dejah_thoris | [milliways] Run Home

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[milliways] Run Home

After their run around the lake was ended by meeting Curtis's unfortunate partner in the whole body swap debacle, Dejah headed back to the room for a good long shower. It was pure indulgence, standing under the hot water for so long, but she was allowed. Here, anyway. She'd be extremely mindful of bringing these bad habits back to Helium with her.

Her mind keeps going over the implications of Curtis having a double here. A doppelganger who is genetically enhanced somehow. Healthy and whole. It makes her wonder if she's not doing enough to make sure he's healing. Replacing the arm was one thing, but an extended period of malnutrition and captivity left other physical scars.

It is all a work in progress, one that will take many years to see gains. Much like the Work back in Helium. She makes a mental note to research the drawings he'd spoken of. If there is any record of all of his time on the train, surely the library here will have it preserved. Maybe something to help Edgar understand the whole picture. Even if he can never forgive, the least he can do is to try to understand it.

She steps out of the shower and towels off, still turning over the human ideals of morality, of fairness and justice. She tries to put the thoughts aside for now, knowing full well, she can easily drive herself mad if she doesn't. Instead, she dries her hair and tries to clear her mind.

And not think about random magical spells that could rip her consciousness from her body and put into another's. Yeah, comforting.

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It's still there. She's noticed his comments, his general distrust of his memory in the past. There's simply nothing she can do about it in the moment. In her life, triage of such things is second nature.

"Well, if not calm them then -- distract us for a little while. The priestess at the temple likes to remind me, one must feed and rest the spirit the same way one feeds the body." She gives him a crooked grin. "This counts, I think?"

"Definitely counts," he murmurs, leaning to kiss her forehead. "We're both allowed to have fun sometimes."

Curtis eyes the flyer again.

"I could go get the suit now...?"

She leans into his kiss. When he pulls back, he sees that quiet, gleeful grin again. She nods, excitement blowing through her like a warm wind.

"I'll only need a few minutes, I'm sure. I can be ready by the time you get back."

He can't help but return the grin as that warmth brushes past, catching him up in her excitement. "All right."

Okay, one more kiss before he goes. He intends for it to be quick, but once their lips meet...nah, he can linger a little. Just a bit.

Okay, more than a bit.

Oh.

For a brief moment in time, everything slows down. All she knows is the taste of his lips, the scent of his skin. She can feel the low throb of his desire, always present, always banked, like embers, ready to roar to life with just the barest breath.

A deep shiver runs down her spine, her own heart's longing resonating in kind. They have this. This moment. This one precious moment. She can make do with this.

When it's just them in this quiet space, nothing but touch and taste and scent, it's even easier for Curtis to forget. He doesn't have to think at all. They move in and out of the moment together, carried on the pulse of their heartbeats, until the kiss draws to a close like the soft descent of a curtain.

Curtis breathes out. Breathes in. Opens his eyes.

"Be back soon," he whispers, and squeezes her hands before reluctantly pulling away.

She shares his breath, her eyes closed, her heart open wide. She opens her eyes at his whisper and watches him, blue fire rimming her pupils.

"Don't be gone long," she teases, her voice pitched low. "I'll send out a search party, I will."

Curtis snorts a laugh. "Ten minutes, tops," he promises as he slides off the couch; caught in her eyes, it takes an extra second before he manages to look away.

Back to the door, then, and back down to the bar.

(He opts to take the elevator this time.)

Dejah is in motion the moment he's gone. "Do not fail me now, Magic Bar," she mutters, heading for the wardrobe.

The bar, it must be said, does not blanch in the face of fashion emergencies. She opens the door to the old wardrobe, and draws a deep breath in appreciation.

In a few minutes, she's changed, brushed her hair out and pulled it up off her neck, pinning it up with a few simple gold pins. She decides to forego the light crown she usually wears. It's simply too much.

She's dressed for more important occasions on less notice, but never with so little help. A little kohl around her eyes, a bit of her favourite perfume, the one she saves for the days when she feels especially indulgent.

She's still in the bathroom when he comes back.

Knock-knock-knock: he raps on the doorframe of the bathroom.

"Hey, okay if I come in?"

Bar presented the suit on a hanger, rather than the neatly-folded bundles she's given him in the past. He's got it draped awkwardly over his metal arm, held out from himself like it's going to catch fire if he looks at it the wrong way. Changing downstairs, then walking all the way through the bar, a couple hallways, and an elevator? Hell no. Curtis will get ready somewhere with a modicum of privacy, thanks.

"Please, by all means." He's always been welcome in her rooms. Even this one.

She's still in front of the mirror, fiddling with her hair, trying to get it just so. The dress she's wearing seems tailor-made for her, the soft sea foam green a lovely contrast to her copper skin and dark clan markings. All of which are visible through the sheer fabric.

"Do you need me to step out?"

"No, it's..."

Curtis trails off. His arm falls slack; he comes back to himself as the suit does a dangerous slide toward the floor, and fumbles it back into both arms as he keeps staring at Dejah.

"Wow."

Edited 2015-11-22 23:24 (UTC)

She looks up at him, wide-eyed, then down at herself and back to him.

"It's not too much, is it?"

"No, it's...it's good."

Wow.

He clutches the suit to his chest, more or less on reflex. Softer, "You look amazing."

A shy smile emerges and she looks down again. One hand rises to fiddle with the pins in her hair again.

"Yes, the wardrobe, it uh... I had a thought, and it seemed to y'know. It was simple. It's not too revealing, is it? Is that your outfit? What did she give you?"

"It looks fine," he assures her.

(Like Curtis is going to complain if her outfit's too revealing. But hey, it's not like she's walking out of their room naked or anything.)

"Um -- " Hastily, he pulls the suit away from himself to hold it up. Nothing elaborate, nothing ostentatious: just a regular suit, with a shirt and tie as accompaniment. "Just this."

Uncertainty ripples beneath his words. Is it enough? It's just a party, yeah, but shit, looking at her done up like royalty makes him feel like he's stumbled into the wrong car again.

She never knows what is too little for polite human society. And with him, still, she worries about making a misstep. Her fears are confirmed in that ribbon of uncertainty in his voice. She rests a hand on his, gives his fingers a little squeeze.

"Well, lets put it on you. See how it fits." She takes it from him and hangs it on a hook behind the door. She turns back to him and steps in close, brushing a kiss against his cheek.

Curtis smiles, the uncertainty melting away as her lips touch his cheek. Briefly, he rests his free hand on her hip, letting his fingers skate over the sheer fabric.

Doesn't matter how nice she looks, or how ridiculous that suit's probably going to feel. He's right where he belongs.

"You got any idea how to tie the tie?" he asks.

"I haven't a clue. But. I'm sure we'll figure it out." Her hands slide down to his waist, slipping underneath the hem of his sweater, a corner of her lips curling up.

"The shirt and pants look simple enough. What say we start there, hmm?"

"Yeah," he breathes, the word humming with anticipation. He catches both her hands, curling them around the edge of his sweater. Together, they lift it up and off; after it drops to the floor in a heap, Curtis starts to work on the buttons of the flannel shirt underneath.

He is not going to suggest they skip the party and just stay up here the rest of the night. He's going to be good, dammit.

That doesn't stop the Voice from sending his desire into the air like tiny, bright sparks, ready to ignite into something greater at a moment's notice.

She's struck by the memory of helping unbutton his shirt that very first day, and the power of the image mixes with the heat of his thoughts. She bites her lip and starts on the lower buttons.

She drawls, "And you think I'm cruel?"

He chuckles. Innocently, "You don't have to help."

When their hands meet in the middle, he covers them, gives them a light squeeze, then sheds the second layer of his clothes.

She hooks her fingers in the waistband of his jeans and pops the button, cocking one eyebrow at him as she does.

"I'm only here if you want me to be," she says, and he can hear the playful tease in her voice. "I can go wait in the other room, if you'd prefer."

His breath catches in his throat.

"No, no," he manages after a second. "You're good."

Yeah, this is kind of killing him a little bit, but her idea's way less appealing.

Her deft fingers undo the zipper and shift to his hips, easing his jeans down and descending with them. "Step out."

She looks up at him through dark lashes and she doesn't need to lick her lips. He can feel the desire in her every breath.

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