Who: Adam and Daryl What: A late-night break-in Where: Bathos 104 When: Saturday night/Sunday morning, around 4 am Warnings: Typical Adam and Daryl-ness, getting to second base. That’s right. Second base.
Ever since waking in Tim’s apartment on Saturday morning, Daryl had been wide awake and preoccupied. Any time another human being spoke to her, she dismissed them as white noise. Even Jane was small and quiet in comparison to the buzzing in her brain. She spent most of Saturday in the nude, sitting on the floor in her bedroom with the door closed. Try as she might, she couldn’t understand what had happened with Mr. Morgenstern. It made no sense. Why would they meet after she put him in prison, and end with hugs and smiles? People didn’t do that. This had to be a trap.
The longer the day wore on, the more she was convinced. His expressions had to have been calculated, chosen specifically to lead her on. Mr. Morgenstern was a master of controlling himself, and it would’ve been easy for him to concoct this elaborate meeting just to lull her into a false sense of security. This was revenge for his arrest. He would get back at her, not playfully, but viciously. She had to get a leg up on him. Gain an advantage.
So at four o’clock in the morning, Daryl devised a brilliant scheme. She would break into Mr. Morgenstern’s apartment, examine it, and then interrogate him if need be. It was perfect.
After slipping into a black nightgown and getting a flashlight and her lockpicks from her desk drawer, Daryl carefully made her way down to the first floor. Her bare feet skipped over the cool floors, and as she reached the lobby, she realized that she should have brought shoes. But it was too late to turn back, so she just forged on. She reached the first floor, tiptoeing over to the door of apartment 104. After trying the door and finding it locked, she crouched, holding up the flashlight as she used her lockpicks to let herself in.
The door was silent as it opened, giving her passage inside. Shutting it softly behind her, she held the lockpicks close as she swept the flashlight’s glow over the apartment. She squinted, moving slowly and purposefully. Nothing out of the ordinary jumped out at her, though she wasn’t sure what she was looking for. It was obvious that someone else was living with him, a male someone. Probably his brother. Normally, she’d be intrigued. But right now, she was focused on something else.
When a scan of the apartment yielded nothing, she went to Mr. Morgenstern’s bedroom. He was asleep in the bed, bundled up in the blankets. Moving quietly, she reached the side of his bed. She looked down at him as he slept, nose wrinkled. He was scheming in his sleep, she knew it. After a few seconds of holding the light down to the floor, she angled the beam right into his eyes, holding it steady. He was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming because he was flying, without wings, over the city and distributing rainbow glitter. The glitter came from sheep that he exploded earlier with the help of a man that may or may not have been Batman. He hadn’t been paying attention to the particulars, because everything made perfect sense.
Including the fact that there was an airplane gunning toward him with a large, bright light mounted on top. Absolute, perfect sense, that.
Floundering, Adam reached out, pushing the flashlight aimed at his face aside with a grumpy mumble. The light didn’t actually wake him, he was still too busy bedazzling Seattle for that, but it brought him into a state of minor consciousness, the unfortunate kind where one answered questions honestly one otherwise might not respond to at all. As Mr. Morgenstern stirred, Daryl smirked. He was waking, but not entirely. She could start her interrogation now and perhaps gain some useful information. “Mr. Morgenstern,” she said softly, kneeling by the bed and keeping the flashlight on his eyes. “What do you feel about Daryl Hockney having you arrested?” In his dream, the plane was speaking to him. Both of them were hovering in the air, him sitting cross-legged with a cup of tea in his hand. The plane hovered across from him, a curious metamorphosis overtaking it. It was slowly changing, becoming smaller and more human. But the damn light didn’t go away.
He reached out, batting the flashlight aside as he flopped onto his back, dropping an arm over his eyes. “Bitch,” he muttered. “But s’okay. Needed someone to do that.” His words were slurred; his tongue, thick and heavy with sleep, was disinclined to form sounds into language. It was disinclined to do much of anything. He smacked his lips together and groaned, reaching out with the hand closest to her. “Stupid... lamp...” As he pushed the flashlight to the side, Daryl allowed it, moving with him to avoid startling him awake. She moved a bit closer, leaning against the side of the bed as she listened intently. The insult made her wrinkle her nose, though she wasn’t surprised by it. Though a very small part of her, for whatever reason, took offense to that. Dismissing the thought, she leaned forward, waiting with bated breath as he continued. She raised a brow in mild surprise as he said that someone had to do what she did. What did that mean? He was waiting for destruction?
It made sense. Extremely intelligent individuals would sometimes, for whatever reason, crave the finality of utter destruction. She couldn’t explain why they did that just yet, but it was a sound potential theory. But there was more. As he reached out for her again, she pulled back, avoiding his touch. Shining the light on his face again, she crawled up onto the edge of the bed, one knee resting on it as she leaned forward, closer. “What do you intend to do to Daryl Hockney?” He and the plane were enjoying tea together. They had dropped from the sky and were sitting in a nice garden. The plane was still morphing into something more human, the metal slowly changing into skin. Hair had sprouted on the top of its head, and it was speaking with a woman’s voice, no longer sounding like groaning bits of metal rubbing together. He considered its question, taking a sip of his tea.
“Not sure,” he muttered. “Go dancing.” In his dream, music started playing, a lovely three-beat waltz. “Explain maybe. She wouldn’t get it.” He yawned, turning onto his side so he faced her. His eyes were still closed, and he showed no real signs of waking. “She’s... good for me.” He frowned slightly, and for a second, a grimace flashed across his face. “A brat but good.” His response was even more offensive than the explicative he had called her. Why wouldn’t she get “it”? What was “it,” and why would he assume it would be beyond her reach? Nose wrinkled, brows furrowed in annoyance, she watched him as he rolled towards her, face betraying that he was far from alert. It was strange, how he looked when he slept. Even when he was frowning and talking, there was a bizarre appearance of innocence in his features. She imagined it had to be due to the lack of muscle involvement in retaining a working facial expression while he slept. Yes. That had to be it.
The notion that she was a brat made her scoff softly. That was preposterous. Only slightly more preposterous than the idea that she was “good” for him. Curious, she leaned forward again, still holding the light over him. “In what way is she good for you?” The grass under his feet shifted, changing into green sand in a slowly widening circle. The plane was human sized, but still had plane-sized wings stretching to either side. The front windows shifted and shrank, changing into eyes at their own, steady pace. It was disturbing, caught on the nightmare edge between machine and human, and twisted machine at that. But he wanted to see what it would become, and the fact that it was wearing a slinky black dress made everything better.
A smile fluttered across his face. “Smart. Challenge.” He sighed, snuggling into the pillow. “Keeps me from being too bored.” His response earned a deep smirk. Of course she was a challenge. She was brilliant. This was no surprise, though it was strangely nice to learn that he did understand the depths of her intelligence the way she had hoped. But she had to focus. She had to remember her mission.
“Is that why you want to bother her for the rest of her life?” she asked carefully, keeping the flashlight steady. The plane looked mostly human, aside for the strange wings still protruding from its back. It had assumed the form of a young woman, who Adam suspected he should know. But he couldn’t place her. She was pretty, a little rounder than what society would call beautiful, with grey eyes and dark brown hair. He thought she was quite gorgeous. So he told her so.
“You’re pretty,” he mumbled, reaching out. His fingers slid over Daryl’s shoulder before flopping against his mattress. “And because...” He trailed off, sighing in his sleep and shifting, kicking at his covers. “No. Poppet’s funny when she’s flustered.” His lips quirked. The compliment came out of nowhere, as did the gentle touch. She looked down at her shoulder, eyes wide, as if expecting to see it burst into flames. When it didn’t, she settled for the heat that flooded her face, at least thankful it wasn’t an open flame. Her fingers tightened temporarily on the flashlight as she leaned forward still, examining him very intensely.
“So you bother her for your own amusement,” she replied flatly. Smirking, the plane-woman, her wings vestigial at best, lifted her teacup in a toast. She began to speak, and he frowned, trying to understand her. Her words were gibberish, a string of jargon and science backtalk that he couldn’t make sense of. Maybe she wasn’t speaking English. He couldn’t be sure, so he plastered a smile on his face and nodded along with her as her wings continued to shrivel.
“No.” He sniffled and rubbed his nose. “Give her stuff to do. So she doesn’t do stupid things. Get in trouble.”
Her wings vanished entirely. She was still talking nonsense, but he wasn’t interested in what she had to say. Her black gown was a sheath of silk, fitted to her body in an entrancing way. He leaned forward, and as he did so, the tea table between them disappeared. Reaching out, he took Daryl’s hand, and he tugged her into his arms. She sprawled across him with a squeak of protest as he fell into a bed.
Adam opened sleep-heavy eyes, peering at the woman stretched across him. “You’re not in the right outfit,” he told her, sliding his hands down her back. No, definitely not the same gown. Damn. But this was his dream. Maybe if he tried... He pictured Daryl in a black corset, complete with garters and thigh-high stockings. When he peered at her again, he was sad to see her in the same nightie. “Damn,” he muttered, still disoriented. The notion that she needed to be kept occupied so she didn’t do “stupid” things made her blood boil. It was very hard to stay quiet as she stared at his face, fighting the urge to introduce it to her flashlight. But she would remain calm. She wouldn’t destroy this interrogation, no matter how much she wanted to. It was so frustrating, being condescended to. She wasn’t a wayward kitten. She was Daryl Hockney, a brilliant mind. People didn’t need to protect her from doing stupid things, she didn’t do them. Ever.
Just as she was preoccupying herself with thoughts of her superiority, Daryl felt something around her wrist. She looked down, eyes wide, as his hand closed around her wrist and pulled her into the bed. Gasping, she dropped the flashlight in shock, dragged into the bed and sprawling over his chest.
She stabilized herself with her other arm, trying to get up as he slid his hands over her back. As he spoke, she held her breath, watching him. What outfit was she supposed to be wearing? Wrinkling her nose, she watched as he stared at her before finally muttering “damn.” Damn what? Thoroughly confused and mildly irritated, she pressed forward, the tip of her nose pushing against his. “What is so disappointing?” she asked. “It’s my dream,” he replied immediately, still sliding his hands up and down her back as if doing so might change her nightgown into something sexier. He’d take a silk babydoll even. He wasn’t asking for much at all, but the universe didn’t seem to give a damn. It never did. “In my dream, you should wear what I want.”
A scowl drew his brows together and he pursed his lips. “Why’re you in my room?” It was a logical, reasonable question, one that he might have asked much sooner had he been more alert. As it was, he frowned at her, confused. If she was going to be in his room, laying all over him, and not in something sexy, she should at least be naked.
His fingers slid along the fabric of her gown and pulled lightly. He could rectify the situation. He could. This was his dream? Her eyes widened at the thought, and for a moment she was mildly disturbed. Being a part of Mr. Morgenstern’s dream would be bad enough, but knowing that he dreamed of her? It was almost worse. Trying to find her footing, she lifted herself up just slightly before she was stopped by his hands moving up and down her back. It was strangely soothing in a way she didn’t want to accept.
At his question, she hesitated. “I’m not in your room,” she said suddenly. What was she doing? “This is your dream.” If he didn’t know she was interrogating him, he couldn’t accuse her of breaking and entering. “And dreams aren’t about what you want, Adam. You should know that by now.” With a smirk, she lifted herself over him, trying to very carefully slide away. If she could convince him that this was just an odd dream and make her way out of his apartment, she’ll have won this round resoundingly. A smile spread across his face. Now she was making sense. Perfect sense. Yes. This was his dream, and because it was his dream, he was going to make it better. So much better.
Sliding his hands up her back, feeling the fabric beneath his fingers, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. His lips found her face, first her forehead and then her cheek. Finally, he kissed her mouth. He expected things to change. For one, the venue should have changed. At the very least there should have been candles. Women liked those. And her clothes. Her clothes should have changed. But they didn’t, and his room was the same.
Piece of shit dream. His brain needed help. Or a kick in the hypothalamus. That would work, too. That smile was her warning. It was her warning that this choice, this lie, was going to compromise her in the worst of ways. She felt her elbows collapse as he hugged her to his chest, her arms unable to stand up against his grip. Her body was limp, as relaxed as she could make it, as he let his lips wander from her forehead to her cheek. Though she wanted to resist - could this be considered female on male rape? - she let him do as he wished, hesitating only when his lips found hers.
Eyes wide, she curled her fingers in the blankets surrounding them. He was barely awake and kissing her. The implications of this for the human libido were staggering, but she dismissed them. Because right now, in the moment, she had to devise a way to extract her from this situation as quickly and gracefully as possible without alerting him to the reality of the situation. So she returned the kiss, lightly and delicately, as she slid her body down his. Hopefully he would be distracted by the sensation of the slide, and she could disappear. Kissing her was like standing on a cliff, facing a sweet breeze. There was something dangerous about it, like holding your hand as close to the fire as possible before snatching it away. But there was something beautiful about it, too, something gentle and wonderful, fresh and life-giving. Kissing her was like drinking pure, sparkling water from a mountain stream, regenerating and invigorating. It was like wine, tart and full of sass.
She started to slide down his body, but he caught her elbows with a playful smile. “Don’t ruin the fun so soon, sweetheart,” he told her, tugging her back up. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he tugged her close and rolled them so he hung over her. “Hello, beautiful.” He leaned down and kissed her mouth again, desperate for another taste. When he caught her elbows, Daryl felt her breath leave her lungs. This was bad. But she couldn’t resist. If she fought, he’d wake up, thought he was likely doing so now. She just had to preserve this pseudo-dream state, keep him content while she found a way to retreat. As he pulled her closer, she pressed her lips together, feeling a coil of dread in her stomach. Being caught was not on her agenda, but it seemed that she was coming very close to it. For the first time in a long while, she began to fear consequences.
As she was pinned between his body and the mattress, she gasped, throwing a hand out to grip the very edge of the bed. It was a sharp corner, her only lifeline. She focused on that and only that, though as his lips descended upon hers she found her attention mildly scattered. He kissed her gently because a man didn’t abuse the precious things he wanted to keep. He touched her hair, so soft, her cheek, her throat. His hand slipped lower, fingers trailing over her breast. He took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet, sharp smell of strawberry.
And he froze.
The sleepy fog that filled his mind finally dissipated, and he found himself leaning over Daryl, his lips inches from hers. He stared at her, taking in her expression and the fact that she was in his bed. In his room. In his apartment. Releasing a breath, he gave her a crooked smile. “Hello, poppet. Why are we having sex?” And why couldn’t the dream have lasted? Being stuck in a nearly asleep Adam’s bed as he enacted a perverse dream on her was one of the strangest, most uncomfortable, most confusing experiences of her life. She felt his fingers slide from her hair south, skin prickling into goosebumps whenever he touched her. As he cleared her shoulder, she closed her eyes, breath strangling itself in her throat. Though Daryl admitted that she was no expert on human sexual behavior, even she knew that this was not normal in the least.
When he stopped, she opened her eyes, looking up at him with a pathetically surprised and confused expression. At his question, though, her face shifted into a sharp glare. “We are not having sex!” she hissed. Her cover was blown. The charade was busted. But at the very least, she would set the record straight. Setting his elbow on the bed beside her body, he propped his chin on his hand, effectively caging her. The crooked smile was still there, and he laughed. “Then what would you call this?” he inquired, brushing his hand over her breast. “Daryl, if you wanted to sleep with me, all you had to do was ask.” His smile turned absolutely wicked as he leaned closer to her face. “If I can get you this bothered when I’m half asleep, imagine what I can do fully awake.” Feeling his fingers brush over her chest, she stiffened. “I was attempting to extract myself, but you wouldn’t be rebuffed.” Yes, because this was all his fault. Clearly. She turned her head to the side just slightly, backing herself into the mattress as if it could swallow her whole. Her heart was racing as he continued to speak, leaning in close to destroy the distance she had created.
Eyes wide, she stared at him with a mixture of shock and horror. “I am not bothered, and I did not want to initiate sexual intercourse with you!” Surprising herself, she gave his shoulders a quick shove - it was nothing painful or rough, but the gesture itself was enough to convey her frustration and confusion. “I was merely here to determine your intentions! Which have become quite clear, I must say.” He let her shove him away, flopping onto his back with another laugh. Impossible, damnable woman. “Oh, yes, my only intention is to steal your blossoming virginity and then cackle like a Disney villain when I’m done.” He gave her a rueful look. “Honestly, poppet, is that really what you think of me?”
While he hoped not, he was rather sure it was. “Come on, then, let’s go.” Sliding from his bed, he opened the door to his bedroom, standing by it expectantly. “Off with you. I’m tired.” She let out an annoyed huff as he fell on his back beside her, clearly mocking their situation. “No,” she said with irritation. “If you wanted that, you would have taken different venues.” Though that didn’t mean that physical contact wasn’t a part of his intentions. Just not the only thing.
As he stood, she followed him with her gaze, confused. He was throwing her out? Sitting up, she looked at him peevishly. “Fine,” she said, rolling out of the bed and picking up her flashlight and set of lockpicks that she’d dropped. She reached the door, looking at him with a raised brow. She almost expected him to ask why specifically she’d come, but she wasn’t about to prompt it. “Enjoy the rest of your night.” “I will. And poppet? Next time you want to know all my darkest secrets, just bring wine and romantic comedy. Between the booze and the torture, you’ll have all your answers just as easily, much more coherently, and in considerably more detail.” He took her to the front door and opened it, giving her that cheeky, wry smile he was so fond of. “Dream of me, Daryl.” Then he shut the door in her face and leaned against it, breathing heavily.