dejah_thoris | Prodigal

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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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Dejah's gaze drops but the smile doesn't fade. She catches his hand again, laces her fingers through his. "I think perhaps he sees how much I care about you."

Curtis shrugs, awkward again.

And then lets out a tiny snort of laughter. "So now that we've both had our friends threaten to kill us if we fuck this up..."

She chuckles, low and quiet. Her hands find the chain of the pendant and she gingerly places it around his neck again. Her arms settle around his shoulders and she bends her head to nuzzle his cheek,

"I promise, I'll do my best not to fuck this up. Or let my friends fuck this up." Playful as her words are, there's also a solemnity there. "I just want us to be able to talk to one another. Even when we're -- not at our best."

He nods. Dipping his head, Curtis kisses the underside of her jaw, then her neck.

"I don't want to fuck this up either," he whispers, breath warm against her skin. "I'm not good at talking. I'll try."

She tips her chin up, her head falling to one side in silent encouragement. Each breath she takes is shallow, but steady. Her hands cradle the back of his head, not guiding him, just resting there.

"That's all I ask. That you try."

That's all she's ever asked of him. It's still a marvel, that someone like her wants so little of Curtis: just his company, his effort.

He presses another kiss to her shoulder, and pauses there. "Want me to stay up here tonight?"

God knows he wouldn't mind.

She lets slip a breath that's dangerously close to a whimper. "I do, Goddess knows I do."

She pulls back to steal another slow, hungry kiss. When it breaks, she has to look into his eyes, has to see what he's feeling.

"Can you -- I mean? If we did, could we -- just sleep?"

...oh, that is not fair, after a kiss like that. Disappointment flashes across Curtis' face before he reins it in; he smooths his hand over her hair, nods after a moment.

"I can try that too." A beat, and the disappointment returns for a completely different reason. "Shit, I'll probably have to go check on Edgar at some point."

They just got through a jail sentence, and the kid didn't even want to be in separate cells for twenty-four hours.

She smiles, and laughs quietly in resignation. If he's paying attention, he'll see he's not the only one who's disappointed.

"Yes, it's probably best if we don't. For now, at least." She rests her brow against his, eyes closed, letting her breath come back to normal. "It's not that I don't want you. I do."

But she wants all the rest, too. And if she takes him into her bed without it, the cost will ultimately be far too high for her to pay.

"Yeah," he breathes. (It is hugely mutual.) "Just...wanna go slow. I know."

It sucks, but it isn't like they don't have the time. Milliways gives you nothing but time.

Curtis tips his head back to kiss her forehead. "Another night."

She leans into that kiss, her eyes scrunched shut, her hands fisting in the rough softness of his sweater. She doesn't have to explain, she knows, but she wants to. She wants to tell him this isn't just about going slow. It's about wanting something more than one night.

"Ten thousand nights," she whispers, folding him into another hug. It gives her just enough time to wipe her eyes and hope he doesn't hear her sniffle.

He hears her sniffle; his brow wrinkles, but he doesn't say anything. There's something private here, something he doesn't feel comfortable intruding upon.

Instead, Curtis hugs her back, tightly, hoping the gesture can transmit a sentiment he rarely feels comfortable saying aloud: It's going to be okay.

She sighs as his embrace tightens, melts against him, into him. She needs this, needs someone to lean against, someone to hold onto. And it feels greedy and selfish to even ask for it but -- Sweet Issus, she wants him to need her, too. And not just for the material things she has to offer him.

She holds onto him for a long quiet moment, and when the hug finally breaks, she pulls back enough to put some air between them. Her hands catch his, still holding onto him. As if she's afraid, if she lets go, he'll disappear in a puff of smoke.

"You'll ask Edgar about visiting the meadow?"

"Yeah." Gently, he squeezes her hand. "I'll tell you what he says soon as I hear it."

She nods, shakes her head, laughs a little.

"And I'll let Tars know, about the rest." She grins up at him. "I am terrible at goodbyes."

He chuckles, leans in to bump his nose against hers.

"Well," he says, "you know where to find me." Beat. "Kinda literally with that necklace now."

She chases after him, steals a quick kiss, grinning like a giddy school girl.

"Yes, well. I won't abuse the privilege, I promise. Now, go. Before I completely lose my mind."

"Wouldn't want that," he laughs.

Curtis grabs one more kiss before pulling away from Dejah. "Okay. I'll see you later. Have a good rest of the night."

Hauling himself off the couch, he grabs his coat; by now, it takes hardly any effort to shrug it on one-handed.

"You, too. I'll see you in the morning. I'm staying on the couch. This is me, staying on the couch. If I walk you to the door, you'll never make it there, so -- I'm staying put."

Edited 2015-06-24 22:27 (UTC)

He shakes his head, still grinning. That's a bad thing? he wants to say -- but she's made it clear she doesn't want anything to happen tonight. He'll save the temptation for later.

"I'm impressed," he says, as serenely as possible. "Anyway, um."

Curtis isn't too great at good-byes, either; he waves, a bit awkward.

"Bye."

And he's out the door before he can talk himself into staying just a little longer.

The moment the door is shut, Dejah falls backwards onto the couch, head in her hands, laughing. A moment later, she sighs, staring at the ceiling, her smile as bright as a lighthouse.

Always have to do things the hard way, don't you?

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