Re: Venetian penthouse: Sam & Cris
She knew he was fucked about watching her die. Not her, but that guy who she didn't want to think about, and she was curious, yeah? Curious enough to almost ask a dozen times over, and cautious enough to draw back. But she was relaxed now, heavy limbs and heavy eyelids, and words came without much thought. He felt fucking safe or something, and that helped too, yeah? "Was it hard? Watching? You know, yeah?" She didn't specify, because she didn't think she needed to. And maybe he didn't want to talk about, and maybe he didn't think he needed to, but the question was already out, and she couldn't swallow back words or whatever. She was soapy-candor, and that was just her, sedatives or not. Impulsive, and blurt, and earnestness in unfocused blue.
His fingers along her side didn't hurt matters either. They were warm and capable, and his voice was low like promises, and it reminded her of how he sounded when he was trying to teach her to hit that stupid fucking punching bag. It was the memory that made her own voice cant lower, huskier. "Do what again?" she asked, unsure what he was asking for, but her tone unwittingly sounded like she was willing to give him whatever the fuck he asked for. It wasn't submissive or anything like that, the rough Jersey vowels and the throat-hoarse consonants, but it was open, willing, and it wasn't deliberate. She knew, somehow, that he wouldn't do anything with her, not with how fucked up she was. Maybe it was his reaction to the shit with Russ in the alley, yeah? But the tone was scraping heat, lazy slow and warmer than the water lapping at naked skin.
His scoff was ignored in favor of the arm around her up-bent knee, and she smiled against his shoulder, a chuckle, soft and girlish against the skin. "See? Protective fucking adult. You don't like that Iris was here or whatever, so you get all cling." She sounded crazy fucking fond, and luckily the sedatives kept her from realizing or freaking the fuck out about it.
But his question was there, hanging, and he kissed her hair and the memory of his thumb lingered on her chin. "She looks really fucking great," she began, but then he sat up, and he looked around, like some shit was wrong, and she was almost sorry she'd mentioned fucking Iris. "She's gone," she said, even as he relaxed, her expression knowing youth, like she had him figured out, and maybe with this one thing she did. "I told her about Joey, and she made some notes about people that had to be told. I don't really remember much else- Wait, no, yeah, she was scared or something about who Lou was staying with in Gotham, like she thought it was whoever she's hiding from. She has some shit going on, and she asked me not to tell anyone where she was. Probably that fucker she was seeing," she said, instinct, and then her brows furrowed, like she was trying to figure out where that comment came from. "She left while I slept. She said she wasn't going to stay," she added, distracted by whatever the fuck she couldn't remember. She shrugged against him. "I just missed my family or whatever, and she's the only one around."