Cian (thebettingsort) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-01-17 23:08:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !complete, !log, cian wilde, ofelia zhou |
Who: Cian & Fee
What: Relieving some pent up frustration, tbh
Where: Cian’s place
When: Backdated: some time after this.
Rating: R-ish (even though this is the first log ever where Cian doesn’t curse once)
Status: Complete!
His heart rate was starting to come down and even out as he finally rolled himself over. The presented view -- his ceiling -- wasn’t as enjoyable as the one he’d left (Fee, as it turned out, looked pretty damn good tousled and naked), but he was supposed to be a gentleman (whether or not they’d dispensed with that act by now) and she probably needed to breathe. He propped himself up on his elbows, turned once again to study her face. He rarely felt discomfort with a woman, even more rarely regret (one woman was a notable exception to this rule; amazingly she was currently not on his mind, for a change). This was neither of those things -- hard to regret something so imminently enjoyable, and hard to imagine being uncomfortable around Fee, either -- but it was a strange feeling nonetheless. Closure, maybe? It seemed they’d both been wondering for awhile, after all, and now they didn’t have to wonder anymore. Yeah, it had been pretty much just as good as he’d imagined (and he had a very healthy imagination when it came to these things), but… “So,” he said, “want a cup of coffee?” Ofelia laughed, her own eyes locked on his ceiling and taking in every dull detail. Mainly, she was left lingering over the novelty of it, a sight she hadn’t ever expected to see. “I think you’ve got the order all backwards,” she said, shifting to meet his eye. “First step, you take a woman out for coffee. Then, eventually all this.” But they’d been bucking the normal order and expectations ever since the very start, hadn’t they? Their early days – it seemed like a lifetime ago, and in many ways, it was – had started on a different note entirely, with the splintering crack of breaking bone. She’d been so young. So had he. From mistrust to friendship to trust to sleeping with each other, then actually sleeping with each other. It was an order she could get behind. “Not that I’m complaining,” she added. Ofelia’s voice and body language was different tonight: sated, relaxed, guard down, less the prickling bundle of wariness she tended to drift into with Cian. And it was a relief of sorts, finally acknowledging to herself what that tension had been. “I was about to say,” he said with a chuckle, shaking his head. “Since when am I conventional?” It seemed pretty evident that neither of them were, if it came down to that. “I prefer this way, but hell, if you’re implying I shouldn’t offer coffee, maybe I’ll just make some for myself.” He considered it a moment before letting himself fall back again and adding, “Eventually.” At the moment, staying horizontal held a definite appeal. She made a noise beside him, rolling over onto her stomach and bundling the threadbare pillow beneath her chin. “If you tell me where everything is in the kitchen, I could make a pot,” Fee said, unable to repress a smile. “Though I’d also warn, you shouldn’t always expect such courteous service from me. I’m willing to be kind since you’re in my good books. For now.” Her usual nerves were dissipated, inhibitions finally stripped away after years of tight rein around the other gambler. He turned to grin at her. “Cabinet to the right of the sink, if you’re really offering,” he told her. It was hilarious, what a passable impression of an old, settled couple they could do when they weren’t thinking much about it. He tugged the sheet and blanket towards him, told her, “You’re not getting this, though.” He intended to enjoy this… raincheck to the fullest, considering this was likely a one-time deal. “And before you say it,” he added, “I’ll find some way back into your good books, even after hogging the blankets. The night’s still young, and all.” “Hm. That it is.” Ofelia craned her head to check the dim screen of her communicator (ever-present by her side, but this time discarded to the floor beside the bed). By the looks of it, they still had more than enough time to wring more enjoyment out of the evening, savouring the hours they had left of this arrangement. Finish dispelling the years’ worth of baggage, and then move on. For that, they might need caffeine. “Right of the sink,” the once-orator repeated. After a slight pause – slightly abashed, but persevering through it – she slid out of the bed naked, hiding the limp as best she could. The woman stalked off into the dim room to clatter around the kitchen, poking through cupboards for two chipped mugs and an ancient coffee machine that clinked and rattled and hummed as it went about its business. She could think of far worse ways to spend an evening. Or morning. |