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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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."

He nods.

That seems -- fair. Equitable. No promises but to try, for both of them, as they figure this out together.

Curtis steals another brief kiss, draws his arm back around her waist, and leans his head on her shoulder.

She curls around him, finally tugging his hat off so she can rest her cheek against his head.

"Curtis. When I say I want to go slow, I mean -- I want to build something between us. I do not wish to be an escape for you. A refuge, yes. A place of sanctuary. But not a blind hole you can crawl into. I think you may not realize -- but I need you, too."

His forehead crinkles.

(Isn't that what any relationship is supposed to be? An escape? Maybe -- well, she says sanctuary, refuge, and he can wrap his head around those concepts. They're only a step or two removed from an escape; Curtis can make the leap, and shape his expectations accordingly.)

And then she says the rest, and he can't stop himself from asking: "Why?"

Her grip on him tightens. Her voice breaks a little when she tells him the abject truth.

"Because without you, I am alone. Can't you see?"

Curtis lifts his head and draws back, just enough to look at Dejah in open astonishment.

But you're Front, he thinks. And she's not like Wilford sitting alone in the engine, never venturing out to the rest of his creation. She's talked so much about reaching out to her people. Helping them. Fighting alongside them. Shit, one of her friends even threatened to kill Curtis if he hurt her.

How can he matter so much? How can she be alone?

She just looks into his beautiful blue eyes, her hand slipping down to rest with her thumb over his pulse. She can still taste his lips on her own, can feel the weight of his hand around her waist. He was happy a moment ago.

"Have I asked too much?"

"No," he says. "I just -- "

He doesn't understand. The little he can grasp, right at its edges, makes his voice turn lower, more gentle.

"You've got to have other people. Don't you?"

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