OOM: Room 6620, #6

[the_gene_genie]

He knows he's probably in trouble as he drags himself up the stairs. He only went down to have a quick pint, and pick up some more wine. He's been gone about five hours now, he estimates, though it's really hard to care. Sitting on the garage floor after a scrap has left him stiff as a board, and freezing cold. The half bottle of Scotch - not to mention Guppy smacking him on the melon a few times - means his head's pounding. Everything aches, and he wants nothing more than to climb into a warm bed, and stay there forever.

But he can't do that. Enough of this. He's been trying so hard, but it's time to throw in the towel. He can't go through another encounter like that. All that's left is to tell her.

He lets himself into their room quietly, half hoping she'll be asleep but knowing he'd have to wake her up anyway.

Comments

[lady_bols]

'Dinner,' she agrees, shifting to grab another cold pack off the tea trolley. One hand skims down his thigh to his knee, watching his face so she knows where he needs it most.

'How do you feel about lamb stew?'

[the_gene_genie]

Her hand doesn't bother him, but he has to move it away to stretch his leg out. His own fingers press into the side of the kneecap, supporting it as he eases it unbent. There's a hiss from between his teeth, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

'Lamb stew. Fine. Long as it's with spuds.'

[lady_bols]

Her lips thin at the sound of that hiss, but she doesn't say anything. She does stand and bend to kiss his cheek again, heading off towards the table. Pen and paper in hand, she sits down and starts to write.

'With potatoes,' she muses as she thinks. 'And something for the pain in your knee. Topical preferably.' Better than nothing, anyway.

When she's done, she stands and flips open a little door just beneath the light switch, taking a moment to fish the canister out of the pneumatic tube. A moment later, the canister disappears with a whoosh.

'Now, would you like some help getting your boots off, love?'

She can't just sit by and let him suffer. It's not in her nature.

[the_gene_genie]

'Topical? Like, I'm going to have to win a debate about current affairs with it before it'll sort me out?'

Sounds like her.

He shoots her a look, and then gestures towards his injured leg.

'Just that one,' he mutters, because it's awkward, not being able to get your own boot off.

[lady_bols]

Her lips twitch, and her eyes flash. She starts in on the other boot, just to be contrary.

'You're insufferable, you know that? Sit back and just let me take care of you.'

There's an edge in her tone, affectionate to be sure, but not to be argued with.

[the_gene_genie]

He looks down at his lap, and doesn't look up while she pulls his boots off.

'Ta,' he mutters, and pulls his fags over when she's done.

[lady_bols]

She sets his boots and socks aside, and settles next to him again.

Her voice is quiet. This is new territory for them. 'That wasn't so difficult, was it?'

[the_gene_genie]

He shrugs, and smokes. He really can't begin to explain how it makes him feel, and he's too tired to try. He'll only mess it up.

'Never thought you'd be the type,' he says, conversationally, after a moment.

'Thought feminists would rather shove a boot down a bloke's throat than help him take it off.'

It's clearly meant as a light-hearted observation.

[lady_bols]

Her eyes close and she grins at his jab. Her elbow rests on the sofa behind him and her hand drifts over to stroke along his upper arm.

'Being a feminist doesn't mean wanting to oppress men; it means wanting equality. And don't deny it, if my knee had taken a battering, you'd help me take off my shoes. You'd give me no end of grief about it, but you would.'

[the_gene_genie]

'Of course. But it's different.'

It probably isn't. And it doesn't bother him enough to make a big deal out of. It just niggles a little bit.

'Anyway, if somebody had tried to kick your knee in, I'd be out there battering them.'

Just in case there's any doubt on that.

[lady_bols]

Her grin broadens, and she shakes her head.

'Either way, there's nothing wrong comforting the one you love. And right now, I don't care what it looks like. When it's just the two of us, together, it hardly matters.'

So long as we're together, she thinks. And maybe he can see that in her eyes when she meets his gaze.

[the_gene_genie]

'S'pose not,' he mutters, though the way he looks away from her might let on that it's more about what he thinks of himself.

Doesn't matter. He's wrung out, and knackered, and only just starting to warm up. His arm goes back around her, and pulls her against him so he can kiss her.

[lady_bols]

It's strange, and wonderful, this whole new physical intimacy between them. How many times has she thought about leaning in and doing just this, gentle and slow? She melts against his side, leaning into that kiss, claiming his mouth in small, tender mouthfuls.

[the_gene_genie]

He slips his hand into her hair, cupping the back of her head gently. The other is firm around her waist, almost possessive in his grip. Like if he can kiss her long enough, he'll forget the rest of this day happened.

'How long d'you reckon dinner will be?'

He asks quietly, against her lips, eyes almost closed.

[lady_bols]

'I dunno,' she murmurs, her voice low and distracted. 'A little while.'

She's intent, focused on nothing more than this. The exquisite warmth of his breath feathering against her lips, the way his fingertips feel brushing over her nape, the importance of painting herself on his skin so this moment seeps down into his bones and even in his dreams, when he's far from her, he'll feel her touch and know, she's waiting for him.

One hand caresses along his jaw, one fingertip marking the line of his sideburns, up to the hollow beneath his ear. Another kiss, wet and soft, and another, her tongue teasing along his lower lip.

[the_gene_genie]

He makes a quiet noise and his eyes fall closed, pressing his lips gently back to hers. No pressure, no haste, but he can feel the heat through every nerve in every point of contact. He angles himself towards her, trying to feel more of her against him, desperate for her to make this better.

'Shouldn' waste time.'

[lady_bols]

Eyes closed, she hums her agreement with this sentiment, winding her arms around his neck and letting one leg drift up across his lap.

'Every moment counts.'

After a moment, she pulls back, just enough to catch his hands and urge them under her jumper. She hisses a little under her breath at the chill in his skin, but doesn't let him pull away. No, she's got him right where she wants him, as another soft kiss proves.

'Wish we had a fireplace in here.'

[the_gene_genie]

He'd respond, but his hands are wrapping around her sides, spreading over the warmth of her. His kiss gets a little more hungry, and it's only a matter of seconds before one drifts up to cup her breast. Gentle but still with that air of possessiveness he seems to be favouring tonight.

'Cliche,' he says, though doesn't mention whether it'd be a bad cliche. He quite likes the idea, actually.

[lady_bols]

Her breath hitches, and she smiles against his lips, a quiet sigh of appreciation rising in her throat. She loves it when he touches her like this. Another kiss, this one longer, more hungry, and maybe, her own touch echoes that possessiveness back to him, letting him feel how deep this current runs in her blood.

'Stockings with garters are cliche, too.' Her tone of voice is playful, and full of promise. She gets the sense he's a fan of the classics.

[the_gene_genie]

'No, they're not. They're timeless.'

They've been around since before he was born, so he sees no reason why they shouldn't be around after he's...well, in her time.

His hand pushes the cup of her bra out of the way, and he makes a small sound as he holds her breast in his palm for real. So warm, so soft and inviting. He caresses gently as he kisses her, taking all the time in the world, just letting the heat in his blood warm him through.

[lady_bols]

She hesitates at that touch, eyes closed, lips parted, a frisson running down her spine. Her brow furrows a bit, and she utters a sound far too close to a whimper for her liking.

Her heel digs into his thigh, pulling her body closer to his. Her kiss falters, strays down the line of his jaw, finding the pulse at his throat and pressing a hot, wet kiss right against it.

[the_gene_genie]

The thumb playing with her nipple stills, and it's his turn to groan. Just quietly, more like an expulsion of air, only louder. She's good at finding that spot, the one that seems to be wired directly to his groin.

His response is to turn as best he can, and press her down so they're half-lying on the sofa, tangled around each other with him on top, hand still under her shirt. The angle's not great, and his body hurts, but he doesn't care. This is like exploring his first girlfriend all over again, hot and close and twice as much fun, because they both actually know what they're doing.

[lady_bols]

She moves with him, sinking into the cushions so there's room for both of them, drawing his leg between her own. She sighs, her mouth returning to his for another kiss, taking her time to explore, to savour, to drink him like she was dying of thirst, and he the last cool drink of water.

Her fingertips play up the nape of his neck, marking the curve of his skull, letting her nails graze over his scalp. All the while, listening to his breath, letting him tell her without words, what he wants. And doing her best to give it to him, without reservation.

[the_gene_genie]

He takes his hand off her breast just long enough to fumble his belt open, because he doesn't want it to dig into her. Not when he's about to press down against her, like so, thigh pressed up between her legs; not when he's going to kiss her firmly, and push his hand back up her top to free her other tit so he can play with it.

This is what he wants, and he's not adverse to taking it. Her, against him, available and enjoying him touching her. That's all he wants.

[lady_bols]

He fumbles for his belt and she grins against his lips, gasping in quiet delight at the feel of his thigh pressing against that bundle of nerves, the wash of heat waking her whole body up . She arches beneath him, her fingertips digging into his shoulders.

'Hold on, let me.. .' She twists, lifting up so she can fumble for the clasp of her bra, stealing ragged breaths between messy kisses. Once it gives way, her arms wrap around his neck again, and she falls back, a brazen moan caught in her throat.