Who: Sharon Carter & Remy LeBeau When: October 9, after dinner Where: Sharon’s place What: They sent some texts planning for Remy to come over after his meeting. Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for LeBeau Status: Complete
Okay, when Sharon suggested he keep an eye out for smoke, she wasn't exaggerating that much. Sharon wasn't much of a cook. But she grabbed hold of some amazing youtube videos, a bowl of apples, a couple of crusts and some cinnamon. Then she set to work. There was vanilla ice cream in the freezer, too, so they could do the a la mode thing.
Shit, when did she get so...??? Whatever it was? God damn it, Remy had her wrapped around his finger. And she kinda liked it.
Sharon was sitting on her sofa in the living room, curled up next to Pete. The place had been tidied more than the last time he'd come over. She had dinner, cleaned, baked, and the finished pie was on a cooling rack on the stovetop. She was trying to get wrapped up in the book she was reading, but she was really distracted by the smell of the pie. Fingers crossed it would be as delicious as it smelled.
***
It didn’t take long for Remy to show up at Sharon’s home. It was long after she was done with that pie and it was cooling. It was around nine, in fact, and he was rocking some on his toes. He was almost nervous.
Well, if he could be nervous.
When she opened the door, he smiled and tilted his head, leaning forward some and pulling out some flowers from behind his back. They would be presented to her with a wink. “Dressed tonight, I see. That’s a little disappointing.”
***
Sharon pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the time. Nine. Well, that wasn't too late. She climbed from the sofa and padded over to answer the door. She wasn't in her pajamas, but she was casually dressed; jeans, t-shirt. No shoes.
Her eyebrow raised at the flowers. Then a small smile flickered across her lips. "What are these for?" She asked, ignoring the comment about her being dressed and reaching for the flowers.
** “They’re for you. I was passing by a shop, they were pretty.. so why not?” He would hand them over without much flair and would come inside, then close the door and flip the lock behind him.
“So..” He began after a second, eyebrows raising.
Did she remember the night before? **
Sharon accepted the flowers and brought them to her face to smell them while Pete came over to say hello to his friend. Because Pete totally thought of Remy as his friend. That's how Pete was--friendly to a fault.
"Well, thank you. This is... pleasant. But unexpected." She stepped out of the way to let him in.
"So?" She asked turning back to him and raising an eyebrow. "You want to see your pie?"
** He’d bend to scoop the dog up carefully and he pressed a kiss to the side of his snout. “Hey, Killer.” Greeted to the dog. Another kiss followed, then he would trail behind Sharon with a smile, dog held easily in his arms.
“Flowers are pleasant but unexpected? They’re flowers, Sharon, not a yacht. I can buy a beautiful woman some flowers.”
Right? **
Sharon moved into the kitchen and unwrapped the flowers, cut the stems, put them in a vase, filled it with fresh water. She ignored him making out with her dog. (Though, it was irritatingly endearing. So were the flowers.)
"Thank you," she repeated and turned around to face him once more. "...you just never seemed the type to bring me flowers, that's all." She responded. Then she pointed at the stovetop.
"I'm sure it's cool by now. And I've got ice cream. If you like that sort of thing."
She was smirking. Proud. The first pie she'd ever made.
**
“You’re kidding. You think I’m not the type to bring flowers? I’m probably the most romantic person you’ll ever meet.” Because he was good at it. Because he was annoyingly romantic and sweet-- he knew how to woo a woman, he knew how to make her feel good, he knew how to make her fall for him.
He just didn’t know how to do the everyday boyfriend stuff. He was too over the top. He was too.. just too much.
He knew he’d be a shitty boyfriend. He was much better at being that amazing fuck, that amazing, charming man you spent that perfect month with-- and then you came back to reality and found a man you could settle down with.
He was what they called a Vacation Boyfriend. Only good for a short time. But then you were just ready to go back home.
**
Sharon almost corrected him, but then changed her mind. "Well, you're not the type to bring flowers and mean it." The moment she said it, she realized how it must have sounded. She shook her head. "I mean, you seem like the kind of guy who'll bring flowers to every girl he knows."
Not the kind who brings flowers because he's interested in something intimate. That was one thing that Sharon had realized. She wanted something real, not something simply romantic. That part wasn't enough for her anymore.
She cleared her throat. "Do you want some pie? I slaved all day over a hot stove."
**
Remy’s smile didn’t falter. “You seem to think that I can’t bring flowers to every woman I know and mean it. Flowers are beautiful. Everyone appreciates getting flowers.” He’d kiss Pete’s snout again. “I bet even Pete would like some flowers. I didn’t get you flowers, buddy, but I brought you something else if your mommy will let you have it.” He’d come wandering slowly into the kitchen, to get a better sniff of the pie he knew had been cooked.
“I’d love some pie.” He was tugging a doggy cookie from his pocket-- it was bone shaped, and had frosting and sprinkles all over it. It had Pete’s name on it, and a little red bow.
“It’s grain and soy free, and it’s got no chicken in it.” The things that were usual allergens.
***
"You can't." Sharon said, shaking her head. She grabbed a pie server and moved over to the stove to cut into the pie. "...a man gives a woman flowers to make her feel special. To show that he's been thinking about her. To provide something beautiful, because to him, she's the most beautiful. You can't make a woman feel special if she knows that you do the same thing for every woman you know."
She turned to look at him with her dog. Why, oh why was he so good with her damn dog?? She nodded. "Yeah, he can have it. He's not allergic to anything, so."
She served up the pie. "It's still warm. Ice cream?"
***
“What about a man who gives flowers to his girlfriend.. and his mother? Or his grandmother. Or sister.. or.. best girl friend who’s feeling a little down about herself and just needs a good pick-me-up? Why would you want to restrict flowers? Edible underwear, yeah.. but flowers are something you send to a funeral. How romantic can they be?”
He did sort of have a point!
Kinda.
“Hear that, Pete? Your mom says you can have it.” He’d bend to set the dog down, then kneel in his thousand dollar suit and untie the ribbon from the dog treat. Then he held it out to him with a smile.
Once the dog took it and trotted off with it, he pushed up to his feet, a hand smearing over his chest. Oh, that hurt. But he’d flash a pleased smile at her once he was standing.
“I love ice cream.” Hell yes he wanted some.
**
"Family's different." Sharon said, shaking her head. "Okay, you have a point there. How about Flowers for no reason," she corrected her previous statement, "are to make a woman feel special. If a woman is sick or someone's just died, or if someone's having a shitty day... well, that's different."
She moved to the freezer to get the ice cream while Pete sniffed excitedly at the dog treat. His tail was wagging frantically again, whacking into Remy and the counter over and over. He took the treat and wandered into the living room to eat it on his dog bed.
Thankfully, Sharon wasn't watching when Remy ran that hand over his chest. She glanced over at him once he was done spoiling the dog, and returned his smile with a smirk of her own. "Pie." She said. "With ice cream."
“I spoil you,” she added, holding out his plate to him.
***
“Flowers for no reason, yes, that’s romantic. And I don’t bring flowers for no reason.” Except he just had.
“Pie with ice cream. You’re so good to me.” He’d take the plate and head for the kitchen table. He’d settle down with ease-- like this was his house-- like he belonged here. He looked at home in her home. How eerie was that, Sharon?
He’d cut into it with his fork and take a bite, chewing slowly as he considered, hazel eyes locked onto hers. He was tasting as much as he was thinking.
Did she remember that he’d blown things up?
** "Oh?" Sharon sat down at the table with him, nodding her agreement that she was good to him. Because she thought she was. Good for him. She sat down opposite him at the table and lifted her own fork. "What was the reason tonight, then?" She asked before biting.
Okay. She had to make apple pie more often. This was amazing. With the ice cream? Everything? She was trying to keep her attention on the food and not how eerie it was that Remy looked absolutely at home in her house. She wanted him to stay.
*** When asked for the reason he brought flowers, Remy only smiled and chewed his pie. No, he wasn't going to answer that. Why? Because he didn’t have a reason.
Don’t read into it, Sharon.
After finally swallowing, he’d speak up. “What do you remember about the other night?” Topic change, Sharon. Just roll with the punches here. ** No fair. He was allowed to ignore her questions, and she was.... not? Sharon raised an eyebrow, but decided not to think too much into it. Let him have his secrets.
She took another bite and chewed, watching Remy's face as they sat opposite each other. Remy looking more at ease in her own kitchen than sometimes Sharon herself felt.
"What do I remember? You mean, besides you filling my wine glass to the brim then taking me outside for a fantastic fireworks show?"
**
The Cajun could have looked at ease while disarming a bomb. He was cool and collected, he had an air of calm around him and he just seemed to blend into any environment-- though still managed to stand out. It was a gift.
“Yeah, that’s sort of what I was getting at.” His fireworks show. Okay, she remembered. It made him laugh some and lean back, taking another bite of his pie and slouching in his seat just so. God, he could even manage to look graceful while slouching in a kitchen chair. Imagine that. “D’Artagnan, Lina and Anna are the only ones who know.” He’d say once he’d finished that bite. “So it stays between us.”
**
He may have been cool and collected in everything that he did, but that didn't mean it was fair.
"Your secret is safe with me." Sharon said once she was done chewing and swallowing. "Is that why you came over tonight, then?" She asked, spearing another piece of apple with her fork. "To make sure that I wouldn't say anything about your absolutely amazing ability? I wasn't planning on it, if you were concerned."
**
“No.” He’d say as he chopped up the last bit of his pie into two bite-sized pieces and scooped some of the ice cream on top. “I came because you said you wanted to talk.” The piece of pie was pushed into his mouth to prevent him from saying anything more.
Okay, you knew why he was here, so say what you wanted.
Better do it while he was eating and couldn’t object.
**
"All right." Sharon set her fork down now that she was finished with her pie and ice cream. She was trying to figure out how to say what she wanted to say, and was finding it difficult. This was... it. She'd decided. it was time to lay it out there. Time to finally figure all of this out. If it was worth her time, if he was at all interested in... well, any of the things she was interested in.
"I want you to take me out on a date. A real one." She said, raising an eyebrow. A challenge. Would he meet it?
***
His brows furrowed and he lowered his fork. “I have taken you on a date. A few, in fact. Those weren’t good enough? You want another?” Sorry, Sharon, he didn’t get it. A real date? You’d been on a real date. You’d slept together after one! How was that not a ‘real’ date?
He’d set the plate and fork aside to give her his full attention.
**
That wasn't what she was talking about. Honestly, Sharon didn't really know what she was talking about. She stood from the chair and lifted her plate to put it in the sink. It might be easier to think if she wasn't looking into his eyes.
"No, those were nice. But we haven't had one in a while. Not a Vegas vacation with ten other people. Not just a few friends at Tony Stark's party. I want you to take me out for a romantic evening of dinner and dancing. Just you and me. Out." She turned around with her plate in the sink, raising an eyebrow at him.
And she wanted it to mean something. Mean more than just two friends out for dinner and a shag.
***
“Dancing?” Oh. God. He didn’t want to dance. He didn’t feel up for dancing. It still hurt to get out of bed in the morning, let alone throw himself around on a dance floor. “Sounds great.” Idiot LeBeau, don’t tell her that!
“Tomorrow night? Friday is date night, after all.” Right? “And Tony’s party is Saturday, so it can’t be then.” It narrowed down their days. “I’ll pick you up.” There. That was easy.
Was that all she’d wanted?
**
It didn't have to be tonight! Or even tomorrow! Sharon wasn't in a rush, really. She leaned her hip against the sink as they talked, watching him leaning back in the kitchen chair. It wasn't fair how at ease he looked in her kitchen. Even now. Her arms folded across her chest and she broke into a smirk.
"Anxious, are you? You want to see me again tomorrow?" She tucked some hair behind her ears. "Aren't you still recovering from your injury? It can wait a few days."
She swallowed. "...I just want to know that you want to take me out again. That I'm not..." a kept woman? "We haven't been out in public around other people in a while. Makes a girl think she's a secret."
**
“You’re not a secret, and of course I’m anxious to see you.” He’d push up to his feet and wander closer, a little smile playing at his lips. “I want to take you out again. Things were just complicated for a little while.” They weren’t anymore. Not really. Rogue’s impromptu text message had taken care of that.
He was now free of a relationship he’d never wanted to be in, in the first place.
“And it isn’t like you’ve introduced me to any of your friends, either. Not embarrassed by me, are you?” He’d joke with a sway to his hips as he came closer-- graceful, this one. He should have been a dancer, or an acrobat. He was wasted on just seducing women.
**
"What do you mean, complicated?" Sharon asked, looking up at him as he sauntered toward her in the kitchen. It wasn't a long distance from the table to the sink, and Sharon felt her heart speed up just slightly as he got closer.
"Who says I have any friends to introduce you to?" She asked, pulling herself up to her full height and away from the sink. As she did so, her arms unfolded from across her chest. Her eyes never left his face.
**
“I don’t like it when things get complicated.” Admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. “Things with you aren’t complicated.” It wasn’t really an answer, but it had to at least give her some measure of understanding.
Or not.
“You have friends. You just don’t want to introduce me to them. I’m embarrassing. You must feel like you’re babysitting me.” A slow smile spread over his face.
**
"How were they complicated?" Sharon asked, standing up straight and looking into his eyes. It made her feel good that she wasn't complicated. She didn't want to be, but she had a feeling things might change. Hopefully for the better.
She ignored the comment about her having friends. It was almost completely not true. She was making them, slowly, and she had her coworkers and her cousin, but not a big group of friends. Who was she supposed to introduce him to? Clint?
**
“They were complicated like an Algebra problem. Not impossible to figure out, but it gives you a headache to think about.” He reached out to take one of her hands and tugged her in closer to him, smoothing his other hand around the small of her back and bringing her to press carefully against his chest.
“I’ll take you out tomorrow.” Remy said more quietly, beginning to sway his hips in a slow sort of dance.
**
And then she was wrapped up in his arms. She started to sway with him, bringing her hands to rest on his biceps. She couldn't pull out of his arms even if she wanted to. And she definitely didn't want to.
"I'm still waiting for an answer to my question," she said, bringing her eyes to his face once more. "...what made things complicated?" The truth now, LeBeau.
**
“I don’t like feeling trapped.” Was that enough truth for her? He’d smile and lean to press his forehead down against hers, having to crane his neck a little to do it.
“She put me in a position that made me feel trapped. And then she started getting jealous and angry with me. I warned her. She knew what she was getting into.” She knew him. She knew how he was. He flirted-- but he didn’t touch.
And he hadn’t touched Sharon since she’d trapped him with that title.
**
"I figured you were the type who'd be into bondage and that sort of thing. You didn't like Fifty Shades of Grey?" Sharon asked, playfully. Trapped, right? The proximity made looking into his eyes just slightly awkward, so Sharon closed her own. He was warm, strong. She almost felt like she could melt in his arms.
And then things got a little more serious. The grin on Sharon’s face faded, and she pulled back a bit so she could look into his eyes once more. “...she?”
Well, that explained a lot about the past few weeks, didn’t it?
**
“Best book ever.” He would say, turning his head some to press their temples together so he could speak into her ear.
But then she pulled back and looked at him.
Shit.
“She.” He agreed. “Anna. It was just fun until she told someone I was her boyfriend. And.. then it changed. She started getting jealous when I was with other women. The trip to Vegas. I never agreed to be anything, but I wasn’t going to cheat on her regardless.” And that, Sharon, was why the last few weeks had been so strange. “She started..” He let out a breath and finally pulled away from her, then turned and headed out of the kitchen, into the living room. “That ‘poor me’ thing.” And there was nothing less attractive than a woman with no self-confidence.
**
Sharon hadn't read it. Though, she'd heard all sorts of things. Perhaps she should pick it up? If he thought so highly of it.
That was neither here nor there. Here she was listening to him intently, looking into his eyes, her expression serious. And then her eyes went wide. Oh. It was me. It was my fault, wasn't it? The last few weeks were complicated, because Remy had a girlfriend. They'd gone swimming at night, cuddled laid beside one another on the beach and stared up at the stars... it'd felt like more than friendship, but it wasn't. It couldn't have been. He had a girlfriend.
"You don't want to be anyone's boyfriend?" Sharon asked. Sure. That whole explanation and THAT was what she pulled from it?
**
“No, I don’t want to be anyone’s boyfriend.” He paused and turned to look at her from his spot in the living room. “Look at me, Sharon. I’m not a boyfriend. I’m a good lay. I’m fun. I’m exciting. I’m not.. permanent.” Not by any stretch of the imagination.
And you knew that, Sharon.
**
Sharon was still staring at him from her spot in the kitchen. Pete lifted his head from his dog bed. He'd finished the treat and was now snoozing a bit, but the entrance of Remy into the room made him stir.
"What makes you say that?" Sharon pressed on. She took a couple of steps from the kitchen toward the living room, hoping to… do something. Be a comfort? Support? Something.
There was hope that she was wrong. That she'd thought he wasn't permanent, but that he could be. It was probably ridiculous, and her hopes were up for no good reason. But she couldn't help it.
**
“Because I’m not boyfriend material. I’m not.. husband material. I’m a fun guy who’s great in bed material. I’m not good at doing anything boyfriend-- I’m lousy at it, in fact. And if you get too invested in me I’m just going to break your heart. I won’t mean to--” He was quick to tack that on, “But it won’t keep it from happening.” He’d give her a little lopsided grin and head over to the dog bed to stoop and pet Pete on the head.
“Isn’t that right, Pete? Tell your mom I’m no good, hm?” No good for her, no good for anyone.
He was a tramp, that was what he was good at.
**
"That's... well, honest?" Maybe? It sounded like he meant it. "But it's also a lousy answer." Sharon said, and folded her hands across her chest. "If you don't want to be a boyfriend, that's one thing. But if you think you're not qualified... that's just ridiculous. You're the most romantic man I've ever met. You make me feel--you make women feel special. That's all a boyfriend has to do. That and not cheat. And it sounds like you're good at that, too."
Sharon turned her eyes to the dog, and then the floor. "...I'm pretty invested already, so. I guess I'm just... gonna have my heart broken." There. It was out there.
Do with it what you will.
**
“Sharon..” He said slowly, then let out a slow breath. “I’m.. sick.” That was the best way he could think of to describe it. “I’m not.. entirely right in the head.” Another breath escaped and he rolled his eyes skyward and straightened up.
Then hazel eyes settled on her again. “I don’t..” God, how did he say this? Sick. Entirely right in the head. What was he trying to say to her? And why couldn’t he just come out and say it? “I don’t feel things like normal people.” There.
Did that make sense at all?
**
Sharon took a long moment to consider his words, and finally lifted her eyes back up to his face.
"I don't know what that means." She said, softly. She was trying to think about it logically, trying to understand what he was saying, but her heart was starting to thunder. All she could think was how this was just a rejection, and he was trying to be nice about it. It's not you, it's me. And hey, at least it was happening before anything more serious started between them.
...she must have been wrong about his break-up with she being partially her fault. (After all, if things weren't complicated anymore, it meant they weren't together now, right?)
"...you're saying that you don't feel things at all? Or you don't feel them for me?"
**
He gave her a little smile and turned to face her fully, pushing his hands into his pockets.
“I’m a sociopath.” Bluntly.
There.
There it was, Sharon.
**
Sharon frowned. "...I don't believe that. A sociopath has no moral compass. You're not a cheater, right? You have a moral compass."
She turned to go sit down on the sofa, arms still folded across her chest. She folded one leg over the other, too. "...but if you're not interested..." A quick sigh as she tried to figure out what she was trying to say. "...I'll just take a thanks but no thanks. You don't have to... explain."
**
“You don’t believe it because you don’t want to think you’re interested in a sociopath.” He smirked and rolled his eyes up, but would sway closer. “I don’t cheat. I hate cheaters. It’s the same reason I don’t kill people. It doesn’t make me any sort of good person, or mean I have a moral compass.”
He’d come closer once she sat, then crouch in front of her.
“I’ve never felt anything for anyone. I don’t feel.. much these days. Ever since coming here..” He rolled his shoulders up again. “Things are changing.” And it was freaking him out. Could you imagine living your whole life without emotions, then beginning to feel things?
It’d have to be like living deaf, and suddenly being able to hear certain noises.
It was terrifying for the Cajun.
“I don’t want to give you up.” But he wasn’t any good for you.
**
Sharon honestly believed that Remy was making things up to try and let her down easy, and that felt insulting. She kept her arms folded across her chest, and wasn't looking at him. She wanted to ask him to leave. The whole idea was preposterous. She shouldn't have said anything. She shouldn't have made her feelings clear. She felt foolish.
And, fuck she was blushing. Anger, emotion, embarrassment... One or all of them was making her cheeks grow hot. She sincerely hoped she wouldn't start crying.
Finally, she turned to look at him, trying to read what was going on on his face. She was still fairly confused about everything, but... he looked genuine.
"What do you want from me, Remy?" She asked. It wasn't the first time she'd asked it. Maybe this time she'd get a real answer.
**
God, she looked so upset.
He took up her hand and would lift it enough to press his lips to her knuckles. Then he turned it over in his hand and he’d kiss her palm, then her fingers. And he’d give her hand a squeeze before carefully releasing it and standing up.
“I’m sorry.” Was all he’d say to her question, then he’d turn and bend to pet Pete’s head, and be heading for the door.
There was your serious talk, Sharon. He didn’t want to be a boyfriend because girls deserved better than someone who’d never love them back.
**
She was upset. Sharon stared down at him kissing her hand, gently, then let it fall down beside her on the sofa. She swallowed again. Her eyes were welling up and she really, really didn't want to cry. How had she gotten so worked up over all of this?
"Wait," Sharon spoke, then gave a soft sniff and lifted her head to look up and over at him as he made his escape. "Is that it, then? Are we done?"
**
He tilted his head in a curious manner-- much like a dog might-- and frowned some.
“Done?” You were reading into it, Sharon. He really was as shallow as he said. He was so very good at reading emotions and reactions, but he couldn’t predict them because he couldn’t feel them himself.
“You looked upset-- I thought you would want me to go?” Isn’t that what she’d wanted?
**
"Well, yeah, I looked upset. I am upset." Sharon lifted a hand to wipe at her cheeks, wipe away any trace of tears that may have fallen, then stood up from the sofa. She was trying to turn sadness, awkwardness and disappointment into anger. And it was working.
"You bring me flowers, you dance with me in the kitchen, you pretty much tell me that the reason you haven't touched me for weeks is that you had a girlfriend, but she's gone now?" Sharon asked, as asking for confirmation, but didn't wait for it. While she spoke, she marched slowly up to him, letting her anger rise. "And then you tell me you're not boyfriend material, you don't feel anything for anyone, but you don't want to give me up."
Her arms folded across her chest again. "Is that it? Is that everything?"
**
He stared openly as she strode towards him, lifting his chin a little as she became so challenging.
It was exceedingly hot.
“I also.. steal things.” Well, if he was putting it all out there, he might as well. “Expensive things.”
That was everything.
**
Sharon stared at him for a moment, then laughed. She laughed at what he'd said, even though it wasn't really funny. She laughed at herself for the way she'd been acting. She laughed because it was better than crying.
After a minute, she clutched at her side. "Oh, Remy. Remy, Remy, Remy."
Just what on Earth had she gotten herself into?
**
The Cajun was wearing a confused expression by the time she was done laughing, clutching at her side like that. “I didn’t know I was so funny.” Still, he’d smile for it and step in a bit closer, moving a hand out to smooth along her shoulder.
“I made her miserable.” He’d do the same to you. But, like with her, he’d try very hard not to.
**
She stepped closer to him, shaking her head. If heartache was inevitable, she should at least give it her all, right? There was a smile on her face.
"Don't ever lie to me," she said, lifting her arms wrap them around his waist. "Omission of important facts counts as lying."
**
“What constitutes an important fact?” That smile on his lips would grow slowly, until it brightened his entire face. “Are my bowel movements important? Do you want to know when I have thoughts about wanting pickles? Or when I expect to receive a new video game in the mail?”
He’d curl his own arms around her in return, pulling her in closer.
**
"Yes." Was all she replied. She cuddled in even closer, amazed because it felt like she was allowed to, now. Something about tonight felt like... like something had shifted. Changed. Sharon wasn't sure if it was better yet, but it definitely wasn't worse.
**
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” But he was smiling more widely now, and would lift a hand to tilt her chin up.
Then he pressed his mouth firmly against hers. He’d linger there a long moment before speaking against her lips. “I’m not telling you about when I take a crap.” Quietly insisted.
Sorry, Sharon. But he’d try to be as honest as he could be.
** Oh, kissing Remy. So much fun. Sharon let herself get wrapped up in it for a moment, knowing that she was falling, and that she shouldn’t, but there was really not stopping it now.
When he quietly insisted he wasn’t going to tell her about his bowel movements, Sharon laughed. She shook her head. "No. Please don’t. But if you really feel it's important..." She teased, grinning, then leaned up and in to kiss him again. With gusto.
** He would accept that kiss, breathing in through his nose and leaning down a little to deepen it. But all good things must come to an end and soon he was pulling back enough to break it and give her a little smile. God, she was beautiful.
“Not even if it’s important.” Insisted with a small laugh. “Can I stay the night?”
**
By the end of the kiss, Sharon had her hands on either side of his face. She was enjoying herself, even though she knew she shouldn’t. She knew this was only going to lead to a broken heart, and/or other bad things. Remy said so himself, didn’t he? And she was supposed to believe him.
Her hands moved down to rest on his chest (though, far away from the site of his wound) and she smiled gently up at him. “Are you sleeping with me or on the sofa?”
Because that made all the difference.
**
“Probably on the sofa.” He’d admit with a kiss to her temple. “But I’ll be there in the morning.” Remy didn’t spend the night in a bed with a woman. Not since coming to the OC. Not since he’d blown up the gloves he’d been wearing. And two nights ago he’d blown up his pillow.
No. He wouldn’t risk hurting her. Maybe once he got this whole mess under control...
**
Sharon took a moment to consider it, looking up at him. She wasn’t sure why he wouldn’t sleep in her bed--she hadn’t been talking about sex, though it wasn’t like they’d never done that before--but she couldn’t really complain, could she? She wanted him around. She liked having him around.
“You’re making me breakfast,” she said, giving his chest a poke with her index finger. (Again, far away from his wound.) “I like my bacon crispy and my eggs scrambled.”
She went up on her toes to steal one more kiss from his mouth, then pulled back and away from him to head into her bedroom. “C’mon, Pete.” She said.
The dog climbed up from his bed to follow her into the bedroom.
**
“Breakfast.” He agreed with a smile, leaning some to watch her rear as she headed to her room.