Who: Adam and Daryl What: A planning session that doesn't involve much planning at all Where: Bathos 104 When: Sunday evening, around 7 o’clock (specifically in response to this conversation) Warnings: A failed kiss, several win kisses, and enough sexual tension to kill a horse
Of course she would do the research. She was good at research, and she would ensure that it was done right. If Mr. Morgenstern wanted to put on an event, more had to go into it than well wishes and dreams. Anyone else that he would hire would get distracted by glitz and glamor, which meant that it was her duty to take over. She didn’t ask permission because she knew he would grant it. It was more streamlined and logical to simply do what she knew she could and be done with it.
Several hours later, she had compiled enough data to take to him formally. She had printed out the Convention Center’s floor plans, making notes on each room to correspond with the attractions she had researched. There was also a printout of Seattle weather patterns from the last month and what could be expected for an average month of February. It all fit nicely in a swollen folder that likely could have served as a self-defense weapon should she be attacked on her way down to Bathos 104.
With no assailant in sight, she reached Mr. Morgenstern’s apartment promptly. Holding the folder against her chest, she first tried the doorknob. After all, if she could spare him the hassle of getting up and answering the door, she would. When it yielded, she let herself in, stepping inside as if she owned his apartment. “Hello?” she said, pausing as she shut the door behind her. She could smell something. Chinese food. Hesitating, she moved towards the kitchen. “Did I come at an inopportune time?” she asked the apartment.
As she entered the kitchen, she froze, eyes wide in surprise. The countertop was covered in boxes from the Chinese delivery restaurant that they ordered from. And standing near those boxes was Mr. Morgenstern, dropping portions of the food onto plates. At first, she thought she had interrupted his mealtime, but there was more food than one person could consume. And she saw that not all of it was his favorite.
After a few seconds of silence, she looked over to him. “Did you...anticipate my arrival and plan dinner accordingly?” “Of course I did,” he replied smoothly, not looking up. “I unlocked the door for you. I’m sure you noticed.” Of course she did since she was inside. He added some sauteed vegetables to his plate and then to hers. He picked up the shrimp, shaking a few onto each plate before spooning the sweet and sour sauce on top of the rice and shrimp. Stepping back, he gave everything a once over to make sure it was prepared to his satisfaction. Since it was, he went to the cabinets and pulled out two glasses.
Setting them on the counter, he went to the refrigerator and grabbed the water. He poured them both a glass. “Let’s review your research in my office,” he said with mock seriousness, picking up his plate, utensils, and glass.
He led her into the living room, where he had cleared space for them on his coffee table. Dropping to the floor, he placed his things down, indicating she should sit, too. “Let’s see your folder,” he said, unsurprised to see the large collection of papers. “Find anything useful?” “Yes, but-” She cut herself off with a sigh, knowing that further questioning would be pointless. Every step he took was watched carefully, Daryl’s eyes wide. “Be careful,” she bit as he picked up his plate and glass, mindful of his foot. “I can carry something, don’t over-exert yourself.” But he didn’t bide her cautions at all, instead carrying on and leading the way into to the living room. She caught the mockery in his tone, picking up her plate, utensils, and glass with a stern expression.
When his “office” was revealed to be his living room, she sighed, setting things down carefully. She tried to help him with his things, but found herself rebuffed. So she just took a seat opposite him, watching him critically. “Yes,” she said finally, opening the folder and pulling out the Convention Center’s floor plans. “I believe that if you want to hold this in the Washington State Convention and Trade Center, the fourth floor would be the most prudent to use. It has large rooms with 25 foot ceilings, on average. These would accommodate most amusements, such as a “Tunnel of Love” and a moderate carousel.”
She gestured to markings over the floor plans, notes made in her own handwriting. “These numbers correspond with amusements I have found online, giving a sample floor plan that you could arrange. You can either choose to group the amusements by type, or intersperse them all. The interspersed method is a bit unorthodox, but it may allow for a greater utility of the space provided.” As she finished her diatribe, she glanced over at him, hesitating slightly. She wasn’t sure when looking at him had started filling her with the urge to do something, but it had to be recent. Trying to dismiss the thought, she speared a piece of shrimp on her fork and took a delicate bite. Leaning over the table as he picked at his food, he looked at the floor plans she had printed. The Trade Center had been his first choice, but he didn’t tell Daryl that. Things usually went smoother when Daryl was allowed to think things were her ideas. So he nodded along as he popped a shrimp in his mouth. “Do you know the going rate for renting these four rooms?” he asked, tapping 4A, B, E, and F. Then he laughed. “It doesn’t matter.” Money was no concern.
He looked at her ideas for arranging the different rides and amusements, and he considered his options. More likely than not he’d be going for a more “unorthodox” design. If everything was the same, people would become bored far too quickly. That wouldn’t do.
“I like this one,” he said, indicating one of her ideas. “But we’ll do some tweaking when we know for sure what booths and rides we have. Did you get a list of companies providing rental equipment?” Raising a brow at his laugh, she rolled her eyes. “That is what I thought,” she said blandly, leafing through the papers and pulling out a sheet. “Regardless, here is a list of the renting rates for all the rooms on the fourth floor. I’m sure they won’t deter you in any way, but they may make bookkeeping easier.” Sliding the sheet over to him, she scooped up a forkful of rice. As she chewed, she watched him examine the plans she had laid out.
Her gaze lingered on his mouth, the way it pursed just slightly as he thought. She could gauge how his mind was working by watching all the features of his face, but lately she was noticing how expressive his mouth could be. Head tilted to the side, she continued her observation until he spoke, breaking her concentration and pulling her back into the room. “Very well,” she said with a nod, taking a quick sip of water to quench her drying mouth.
“Yes, which attractions we use will determine the layout. And yes, it’s...here.” She rifled through the papers again, pulling out a printed document with a list of the company name, what they offered, and what the prices were. “I examined one company that specialized in children’s equipment, as I thought at least one attraction for them would be prudent to include.” He perused the list of prices, just to make sure the affair wouldn’t leave a huge dent in his bank account. If this was to be for charity, he would have to foot the bill himself. All the money going toward food and amusements would be sent onward to the charity of his choice; none would go back to him. That was why he hated charity. Such a money sink. Oh, he planned to die penniless, with all his money given away. But in the interim, he had no plans to throw it away.
“Did you check into concessions?” he asked as he traded the rates for the companies she picked out for the amusements. He skimmed the list, grateful she had already poked through things that were too large. It made him sad that they couldn’t have a Ferris wheel.
An idea came to mind. “What if we closed off Pike street,” he said slowly, rubbing his chin as he thought about it. “Maybe street vendors, performers and artisans could set up there and sell things.” He licked his lips and glanced up at her. “Or do you think that’s too much?” As he looked over the prices, she picked at her plate, finding herself distracted time and time again by the way the muscles of his face operated. Every time his eyes moved, she could see the very subtle twitches beneath his skin, the extremely delicate ways in which each muscle worked together to keep his cohesive whole functioning. It was amazing, now that she thought of it. There were dozens of systems at work, dozens of different tissues and different forms of the same tissue, working in sync to create a working unit.
His question snapped her out of her reverie again. She set her fork down and quickly found the sheets with concessions information, handing them over to him. “Here,” she said as pointedly as she could. “You likely wouldn’t want to serve full meals unless you were planning on full-day service, which could become a cost outweighing the benefit.”
As he started on a new idea, she watched him carefully, gaze coming to a bead on the fingers that rubbed his chin. And then, he did something that stopped her. His tongue slipped out between his lips, licking them both. It was an absent gesture, likely not one he gave much thought to. And yet she felt her cheeks heat up, eyes widening slightly. She was frozen a moment, animating only when she realized that he was looking at her and expecting a reaction. Shaking her head sharply, as if ridding herself of terrible thoughts, she scooped up a forkful of rice and examined it carefully. “I think it could be fruitful, but you likely would want to focus on one or the other. The Convention Center or the street component, unless the weather is enough of a liability that splitting your focus makes more sense.” He chewed on the tip of one finger before dropping his hand to his plate and popping a broccoli into his mouth. Licking his fingers clean, he pursed his lips again. “If the weather is nice enough, I was thinking we could have a Ferris wheel on the street,” he said. “Which is why I suggested the street vendors. It doesn’t feel like a carnival without a Ferris wheel.” He shifted on the ground, placing his weight on his elbows as he lay them across the cushion of the chair behind him. “And the street would let us add larger rides.”
With a frown, he picked up another vegetable, a baby corn, and chewed on that a bit. “As for concessions, we’d open at ten or eleven, I think, and go until dusk. So people can eat crappy pizza and hot dogs all day. If they want real food, they could always walk somewhere nearby,” he suggested. The heat in her face intensified as he licked his fingers clean, though she couldn’t imagine why. He was merely cleaning them, what was embarrassing or interesting about that? Trying to dismiss the thoughts, she focused on eating a bit more, hoping that occupying her own mouth would help her to forget his. It helped, to a mild degree. By the time he finished talking about the street and larger rides, she was almost cured of her strange drives, and she looked up with newfound detachment.
“Very well. However, you must remember that you cannot order a Ferris wheel on an impulse. You have to reserve it in advance, which means you have to determine when the point is for you either deciding for or against it.” “How about I impulsive decide to order it tomorrow?” he asked with a cheeky grin, knowing it would get a rise out of her. Laughing, he leaned his head back, looking at the ceiling. “But the Ferris wheel can’t stand alone, so a few other outdoor rides and amenities are necessary. Hence, the artisan tables.”
Ruminating, he carefully crossed his ankles, resting his broken foot, burdened by that horrific cast, on his opposing ankle. The day he got out of the cast couldn’t come soon enough. Not nearly soon enough. That grin was terrible. It brought that burning feeling back, leaving her with little response other than an annoyed huff. “That’s ridiculous,” she said simply, knowing it was a canned response. She didn’t care. It was all she had to fall back on at the moment. “Yes, that’s very true. I am merely suggesting that unless you want to temper both indoors and outdoors, you should only choose one or the other.”
As he leaned back, she glanced up from her food to watch him. She didn’t know why, but suddenly she had the urge to act. She recalled the Halloween masquerade, the Thanksgiving dinner, and the night she broke into his apartment. All three events included one commonality: a kiss. Just thinking about them fueled that desire to act, but why? She didn’t know, but her skin felt a bit too tight and her face was so hot. Dropping her fork onto her plate, she raised her gaze to his face, feeling every muscle in her body coil.
Like a spring, she released that coil, lunging forward across the table and reaching for the back of his neck, hoping to pull him closer to meet her halfway. Unfortunately, her lack of coordination combined with utter inexperience created disaster. Instead of pulling him in for a gentle kiss, she yanked him forward until their noses bashed together. It wasn’t a bone-breaking impact, but the sound they made was ugly and she could feel the pain bloom underneath her eyes. Letting out a hiss of pain, she released him, realizing far too late that she was overextended.
She dropped like a pile of bricks onto the table, feeling the hot sauces seep through her clothing to heat her skin. Head hanging over the edge of the table facing him, she clapped both hands over her nose, letting out a whimper as she lay still, feeling her ears turn red.
This was why she wasn’t impulsive. He realized far too late that something was happening. He didn’t know what, but he could see it in Daryl’s eyes when he glanced at her. It was in her body, all tight and taut, like she was ready to burst. She telegraphed her moves constantly, and it occurred to him as she dropped her fork that he should have seen something like this coming. He hadn’t.
As she lunged toward him, looking a bit foolish, he shifted so he could move toward her, too. Her velocity and his idiocy met over the table with a resounding crack. Blood rushed to his nose, first with a sharp pain and then a throbbing intensity he didn’t need. His first thought was to wonder whether or not his nose was broken, because if it was, he would turn up the guilt. A lot. And he knew how to guilt; his mother had ensured that.
She dropped to the table, into their two plates, and whimpered while he sat there, staring at her and rubbing his nose. Blinking back tears - his eyes were watering a very uncomfortable way - he gave her a wry grin. “That didn’t go so well, did it?” he asked, his tone flat and a bit put-upon. Realizing what she had intended when she was halfway through her lunge hadn’t helped things at all. And now she probably felt like an idiot.
So with her laying across his table, smooshing their papers and rolling in their Chinese, he slid onto the ground, propping himself with his elbows, and stole a kiss. Her nose hurt. A lot. Eyes watering, she closed them tightly, wishing that she hadn’t given in to her stupid impulse. Now she was marinating in Chinese food, spread across his coffee table, after potentially breaking both their noses. At his question, she opened her eyes, looking up at him pathetically without saying a word. She was still covering her nose with both hands, reluctant to move for fear of making a bigger mess.
So all she did was watch him as he slid down, taking himself to her level. She imagined he was going to mock her now, for being an imbecile. Though she wanted to think it would have been uncalled for, she knew it wasn’t. She would deserve every word of mockery she received. However, he surprised her.
The kiss caused her to gasp slightly, dropping her hands from her face and looking to him in stunned confusion. “I believe I could have executed that better,” she said softly. Her face was bright red still, eyes glassing over with tears from the pain in her nose and the discomfort of being spread across two plates of Chinese food. “At the very least, I should have pushed our plates out of the way.” He chuckled and nodded. “But you didn’t have a director telling you how to fall or a set designer making sure the plates were placed in just the right place,” he replied easily. Leaning forward, he kissed her face to the left of her nose, not wanting to give her a reason to bitch about him hurting her.
With a smile on his face, he pulled himself up. Laying half under the table was uncomfortable at best, and they needed to salvage what they could of the papers and meal. “Up you get,” he told her, slowly rising to his feet. “We’ll put your shirt in the wash. You can borrow one of mine, and in the mean time, we’ll practice this kissing business.” He winked at her. “Next time, you’ll be able to pull that off with much more grace.” His comment earned a look of confusion. “Why would I have either of those?” she asked weakly, voice thinner than usual. The fall had stolen her breath for a moment, leaving her feeling tired and fragile. It was terrible. She closed her eyes at the kiss, dismissing how it made her stomach churn even more.
As he pulled himself up, she followed suit, very carefully lifting herself from the table. Rice, bits of shrimp, and smears of sauce clung to her shirt and dripped down onto her skirt, rendering her entire outfit a sticky mess. Clearly uncomfortable with the sauce that had leaked through to her skin, she pulled at her clothing, wearing an expression of disgust and discomfort. “I believe my skirt should be washed as well,” she said, looking down at herself and sighing.
Hearing the mention of practice, she flushed redder, looking up to him in surprise. “What?” she asked quickly, taking a slight step back at the wink. “I don’t think I should attempt this again.” ’ Gesturing for her to follow, he led her to the small closet where the washer and dryer were contained. No one had told him “no,” not that it would have mattered, so he had installed the washer/dryer set shortly after moving in. Adam Morgenstern didn’t do stairs, even if it was to a basement level. “Stay here a second,” he told her, vanishing down the hall and into his bedroom.
It took him a minute, but he found a suitably worn pair of pajama pants and an old shirt of his. With a smile, he took them back to her. “These are for you, while your clothes get cleaned,” he said, handing them over. “And of course you’re attempting again. This was, essentially, a failure. You won’t stand for failure.”
Leaning into her space with a smile, he brushed his lips over hers. “Therefore, you must practice.” She followed him, not the least bit surprised by the washer and dryer in the closet. She didn’t bother asking him if he had approved this installation - he likely hadn’t. Instead, she just stayed put as he went to retrieve the replacement clothing, accepting it when he returned. “Thank you,” she said softly, holding the clean clothing as far away from herself as she could.
His framing of the situation as a failure made her a pause. “Yes,” she finally said. “It was, and I won’t.” As he moved closer, her breath hitched in her chest. Cheeks flushed, she stayed still as his lips brushed against hers. “Very well,” she said quietly. “Give me a moment.”
She held out the door of the washer/dryer closet to act as a changing blind, separating them to allow her privacy. She took off her shirt and skirt, using the already soiled garments to wipe away any sticky patches that remained on her stomach. When she was clean, she laid her clothing on the edge of the washer and stepped into his pajamas. They were roomy and warm, full of memories. They barraged her mind, but she was able to tune them out slightly, turning the roar into a soft buzz.
Half-closing the “blind,” she peered around it to look at him. “Would you like to wash anything with this, or should I simply let them run on their own?” Turning around to give her more privacy while she changed, he smiled to himself, quite thrilled with the way things were going. Oh, it was a bit bothersome that the table was likely messy, and it was unfortunate that some of their papers got torn and crunched, but compared to the fact that he had just convinced Daryl Hockney to practice kissing with him... Well. Everything else could burn in hell for all he cared.
“We’ll make sure to get lots of practice in,” he told her while she tugged on his clothes. He wouldn’t ever tell her, she’d be scandalized, but he was imagining every inch of her naked as she changed. He wondered if she tugged her arms in through the sleeves of a shirt, or if she crossed them over her front, grabbed the hem, and pulled up all in one motion. He wondered if she pushed her pants all the way to the ground and then stepped out, or if she removed her legs one at a time.
He turned when she was done, plucking the clothes from her and dumping them in the washer. “No, this is fine,” he said, delighted by the fact that her clothes would smell like his detergent and dryer sheet when they were done. He was equally delighted by the fact that his clothes would smell like her when he got them back. Unless she washed them. She would just have to stay until her clothes were done so she couldn’t take his home and wash them. Simple solution.
Smiling, he looked over his shoulder at her. “Shall we practice, then?” His expression was positively innocent, and that’s what worried her. What was he thinking? Normally, she wanted to know the answer to that question at all times, though at the moment, it was somewhat forgotten. Instead, she took a step towards the living room. “I should clean up first,” she said, expression neutral. “I think that some things spilled and they shouldn’t be left on the floor.”
Without waiting for an answer, she darted into the kitchen and began rifling through the cabinets for cleaning supplies. Oh, the little coward. She would use everything as a buffer between them and practice now. Unacceptable. Absolutely unacceptable.
So he followed her into the kitchen. He came up behind her, bending around her body and taking her wrists in his hands. “Stop that,” he told her quietly, drawing her up so her back was pressed against his front. And then he started to bait her, because he knew it would work. “I didn’t think you were the kind of person who ran from the opportunity to learn,” he murmured in her ear, brushing his lips against her skin. “Or do you think you’re just incapable of learning this, and that’s why you’re using cleaning as an excuse.”
Sure, they should clean. They should make sure there wasn’t food on the floor that would get smashed into the carpet. It was logical. Sound. But he wasn’t interested in being logical and sound, and if being illogical could get his little toasted riled, then he was going to spend all the laws of reality in half. Hearing his footsteps behind her, she reached for a bottle of surface cleaner right as he pulled her back. Fingers closing on thin air, she let out a small sound of annoyance as he drew her close, back to his front. She felt her body tingle as his breath whispered against the shell of her ear, his fingers gently curled around her wrists. “I’m not,” she said firmly, letting out a small sound as he kissed at her skin. “And of course I don’t.”
Twisting her wrists in his grip, she felt his hands fall away. Free, she turned until they were front-to-front, her chest brushing against his. “I am not making excuses. I don’t need to. If I could learn the muscular and neurological anatomy of the human face, I can learn this. It’s simple.” He gave her a wicked grin, shameless in every sense of the word. Leaning down so their noses brushed, he settled his hands on her hips and decided that she looked even sexier in his over-sized clothes than in a slinky black dress and diamonds. Not that he wouldn’t mind her in diamonds and nothing else. Maybe strappy shoes, too. That would be okay. He swallowed, feeling his grin falter, and put it right back where it belonged.
“Then help me learn neurological and muscular anatomy,” he told her, brushing his lips over hers. “When I kiss you, which muscles am I using? What neurological functions are running in my brain?” He kissed her again, lingering, savoring the soft feel of her lips under his. That grin meant trouble. She knew that at least. So why did it only intensify that tingling at her stomach? Feeling the tip of his nose brush hers, she could almost forget the pain of recently smashing her face into his. It wasn’t just the touch, but the closeness. Human beings could feel one another when in close proximity, and Daryl had always seen that feeling as uncomfortable. But for some strange reason, it was exciting now. There was a minor thrill in feeling him so close, in knowing that he was almost touching her with his entire body.
And she had no idea why.
As he murmured instructions and interrupted them with kisses, she let out a low sigh, reaching up to thread her fingers through his hair. “Well, the immediate muscles-” she started, cut off by his lips against hers. Her words continued as a low moan in her throat as she returned the kiss. Train of thought derailed, she broke away just long enough to catch her breath before kissing him again. He was so proud of himself. Not many people could claim they could shut Daryl Hockney up in five words or less, and there he was, silencing her without any. Her fingers slid into his hair, and he relaxed against her body, drawing her closer with an arm around her waist. His hand brushed the nape of her neck, playing with the soft, delicate hairs there, and he smiled into their kiss.
He loved that she initiated the second kiss, and he tilted his head to better accommodate her mouth against his. When he thought he might burst from lack of breath, he drew back, still grinning, immensely pleased with himself, but trying not to show it much if at all. “Having trouble focusing on the lesson?” he inquired, dropping a quick kiss in her cheekbone. “Maybe we should do something less advanced, if this is too hard.” He almost hoped she said yes to that, because then he could rope her into snuggling with him, in his lap, and mocking some godawful romantic comedy. Feeling his arm around her waist was strangely comforting. It was safe, in a way. He was bracketing her against him, holding her close, which kept other distractions at bay. His fingers against her neck were mildly tickling, and she felt herself sputtering slightly when they both pulled back for air.
At his question, she looked up at him with scandal written on her face. “I am not,” she said firmly, lower lip sliding into a pout as he kissed her cheek. “It isn’t too hard, and I do not need to be handled with kid gloves.” After a moment of glaring at him through narrow eyes, she reached out and cupped his face in both her palms, suddenly very conscious of the fact that he was comfortably clean-shaven. Moving slowly to prevent the problems of earlier, she pulled him close while leaning forward to meet him halfway, guiding his lips to hers.
Head tilted to comfortably accommodate them both, she kissed him deeply, sliding her hands over his shoulders to hold him close. Too advanced her ass, she was determined to be the best kisser he had ever met.