matilda martin / luna lovegood (notloony) wrote in ourtrueselves, @ 2009-08-23 17:25:00 |
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Current mood: | cheerful |
Entry tags: | clyde bailey, matilda martin |
Who: Clyde and Matilda
What: Reluctant present-receiving! And other things, not so reluctant! (complete log)
When: Sunday, August 23 - afternoon/evening
Where: Clyde's place, Shreveport, LA
Warnings: Sexual tension that is quickly resolved. And language, of course. It is Clyde.
Matilda was true to her word - when Clyde's present arrived in the post, she left as soon as she could for Shreveport, and she didn't tell him she was coming. That would show him, or something like that, anyway. She wasn't entirely sure what she was trying to prove, but in the end, it didn't really matter. She wanted to give him a birthday present, and he deserved one, even if he had forgotten his own birthday in the first place.
Once she arrived in Louisiana by way of the MTN, she decided to Apparate to Clyde's place. Calling him and asking for a ride would ruin the surprise, and hitchhiking would have been foolish, especially considering the summer dress she was wearing. It was one of her more casual ones - very appropriate for the heat both here and in London, but considerably inappropriate for hitchhiking. Yes, Apparating was her best bet, and she was comfortable enough with the area that she knew she could do it without Splinching herself. She went into the Agency building's women's bathroom, made sure it was empty, and Apparated from there - no need shock everyone in the lobby, after all.
A moment later, and she was standing in front of Clyde's house, slightly nauseous but otherwise intact. She smiled to herself, walked briskly up to Clyde's door and knocked a few times. As she stood there waiting, it suddenly occurred to her that he might not be there, and she sincerely hoped that wasn't the case. Otherwise, this whole trip would have been terribly inconvenient.
Clyde was home. He'd had another interesting evening. This weekend was all about interesting evenings. Or mornings. He stopped trying to figure it out. It was sort of funny that he'd gotten a cake, and she hadn't even brought it for his birthday. He was almost afraid it was her - her being Becca. It wasn't that he minded having her over, but she was dangerous. Almost as dangerous as the woman who was actually at his door.
He opened it, and she'd have to forgive him for being half dressed. He had just gotten out of the shower and barely heard the knocking - Hank Williams was crying a little too loudly into his beer. He had the shirt in his hand that he was about to yank on, so she'd just see him in the jeans. His toes curled about the doorstep as he looked down at her. There was still some water dripping from his wet hair.
"Tildie! Babe! You're here. Why are you here?" Maybe he really had forgotten that quickly why she'd be around.
She blinked, definitely not expecting to see him like that, and maybe her eyes lingered a little more than they should have, but she would never, ever admit it. Covering her slight shock with a wry smile, she held out his small, neatly wrapped present and said, "I promised, didn't I? Now, put your shirt on and let me in, it's quite hot out here, you know." She paused and raised an eyebrow. "And don't call me that."
"Don't call you what? 'Babe'? You've never complained about it before." Clyde just smiled, yet he didnt' put his shirt on quite yet. He just stepped out of the way after taking the present from her. "Thank you? Came all this way when you coulda just mailed it to me."
He smirked waiting for her to come into his much cooler house. He was all for staying cool when he wasn't working.
She returned his smirk and stepped into his house. "And miss the look on your face when you open it?" she said over her shoulder. "Mm, no, I think not." She turned around and let out a little contented sigh, mostly out of appreciation for the air conditioning. "And you are going to open it, by the way; I'm not leaving until you do." She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head expectantly.
Clyde laughed, shaking his head, sending a few drops of water flying. He motioned for her to follow, leading the way to the kitchen. There was a cake keeper sitting on the counter.
"I got a cake. Becca brought me one; she's a real sweetheart. Which reminds me. You need to talk to her cause she's...you jus' need to talk to her. Maybe bring her into the whole Camelot family? It'd make things a whole helluva lot easier, and then she'd understand why I'm really not the best idea for her. Damn good fuck, but not a good guy to get too interested in?" Clyde didn't look at Mattie as he said this; he was busy pulling the tshirt on. It was tight enough that he might as well have left it off for all the covering it did. He turned around to look at his English friend, brows raised. "Whatcha say?"
She followed him into the kitchen and shrugged. "Certainly, I'll talk to her, though if she's interested in you, I doubt there's anything I could do to change her mind. Especially if you do this sort of thing around her." She gestured vaguely to his shirt and laughed, then stopped as she realized something. "Wait. Did you say Becca? Is this the same Becca that Jack... ?" She trailed off, not really wanting to finish that thought but knowing that he'd get the gist. "If it is, why didn't you tell me that you knew her?"
"Cause I didn' know it was her." Clyde took a lean against the kitchen table, which groaned a little with the weight. He wasn't a light boy after all, and it wasn't that great of a table. "I couldn' just say 'hey, I know who's about to go fuck your ex,' could I? Course, I didn' know she was bout to go fuck your ex. He stole some of her money. So, guess she learned her lesson." The mechanic wasn't happy with the situation, and without warning he stepped up to her and looked at her. "Did he touch you? Cause I'm still lookin' for a reason to beat the shit...actually I gotta reason to beat the shit outta him."
"He stole her money? Oh, god, that poor girl," she said, horrified, her arms falling to her sides, and then she added distractedly, "No, no, he didn't get the chance. Mostly he just stayed on my sofa until I sliced his cheek." She paused. "Er, with magic. I didn't get close enough to touch him until I dragged him out of my flat." She laughed bitterly. "Now I wish I'd sliced a little more than just his face. Poor Becca." She shook her head, feeling terrible for the girl.
"You shouldn' fuck with him, Mattie." Clyde touched her shoulder and squeezed softly. "Cause that's what big guys like me are for. And if he's got some magical type in his head, I don' see how you can be so calm bout him not comin' back and fuckin' with your ass." There was a blink and a hint of blush at how that could sound. He could have some rather vulgar language, but he didn't mean it half the time. Or maybe he did.
"And you gotta problem with me walkin' round without a shirt? It is my place. She seemed to think my stomach ain' so bad. Whatcha think?" He smiled and pulled his shirt up. "Puttin' on some pudge from the cake and sittin' on my ass all the time, ya think?"
She sighed exasperatedly. "Jesus. You and my father should start a 'Let's Worry About Matilda' club, the two of you are postively intolerable." She caught herself, realizing how that sounded, and added, "Not that I don't appreciate the concern, because I really do - it's, ah, quite flattering, especially coming from you." She blushed a little, too. "But really, Clyde. You don't have to worry, I've got it taken care of. And if you don't believe me, try finding my flat sometime. You won't get within a hundred feet of it." She grinned, and then laughed as he erased the tension and raised his shirt. "Hm," she teased, giving his stomach a careful look. "I do believe you have the beginnings of a - what do they call it? - a beer gut! Yes, that's it. You're definitely sporting one, I'm sorry to say." She raised her eyes to the ceiling jokingly. "Such a waste."
Clyde looked down, feigning surprise and hurt. "Shit. I knew it. I'm gettin' fat." He rubbed at his stomach, sticking it out a little; then he turned around. "What bout my ass?" His hands reached back to grab it. "It's fallin', isn' it? I'm a fat cow or somethin'. Feel it!"
Matilda's eyes widened and her jaw dropped - but she was still smiling, almost laughing, even. "I think... I'd prefer to inspect it from afar," she said carefully, tactfully, and before he could try anything else, she narrowed her eyes and gave him a look. "You're trying to distract me, aren't you?"
"What could I be distractin' ya from?" Clyde turned to look at her, leaning once more against the table. He slid his hands into his pockets, just a hint of a slouch, as if this would actually make him look innocent or defenseless. He just gave her a sheepish little smile. "Want some cake? It's pretty good. Hey, you don' think I'm stupid for tellin' her I couldn' get involved, do ya?"
"What indeed." She shook her head once and moved to take a seat at the table, sitting down gracefully and crossing her legs properly. "And thank you, but no. The combination of the MTN and Apparating here has basically erased what was left of my appetite." She paused before she answered his last question, resting her cheek on her hand thoughtfully. "No, I don't think you're stupid," she said finally. "Quite the opposite, actually. You're trying to protect her, aren't you? In case something happens to you?"
"Right. That an' I got this thing for hot rods and trasporters." Clyde shrugged. "She needs a guy who actually can be there when she needs him; I can't always be there." He freed a hand from a pocket and absently scratched at his stomach. "She doesn' know bout Camelot. Thought you could maybe tell her bout that too? Cause you know, she's got a demon in her head - could use more magic? Fuck."
He stood up and started pacing. "I donno, Mattie. Just don' think I'm a good guy for her. Wouldn' mind. ..." He didn't finish the thought because there was a lady in the room. "Just not a good guy for her."
She nodded. "Yes, I understand what you mean, and I think we could help her - Camelot, I mean. It sounds like she needs some sort of support system more than anything else, to help her and keep her from..." She rolled her eyes. "Well, hooking up with men like Jack, for one. The fact that she has a demon, well. That could either be a nice asset, one that we weren't counting on, or a huge liability, but if you're willing to vouch for her, so am I." She watched him pace for a moment, then stood up and caught his arm gently. "Stop worrying. I'll do my best for her, I promise." She gave him a reassuring smile, just for good measure.
Clyde blinked, turning to look down at her. "I am cursed by bein' surrounded by beautiful women. And, good. I'll vouch for as much as my word'll go. Donno if she'll try to help out, or be willin' to, but I think she might. She needs somethin'. She needs to know that there's more'n whatever the fuck she thinks is out there and get some fuckin' confidence." He sighed, shaking his head. "Thanks, Tildie."
She looked down and smiled to herself, a little pleased by the compliment, and looked back up at him, smile turning slightly mischievous. "Yes, you're so star-crossed, aren't you?" She walked back over to the table, picked up the present, and turned, holding it out. "Now, would you please open this damn thing so I can go home and hide out in my all but nonexisent flat?"
"Wait, you would rather hide out in your place, than hang out with me? Now I'm hurt." Clyde could actually do a pretty decent pout when he wanted to, and he was giving her one of his best puppy dog looks. "Maybe I'll just keep avoidin' openin' that thing if it means you're gonna go home. And, I am, dammit. Can't get a good lay with any of y'all, can I?"
"I suppose it depends on what you mean by 'lay,'" she said, eyebrows raised and moving the present closer to her.
"How many lays you know of?" Clyde blinked. He was pretty sure that there was just the one, but he could be wrong. Then again, she was English.
"Generally, just the one," she admitted. "Maybe you're just not trying hard enough?"
"Hard enough? Really?" Clyde leaned over to look at her, brow raised. His voice something of a growled whisper. "And just what do you think I should do?"
Her lips parted, slightly taken aback, but then they formed a small, almost coy smile. "I'm sure I don't know." Her hands hovered awkwardly in front of her, still holding the present.
"Of course, you don't. That's the problem. She tries too hard, and you not at all. Next I'm gonna find someone who just pounces me; then y'all see what'll happen." Clyde stepped away pointing at her. "You'll just see."
Matilda looked at him pensively, not quite sure what to make of all this. Was he implying that she was somehow being cruel? She didn't know, and she dismissed it for the moment, deciding to try and figure it out later. Instead, she just raised an eyebrow and made a face, jesting, "Well, I'm not sure if I'll want to see, but here, just take it." She held the present out for the third time. "Happy birthday and all that."
"I'm sorry, Mattie. I'm just tired. Think I'll just ask that chick out..." Clyde finally took the present, all without ripping it out of her hands. "You really do weird shit to a guy's brain. Not sayin' it's all bad, but seriously, I can't go after you cause you're you. And I shouldn' go after her cause she's...her. It's fucked. The chick at the MTN should be safe, right?"
He absently started unwrapping the present as he leaned against a counter. "She can't take sides."
She didn't say anything for a moment, just watched him unwrap the present and crossed her arms again, trying to ignore what he was saying about her. "Stop thinking, please." Stop thinking so I can stop thinking. "Well? Do you like it?"
"Can't stop thinking. Unless I get fucked up. I've done that; it didn't work." Clyde had opened the present completely, but he hadn't exactly looked at it. "Like what? Oh?" He looked down and stared; the smile that formed on his face was genuine. He was a smiler, but this was big and happy. He stepped closer to her and wrapped his arms round her, picking her up. "You are fuckin' awesome." This wasn't the brightest thing, but he kissed her right on the lips.
She was delighted to see that he liked it; a wide smile broke out over her face, and then - well. Caught up in the moment, she couldn't help but kiss him back, hold him close, but she didn't lose herself completely. She pulled back before things got too serious and murmured breathlessly, "I suppose that means I got the right one, then?" She moved one of her hands to his face and touched it, more hesitantly than gently. She was beyond knowing what was going on between them, but she decided not to worry about it. At least, not right now.
Clyde hadn't set her down quiet yet, his arms wrapped bout her well enough to support her. He looked at her as she pulled back. "Babe, you got exactly what I needed." He smiled, giving her a tighter squeeze, the best he could do for a hug. The smile faded as once more he put himself in a dangerous place. His voice was back to that whisper, but he didn't say anything until after he swallowed, this was awkward? "You got it right."
She smiled and hugged his shoulders, giving him a somewhat crooked kiss on his jawline. "Good, I'm glad." She knew she should move, pull away and act like nothing had changed, but she didn't want to. Instead, she rambled. "I was so afraid that I'd ordered the wrong one - there were so many to choose from, and really, I just picked that one at random, so yes, I'm glad." Damn her nervous habits - anytime he wanted to stop her would be fantastic!
"You're great." Clyde turned and lifted her enough to set her on the kitchen counter, but he didn't move away. His hands were on either side of her, fingers might have rubbed softly at her hips. He leaned in for another kiss; this one was soft, gentle, and nothing like the excited happy one only a moment before.
And again, she kissed him back, smiling into his lips. She put her hands on either side of his neck and held him there, not tightly or forcefully, but softly, like she was just making sure he was there. Without realizing it, she wrapped her legs around him, distracted by his kiss. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been kissed like this. Too long ago, that was certain, so she was enjoying it while she could.
One hand slid slowly up and down her leg, from hip to knee. Another hand rubbed at her back. Yes, this was an interesting way to avoid all the tricky situations he'd foreseen. He was careful to avoid hurting her, as if that were really an issue. He sighed softly, though it might have sounded and probably was a growl. He leaned into the counter and into her. This was not the place to start kissing someone, but he really wasn't inclined to stop now that he'd started.
Her hands moved from his neck to his shoulders to his back, finally pulling him so close that there was little, if any, space left between them. If she was uncomfortable, she didn't let on, and even then, she wouldn't have noticed. She was too busy holding him, kissing him, wanting him. The last thing on her mind was how their relationship was supposed to be strictly business - were they even working on a project together, building up to fighting a war together? She couldn't recall, and she couldn't deny anymore that their relationship had stopped being "strictly business" a long time ago.
The hand at her back slid up to her hair, or it would have, but it was stopped by a kitchen cabinet. He couldn't hold her the way he wanted. This wouldn't do. The hand at her thigh was now cupping her rear, pulling her forward, the other at her back doing the same. He never got the banging against the wall; he liked holding the woman close. He liked her hair in his fingers. He might have mumbled "hold on" against her lips as he lifted her from the counter. He wasn't sure where he was going, but for now he just stood holding her and kissing her.
Even if hadn't told her to hold on, he wouldn't have needed to - no way she was letting him go, not yet. She let out a surprised moan when he picked her up, but it quickly turn into a laugh as she realized what he was doing. She grinned and broke away just enough to murmur breathlessly, "I should get you presents more often," before returning to his lips.
There was a rumble of a laugh, but he didn't bother breaking the kiss to say anything about presents. Presents were good, but this...he groaned softly, not at all happy, reluctant to break the kiss. "I'm gonna fall if I walk like this." His arms tightened on her as much as possible. "Tilt your head, Tildie." The smile was playful and cruel.
She swatted at his shoulder. "Oh, stop that, you're ruining the moment!" But she didn't really mean it. She did what he said, after all.
Clyde gave her a quick kiss and carried her to some place a little more comfortable. It was probably the silliest thing in the world as he got to the couch, but rather than resting her down nice and soft, he just flopped down with a grunt and careful not to hurt her legs. He didn't go back to kissing her; his mind was working again.
"Do you want this?" His hands were now at her back and shoulders, softly rubbing. "It could fuck shit up."
Her smile fell slightly at his question, and she looked away from him for a moment. When she looked back, there was a softer, more thoughtful look on her face. "You're right, it could," she said honestly, and her hands started to idly caress his face. "But I don't care. I'm sick of caring." She leaned forward and kissed him again, earnestly.
Clyde was about to say something, but it was quickly cut off by a very adamant kiss. He didn't break it at first; he didn't want to. But...His hands were at her shoulders, softly pushing her back, yet holding her as close as he could. He wasn't meaning to send mixed signals.
"You..." He shifted a little under her. The kissing had certainly gotten to him. "You have to care, Mattie." His hand cupped her cheek before sliding back to comb through her hair. "You're not the kind to fuck a guy cause he's ...fuckable. Not that we're fuckin', but..."
She bit her lip and smiled an odd smile. "Clyde. Do you think I would be doing this if I hadn't thought about it before?" There, now that was off her chest, so to speak. She raised an eyebrow suggestively, but she didn't try to kiss him again.
The mechanic leaned back to look at her, his hands resting on her thighs which were probably more bare than she might have liked? He had probably pushed her skirt up a little along the way. His brows moved as if he were working something out. Lips parted as if to say something, but soon shut. He looked away then back at her. "Oh. Oh! Oh. But you're English."
She laughed, a little bewildered. "And what, pray tell, does that have to do with anything?" She had noticed a little breeze on her thighs, but she didn't really mind. One of the hazards of wearing a dress, of course.
"Well, you know. You're.. repressed? You're proper?" His brows furrowed a little, and he was starting to wonder why Scotty hadn't stopped him from saying these things. Then again, Scotty was a Scot so his opinion on the English, even many centuries in the future, was a little skewed.
"Yes, both true, but not at the moment, all right?" She laughed and kissed him again. "I'd rather not be your stereotypical cold English woman today, if you don't mind."
"You could regret this." He resettled himself again under her. Even with the talking, and the kissing, he was still...thinking too much. "I'm ruinin' this, aren'I?"
"Yes. You are," She kissed him after each short sentence. "Stop doing that, please."
He returned each kiss, smiling a little more as she talked. Even if it was a little stilted. It was almost as if he was testing the water as he let the hand on her thigh go higher beneath what little bit of skirt was still there. He didn't say anything though; he wasn't going to ruin it further than he had. He just went back to kissing her. His other hand on her back to pull her closer.
"That's better," she breathed, and she let him.