|Neil Donovan is (incharge) wrote in doorslogs,|
@ 2013-09-08 23:58:00
|Entry tags:||gwen stacy, norman osborn|
Who: Neil & Sam
What: Visits, pt 2.
Where: Sam's studio apartment.
When: Recently, yo.
"Joey would just get fucking pissed if I punched Iris in the face, which is what I need to do to feel better about shit" she said truthfully, because she didn't even need to think about that shit to figure it out. And it was so much fucking easier to think about doing something that wasn't cowering or feeling terrible. She wasn't sure if Lin was going to be able to look at her without trying to sing a fucking television jingle in order to make it better, but she was willing to give it a shot. She needed to move on, yeah? To pick herself up and quit hiding in this place with all the metal and canvas. "Adventuredome or something really ridiculous," she suggested, because Lin was something like a twelve-year-old on the inside, and she was pretty fucking sure he'd go crazy for a tilt-o-whirl. And she could tell he was debating whether or not to say anything about the pipe, because she'd lived with him for fucking ever now, and she could tell. It surprised her some, because he normally didn't say shit about anything, and then she took a few seconds to think through his question. Did it help? "Yeah," she finally said. "It helps, and it's not a Xanax," which was the main reason she'd bought the baggie. She knew the pills were gateway drugs for her, but maybe this would be like the cloves, yeah? And it would be better if she didn't need anything at all, sure, but she just wasn't fucking there yet. She lit the grass, and she took a deep inhale, but she didn't offer him the sweet-smelling pipe. She held it between her fingers instead, and she let it simmer. "You'll make up," she said of him and Chloe, unthinking, because she couldn't imagine Neil holding a grudge against anyone, and then her expression turned curiously hopeful. "You don't have to say nothing was going on, baby."
“Maybe Joey doesn’t have to find out,” he shrugged. Maybe he shouldn’t have been encouraging her to go punching people in the face, but what the hell. Different tactics worked for different people and it was better than her and Iris never being able to be in the same room with each other. “Sometimes you have to do what works for you, Sam, and to hell with everyone else.” Easier said than done, maybe, and he wasn’t so good at applying it to himself, but he believed it when it came to her. As for Lin, yeah, he could see him getting a kick out of someplace like Adventuredome. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Carefree fun sounds good, and Lin’ll love it. We can all be kids for a day or something.” He wasn’t too keen on the weed, since he doubted that fell under the category of sobriety, but admittedly it was better that than some hard drugs or something that might lead down that road again. “Well, if it helps,” he said, albeit reluctantly. Even if she’d offered him the pipe he wouldn’t have taken it; he didn’t want that shit. “You won’t need it forever, right?” And maybe he was looking for his own reassurance, but what the hell. He shook his head when she said that he and Chloe would make up, because he didn’t think it was that simple anymore. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t think so. And yeah, I do, because nothing was going on. It’s the truth, so I’ll say it.”
"Yeah, because Iris wouldn't go crying to him right away. She'd say she deserved it or whatever, but it would make it back to him, and then I'd get in fucking trouble," she said with the certainty of someone who viewed Joey more as a parental figure than a sibling sometimes. "I rented him a place though and paid it for like a year, so at least he has a roof, and I got him a food tab too," she admitted, even though that had eaten up a huge chunk of her money. But whatever, she slept better knowing Joey wasn't on the street and eating out of a dumpster, and she'd been broke before; she could deal. She smiled at the thought of being kids for a day, and she wondered if she even had that in her anymore, but it would be nice to see Lin not screaming at everyone like he was losing his fucking mind, yeah? As for that reluctant tone in his voice about the weed, it registered, and she set the pipe aside guiltily and watched as the green petered out. Ok, so maybe not telling him was better. "Yeah, no, not forever," she promised, shifting off his lap like a kid that had gotten caught doing something wrong. She crossed the room and grabbed a coke from the fridge, bypassing the beer, and she stood there as she cracked it open and held it out. "Want some?" she asked, because she didn't, but it was something to fucking do, yeah? And she realized, standing there, that she should just fuck him and get it over with. It made shit so much less awkward for some reason. "Ok," she said when he insisted nothing was going on with Chloe. That didn't jive at all with what Chloe said, and she was starting to feel like she was in the biggest fucking headgame, and she just didn't understand the fucking rules. She took a sip of the coke she was holding out to him, and she took a deep breath. "Do you want to fuck, or whatever?"
The way she said she’d get in trouble made it sound like Joey was more her parent than her older brother, and he just shook his head, unsure of what other advice to offer. “Hell, you could always blame it on me,” he said, half-joking. It didn’t surprise him that she’d set Joey up someplace, with food and everything, though he had to bite his tongue to keep from saying something about how he could have paid instead of her spending who knew how much on all of that. “Sounds like he’ll be okay, then. You’ve got his back, and he should have yours.” Not that he was an expert on sibling relationships, but whatever. His smile, stirred to fruition by the thought of Lin and carnivals, flickered and died at her reaction to his tone, and he cursed himself for saying anything about the weed at all. What was the big deal? Why did he have to make her feel guilty about something that helped? “I’m just worried about you,” he began, an attempted explanation, before she offered him the can of pop. Right. Okay. “Sure,” he shrugged, because it wasn’t booze and he was trying really, really hard to avoid that shit after having gone on his drinking binge while Sam was in the hospital. He started to rise from the couch, but then the blatant straight-to-the-point simplicity of her question made him look at her in surprise. “What?” And then he realized okay, that might be construed as disinterest, but he had to walk the fine line between being a total creep and acting like he didn’t want her. “Not that I don’t-- do you want to?” Touching was one thing, but after what Ian had done to her, he wasn’t so sure about more.
Joey had her back, sure, to a certain extent, but he wasn't very good at dealing with shit. She was learning that most men weren't, and she didn't stop to think that it was maybe just the men she knew or whatever, but the women around her seemed a lot stronger than the guys, and Joey was no different. "Joey will break someone's face for me, baby, but he doesn't know what the fuck to do with me face-to-face." She liked the smile that touched his face for a second, and she was sorry she'd managed to chase it the fuck away. She was trying so hard to be ok around him, and it didn't occur to her that she'd only be able to pretend for so long. Sure, with people she only saw and talked to occasionally, the pretending thing would work fine. Fuck, it might even work ok with some people she was close to. But maybe not with him, not if he kept wanting to talk to her or whatever. "I know you're worried," she said, because she did know. "It'll be fine, yeah? If I want more than the weed, I'll get with someone about it." And she meant that, because fuck if she wanted to go through drying out from the needle again; she knew she wasn't strong enough for that shit. And that surprise in his eyes a second later gave her a little bit of an upper hand, and that upper hand made her feel like she could do this. She crossed back to the couch, and she put a knee between his thighs on the cushion, her haunted blue eyes giving nothing away, and giving no indication of the right answer or the wrong one. "I'm asking if you want to, yeah?" she asked, fingers moving to one of the straps of her overalls.
“That’s kind of like me and Louis,” he admitted. “Hell if I know how to talk to him these days, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t do anything for him.” Caring had never been the problem, at least not with the Donovan siblings; their parents were another story. But him and Louis and Casey and Ash, they all cared. Showing it, expressing it, was the issue. As for it being fine, he wasn’t so sure. He worried about another overdose, about her escalating from weed to harder drugs, but he nodded despite his concerns. “Okay. Good. Don’t keep it to yourself, huh?” Even if she didn’t talk to him about it, he wanted her to talk to someone, someone who could help.
He sank back against the couch as she approached, and the knee between his thighs made him take in a deep, deep breath and let it out slowly. There was nothing in her gaze that indicated what she wanted or how he should answer, and he hated not knowing where he stood with her. “I do,” he said, and his hands found her hips carefully, the touch an unspoken request. “But listen, Sam, I’m shit at reading signs or whatever. I just-- I need you to tell me if you want to, because I don’t know if it’s too much, too fast, and hell if I want to be that guy. I don’t want to push you.”
"Yeah," she said of him and Lou. She'd already figured out that whatever had happened while they were growing up in the Donovan family, it didn't lead to very functional brothers. She knew enough about Casey's problems with drugs to know that his happy demeanor was all a fucking joke. Ash, though, Ash seriously seemed to be the most put-together person in that family, and she wondered how the fuck she managed it. And poor Lou, it was like he'd gotten a double whammy with the Alexander genes, because they weren't exactly anything to write home about. And she didn't even know where Iris ranked in all that shit. As for his request that she not keep it to herself, that just got him a nod, because pretending she was just fine included not crying to him about wanting to eat pills, and she knew that. And it wasn't like he fought her on wanting to be the person she came to, but he wouldn't be Neil if he did that, and she knew it.
She watched that slow inhale and exhale, and she tried to figure out what the fuck it meant, but she couldn't tell. And she didn't know where she stood with him, either. They weren't together, yeah? He'd never asked or whatever, after she'd left Aria. And he hadn't said anything about wanting to be, and she wanted to at least let him know that this was still ok. Friends with benefits or whatever, and she sort of had to put out benefits for that, yeah? But the hands on her hips didn't freak her. She was pretty fucking sure nothing he could come up with would scare her now, and maybe that wasn't the right way to look at it, but whatever. "You don't ever fucking push," she said, because if there was one thing he'd never done, it was push. And maybe she wasn't fucking ready, but that didn't keep her from letting the straps of the overalls fall as she climbed onto his lap, the thick fabric gaping down around the plain, white underwear she wore beneath the denim, and the wifebeater too thin and worn to hide anything at all.
“I don’t push because I don’t want to,” he attempted to explain, but it was hard when she was this close and she hadn’t been in so long. “That doesn’t-- I mean, that doesn’t mean I don’t want you, because I do, but--” Neil broke off with a shrug, which ended up being little more than a movement of his shoulders as she climbed onto his lap. It was impossible to not look when the straps of her overalls slipped down, and he barely managed to swallow down a groan. “You don’t need to do anything you’re not ready for,” and hell, the words just slipped out and he couldn’t seem to make himself stop. “I want you, Sam, but that doesn’t mean I just want this. Sex. I want--” He knew he was tripping over his words and probably making a mess of things, but when didn’t he? “I want more,” he managed, head tilted back to look up at her, and it was so damn hard to keep his hands on her hips and not let them roam.
She wasn't expecting him to talk. Whatever the fuck she expected from him, talking didn't even factor in. Yeah, sure, there was the possibility that he would say no and push her away, or that he would say yeah and go for it, but she'd given up on Neil saying anything fucking ages ago, and it took her stoned mind a few seconds to catch up with his words and realize he was actually trying to explain something. And, yeah, maybe he was doing a shitty job of explaining anything at all, but it was maybe more words than she'd heard him string together in fucking ever, and by the time he tipped his head back to look at her, her inky gaze was pinpoint focused on his face. "What kind of more?" she asked with the kind of trepidation that kids used when they thought something was a trick. She let her gaze drop to his hands, where they rested on her hips, and she slid her calloused and paint-stained fingertips over them and settled his fingers on the bare skin at her sides. She took a deep breath, because this was harder than his fingers on denim, and she pulled her hands away slowly, leaving his there, against skin.
Well, that was the question, wasn’t it? He could either massively fuck this up or, for once in his life, actually get it right. Or semi-right, at least. He began to answer, but the way she settled his hands on her exposed skin distracted him enough to temporarily chase away the need for words. He was practically panicking over whether or not she was ready, but he didn’t pull his hands away and he didn’t draw back. Instead, slowly, he moved his thumbs in a circle over her skin before sliding his fingers up, just a little, barely enough to cover any real distance. “More, like… like a relationship.” It was, quite possibly, the most direct he’d been in a long, long time, but being stupidly vague had gotten him absolutely nowhere time and time again. It was about damn time he started listening to what everyone else kept telling him.
He barely moved his hands, but it felt like he'd crossed miles of fucking skin and, yeah, ok, maybe not entirely ready yet. But it was such a strange fucking thing, because she wanted him to touch her, just to prove that it was him, that it wasn't Ian, and that he actually still wanted to. And she had no idea what the fuck she was expecting him to say, but that wasn't it. She stared at him, and her calloused fingers settled against his chest, unsure whether she wanted to tug him closer or push him away. She twisted the fabric of his shirt between her fingers without any of the subtlety of an older, more experienced woman hearing that statement, and she was cracked lips and uncertainty when she managed to finally speak. "With me?" she asked, as if he'd gone fucking crazy somewhere between the door and the couch, and maybe it was the second-hand pot smoke or something, but there was enough hope on her face to make it obvious that it wouldn't be a bad fucking thing, if he actually meant it.
Maybe he was crazy. Maybe he’d been crazy for a long, long time; maybe all the Donovans had a little bit of insanity in them. But right at that moment Neil was entirely sane and he knew exactly what he was saying. It was what he should have said a long fucking time ago, if he was being honest with himself. “Yeah, with you,” he said, biting down on the inside of his lip to keep from laughing at how incredulous she sounded. “You and only you,” he added, in case it wasn’t clear, and he stretched forward ever so slowly to bring his lips to hers. It wasn’t tentative but it wasn’t demanding either, firm enough to establish intent while remaining relatively chaste.
Even with that bite to his lip, his expression let her know that he was trying not to laugh, and she untwisted one of her hands from his shirt and smacked his shoulder hard enough to make her own hand sting. And fucking ow, but it was worth it to get the hit in. She would have hit him again, but that you and only you stopped her hand mid-swing. She wanted to ask about Chloe, about Ella, about the guy at the party, but she was like a deer in fucking headlights when he started moving, and all she could do was stare. And the kiss was ok, yeah? Ian hadn't kissed her like that, not even once, and it didn't bring anything bad rushing back. She still sucked at it, kissing, even after the practice at the party, but she was slower about it at least, and she gave up the frenzied determination to climb on his cock as quickly as she could to prove some kind of point. She breathed against his mouth. "Yeah?"
The smack of her hand against his shoulder might have stuck, but it was practically nothing on the pain scale. He laughed, then, unable to hold it back, and he had to press his lips together to muffle more laughter when she stared at him like he’d just uttered something earth shattering. It made him realize, too, that he must have really fucked up in the past for her to be so shocked at him admitting that he wanted her beyond just friends with benefits. The kiss might have been slow and sloppy but it was perfection in his mind; he didn’t push, didn’t try to speed up or take more than she gave. He grinned at her yeah, and kissed her again before responding. “Yeah,” he said, a repetition and a confirmation. “You still want me? I haven’t used up all my chances yet?”
"Asshole," she muttered into the kiss, but it was fond, and she was perfectly aware that believing him was fucking dangerous. No matter how she pretended, she didn't have it together, and it was safer to think he was fucking around, or that he only wanted to see her on the side, because there was no potential disappointment in that. But she was still young and stupid enough to hope, even after all the shit with Ian. And, fuck, it wasn't like she'd ever actually wanted this with anyone before, so the feelings were new, and she didn't have any experience in combating them. His question got him another smack to the shoulder. "You're a fucking idiot, yeah?" was her response, and she kissed him this time, tentatively, but open-mouthed and with a ragged and reluctant sigh as she pulled away. "I'm not ok, yeah? You know I'm just bullshitting about that?" she asked, because it was one thing to pretend, but it just wasn't cool if he was actually signing up for this. "If you're cool with that, and with the fact that I will seriously punch you in the face if I catch you lying to me after this, then yeah?"
This time his laughter was replaced by a grin, and he was perfectly aware of his own shortcomings. He could acknowledge past mistakes, yeah, but this time around he was determined not to repeat them again. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I’m a huge fucking idiot, but I want to change that.” And he did. He was tired of the drinking and the failures, of disappointing everyone around him and hating himself so much that dying of alcohol poisoning didn’t always seem like a bad idea. Her initiative and the kiss surprised him, but in a good way, and he responded eagerly enough that his pleasure was obvious. “I know you’re not okay, Sam. I know,” he told her. “You not being okay doesn’t change how I feel about you, and it doesn’t change what I want.” And there was a flicker of a smile, brief, before he sobered and nodded. “Yeah. I’ll deserve it. But I won’t, I mean, no more lying.” He knew he’d probably said similar things before, but this time he’d cut off ties with Chloe and he thought that’d probably go a long way towards changing things.
Sitting there, she realized she had absolutely no fucking idea what to do with this. It was like that thing you never fucking think is going to happen, so you don't prepare for it or whatever, and she was left just staring at him, because she had no clue what to say. She was breathing a little hard from the kiss, and it made registering his acknowledgement that she was a fucking mess harder. She wanted to believe him when he said it didn't matter. Pretending was ok with everyone else - it would be ok with everyone else - but it would be really fucking hard now, with him, and she had fucking questions, yeah? But they could wait. She gave him a look, a second later, when he promised not to lie, that was fear and trust, and it came with a little shake of her head, tiny and almost imperceptible. "Don't," she said, and it was almost pleading or something. "Whatever the fuck you want to do, it's ok, just tell me." She knew he would argue about not wanting something open or whatever, and she kissed him quickly to shut him up. "And if you don't want to do anything, then that's ok too, yeah?" She didn't actually believe that Chloe was gone from the picture. Maybe there would be a reprieve or something, but she didn't actually believe in anything permanent, not from her. And as for not being ok, she gave him a look that was more than a little shamed. "Maybe- Can you just crash or whatever?" No sex was implied in the question, though she didn't actually say it aloud.
Confusion clouded his features when she told him don’t. Don’t what was his question, and he would have asked as much if she hadn’t kissed him. Even so, once she pulled back, he was left shaking his head. “Whatever I want to do?” He didn’t get it, no, after thinking he’d been keeping up admirably well so far. “I don’t know what you mean. I want-- hell, I want you, Sam, but I don’t want you doing anything you’re not ready for. I’m not some pervert, and like I said it’s about more than just sex with you,” he explained. When she asked if he could crash he didn’t hesitate; a nod and a smile, and he moved his hands back to her hips. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I’ll crash. I’m glad you asked, actually.”
"Idiot," she repeated, getting that she'd muddled that shit up somehow, face going redder, and shit, she hated being embarrassed. "No, I meant if this a relationship or whatever, and I've never actually had one where I wasn't married to someone obsessively possessive. So, I'm just saying don't lie or whatever, please? Just, tell me if you want something, and it'll be fine, yeah?" Because she knew he was into taking the path of least resistance, and she was pretty sure that was the reason he lied about shit. That done, she gave him a gap-toothed smile that was actually a little entertained around the edges. "Baby, you're the furthest thing from a fucking pervert," she said honestly, and she exhaled, tension leaving her shoulders when he said he would crash. "Nights kind of freak me out," she admitted. It was a tiny confession, but it was something, and it was more than she'd given anyone else.
She climbed off his lap, reluctantly losing his touch on her hips, and she nodded toward the couch. "It opens," she told him, even as she tugged the coffee table out of the way. She didn't actually have a bed or anything, and she knew falling asleep wouldn't be easy without some booze (it never fucking was lately). She considered hunting through her bag for a pair of sweatpants or something from the hospital, but fuck that. In the end, she just slipped off the boots and the overalls, and she tossed them into a corner as she grabbed pillows and blankets from the storage closet and held them against her body with more than a little nervousness, now that the heavy and reassuring weight of the denim was completely gone. Ok, yeah, definitely too soon.
Neil still didn’t know what he might end up wanting that he’d have to ask her for, except maybe sex but, in that case, he wanted to let her decide when she was ready. Pushing wasn’t something he was good at, even if he’d actually wanted to, and judging by her hesitation now she wasn’t quite there. But he didn’t mind, and he nodded when she asked him not to lie. “Yeah, no lying,” he agreed. “And it’ll be fine.” He wasn’t going to fuck this up, he promised himself. Not again. Her smile was a relief, admittedly, and he grinned back. “Good. That’s what I’m going for.” His smile softened, becoming less teasing and more fond when she admitted that nights freaked her out, his fingers finding hers before she climbed off his lap and giving them a reassuring squeeze.
He slid off the couch and stood, studying it critically while she collected blankets and pillows and, after a moment or two, managing to open it out into a bed. It wasn’t a proper bed but at least it was better than nothing, he reasoned. He hadn’t expected her to step out of the overalls completely and it took some effort not to let his gaze wander, but he managed. He reached for her, carefully, tugging lightly on her wrists in the direction of the bed. “You can get it set up,” he told her, teasing.
She gave him a steady, assessing look when he said shit would be fine, and she knew she shouldn't believe that stuff about him not lying. But she hadn't been burnt before him and, yeah, she wanted to believe it. She wanted to believe it really fucking badly, just like she wanted to forget Ian, and just like she wanted to stop making everyone feel fucking better about Ian. She was pretty sure the last two fucking things would never happen, but him telling the truth, maybe that could, yeah?
She didn't mind his wandering gaze, even behind the blankets and pillows, and she reasoned that the underwear and wifebeater were pretty fucking chaste, all things considered. Anyway, Neil had never been particularly interested in that way, and she didn't expect him to start noticing her now. So, when he tugged on her wrists, she took one of the pillows and smacked him upside the head with it. "Do I look like a housewife to you?" she asked, despite the fact that she'd actually been one for five fucking years. But despite the smack with the pillow, she went when he tugged, and she knelt on the bed and started setting shit up in a messy, haphazard way. She flopped back, once it was all done, tangled hair strewn across the pillow and her knees bent up. "You better at least take those fucking scratchy jeans and heavy shoes off," she told him, even as she yanked the blankets up to her chin.
The pillow barely stung, but he fell back on the bed dramatically as though he’d been hit with a bag of rocks instead. “Ow,” he groaned, an arm over his eyes and his lips twitching with the effort of keeping back his laughter. “I don’t know, what do housewives look like?” It was an innocently posed question, but he sat up with a grin when she started setting up the blankets and pillows regardless. Finally, after what felt like far too long, things weren’t awkward and stilted between them. “My jeans aren’t scratchy,” he protested, but he could at least agree about the shoes. He slid them off and let them drop to the floor, beside the bed, and after a brief hesitation began working on his jeans. Unbuttoned, unzipped, and he stood long enough to slide them off and leave him in nothing but his t-shirt and boxers before he crawled under the blankets beside her. “Better?” He propped his head up on one hand and turned on his side to face her.
"You're such a fucker," she said, but the words were broken up by laughter, and it felt good to laugh. And even if the laughter wasn't as carefree as before, it was honest, and she intentionally kicked his bare shin once he crawled beneath the blankets. She spent a few seconds trying to decide whether to turn on her fucking side or not, because there was a nervousness in her limbs that she just wasn't used to with him. But in the end, she did turn to face him, and she let her hand skim from the front of his t-shirt down over his boxers, quick, but deliberate, and then she pretended to consider as she pulled her hand away. "Yeah, ok, better, I guess," she said, and the gap-tooth smile lingered for a second before her expression turned serious. "Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked honestly, because she knew he didn't have to be, and she knew this shit had to be hard for him. She slipped closer, though it took a few seconds to do it. "Iris's and Lou's shrink wants to fuck, and I think I might have to tell him the factory is fucking closed," she joked, because joking was easier than waiting for his answer.
“I went from an idiot to a fucker, huh? Quite the progression.” He nudged her back when she kicked his shin, and he didn’t move when she ran her hand over his shirt and boxers, the touch deliberate enough to cause his breath to catch in his throat but light enough that he was able to keep from reacting further. Her question made him frown, more puzzled than displeased. “Why the hell wouldn’t I be nice to you?” Even if she didn’t think he loved her, she had to know he cared. Maybe he and Louis weren’t always nice to each other, but he was the exception; he’d never be mean to her, not intentionally. “He wants to fuck, huh?” That earned a scowl (like Daniel all over again) but his expression became one of mock outrage a few seconds later. “You might? Are you still considering it?” He tried to make it teasing, but a hint of jealousy slipped through regardless.
"You move to the head of the class, baby," she joked, and she grabbed his arm and stretched it out beneath her cheek a second later, she was settled just in time for that puzzled frown. "Because I've been a pain in your ass recently. I've been a pain in everyone's ass recently, yeah?" Which was obvious, at least to her. And then the scowl and mock outrage made her grin a little, and she stretched behind her to douse the overhead lights, using the switch behind the couch. She didn't hear the jealousy through the tease, because she'd never known him to be jealous, so she didn't actually fucking know he had it in him to be jealous. She figured sharing was, ultimately, cool with him. "Do you think I should?" she asked and, even in the darkness, it was pretty fucking obvious she was just giving him shit. She didn't actually stop to think that shrinks sleeping with girls they knew were sick was fucked up. It was just teasing, and she knew she wouldn't follow through with it. "You could kiss me or something and convince me otherwise," she said with a sleepy sigh, burrowing further beneath the blankets.
“You haven’t been a pain in my ass,” he said without hesitation, an unthinking denial. “You’re never a pain in my ass, Sam.” He paused, then, pretending to think. “Well, most of the time you’re not,” he added, teasing. Jealousy wasn’t something he exhibited often, and most of the time he just kept it inside and let it turn bitter, but he was definitely capable of it. Oh, was he ever. It mostly reared its head when Daniel was concerned, but any guy who showed interest in her was hair game. “No,” he grumbled as she doused the overhead lights. “No, I don’t think you should.” Fuck this shrink guy. Besides, if he was a shrink then he had to know she wasn’t exactly a picture of health, and that was all sorts of wrong in and of itself. “I could,” he said thoughtfully, but relented a moment later and shifted forward to kiss her. His knees bumped her legs beneath the blankets, and his mouth found hers, and he was utterly content.
She scoffed at not being a pain in his ass, because it was nice, yeah, but so not fucking true. "I'm going to try to be better. No scraping me off the sidewalk, no getting kidnapped by psychopaths," she promised, and she even managed to say it straight, without any cracking in her voice. And maybe she should have been more honest with him. Maybe she should have told him all the fucked up thoughts she had throughout the day, but she didn't want to chase him away, so she didn't say any of it. She just grinned when he grumbled, instead. "Yeah? Ok, I'll tell him you said so," she offered, and when he kissed her she leaned into the kiss, and she didn't hurry the thing to an end, and maybe she was breathing easier by the end of it, and maybe her heart wasn't flying with panic. She scooted closer, and she pressed her nose to the soft front of his shirt, and she closed her eyes. She knew sleep wasn't going to come, but she didn't fucking need it to. She felt safe for the first time in over a month. "Goodnight, baby." Then, quickly, "say that shit about a relationship again?"
He just shook his head, because none of that shit was her fault but he knew he’d have his work cut out for him trying to convince her of it. “Sam, just be you. I’m the one who needs to try to be better.” Because he’d fucked a lot up during the past year, and he needed to stop doing that lest he drive her away for good. He grinned when she said she’d tell the shrink as much, a pleased sound muffled into the kiss. He didn’t mind slow, didn’t mind the pace she set, and it was warmth and fondness before it ended. When she moved closer he draped an arm over her waist, though he didn’t close his eyes. He began to return her goodnight, but her question quickly followed suit and he smiled instead. “I want a relationship with you, and just you,” he told her, before settling against the pillow with a sigh. “‘Night, Sam.”