you're surprised they like you Who: Rafael & Nish What: A Monday night… date? Where: Beginning in the Pax lobby. When: February 6, around 7:30 p.m. Rating: NC-17
It had come as something of a shock for Rafael to learn he was neighbors with Nishka, the woman he had, days before, met at CASKET. She was the last person he had expected to meet at the complex's meet-and-greet; well, second to last, he supposed, considering Chris Rodriguez. Rafael swallowed hard around the thick lump that appeared in his throat at the recollection. He rubbed idly at the nape of his neck, wondering what he might say were she to mention that meeting, hoping against hope he could avoid it altogether.
He glanced at himself the gleaming marble of the lobby's floor. In black trousers and a black button-up shirt -- sleeves rolled up his forearms, the top button undone, of course -- he cut an impressive figure. Stephen had given him a thumbs-up upon his entrance, which he took as a good sign. But he could not help another slight touch of his hand to his tousled hair, pressing one unruly curl back into place, away from his eyes. It had been some time since he had been on an actual, not work-related date; longer still since he had been on one with a woman. To say he was nervous would have been an overstatement, but he certainly felt on his toes. He breathed an almost audible sigh of relief when his guest appeared. He waved to her, perhaps a little sheepish.
"Hello again," he said, greeting her with a smile.
She felt like a little girl going to the prom, right down to the butterflies. It made little sense to her that she was suddenly so worked up about this guy, considering the many one night stands she’s had over the past few years without a second thought. This was different somehow, and she liked it.
She’d picked out a nice dress for the occasion, conservative but attractive, powder blue and sleeveless with a pencil skirt and short heels, and her hair was pulled up so that it cascaded in soft waves down her back.
Stepping out of the elevator, she saw him immediately, smiling softly at the almost nervous wave. Looked like she wasn’t the only one out of practice.
“Hello again,” she echoed, standing a small distance away, far enough to be respectful, but close enough to be considered ‘together’. She shifted her small purse to her other hand and reached forward, linking her arm with his with a wink as they headed outside. “So where are we going?” she asked as they passed Stephan and she chuckled slightly at his grin when he held open the door for them.
"Well, there's a little place by the beach I enjoy," he said. His arm tightened on hers, holding her arm close against his ribs. His skin was warm even through his shirt, like sunlight trapped by thin cotton. He guided her toward a black four-door sedan parked neatly against the curb. The driver waited inside, his face dimly lit by his cell phone's screen. "It's a very small sushi place. The chef is just amazing, really." He looked up to her as he held open the rear passenger door. "Is that all right?"
She couldn’t help herself, when she felt his arm hold her closer, she let her head fall on his shoulder, just briefly. She could almost trick herself into thinking this was real, that they were a real couple, going out like normal couples do. It made half of her very, very happy, and the other half very, very bored. ’Would you just fuck him already?’ it whined. ’SHUT UP, I’m having fun tonight,’ she scolded it back into silence.
“I love sushi,” she smiled, getting into the open door. ’Like a fucking lady’, she thought wryly.
Rafael slid into the backseat after her. The driver at last put his phone away and turned into the street, setting off at once for their destination. In the back, Rafael sidled a little closer, turning slightly in his seat to better face her.
"So you really didn't change your mind," he said. Even after the party, he did not add. "I'm glad. I should warn you, though, I haven't been on a date in a while. So if I'm sort of rusty…" He smiled, for a moment seeming almost self conscious. It faded quickly enough, helped along by his quick change of subject. "So how are you liking it here?" he asked. "Are you settling in pretty well?"
She turned towards him too, their knees touching gently. She felt the warmth radiating off of him, bathing her skin. “It’s been a while for me too,” she confessed, his awkwardness alleviating her own. At least if they were going to screw this up they’d do it together.
She smiled widely at his next question. “Small talk, good job,” she chuckled. “I am; I still have a lot to learn about the south, but I’m adapting.” She paused, glancing out the window, watching the world go by and noticing that it was a part of town she hadn’t been to yet. “Have you always lived here?” she asked, turning back to meet his eyes. She knew almost nothing about him, and usually she wasn’t bothered by that. For some reason...she wanted to know more about him. He was like a magnet to her, and she didn’t know why.
He shook his head. "This is more west than south, anyway," he said. "I suppose that's a matter of perspective, but they feel pretty strongly about it. And the south feels even stronger about it." He laughed, and his knee brushed hers with a soft, smooth motion. "I've been out here for years. I met someone from L.A. when I was living in Miami, and just sort of… ended up here, and never left."
She smiled, “you’re warm-blooded then,” trying not to be too obvious that she was enjoying their subtle touching more than she should be. The voice inside her seemed to roll its eyes, ’what are you, twelve?’ She ignored it and caught Rafael’s eyes. “My mom used to say that ice ran in our veins, since both she and my father were from Alaska; we moved to Chicago when I was a baby, but I always seemed to love winter best.” Except now she was developing a healthy appreciation for warmth, at least the kind that was radiating off of him and tingling on her skin.
Rafael smiled. He leaned slightly forward, equal parts curious and hungry for more of her touch. The latter was an entirely unconscious drive; he neither recognized it himself, nor tried to curb it. "Alaska," he said. "Yes, that's quite a change…" He shook his head, unable to picture it beyond what he had seen on various nature documentaries. "São Paulo to Miami wasn't much of a jump by comparison, I suppose. It certainly felt like it at the time, though."
“Well, my first instinct when I decided to move was to go north, ‘home’, but somehow…” she paused, looking out the window again with a shrug, “I ended up here.” She looked at him again, “I’m glad I did.” The environment felt all wrong for her, but so much other things seemed...right. She had a great apartment, she had a good job, she was starting to make friends. And there was that unsettling feeling pervading everything that she is supposed to be here.
She glanced out the window again as the car turned into a parking lot, her attention suddenly divided.
The restaurant was indeed a small thing, a low grey building surrounded by meticulously manicured greenery. The front of the building was more window than wall, but darkly tinted, allowing only the faintest hint of silhouettes to show through. Privacy seemed the watchword of the place. Already Rafael seemed more at ease; he moved more languidly as they left the confines of the car, one hand stretched out to help her rise from her seat.
"Now, the sashimi here is incredible," he said. "But I really recommend the modern Kaiseki. It's the chef's speciality."
She took his hand as she got out of the car, but didn’t let go, instead lacing her fingers with him and enjoying the warmth of his arm against hers as he escorted her towards the the restaurant. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being just like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, being wined and dined by a very rich man and not at all minding it, although it was starting to dawn on her very slowly that she wasn’t the escort in that scenario. She smiled wanly at his glowing endorsement. “I trust you,” she said, and was shocked to find that those words rang true. “I’ll have what you’re having.”
"Kaiseki it is," he said.
The restaurant was quiet when they moved inside. Every small table was full but one: a table for two, set against the glass front, its view bracketed by shaped topiary. A prim hostess dressed in black appeared, ushering them to the empty table with a smile and a wave of her dainty hand. Rafael was every inch the gentleman he appeared, pulling out his guest's chair, waiting for her before sitting, himself. He ordered a bottle of sake and their chosen menus, and turned his undivided attention to her the moment their young waitress was gone.
"So what now," he asked, his voice soft. His question was punctuated by the quiet clinking of silverware around them, and hushed voices from nearby tables. He smiled. "More small talk?"
She smiled softly. “Want to know my favourite colour?” she murmured, though when she met his eyes she wasn’t playing. “I just want to know what I’m getting into. I’m not…” she paused, trying to find the right words, “I’m not looking for a...relationship. But I don’t think I’ll be happy if this is the last time I see you.” It was uncomfortable to admit that. Ever since she broke it off with James she’d valued her freedom in the intimacy department, but this...was different. It was something she wanted more of.
"Well we're neighbors, so that's unlikely," Rafael pointed out, teasing. "But I do know what you mean. And… I agree." He fell silent a moment, struggling to find words somewhere between honest and desperate. It proved harder than he had anticipated, and silence fell between them as the waitress returned.
She presented the bottle and small, porcelain cups the color of bone, so thin you could see the light through them. They were warm, as the sake was, and she poured a cup for each of them. Then she faded into the background, and Rafael found his voice once more.
"I am looking for a relationship," he admitted. "But I don't think that's likely. That's nothing against you. It's just the way things are. The way they have been. And I'm good at taking things as they come. I don't want you to feel like this, or anything that comes of it, is an... obligation, or that there are some kind of... strings attached."
Her heart jumped in her chest and she clasped her hands in front of her on the table, leaning forward to listen to his soft words, studiously avoiding the sake for now; she needed to be sober for this. “And it’s nothing against you either,” she added, “I’ve just had...a lot of bad luck lately,” she admitted. She wasn’t about to lay out her sob story to him, not here and not now, but she wanted to be up front. She’d blindly sworn off relationships after James, but she’d never expected this.
“But what if I want a few strings?” she asked quietly. She felt a jolt of warning in her stomach, that voice she’d locked up for the night straining to get out, to lecture her about what she was about to say, but she pressed on. “I swore to myself I’d never do this again. I’ve been burned…scalded...too many times. But the other night, I felt something, that I hadn’t felt in a very long time. And I need to know why. I need to know what it was.” She didn’t believe in love at first sight, she never had. And she also didn’t believe that what she’d felt was love. But whatever it was...she didn’t want to let it go.
A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. He nodded, slowly at first, then more adamant. "I know what you mean," he said. "About all of it. I'm grateful for your honesty." He bought himself time with a small sip from his cup. The sake was warm; it felt like too-bright sunlight as it slid down his throat, at once bracing and a little overwhelming. "So I think we should take things slow. Ish." He chuckled to himself. The little cup spun in his hand, making a quiet susurration against the wooden tabletop. "Slow, and very honest. I wouldn't want either of us to hurt the other. Not when it's... started off so well."
She smiled softly, finally wrapping her fingers around the sake in front of her. “Not too slow,” she murmured. She’d been attracted to men before, often, but not like this. It was like she couldn’t control her own body’s reaction to him whenever they were near each other. She would think of him, have fond memories from the few times they were around each other, just fine. But when they were in the same room...it sounded cliche, but it was like fire. It took all of her self control not to throw herself at him in a very un-ladylike manner.
Honesty was a loaded concept, and even now Rafael struggled with it. He danced around the subject, unsure how to broach it, uncertain he truly wanted to at all. So he put the onus back on her. "That said, I guess… if there's anything you'd like to know, or ask, please do."
’Do you have any idea how much I want you right now?’ she didn’t say. She brought the sake to her lips and sipped, smooth fire sliding down her throat and pooling dangerously in her belly. Not. Helping. She put it down.
“You’re not just an actor, are you?” She was usually direct, to the point, probing. It worked with clients and witnesses and other lawyers. Sometimes, she had to be more subtle and diplomatic. And she was trying very very hard not to screw this up.
"I'm not." His teeth nipped at the tip of his tongue, biting back a confession few had ever been ready to hear. No-one was listening to them; they were as alone as they could be at the moment, and yet he could not be so blunt as her question truly required. The line of his shoulders softened. He leaned subtly forward, as though he meant to rest his elbows on the table before him, but did not follow through. He seemed poised, equally ready to leave or to lean into her, depending entirely upon her response. "Is that a problem?"
She met his eyes, steady, warm. “No,” she replied. When she’d been with James, he’d cheated on her. And it killed her inside. There had been the expectation between them of exclusivity, and when he broke that, he also broke her, and she’d vowed to herself to never allow another person to have that kind of power over her again.
But this was different. That expectation wasn’t there. They could be together, enjoy each other, but without the rigidity of a monogamous relationship. She almost felt drunk on the freedom of it. A small smile tugged at her lips. “As long as I get you sometimes.” She wasn’t needy, but she did have needs.
Rafael smiled, looking down into the little cup as though its dregs would tell him the proper answer to give. In the end he only nodded, and tipped back what remained of his drink. "Of course," he said, pouring himself another cup full. "Uh, there are a few caveats, if you're sure want to hear them." He glanced up to her from beneath thick lashes. "With the understanding that you can always run for the door if you change your mind."
Her eyebrow twitched just a little at his tone, but she didn’t give away anything else. “I’m a big girl, I can take it.” She thought she had an idea of what he was about to say, but wanted to hear him say it. And she appreciated his candor, that it would be all out on the table. No secrets, but no obligations.
"With my work…" He cleared his throat. His fingers tapped against the side of his cup. "Sometimes I may not be available. I have a couple of fairly regular clients whose appointments can't be moved or put off. And for a few days before each shoot, I can't have sex. Well, that's not exactly true... I can't come." A slight blush had risen to his cheeks again, further brightening golden-brown skin. "I travel some for work, too, a few conventions and location shoots a year."
She listened patiently, watching his face as he spoke, and it dawned on her that he was apologising for this, in a way. A slight frown creased her forehead and she reached out, covering his hand with hers. Warmth immediately invading her skin.
“It's okay,” she murmured, her thumb idly rubbing the back of his hand. “I knew what you did for a living before I met you. And, there's times I can't have sex either, but for different reasons,” she added with the hint of a smile. Even when she was in a steady relationship with James, they weren't constantly fucking. There was always going to be breaks. “And besides...no sex doesn't mean no closeness.” Falling asleep wrapped in someone else's arms was one of the most intimate things she could think of.
He turned his hand over beneath hers, catching her fingers in his. He squeezed tightly, only for an instant. Something in him softened, though he guarded against it bleeding too much into his expression. He did, however, breathe an audible sigh of relief. "Okay," he said, almost to himself. "All right." He laughed, a self deprecating little sound. "That conversation usually goes a lot worse. I didn't really expect that."
She smiled when he visibly relaxed, and released the breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. “I'll bet,” she said. “Even three years ago, I would have reacted...differently. But so many failed relationships have taught me to let go.” She wasn't sure of exactly what...societal norms? Preconceived notions? Now there was just freedom. Acceptance. Pleasure.
She glanced up as the waitress returned, bringing the first course. Each little plate was a masterpiece, a work of edible art: conch with konbu soup, a crown of foam and caviar atop it. Rafael withdrew his hand and placed his napkin in his lap, then drank down his second cup of sake.
Every sip, every bite, helped him relax all the more. He caught himself drifting closer to her all the while: subtle leans forward in her direction, little touches to her hand between courses. The sake disappeared by small degrees, and warmth filled him from countless sources.
Small talk returned. Comments on the food, the presentation, the atmosphere. Gentle touches of hands and elbows that were warm but also comfortable and somehow familiar. “I thought I’d had good sushi before, but this...this is amazing,” she said, sipping the last of her sake as their plates were cleared. She ordered herself some jasmine tea and settled back a little in her seat, her knee resting comfortably against his under the table to subtly maintain contact.
“If this is a ploy to get me in a good mood so you can have your way with me, you're doing a very good job,” she joked, her smile softening, eyes darkening a little as they met his.
Rafael laughed. He set his napkin aside, slender fingers smoothing out the linen. "That might be a happy consequence," he admitted. "But honestly, I like showing someone a good time. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." His leg shifted, brushing against hers, his ankle coming to rest gently against her own. "Admittedly I didn't have much of a plan beyond this. There's a beachfront bar that has a lovely view this time of night, if you're in the mood for a cocktail…"
She held his eyes, all thoughts of other places with other people in them gone. The warmth of his leg against hers under the table was tingling up her thigh in a positively indecent manner. “I don't want to go to a bar,” she murmured, reaching forward, lacing her fingers with his on the table. “I want to be sober for this.” The waitress came back with her tea, the delicate scent of jasmine filling the air between them, but she ignored it. Suddenly, she wasn't in the mood for tea.
"Then that should help," he said. His eyes did not leave hers as he nodded down to the still steaming tea. His thumb traced light patterns over her hand. The night was still young; he had no plans, only hints of them, and he suspected her thoughts ran in a similar vein to his own. His voice was low when he spoke again. "So what's next, Miss Bariss?"
She wrapped her free hand around the steaming cup of tea but then recoiled...too hot yet. She had always found hot drinks too hot, letting them cool for too long, according to most people. Instead she settled for toying with his hand. She giggled softly at his question. “I haven't been called that since I was a teenager.”
"Do you dislike it?" He smiled, his fingers sliding over hers as they untwined from her grasp. She shook her head a little, smiling back.
He sat back in his seat; his leg remained close to hers all the while. He was teasing, drawing her out, playing some little game he truly appeared to enjoy. "I apologize. So what now... Nishka." He drew out her name, as though testing how each syllable felt on his tongue.
She chuckled softly, shifting so that her shoulder touched his, more warmth tingling her skin through his shirt. “Now...we fall into a comfortable domestic pattern and buy a house with a white picket fence and a dog and China patterns and shit.” She giggled softly, playing with him right back, toying with his fingers and leaning against his shoulder.
Rafael chuckled. "I meant immediately," he said, "but I wouldn't rule all that out, either. My parents would certainly be happy with that development." He slid his arm around her. It was such a simple thing to pull her closer to him, to turn his head to her hair where it rested just beneath his jawline. "But you don't actually want any of that, do you, Nish?"
Her smile faltered, just a little, but she slid closer when he pulled her to him. She didn’t. She had, at one time, but it was still too painful to think about that. Three years, and it still hurt like yesterday.
But his arm around her felt natural, like it belonged there. His warmth didn’t burn. He felt...familiar, comfortable, in a way that she’d only ever had once before, and it was both exciting and confusing. They’d met mere days ago, at a bar while she was drunk, but she felt like she’d known him forever.
“You never know,” she murmured. Not a committal, but not a denial. She hadn’t expected this. She’d been after one night of passion. And then a few. And now...it felt like all of the rules she’d made for herself were crumbling around her the longer he held her. Her eyes slid closed and she tilted her head up, pressing a soft kiss to his neck.
He canted his head, giving her more of his throat. A quiet, pleasured hum coursed through him, vibrating softly beneath her mouth. "I'm not sure they welcome this sort of thing in their restaurant," he teased. The waitress's pointed look at the pair seemed to confirm this. "Are you ready to get out of here?"
She smiled against his skin, “yeah,” she murmured, but made no immediate move to leave, instead peppering his skin with a few more kisses before sitting up. Her tea was cool enough now that she took a few long pulls from it, leaving just the dregs and then regretfully sliding out of his arms, out of the booth, standing and smoothing down her dress. Already her skin was craving his touch again, after mere moments away from him.
He rose beside her, taking her hand. The check was paid, the waitress mollified by their generous tip and subsequent exit, and they returned to the cool, starry night outside. Their car was waiting, and once again Rafael helped her into the expansive back seat.
"Where to?" he asked, once they were comfortably inside. "Drinks, dancing, long moonlit walk on the beach…" He smiled over at her, ignoring the driver's upward glance into the rearview mirror. "Anything you want."
She slid closer to him in the back of the car, felt the jolt as they pulled away from the curb. He was giving her options, none of which were at all attractive to her. She pressed her hand to his chest, her finger toying playfully with the top button. “Home,” she murmured, looking up at him, closing the distance between them, and finally, finally, pressing her lips to his.
How easily his hand fitted to the line of her jaw; how gently he guided her lips to part with a press of his tongue. His thumb caressed her cheek as he deepened the kiss. One arm slid low around her back, and he pulled her closer, until she was all but sitting in his lap. He had too many questions and no desire to ask any of them, quietly fearful of what the answers might be. For now he would enjoy himself, and convince himself that her interest was in him -- not his career, his connections, or his vaunted wealth of experience.
He sighed against her mouth, opening his own to her, hungry to claim and be claimed in return.
She opened her lips and let him in, her hands moving, one wrapping around the nape of his neck and the other tangling in his hair. Her skin tingled where he touched her, when his tongue slid softly against hers, every nerve ending alive in a way she couldn’t remember ever feeling. She heard herself moan softly into his mouth, her kisses becoming deeper, needier, trailing down his chin, his jaw, his neck, her hand moving down to fumble with the top button of his shirt, sliding beneath the fabric, her palm pressing against his heart.
Its beating was steady but quick against her hand, every inch of him responding to her. He leaned back against the seat, letting her move him, giving her unspoken permission to take what she wanted. His skin was flushed beneath her touch, burnished brown and warm with want. Their driver, well accustomed to these signs and signals, sped up.
She felt her own heart pounding hard against her ribs, thumping almost in time with the pounding beneath her palm. She trailed hot kisses across his exposed skin, moving back up, nipping gently at his throat on her way back up to catch his lips again with hers, his tongue causing another electric shock down her spine.
She was slipping, falling by degrees into exactly what she didn't want, what she'd promised herself she'd never do, what she'd told him this absolutely wasn't, and it scared her and thrilled her, each breath coming with a jolt of panic and excitement as she went into this with her eyes open.
After what felt like only a moment, the car pulled up in front of Pax Letale. Rafael did not bother to set his clothes to rights. He only slipped out of the car after gently disentangling himself, then circled the car to escort her out.
She slid out of the car after him, smoothing down her skirt and doing her best to tame her hair that was slipping out of the pins that held it up. She slid them out and let it go free, slipping them neatly into her purse.
"Your place?" he asked, breathless as he led her inside. His own was too small, too plain, though it had a ready supply of all the items and objects they might need. Stephan looked up only briefly from his apparently eternal post at the front desk. Then he looked back down to his magazine, peering at it over the half-moons of his glasses.
She took his hand wordlessly, led him to the elevator that opened for them immediately at this hour, and stabbed the button to the fifth floor, all the while trying to calm her breathing enough to keep her knees from giving out on her. The ride up was agonizing, but she didn't trust herself not to forget that they were in public if he started kissing her again. As soon as the doors opened she led him down the hall, fumbling with her keys and opening the door.
He slipped inside behind her, closing the door softly before his hands returned to her. He heard the soft mewling of a cat, and smiled, remembering his game of lies and truth with Isobel the weekend before. It was a beautiful home, larger than his own, decorated with obvious taste and subtle hints of wealth. He followed where she led, his fingers wrapped tight around hers all the while.
She pulled him after her, dropping her purse on the table by the door, keys sliding off onto the floor with a clatter. She heard Bear greet her from the other room but ignored him, instead pulling Rafe with her down the hall to her bedroom. She let go of his hand and spun, placing her arms behind his head and pulling herself flush against him, his mouth down on hers.
He held her close. Again his tongue parted her lips. His hands settled at her waist, long fingers circling her bare lower back. They dipped beneath the line of her skirt, teasing at flesh not yet laid bare. He pulled her back toward the bed behind them. Coaxing, every touch a promise, he pulled her until the backs of his legs touched her bed. Then he moved around her, his hands and mouth ever on her, until at last his lips pressed to her nape. They moved lower, his kisses tracking down the sharp ridges of her spine. His hands gripped the hem of her dress and guided it slowly up.
She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, pushing it off, down his arms before he circled behind her. She shivered under his kisses, her head falling back as she arched her back into him, reaching behind her to undo the clasp at the base of her neck and unzip her skirt as he began pulling it up over her head, lifting her arms to help him. Turning on the spot, she pressed herself against him, taking his mouth again with hers, bare breasts pressing against his chest, her hands moving down, working on his pants.
Rafael shed his shirt and let it fall to the floor behind him. His hands slipped beneath hers, impatient to be rid of the last layers between them. He left their clothes pooled at their feet, a mussed circle around toed-off boots and socks. He cupped her breasts, squeezing tight as his tongue plunged over hers. The pads of his thumbs brushed over her nipples, coaxing them to hard, tight peaks; his mouth soon moved first to one, then the other, drawing them in with a soft scrape of teeth and tongue.
Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair, holding tightly as shocks of pleasure flooded her, pulling gasps and soft moans and murmurs of ‘oh my god’ from her lips like a prayer. She pulled him back, crouching to kiss him slow and deep, sliding slowly down his body to fall to her knees, peppering his chest, his stomach, his hips with soft kisses and gentle bites as she went. She took him in her hands, giving his length a few firm strokes before leaning in and drawing her tongue over him, base to tip, and then taking him in her mouth.
He exhaled on a long, low sigh. His body was tense before hers, his fingers taut as they wrapped thick locks of her hair around them. He watched her from beneath heavy lids and thick, dark lashes, his hips pressing forward only slightly to push himself further into her. With one thumb he pushed her hair away from her temple, exposing her work to his hungry gaze.
She relaxed her throat, letting him slide further in, expertly sliding her tongue over him, gently raking her teeth against him as she slid him out and back in. She'd been with lots of men, she had a fair amount of practice, but she wouldn't do this for all of them. It was somehow more intimate than she was willing to get for a one night stand. And this...wasn't. She was sure of that now.
"Nish…" His hand tightened in her hair as her tongue moved over him. She opened her eyes, looked up at him, but continued her ministrations until she felt him twitch and quiver against her tongue, letting him slide slowly out of her mouth and continuing to press soft kisses to his hips and stomach. The tanned flesh of his belly twitched taut beneath her mouth.
He leaned down and gripped her wrist, pulling her up to him and over toward the bed, and she followed obediently. He pulled her down, falling with her, pulling her above him. He mumbled a single, cautious word against her parted lips; then he stretched out one arm, rummaging blindly until he found the condoms stashed there. This, too, was a skill he had perfected: His touch never seemed to leave her completely, even as he opened the condom and rolled it down his length. Then he held her again, pulling her down close above him.
With one hand at her nape and the other at the base of her spine, he guided her to straddle him. A moan of pure pleasure tore from her lips as she sank down onto him, arching her back into his hands, her own cupping his face, holding him to her as she kissed him deeply, slowly moving on top of him.
His teeth worried at her lower lip, drawing it in, tasting her with naked hunger. She moaned unabashedly into his mouth, breaths coming in quick gasps between kisses, her nails digging a little tighter into his hair, her hips moving faster against his, his every touch setting her skin on fire.
He gripped her more tightly; the hand at her back shifted lower, fingers splayed to grasp her backside as she ground down onto him. "Harder," he whispered, his lips brushing hers. He bit gently at her mouth, his tongue smoothing over the marks he had made.
His voice sent fresh shivers down her spine, heightening her growing need for release. Her whimpers and gasps coming now from bruised lips with a hint of desperation as she complied, quickening her movements, nails biting into soft flesh as if she would break apart if she let go.
Soon it was too much for her, her desperate cries becoming warnings as she began to unravel, too fast. Her arms shook and she curled into him, her lips and teeth worrying at his skin, her forehead pressed into his shoulder. “Please…” she begged, barely a whisper.
He gladly complied. His nails sank into the soft curve of her backside. His other hand moved from her nape, sliding between their bodies. His fingers found the tight center of her pleasure; his touch pushed over her clit, one slight motion in time with the rocking of their hips. His mouth pressed flush to the shell of her ear, a veil of dark hair between his lips and her skin.
"Come for me," he whispered.
It was as if her body was waiting for him to say it. Gasping desperately for air, she clung to him for support, arching her neck against his lips and squirming as he touched her. And then it all fell apart; she might have screamed, but she wasn't sure. Stars exploded behind her eyelids as she moved against him, her arms around his neck the only thing keeping her from falling. She shook in his hands but managed to hold on, riding each crest crashing over her like waves threatening to drown her. And it felt like sunlight.
Their bodies were warm and slick at every place they joined. He kept pace with her even as she came, still stroking her body in time with the rocking of his hips. He felt her draw tight around him, and his own back arched from the bed in response. His hand tightened on her, pulling her down into every hard stroke. When the last of her cries had faded, he allowed himself a soft, ragged groan as he thrust deep into her again.
Her head spun, but she came back to herself, the crests of pleasure subsiding into gentle waves. She kissed him again, pushing him back against her bed, shifting her weight so that she rolled onto her back, pulling him with her. Her kisses moved to his jaw, her lips brushing against his ear as her fingers again anchored themselves in his hair. “Fuck me,” she murmured, her hips arching into his, encouraging him to take what he needed from her.
Rafael's hands slid under her, fingers curling around her shoulders to grip her close against him. He kissed her deeply, his tongue thrusting over hers as he buried himself in her once more. He lifted her against him, one hand curving low around her nape, the other moving to follow the lines of her body. He cupped her jaw, tipped her face up to meet his next hungry kiss.
Heat coiled low in his belly; he felt his orgasm fast approaching. He groaned into her mouth. A tremor coursed through his body as he came, his hips snapping to hers as every pleasured wave passed through him.
She didn’t stop kissing him, even as he shuddered and spent himself inside her, but the urgency and haste of her kisses slowed as he came down, her fingers loosening in his hair and moving to caress his face, one hand resting comfortably on the nape of his neck. She could feel heat radiating off of him like waves, a pleasant warmth that tingled her already overheated skin. She cradled his head against her shoulder, breathing beginning to slow, eyes slipping closed with a soft sigh as the tension and need finally bled out of her and his warmth filled her.
Rafael withdrew from her only slowly, savoring every moment of their closeness. With slick hands he stripped the condom off; he was markedly grateful for the nearness of the wastebasket, returning to her the moment he had cleaned up after himself. He drew her back into the crook of his arm, softly kissing her sweat-damp forehead. He glanced only briefly to the bedroom door, wondering when she might send him away. But though the question danced at the tip of his tongue, it did not leave his lips. Instead he only held her tighter, listening to the steady slowing of his own breaths and his own racing heart.
She watched him through heavy-lidded eyes as he got up and cleaned himself off, sliding close to him as he cradled her against him and pressing a kiss to his chest beneath her cheek. She lay against him, breathing deeply as her heart slowed down to its regular rhythm, only then opening her eyes.
Bear was sitting on her dresser, watching them. She chuckled softly, shifting onto her side until she could comfortably look Rafe in the eyes, twining her legs with his. “We have an audience,” she grinned, her voice low. Rafael followed her gaze, laughing softly at their observer. “Are you staying?” she asked, not having thought that part through either way. She was working in the morning, but falling asleep in his arms, warm and fed and satiated, sounded like a very attractive idea. That, and they had things to talk about.
"I'd like to," he said. His fingers stroked over her arm; his leg shifted, but only to feel her weight against him, as though reassuring himself of her continued presence. "If that's all right." He tipped his chin toward the gargoyle of a cat. "And of course, only if it's okay with your roommate."
She laughed softly, “he’s just jealous that he’ll have to find somewhere else to sleep tonight.” As if in answer, Bear shifted on the dresser, lying down and watching them with half-lidded eyes.
Nish bit her lip slightly, thinking about how best to broach the subject, and then finally just came out and said it. “When can I see you again?” It was many questions at once - will they see each other again, how did he want to continue this, if he did, will they have to schedule their meetings like appointments in her calendar. She’d never had to pencil in sex before, it was all so new for her.
Rafael chewed his lip, thinking over his calendar for the coming weeks. His phone was in the pocket of his trousers, currently lying on the floor, his little password-protected reminders and encrypted texts too far away to be of any help. "I don't have any conventions for a while," he said. "I have a couple of appointments this week, though, and a few interviews that will hopefully be brief. I should be free after Thursday, unless I'm forgetting something."
Nish smiled softly, mentally going through her calendar too. Then a slightly uncomfortable thought occurred to her, twisting her stomach in knots over how stupid she’d been not to think of this earlier. Her eyes drifted from his, down to her hand splayed on his chest.
“Am I a client now?” she wondered aloud. She had no idea what this...was. How was she supposed to think of him? As a business associate? A lover? A friend?
"I…" His brow furrowed. He looked down to her, trying to catch her distracted gaze once more. His stomach sank; he tried to distance himself from the feeling, to brace himself for whatever came next and take it in stride. "I hadn't thought so," he said. "But if that's what you wanted…"
His tone told her everything she needed to know and she smiled softly against his chest. “No,” she said, the smile in her voice, “it’s not.”
Somewhere inside her, that voice she’d locked up for the night startled awake. ’Nish…’ it warned, and she felt a spike of dread in her stomach at its commanding tone. ’What the fuck are you doing, Nish…’ She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing down the sudden wave of fear, and then sighed it out. Looking back up at Rafe, she held his eyes for a moment and then pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
His relief was palpable. His arm tightened around her. He deepened the kiss without thinking, without considering what it might seem to mean or imply. He hoped it would suffice in place of the response he did not have, the feeling he could not put into words.
She sighed happily into the kiss, but they were sated and it was less passion and more tenderness. When they pulled away, she pressed a kiss to his shoulder, reaching behind her for the blankets that had been ripped off the bed last night, pulling them over both of them and then resting her head on his shoulder, settling in for the night. After several minutes of quiet, she smiled again.
“It’s blue, by the way,” she whispered. “My favourite colour.” Yes, she was in dangerous territory now. Inside, she could feel the voice glaring daggers at her, but she ignored it and went to sleep.