March 04, 2003.03.04.03. - place your bets [rune][noje]
(rune)
It's not the only Beemer in the SuperTarget(! Leaps tall buildings in a single bound, has strange gourmet frozen foods from the world over, or at least the hoity-toty section of Swanson's and innumerable niche producers, along with everything else you might possibly want, if you're young and somewhat upwardly mobile, if you watch too much television and are mesmerized by the ads) parking lot, though perhaps it is the prettiest. The others tend to belong to harried professionals with families at home: wealthy enough to afford a Beemer, not quite wealthy enough for that personal shopper. Not yet. Not yet, and perhaps not ever, considering the state of the stock market these days.Business is beginning to die down, though, and the store is less crowded than it usually is in the rush right before and after the dinner hour, so the parking lot is far from full. Rune still parks out in the hinterlands, in a great expanse of the furthest section of the lot, surrounded by empty space. She'll walk an extra hundred yards to keep to keep from denting her baby.
Long legs swing in easy rhythm, the urban predator's low-slung, hip-swaying gait. The sky above is yellow-orange, the familiar urban holocaust tableau glowing malevolent orange, all the light pollution reflected back by the menacing clouds. It's still drizzling - the parking lot is dotted with puddles, and the great mounds of dirty snow plowed from the asphalt have been melting sullenly all day, though still a few loom shoulder-height or above, even in relation to the tall Glass Walker.
Fucking cold as it still is when compared to SoCal, the night is warm compared to the deep freeze through which Jersey suffered for most of the winter. In celebration of the break in the season - the rain, the snowmelt, the first breath of fucking spring - the Glass Walker is wearing a black leather blazer over a creamy turtleneck instead of one of her (many) winter coats. Her booted feet ring against the pavement as they navigate the parking lot, heading toward the store entrance.
"I think Decker bought groceries yesterday - " offered, offhand, as they duck beneath the protective awning and the automatic doors yawn open for them. " - is there anything else we need?"
The moon is awakening, but slow and lazy. Somewhere above them, behind the blanket of clouds, a bare crescent curve crawls across the vault of the sky. Though some people still glance up at the pair, back off, change paths, move away, most are comfortable enough with their presence. It's so ordinary. It's almost fucking domestic.
(james)
Luna high above is slowly, sleepily, lazily awakening from her black nap
sorta like he woke up earlier - healing sure takes a lot out of you
even when a Theurge is doing most of the work
(but it's not the physical we're worried about, is it, Jamey-boy)
and perhaps a little of it lingers in his gate
long tails from the haphazard coat dance around his ankles with each step
she's got a low-slung, hip-swaying swagger
a predator's satiated and confident gate
he's got..... something far less overtly intimidating
shoulders have been returned to their upright and relaxed position
set even and firm beneath the cascade of brown dreads
each step swings slow and long, that trademark, effortless, ground-devouring stride
her boots ring against the pavement
his boots plish! in subdued play through the puddlesseems the great scab warrior Ahroun is still a kid at heart
a kid that will be more careful on the walk back to the Beemer, of courseshe walks to avoid a soaking by the light drizzle
and even though he keeps pace, seems he's just strolling along
right on up into the yawning automatic doors
dark eyes squinting at the whoosh! of circulated air meant to keep the insects out during the summer
by now, he doesn't do a double-take at her question
asking him if they need anything else
he's gotten used to the simple equality of opinion
regardless of what he is or what he believes
though he can't help the slight expression of being overwhelmed and sensibly assaulted by the SuperTarget (!)
just because he's survived a trip to Neiman Marcus doesn't mean the sheer enourmity of the store doesn't get to him"Hm-mm." accompanied by a slow shake of his head "Other than the ruined sheets and mattress, I think we're set."
always, of course, leaving the realm of possibility influenced by her whims open
another thing he's learned on such expeditions with the sleek Walker: impulse buy
he's just far more naturally practical
soak someone else's sheets and mattress all the way through with your blood? you replace the ruined objects
even better she took the wrinkled bills which formed his meager contribution without argument
not that he really expected one anyway(rune)
She didn't make a fuss, and she didn't bat an eye, not when he made his meager contribution to the shopping expedition. She wouldn't, ever. She knows him well enough by now. She knows him very well.And indeed, it is a faint, knowing glance she casts towards him as she turns around in the vestibule - just in front of the bank of little machines filled with gumballs and cheap toys - a brief, arch look that glances across his features and slides away as easily as it came. "Dire took some of his clothes. Considering he wears the same ones all the time, I suspect that's half his wardrobe right there, so I figured we could pick up a few pairs of jeans and a couple of t-shirts for him." Some faint smirk graces her features as she pivots smoothly and saunters toward the store map, prominently placed among the rows of shopping cars. "Can't have him walking around naked, can we?"
Her fingers glide over the store map, nails clicking against the hard plastic covering. She taps once against housewares, and then traces a path from there to menswear, and then back to furniture, waaaaaaaay in the back. In the middle, she lingers over the fitting rooms and casts him another amused little glance. "Looks like we have a battle plan. You want the cart, or do I get the honor?"
(james)
nope, no fuss at all
not even that bat of an eye or a raise of a brow
never, would she say to him 'that's... all?'
because she knows him well indeed
he'll pull his own weight, even if it's all the cash he has on hand (and it was) given up without even a second thought
which probably would only buy a pair of those jeans
but with the icelock Jersey's been in
street gunning just isn't what it used to be
it's the tap of her nail against the plastic that grabs his attention away from the cheap toys
(Stuff!)
brow lifting a little as he realizes just what a trek this will be
(one.... store is this big? It's SuperTarget, James)"Nooooo. Though..... we would find out if Imogen gets jealous."
chuckled, playful grin slashing features in two and one-third
oh, the horrah of such a visual
easily pushed away by his distraction by where that finger lingers
(oh. baby.)
and the devious outright treasonous thoughts it inspires
because if you think about it
these fitting rooms won't be as private or soundproof
so what a fine challenge that would be.....
pay attention, James."You get the honors, I'll get the cart."
.... mostly.... paying attention
another wink solidifies that.... mostly....
and he's navigating around a young couple seeming equally lost as they are
(whups, sorry)
trying to decide if they should bow down and get directions from the map (therefore, approaching the strangely dangerous yet seeming so benign woman in the leather blazer) or tough it out in style
one hand wraps around the thick red plastic of the cart's basket
succeeding in cutting it from the rest of the herd
(so this is what they're like, new)
pushing it towards her with that still oh so playful little grin"Lead on, Dr. Jones."
(rune)
"Dr. Jones?" she echoes, one fine dark brow lifting to emphasize the question. There's no question that he's more culturally literate than she. She never opens a book if she can help it (well, not for the last year, plus), and never researches anything that cannot be found online. It's not much of a problem, in most circumstances, since pretty much everything can be found online, but it's not quite the same, is it? "Where'd that come from?"The question falls away as she curves her hand over the side of the shopping cart, helpfully guiding it around the nice young couple edging away from her, trying to rationalize their fear (maybe she's a model. then what's she doing with him? maybe he's a rock star. you know how they are.) as the pair of Garou come too close for comfort, swing around them, and head into the heart of the store.
Oh, yeah. Her gait changes here: long, deliberate, fucking stalking steps. She's an urban wolf, and shopping is her nirvana. Schooled as she is in the corrupting aspects of consumer culture (we should be citizens, not mere consumers. Our lives should be defined by more than what we have or own. Consumer culture is symptom or perhaps cause of the suburban culture, destroying the cloth of city neighborhoods where something real can rise. We never expected the country folk to understand it, but we should have taken a more active hand in - ), it's not something she thinks about now. Not much, anyway. No: she's simply fucking happy to be in her environment with her lover and a whole store full of Stuff! she might fucking need.
They make it past the jewelry counter without much trouble. She doesn't wear much. She's only wearing one piece, in fact, a plain circle of gold around her thumb. And they continue, easily enough, right on past the handbags and off-priced clearance winter gear, so very last season. It looks like they just might make it to housewares without a sidetrip when - "Is that a Dolce & Gabana tee?" - she's distracted, and releases her grip on the front of side of the cart and swerves off to one side, flipping through the rack of clothes, scattering the other brand-conscious shoppers in her wake unconsciously.
Sometimes rage is good for something. You should see her at the Macy's after-Thanksgiving sale.
"Whatcha think?" The slip of white cotton lifted, along with another and another that look just like it, from the rack. Each held up against her torso, as she strikes a pose. "Which one?"
Is there any difference between them, really?
(james)
his brow lifts, the grin is chiding"As in Indiana?"
he simply inhaled all the cultural history he could get his hands on in the various after-hours libraries the Frankenwielers oft visited, knowing that perhaps if he couldn't afford or was lucky enough to witness it first hand at least the next best thing would be to know of it, to at least have some reference for the life he..... most likely.... really doesn't want
the glamourous Hollywood movie-star life
full of expensive cars, huge condos, swimming pools, liquor, drugs, and whim-drive shopping sprees..... waaaaait a minute, here.
while they have her swimsuit
all that's really missing is the pool
(and the complex has one.... he thinks)
funny, the things you end up with
especially when you never expect themthey make it past the jewelry counter without incident
how he adores that she wears that single piece
it's one of the many reasons that smile never really goes completely away
just to know why and how and what for and what's behind it
it's the smallest things that mean so very much to him
then..... Dolchean Cabana... boy... huh?
there's a blink as he snaps back to the present
realizing she's veered away for something that suits her fancy
weight shifts, body slowly folding forward for this pausing interlude
elbows crossing on the push rail of the cart
he.... is somewhat amused at the way the other shoppers move out of the way
knowing what it is they react to
no wonder she always gets what she wants when on a spree, hm?
fingers idly tap a near silent beat on the steel bar in thought"That one" chin lifts to indicate his choice "But think it's small enough?"
wicked, wicked Gnawer
(rune)
The Gnawer indicates his choice, and the sleek Walker tosses the other two back on the rack, haphazardly. Someone will pick them up, because someone is paid to pick them up, and she doesn't give it a second thought. She doesn't give the fact that she's taking the one that he picked and tossing the others back like too-small fish into the great branded sea another thought either. It's natural and only semi-conscious, the easy extension, the give and take. An older woman pawing through the next rack (sweaters, seventy-five percent off now that the season is passing) looks up and gives James a sharp glance, one that slides back to Rune with a prude's supercilious superiority. Rune catches the tail end of the look, and a perfectly arched brow rises in response."It's big enough for two." she murmurs, tossing the tee in the shopping cart, bumping the edge out of her way with a sleek, easy movemetn of her curving hip as she continues the two steps it takes to cover the cart's length. "...and that's just the way I want it. Well, big enough for me and your hands, anyway - unless," another sidelong glance, glittering at the disapproving woman, as she draws abrest of him and delicately disengages his elbows, hands and arms from the pushhandle of the shopping cart, settling his hands on her hips as she leans in to kiss him. (Animal).
It's a sudden assault, that kiss, and it ends as quickly as it began, though a minor encore is appended as she scrapes her teeth across his bottom lip before finally, deliberately disengaging. Two sliding, backwards steps (her hands lingering on his hands lingering on the curve of her hips until she is out of range, and the intimate contact ends) bring her to the nose of the cart. "Or maybe you can join me, hmmm? We could always see how that would work out." She arches a brow, and her red smirk curves wide and wicked, before her hand settles abruptly around the red plastic of the basket and they're off again.
Housewares! dead ahead.
(james)
the way she just flings away that which he didn't chose
it just..... blows his mind
sure, he's been treated so fairly in the pack
his opinion valued and validated when given
but this has to do with them
and perhaps a part of him still can't believe it
that beyond that, he's valued so
(everytime he's erased himself, she's drawn him back in)the lady shooting them a dirty look gets the Ahroun's brow lifted, too
even if his aren't quite as perfectly manicured as hers
'Oh yeh, lady?' the black-(humored)-moon inspired look seems to say 'Wouldn't it just get your supporthose in all sortsa bunches if I.....'
well then.
it seems the sleek Walker had the same idea
because he's being delicately disengaged from the cart
long muscles in his back contracting to straighen
hands placed so deliberately on swaying hips (and grip)
the look drags away from the scowling lady
and that smile finds its way to his lips
(hello there)
before they're suddenly consumed and devoured and outright beastially violated in her kiss
(hoo. golly.)don't mind me
I'ma just dribble ta ooze... righ there here
(clean up! aisle three)safe to say
his head is somewhat spinning quite pleasently by the time she pulls away
even if he returned the gesture more than capably
quite ready to reach out and tug her back even as she so lingeringly pulls away"Sure you don't need to try that on, darling?" he thinks better of tagging the oh so domestic honey onto the end of that, even in jest, some luck he will not push "Just to be sure?"
the very face of innocence
the very face of the dedicated lover
so understanding and agreeable and appeasing to this assertive shopping predatory way
in concern that she would spend her hard-earned money on something that fits properly
(how.... domestic)
just as she wants it - outright -demands- it
especially with the sly grin and wink tossed to the... yes... still scowling lady"That could work. I mean.... you know I'll support you in anything you choose...."
like.... a trapeze.
he's bookin it to follow her before the lady decides to throw one of the markdown sweaters at him
amazingly good mood leaking out to include everyone in the teasing
including the innocent bystanders
housewares it is, and he can't help but become a little distracted again
half of what's here he hasn't even considered being in a house
much less a coloful (Swell!) option
but soon enough, bedding peeks around the corner
and he's pushing the cart that way(rune)
"Tch." she murmurs disapproving as they saunter away. "I hear they have cameras in the dressing rooms. I think I like the one at home, better. And I'm not sure about those clapboard frames - "The glance she casts over her shoulder as they disappear into housewares sweeps across the landscape behind, but comes to settle deliberately on him. " - they don't seem especially sturdy, to me." Some curving, precocious, secretive little half-smirk crawls coy across her mouth, disappears as she turns away. "Then we'd get kicked out of the store, and Decker would have to walk around naked, or, worse, stinky and - " the speech continues, she prattles on, apparently distracted by that pret. ty. martini shaker with the colorful martini glasses all packaged together, and in they go. Since she doesn't know how to make martinis, they're followed a moment later by a book of cocktail recipes, and all this without even stopping the cart.
Oh no, no. It keeps on rolling because they have a plan, and that plan will be fulfilled. It keeps rolling because they are warriors with a mission, and here are the sheets, in myriad colors - all pink and flowery, all dark and manly, and then the sheets for kids, covered in balloons or spiderman or teletubbies. Agents of the Wyrm that they are, she doesn't even touch them, not even when they're covering a nice pair of dark blue satin sheets she thinks are just perfect for Modi. Or, perhaps not quite perfect for the Modi, but - "Can't wait to see his face when I give him these - " the faint smirk, tossed back as she eases the package out from beneath the teletubby sheets and tosses them into the basket. Straightening, she continues to skim through the offerings and at last picks out a set of plain white cotten sheets, three hundred fifty thread count, of course, and tosses them back as well. " - but I suppose we have to get him something he'll actually use, too, hmmm?"
(james)
"Or soundproof."chimed in as appropriate
isn't he helpful?
while he may enjoy the challenge that presents
he already knows of the miserable failures of keeping quiet
plus he quite prefers the cameras at home, too
that's more than obvious in the lecherous smile of remembrancethe cart keeps rolling because of their plan
the cart keeps rolling because of their mission
the cart keeps rolling, most likely, because he's idly strolling behind her in perfect synchronicity of pace so that all her browsing and tossing is coordinated with when the cart comes within a certain distance before she's off hunting for the next delicious little item that catches her eye
and his head tilts, in deep pontification of her latest picks"Depends, you gonna get him PJs to match?"
(rune)
"Oh, now that - " she was moving again, sauntering down the aisle at her usual half-reckless pace, dark eyes methodically scanning the shelves for any other goodies (two more sets of sheets followed: black and satin, and not a comment on them, not now, how mercilessly they abuse her bed). " - is an idea. We're getting them, but I bet he won't wear them."Around the corner, in fine order they go. Menswear is dead ahead, and are those the pajamas, and after a stop for jeans and t-shirts (two pairs of jeans, two t-shirts, two jerseys, and three packages of boxers for good measure - because if the Modi only has two pair of those, well, ewww - ) with nary a broken stride, it's on to the pajamas. The Glass Walker flips through the racks, musingly, half-humming an odd song, out of tune, beneath the cusp of her breath. After certain deliberation she picks out two sets of satin pajamas - one dark blue, perfect match for one set of sheets, another black as sin, perfect match for the others, unspoken.
Steering the cart back toward the aisle, turning back toward the check-out waaaaaaaay at the front of the store, she casts him a challenging glance over one lowering shoulder. Inky strands of hair sweep across smooth dark leather, curl across the sharp line of her cheek. "...so, is it a bet? If so, what are the fucking stakes?"
(james)
he can't help the outright laugh
of course he was serious in that suggestion
.... just because
but to see how she wholeheartedly accepts the plan
probably because she's feeling as devious as he?
too amused, is the Gnawer
just as he is at the sheets thrown in without a fucking word
he's well aware of abuse in question
(how could he not be?)
and since that makes the sheets less than perfect
well, everything must be perfectshould a Hood be so supportive of her shopping habits?
perhaps love has blinded him to how he should look down upon her self indulgence
how she is the rich propagating her own desires
course, come to think of it, the money she's spending really isn't -hers- is it?
it's earned by others, which she then takes and spends as need be
on herself, on the pack - none of which have 'real' jobs in the observable world
oh... and she spends it on him, too
(he still can't get over the donations she made in his name at Christmas)
but he doesn't think about that
because no matter what it is she gets him?
he's always so willing to give up what he has to another that needs it more than he
(which would probably explain where one of those shirts she got him the night they washed the Beemer went, don't mind that fashionable and now warm derelict down on 34th)they roam out of housewares and towards men's clothing in fine, fine order
she may outrank him, he may live by the polite 'ladies first' motto
but that's something he doesn't think about either
because he's more concerned with the view tailing her delivers
that leather blazer hangs down only so far
a neat little line cutting right across a very tight spanse of baby-soft leather pants
leaving just enough to his imagination (face it, memories) to make the swaying, stalking, damn well dirty thought provoking walk very interesting
he almost misses that second set thrown in because his eyes are decidedly not on the available itemsshe's lowering a shoulder to glance back in brazen challenge
he's stepping lively to catch up (the view!) and drape an arm across those very shoulders
smooth contraction of muscle gathering her to his side to fit as a fucking perfect puzzle piece
brows lifting near arrogantly as he's quiet a moment in thought"It's a bet, even if I doubt he'll wear them anyway." there's the slim to nothing chance the Modi will wear them just to spite her, and he's in a mood to enjoy the game, loving just to play with her "Though I wouldn't know what to set as the stakes, since I'd give you anything you asked anyway."
without even a second thought
massage, dinner, movie, money, all-night marathons, little red teddy bears... the list goes on
he's hard pressed to think of something that she'd have to work to get from him
or something that she would only acquire because he lost a bet
because he's already proven, too, he'll give her what she doesn't think to ask for
(and most of the time - never has to)"So what do you want that you don't think I'd give.... or that you haven't bothered to get for yourself?"
(rune)
She glances up, eyebrows fluting together, eyes widening in puzzled surprise as he gathers her into his arms. It's not the gesture that surprises her, for she has become used to his easy affection when they are alone, when no one is around to watch them and condemn. She's become more than used to it, and the faint curve of a smile - a smile - that secrets itself across her lips is testament to that, as is the easy arm she slips around his waist, the warm hand she settles on his hip."I, well - " the dark gaze tracks up, sidelong, and slides across familiar features, lingering on his mouth before settling on his eyes. "I can't think of anything I want that you wouldn't - that you wouldn't - " quiet, now, her voice, though not quite soft (never quite soft). Some bemused lilt threads itself through her tone as her eyes slip away from his. Some glances are stark, some truths so bright and shining that they fucking burn you raw. It's a half-caught breath that spills, at last, from her lips as she finishes the statement, eyes fixed on some indefineable point in the middle of the shopping cart and all her newly chosen things. " - that you wouldn't give.
"And I can't think of anything I want - " Her mouth twists in a prescient, self-mocking little smirk. " - that I haven't gotten for myself. Does that mean the bet's off?"
(james)
above the eyes she settles her gaze on
deep, rich, soulful eyes
a brow lifts, slowly
most men would have to be tortured or behaviorally modified to give so openly and freely
but for him it's so goddamned natural
it's just the way that he is, to give her anything
to give her everything(he already proved he'd give up his own life - without hesitation - to protect hers)
and at the way she falters and repeats herself
he only has that warm, easy, and oh so very kind (loving) grin
because he knows she already procured for herself all that she wants
because he knows she has him"Bullshit the bet's off..... this your creative way of backing out?"
brow remains in it's lofty perch (izzat so?)
but it's dropping as the expression changes into a genuine smile
his head lowering to bump gently against hers in canid affection through the tease
something that speaks louder in it's silence than the way his arm lounges across her shoulders
the beast lurking within them both, at the strangest times, overpowering the human thesad
even though the others aren't around to condemn, and he's free to act as he wishes in the homo-sapien world
it is always the Garou that comes to surface at the root of all expressiontheir walk is slower, now, easy amble back down the main aisle towards the check-out way at the front
well-fed lions wandering back to the den from their shopping kill
no need to hurry, now, for the deed has been done, the mission accomplished
because as soon as they leave the yawning sliding doors
they're back in the world of the others once again"There must be -something- you can think of, and I'm holding you to the bet, even if all I win is the knowledge you had to struggle to think of what you wanted."
(rune)
"Hey - " his pace is easy and long, the ground devouring stride of someone who always has to walk whereever he wants to go, and can walk until he gets there, a casual counterpoint to her own, the low predatory sway, slowed into syncopated rhythm with his, three-two alteration in 6/8 time. " - bastard. I'm not backing out."Her chin rises in flat defiance of the suggestion, lifting her head against his and nudging him back. The gesture is accompanied by a subtle hipcheck, some minor aberration in her swaying gait, just a little extra ooomph to the motion of her hips.
"But you were right, there's nothing - " some intimation of a very spoiled woman's whine in those words. In a different life, in a different time (perhaps in different circumstances in this one), she could easily be someone he would despise, so bathed in luxury, so used to have her damned way in everything that she's blinded to the needs and deeds of the whole rest of the world, the center of her own universe, the sun around which everything else must revolve. The statement is shortened abruptly, bitten off. Perhaps she heard some remnant of the woman she might have been had her world not changed abruptly over a decade ago. Perhaps, instead, her mind danced across darker territory, the dark and bitter playground of jealousies and frustrations that flourishes in the darkest corner of even a loving heart. "Fine, fine!"
"Since you insist - " a playful, exaggerated roll of her eyes as they fall back into step once more. "If I win, you're coming with me for a day at the spa. Mudbath, cucumber eye treatments, shiatsu massage, the works. And - you'll have to pay particular attention to the massage, since I'll want you to demonstrate what you've learned when we get home. Now, if you win?" Somehow, they've covered the ground between menswear waaaaaaaaaay at the back of the store and the checkouts waaaaaaay at the front. Half-disentangling herself, Rune tosses their purchases onto the conveyor belt and offers the cashier her credit card, distractedly, dark eyes finding umber as she manuevers the cart around and then sends it rolling off to be recycled for the next lucky patron.
(james)
she swears at him
and he laughs
that low, rolling, infinitely amused sound that rumbles and purrs out of his chest
there's already a little victorious shine in deep umber eyes
just because he knows he got to her
(probably because he knows, too, that's all he's gonna win, so live it up boy)
just because he got that playful, exaggerated roll of her eyesshe disentangles herself to put the stuff (Stuff!) on the conveyor
and he, sorta just lets her, when he'd normally pitch in to help
because brows lift as she rattles off her prize
a little incredulity goes a long way"Oh... kay." deep breath, James, digest that "I think I can survive that."
even if he has no idea what to think of it
a Bone Gnawer at a spa
at least with the mud bath and the dreads he'll be fittingly bohemian
or.... something like that
there's still a reasonable doubletake
(a trape......spa??)
but at this point he's just chuckling quietly to himself
being useful and grabbing the stuffed bags as she signs the receipt
(the massage end result doesn't sound all too offensive, either)
oh.... this.... should be pricelessplus, being thrown by her request gives him time to scramble and think
if it was hard for the sleek Walker? it's downright near impossible for the Gnawer
all he needs is her love, and he has that, unquestionably
'want' is a concept so rarely applied to himself
others need and want, the Hood provides
so the walk through the rain is filled with pseudo-glances and half breaths
suggestions fizzling out before they really begin
because they just aren't right
it isn't something he undeniably -wants-
so he will not cheapen their game with a half-assed request
more than once he circles back around to that proverbial drawing board
the words swallowed as the glance skims away beneath furrowed brow
the grin is there, though, no doubts about it
because he know how she's enjoying the way turnabout has become fair play"Okay."
finally!
the epiphany has struck!
the heavenly chorus swells operatic and the blazing white light breaks through the clouds!
the sound punctuated by the secure and firm (but never slam) closure of the Beemer's trunk
safely locking in all their little items
and the very integral portion of their bet"If I win? I want dinner."
he's reaching out, now
fingers plucking and catching at the leather blazer
pulling her right. on. up. to his chest
hands creeping beneath the jacket, and snaking around her waist
warm and smooth over the creamy sweater covering her back
circling to an easy embrace in these final moments they're alone
chin dropping just that little bit so their dark eyes meet
allowing her to think about that little request
before the smile slowly begins around his eyes
deepening the little wrinkles as if they, alone, were what caused his lips to curve
at first it's the adoration so familiar in the expressions he offers her
then it deepens and sharpens into something so invitingly animal
because, oh yes, there's more"No take-out. No expensive resturaunts. I want dinner at home. I want you to make the choice of what it is.... because you're going to be the one to cook it."
Posted by james at March 04, 2003 12:00 AM
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