dejah_thoris | [milliways] Lost for you, I'm so lost for you

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[milliways] Lost for you, I'm so lost for you

[ cont'd from here ]

'More private' to her right now simply means away from people. She takes his hand and leads him into the shadows, moving down the beach away from the music and the flickering light of the bonfire. The white sand beach is flat here, gently sloping down to the waterline. The quiet envelopes them, the susurration of the waves the only sound save for the occasional distant laughter.

Her blood still sings with the heat of his kiss, her breath ragged and shallow even as she attempts to calm herself. She can feel him, deeper now than ever before. If she is like fire to him, then he is red hot metal, radiating strength and something more. Something raw. Powerful. She's almost afraid to look too closely, terrified she'll see what she wants to see and not the truth.

But this doesn't feel like simple lust to her. They've skirted around that for months now. But this is different. This feels real.

"Curtis..." So many words crowd up behind her teeth, catching in the back of her throat. She glances at him, watching the distant firelight catch in his eyelashes. When she speaks, all that comes out is,

"I love you."

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"Oh, yeah. Absolutely."

He presses a soft kiss to her forehead, his smile growing as her joy mingles with his own.

"Any time you want."

She leans into his kiss, humming contentedly.

"The very next opportunity that presents itself. And when we finish the cabin." There's a small detonation of anticipation, a raw, almost desperate urge to begin the build now.

She smothers it with a laugh, her hands straightening his collar, smoothing his tie. A bell dings as they hit their floor, and the doors open.

He has to laugh, just a little, as they step out of the elevator together. "We could start the cabin a little early," he suggests. "Maybe if we get a couple warm days over the winter."

That used to happen, right? It used to get cold, but not always a relentless, unending cold.

His voice dips lower. "And we still got the rest of the night. With chocolate. And strawberries and champagne."

"And hot cocoa, don't forget the hot cocoa. My love, the night is far from over." She leans her shoulder against him as they walk.

"But before we build, we need to plan. I want to know what this cabin looks like, in your mind. What's the view when you step out the front door? Which window does the sun hit, first thing in the morning? How many rooms?"

The shimmer in her voice becomes a fizz, like bubbles in the champagne.

"Oh, god, I don't know," he says, fond amusement rippling over the words. (How can he not feel fondness, with all that enthusiasm buoying her up?) "I was just thinking, like...a one-room shack. I mean nicer than a shack, but..."

Curtis trails off, thinking.

Softer, "With a good view of the lake. But near some trees, too, you know?"

"Oh yes. Oh I like this plan. Surely more than one room. I mean, unless you want books on every surface."

She pulls away long enough to push the door open and lead him into her room. The lights come up the moment they cross the threshold.

"What kinds of material? Mud? Stone?" His enthusiasm is the bright morning sun on her wings. She rises with it, lets it carry her on. The future has been an elusive subject with him, until this. It fuels the hope in her heart.

For this. 'Whatever the hell this is.' Her heart swells and a wave of love washes over him.

He sighs, happily, basking in the emotions radiating from her. It takes him an extra second to remember what he was about to say.

"I was thinking wood," he says, as he sets the basket down on the couch. Taking a seat next to it, he tugs Dejah's hands to encourage her to join him. (Not that she needs much encouragement, he's sure.) "That's what they were made of before. I think."

He's got a very clear mental image of a log cabin hunkered down in the snow, half-surrounded by pine trees, wisps of smoke curling from its chimney.

"Wood? Hmm. All right. I'll have to do some research, then." She resists joining him for the moment, slipping his jacket off and laying it aside before toeing off her own shoes. She returns to drop to her knees at his feet, taking off his own dress shoes, which can't be comfortable. First one, then the other.

All the while, she focuses on the image he's projecting. It's very distant, dream-like, but still clear enough, she thinks she understands.

Shoes dispatched, she rises and insinuates herself into his lap. Her dark hair is mussed and wild around her face, her eyes lit from within with a more subtle glow. "We shall have to ask the Bar if there's a suitable location for this build. And then, inquire about materials and how to deliver them."

Curtis settles his arms around her to hold her close, keep her secure. After a beat, he frees one hand long enough to tuck a few bits of hair being her ear, smiling the whole while.

He can't get over how fucking gorgeous she is. Especially like this, when she's freed -- if only briefly -- from the trappings of appearances. When she doesn't look like a Jeddak; just like Dejah.

"Yeah, it might be a pain in the ass to haul a bunch of logs up a mountainside," he says, deadpan.

She drapes her arms around his neck, almost like when they were dancing. He's warm and he smells divine, and her fingertips gravitate to the short hairs at the nape of his neck, drawing gentle spirals again.

"We can use the light flyer and a sledge. And perhaps we can harvest the materials from the build site?"

She dips her chin to kiss the inside of his wrist. She glances up at him, giving him a playful grin. It melts into a softer smile, a secret smile. The smile she only ever reveals when it's just the two of them.

"This isn't the most romantic of small talk, is it?"

He shivers a little: first at the touch to his neck, then to his wrist.

Once he's composed himself, he murmurs, "I dunno, I think it's pretty romantic." He winds a lock of hair around one finger. "It's something kind of permanent for us, that we're making."

Something solid just for them.

She meets his gaze. Goddess, she will never get tired of those beautiful blue eyes of his. And those eyelashes, mother of us all. She blinks and chews on her lip.

"Permanent. I like the sound of that." Perhaps not in Helium. Perhaps not beside her as consort and husband. But together, here, nonetheless.

She leans in closer, to whisper directly against the shell of his ear. "I am mad about you, Curtis Everett. Absolutely and completely head over heels in love." The connection may not be as deep as it was on the beach, but it's still alive, still humming with electricity. He can feel her through the Voice, feel the truth of her words.

A tiny flutter in the back of his mind, so faint, but unable to be suppressed: Why?

But it disappears fast under the swell of love she can feel, as Curtis's smile broadens and he tucks his head against her shoulder. Gently teasing: "Oh, good, I'm not the only one."

This is so far beyond his imagining. Even in his daydreams where he made it to the Front -- that vision of the Front they all carried, like some shining palace on a distant hill -- it wasn't anything like this.

She wraps her arms around his head, curls her knees up, as if she could physically wrap herself around him. She holds to him so tightly, her muscles quiver, just for a few seconds, and then lets her grip relax, still firm, still insistent. She knows how much of his own self-loathing is woven in that question, so she refuses to give it even a molecule of air. She holds him in her heart and in her mind, knowing that for all his strength, his resilience, he is still vulnerable in other ways.

In it's own small way, this is beyond her imagining, too. This was never supposed to happen. This part of her life was over and she'd found a new way to live. Only it wasn't really living, was it? She can't help but think John would be relieved to know she's not alone anymore. And if that isn't the strangest thought to have right now, sitting in his lap with her nose full of his musk and his arms around her waist.

"You make me happy." If he needs to know, she thinks it is the best and truest answer she can give.

Such a simple reason. The most basic answer you could give anyone if asked, why do you love me?

But it quiets that dark little flutter in Curtis's mind. The uncertainty settles down, smoothing over into nothing. Happiness was such a rare commodity in the Tail; sustained happiness, impossible. So it's enough. More than enough.

For a long moment, he just holds her and lets himself be held, breathing deep, soaking up the light she shines. Then he drops a light kiss on the curve of her neck and pulls back a bit, shooting her an inquiring look as he reaches for the champagne.

A shiver runs over her skin at that kiss. Such a small thing to make her heart race and her whole body come alive.

He reaches for the champagne and her smile brightens considerably. "Oh yes, please. Here, let me shift so you can open it." She slips down to sit beside him, opposite the basket with the glasses. "How do you open it, anyway?"

He grins, nudging his foot against hers. "I think you just pop the cork out? Kind of like..."

He sets about wiggling the cork from the bottle, one centimeter at a time. Careful -- careful --

POP.

Really, it's a liquid with gases dissolved in it. Really, she should have known that was going to happen. She still jumps and lets out a little squeak, her hands fisting in his shirt.

"Oh shit!"

Curtis, you are a bad influence.

Curtis cracks up, brief but loud, and hastily stifles it against his forearm, his eyes crinkling at their corners. "Sorry," he manages after a second, "sorry -- "

Yeah, he doesn't sound too repentant there.

"What?" She laughs with him, a flutter of confusion there, quickly subsumed by the realization that there's champagne spilling. She leans across him and snags a cloth out of the basket, and puts it under the bottle, so his suit isn't -- well, all right, the pants are a loss anyway.

She's still giggling as she fishes out the flutes and holds them up so he can fill them. "Here."

"Thanks." Still snickering, he guides the bottle to each flute to fill them up, then sets it aside to mop up his clothes as best he can. (It's a pretty halfhearted attempt at cleaning up. This suit's already going back to Bar in much worse shape than it arrived.

Oh well. Sorry not sorry, as the kids say.)

That done, Curtis accepts one of the glasses and clinks it against Dejah's. "To keeping the party going?"

"Yes." She touches the rim of her glass to his with a gentle *clink*.

"And to us." She holds her glass up this time, but she leans in and steals another soft kiss.

"May the moons smile upon our path together."

"Always," he whispers against her mouth. Curtis sneaks one more kiss of his own, small and light, before taking a swallow of champagne.

His quiet agh isn't as pronounced this time, now that he's expecting the sting. Though the sting doesn't seem too bad anymore either.

(Curtis, it should be said, has no concept of how to savor a drink: that swig drained about a third of the glass.)

Dejah takes smaller sips, wrinkling her nose at the bubbles crackling against her palate.

"This is really quite wonderful. I had no idea champagne was so delicious." She re-insinuates herself beneath his arm and reaches across him to rummage in the basket for the bowl of strawberries.

"It's not too bad," he says, judiciously, as he takes another gulp. Idly, his fingers play across her shoulder. "You tried anything else carbonated yet?"

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