)
"Careful..."his voice trails off
fingers warm round her wrist to edge the bacon closer
as she devours, he is careful
teeth neatly snapping the crisped piece in half
his hand turning hers
placing what's left as temptation just before the flickering smirk"...... you may get me used to this."
grinned after swallow
"Even if I don't know what to do with it."
the playful light is still there
sparkling behind a wink
even if he tucks back down to press lips against her skin
he's never had this before
anything even remotely possibly near it
sneaking a hand out to snag another link to share
even though there's more than enough for them both on the dish
it's just the way he is"I'm normally robbing people like you to give to the poor like me."
careful now James
you're already treading on thin ice
don't double your chances of getting exiled
what would the other Hoods think of you now...(rune)
“We could always go back to my condo,” she murmurs, snapping - once more - whatever morsel he places before her lips, devouring it with animal greed. “...and play the urban primitive, camping out in the dark, prowling through some abandoned house and seeking shelter wherever we can find it.”Threads of drying black hair dance teasingly along the length of her shoulder as she sinks back, settles closer, curling half to face him. Another link stolen from his generous hand is offered, mouth to mouth, and when his teeth bite down sharply, she tears her head away, only the whisper of a kiss exchanged.
“I suppose you could say that I’m robbing people like me to give to myself,” the faint curve of her smirk, the smooth movement of her cheek against his shoulder, the sliding glance across his face, the unreadable dark eyes, serious, somehow, in some way he’s never seen before. “...which is hardly as noble.”
Her shoulders rise and fall against his chest in a faint, lifting shrug as she curls her to the side, muscled calves brushing his crooked knee. Her right hand rises to cup his jaw, fingers splayed across his cheek, thumb falling to trace the flesh of his lower lip.
“I’m anything but noble.”
(james)
he cannot help the laughter
he cannot help the wide smile
he cannot help that light that shines in his eyes whenever he looks at her"Sort've sounds like what I've done every night for the past twenty-one years."
except last night
except this one. night"Though I suppose my dragging you at full tilt through the woods last night gives you right to pampering now...... not to mention I appreciated the lack of interruption"
whatever thought was next breaching his lips is corked by offered morsel
sharply bitten
tenderly touched
he that so normally inhales his food twice as fast as any other in the pack now chewing thoughtfully
she that steals to give to herself suddenly the last he'd expect to steal from him
soft skim of her thumb tracing a softer smile in its wake
arm strong in its curve around her
even as she reaches to him, he will not let her escape
and it is then the starving mutt abandons still steaming food already more than half-consumed to focus
completely
on heron that new look that swims in darkened depths
"Just because I'm a Hood doesn't mean I'm noble."
(rune)
“I seem to remember dragging myself through the damn woods at full tilt last night,” she replies, amusement dancing in the upturned corners of her mouth, gleaming in dark eyes, but shadowed by the sweep of pale lashes. One half-notch up and the small smile becomes be a small smirk, an expression that sits so naturally on the sculpted planes of her arrogant face. “...but if you want to take the blame, I won’t stop you. And since you’ve done that for twenty-one years, I think you deserve a night off.”Or three.
He turns to her. His attention falls - .completely. - upon her, and breath stills in her lungs. For half-a-moment, she forgets to breathe, and when she resumes the lungful she draws is sharp, shoulders and breasts moving against his warm flesh. The sound clear in the quiet room. His arm is strong around the curves of her body, his palm is rough against the smooth, pampered skin of her flank. For all the softness of her, beneath them, he can feel the rich, living strength that defines her as much as it does him, the long taut lengths of muscle wrapped by pale skin.
The tracing thumb stills on his mouth, presses suggestion into flesh.
“I think you’re wrong, James,” her voice is quiet, the tone rich and musing. “You seem nobler than any Fang, to me.”
(james)
he realized it before, he realizes it again now
how her laughter infects him
how it pleases him so much to see her smilewhat he would do to make that smile remain
there's a silence that settles
even if it's only a moment it seems a year
beneath his hand he can feel the vibrant life that throbs contained in her beautiful body
beneath the all but healed marks on his skin he knows her animal that prowls just within human flesh
beneath the sharp breath that caught her mind offguard....his eyes had never wandered
allowing himself to simply drown in dark pools
uncaring of their infinite depth
reveling in how much he can simply sink within them
and he feels so comfortable here(I think you're wrong James....)
the words bring him back to the surface
looking at her, to her, rather than within her(You seem nobler than any Fang, to me.)
he still does not look away
the silence lingers, heavy and warm
crackling electric beneath this simple touch
reflected
his hand lifting to cup her cheek
slide into nearly dry strands
just looking at her - the infinance in her eyes, the gentle curve of brow far above the musing lips, the lines of her nose, the way strands flow inky shine across his fingers, how he already knows her scent will linger on his skin
he doesn't know how to respond
not out loud
instead the pressure against her stilled thumb increases until he slips pastand while each kiss last night bordered on violence save the passion that fuelded them
this one is so tender it aches(rune)
(Some silences should never be broken.)Her smile is a rare thing, buried beneath an infinite layers of masks and misdirections. Even she does not know the curve of it, and she could never bear to see it reflected back at her, so vulnerable would she seem. There is something there, something he sees, some heartwood, beneath the jaded veneer, hidden underneath slick certainties she entertains - about the world, about herself - the ironic detachment that makes the broken world, the dying world, bearable somehow. He looks at her, and sees what she would deny; and deny again; and deny a thousand times over.
He looks at her, and sees what she will never see.
Lifting brows lower, and the lingering archness fades from her smile. The pressure beneath her thumb intensifies, and then he is slipping past her defenses, drawing close for a kiss. The strong line of his jaw slips by lingering fingers, until they are buried in the thick vines of his dreadlocked hair.
He steals the breath from her mouth, and it feeds his lungs. He returns the breath to her, and she breathes again.
The night before was molten, and the heat that fuels the core of their mother, the earth, burned through their veins. This night is quicksilver as luna’s light, bright, sure silvered poison that slips from whatever hand closes to grasp it. He is kissing her, and she is falling back against his curving arm, which gives and shifts beneath her lowering weight, supporting her as she sinks to the bed. She is kissing him, and drawing him down to meet her, her hands a soft pressure on his muscled shoulders. Though last night she snarled and spat and growled each wicked demand, she is silent, now.
(Some words should never be spoken.)
Posted by james at November 10, 2002 12:00 AM
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