dejah_thoris | Prodigal

Entry tags:

Prodigal

After a long day in the forge, and a long night of pacing the corridors of the bar looking for Curtis, Dejah had come back to her rooms and tried to work on the prostheses. She'd made significant progress, building the initial layer of isolates and imprinting the neurological signature she'd recorded the very first day onto the layer itself. It took an incredible amount of focus and when she was done, she lay her tools on her work bench. Bleary-eyed and exhausted, she made her way to the bed.

She didn't wake for many hours. Not even the recurring image of Curtis's shy smile melting into the leering grin of Matai Chang could manage to stir her from sleep. It was late in the day when she rolled over and peered at the window. The sun was going down. Or was it coming up? She couldn't tell.

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"True. That much explains why you let me help you."

She can't explain it. She's seen his eyes shutter when she mentions John's name. If she'd never met John, maybe she wouldn't have recognized this -- whatever it was between them. When John came to her, he was on the edge of insanity, his heart broken, his mind heading that way. He was so lost, so alone, and so angry. She became his lifeline back to the world.

What she feels for Curtis is very much walking the same path, but it's more than that. She recognizes in him a part of herself. She'd never been able to admit it to John, but he had saved her as much as she'd saved him. And not just from the Thern.

"It doesn't explain why you're still here."

He cracks a helpless smile.

"I've got no idea," he admits.

By all rights, he shouldn't be. He should have listened to the instincts the train ground into him -- never trust the Front -- and broken all contact as soon as he left the infirmary. But she didn't do anything to hurt him. She still hasn't.

Maybe that's the closest approximation to trust he can get.

She mirrors that smile to him, and gently draws his hand up so she can lay a tender kiss in the palm of his hand.

Her head lifts and she whispers to him, soft and low. "I can't explain it either. I have a few ideas, but they don't matter. What matters is -- I want you here. I enjoy your company. And I have come -- to care about you. Sometimes such things defy reason."

Again, he hears Giliam's voice: He thinks the world of you.

For a wild instant, he wants to tell her everything. To throw the truth at her feet, push back against her affection, and run. But a new memory sticks to his mind now: the look of almost-approval on Tars' face as Curtis said, that's how it's gonna be.

He fights. He goes forward. He doesn't know how to do anything else.

Curtis leans in, pressing another kiss to her forehead, and murmurs, "Yeah, I guess so."

She leans into his kiss, and shifts even closer, until she's resting against him as much as he'll let her. She threads her arms around his neck, so close she can't look up into his face.

"I do not want you to worry about Helium now. Helium can wait until you're ready for all she has to offer you. But I'm still curious. If you've had enough time to think."

She doesn't want to ask outright. But she feels herself slipping deeper and deeper, and and some point, she needs to know if she's setting herself up for a fall.

He exhales as he wraps his arm around her. The breath stirs a few hairs on Dejah's head.

"You mean about whatever the hell this is?"

She chuckles a little, the sound felt more than heard.

"Yes, whatever the hell this is."

She punctuates the word 'this' with the tip of her index finger against his sternum.

He grins a little; sobers soon after.

(He should feel more hesitant about this, he thinks. But he's had time to examine the angles and weigh his options...and at some point, you just have to put that shit aside and go with your gut if you want to go anywhere at all.)

"I think we should give it a try," he says. "I can't promise anything. And please," a touch of laughter emerges, "don't make me declare any of that formal suit shit. But yeah."

He rests his cheek on the top of her head.

"Let's try."

"Yes. All right." She draws in a breath and wraps her arms around his chest, reveling in the closeness. The scent of him, the warmth, the gentleness. She struggles to say what she needs to. It takes her a moment to find the words.

"All I ask is that you do not 'try' with anyone else while we are together. I can abide much but that -- that would be -- that would hurt far too much."

"That's fine," he murmurs. "I won't."

He hasn't met anybody else here he'd be willing to 'try' with, anyway.

"There anything else you need from me?"

She hesitates for a moment and then pulls back so she can look in his face. Her expression tries for serious.

"Well... I'll need a blood sample and another source of genetic material so I can profile..."

The corners of her eyes give her away.

"Oh, fuck's sake --"

Wrinkling his nose -- and laughing a little -- Curtis gives her a light swat on the shoulder.

She giggles, outright giggles, and catches his face between her palms.

She leans in as if to kiss him again, still smiling, and pauses nose to nose.

"I need to know -- if this is a good thing for you. I don't ever want you to feel beholden to me."

His grin fades: not gone, but quieter, more thoughtful.

It's hard to describe. The energy that buzzes up whenever they touch -- it's like chugging a whole cup of coffee, all at once. And it's nice. That's all he can think; it's nice.

Curtis can see himself walking into her room one day, and not immediately thinking Front, or princess. Just Dejah. Just a woman, like she said.

And if he's off the train, stuck in a place where so few people care about Front and Tail...that can't be a bad thing.

"It is," he whispers. "Yeah."

She studies his eyes and sees -- something. Her hand caresses his cheek and she closes her eyes, leaning in this time sure in the knowledge that she's welcome.

She tastes his mouth, once, twice.

And at last, sinking into him. She lets him feel a little more of that ache he draws up in her. She lets him feel the hunger running under her skin.

It's all the encouragement he needs.

Even when Curtis was trying to push away, he thought she was beautiful. And -- there's no real need to push away anymore. He might not know where this is going, but he can look away from the tracks for a moment. He can just be here, in the present, as the kiss intensifies and he pulls her flush against him, his hand sliding up to tangle in her hair.

As before, a soft wanton sound resonates in her chest. Her hands curl around his head, and her body molds to his. He kisses her for the first time, really kisses her and she drinks him in, like a woman dying of thirst.

And for the first time since this strange dance began, she's the one to pull back with a quiet gasp, her hands white-knuckled in his shirt.

He lets her go, his hand falling to her shoulder.

A little breathless himself: "You good?"

She nods, staying close, nuzzling his cheek. Her hands fret at the back of his neck and there's an energy still running through entire body.

"I always want too much. I want to go too fast. But this is -- important to me. I want to do this right."

I want to know you'll be here for me, too.

Okay. Okay, he can do that. He can bring his self-control to bear, and corral his thoughts (that's always been the easy part: boxing away the thoughts he doesn't want to handle right now), and try to get his breath even enough to say:

"All right. We don't have to go fast."

She steals another soft kiss from his lips. And another. A soft, desperate laugh whispers against his lips.

"You taste like heaven."

That's a new one, part of him thinks, before it's immediately shushed by the rest of him. Curtis captures her lips with his own, fresh heat coiling under his skin.

When they break: "Haven't heard that before," he says, half-laughing, before kissing her again.

Kiss after tentative, hungry kiss. Dejah half crawls into his lap, like she can't get close enough to him. She tugs at his hat, another quiet giddy laugh on her lips. A moment later, she's pressing her brow to his, trying to catch her breath.

"Still haven't told me. What it is you want from this? Tell me. I need to know."

By then, his hand's found its way back to her waist, fisted in the fabric just above her hip. He's breathing hard, dazed, grinning a little at the sight and feel of her; the caffeine-like fizz races through his veins.

"I," he starts, and falters.

It's nice, being with her. He can keep the memories at bay, letting the present swallow up the past and future. He feels --

Oh.

(So many things he locked away, after he boarded the train. So much he forgot. Curtis had forgotten this, too.)

"I'm happy," he whispers, with the awe of looking out a window for the first time in decades. "Here. That's what I want."

She feels that awe on her skin, warm and wonderful, like the first light of day. She meets his gaze, her hand stroking along his nape, her own smile reflecting a quiet wonder back to him.

"Good. I can't promise it will always be like this, but -- I promise you, I will always try to bring us back here."

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