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[anythingbutblue]

There's no hesitation between remembering everything and stopping in front of Gren's door.

The hesitation comes once she gets there, and for about a solid thirty seconds, she stands there, her eyes determined but her hand not certain it wants to knock.

But then she does it -- loudly -- and that's that.

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[anythingbutblue]

Something about his answer makes the whole expanse of skin visible between her shirt and shorts tighten involuntarily, and she gives him a look that's as openly wondering as it is subtly admiring.

"I won't."

That's practically a challenge, and she doesn't think she'll have a big problem with meeting it.

When he sits back, still watching her, she's almost not sure what to do with herself. Her hands are free, her lips are free, her mind has no choice but to race.

The only thing to do when faced with a situation like this is return the favor -- if that's what you want to call it -- and watch as intently as you're being watched.

It's not something she minds doing. He's as pretty as he always is -- something she's never acknowledged out loud -- and his eyes shine, his hair swings into his face, his hands have this grace that if not innate was learned a long time ago.

He might not realize just how close she's been to leaving since she arrived. It's been like walking a tightrope: more than the slightest waver could've sent her off at any time.

"They say there's a first for everything."

Itching for something to do, her hands go for her cigarettes.

[bothbutneither.livejournal.com]

Again, a tiny laugh escapes: Faye's always been really good at keeping him guessing as to what she'd do or when she'd do it. Even on Callisto, when he wasn't sure what he was doing at first -- maybe she reminded him a little of Julia, being only the second woman he'd seen in Blue Crow his whole three years there, even though she and Julia were really different -- she kept him wondering. How did she know Vicious, what did he mean to her, how were they involved, what was going on, and then there's the one question he's never put to her: why did she try to shoot him?

This hardly seems like the right moment to get into that, though. He can ask her some other time: if there's one thing he knows about Faye, it's that she has her reasons. Sometimes he thinks they're probably a little skewed, but everyone's entitled to that.

If they were back on Callisto now he'd offer her a drink. Maybe she could use one; he's not sure. But they're not on Callisto. They're here, and there are only so many places they can go. He's not even sure he wants to move right now. Leaning back, he gives her a little smile.

"First for everything. I guess you could say that." His heart's racing -- or at least the equivalent of racing: beating harder than it has since he found himself here -- but he doesn't let that show. There's a subtle art to relationships and involvement and he wonders: does this one kiss signal more to follow? How much more? When? Where?

All he's said he wants for the longest time -- revenge against and answers from Vicious aside -- is to be loved. He wants to be loved for who he is inside, not for what he looks like outside. Tonight, Faye's given him the tiniest taste of that and like the addict he is, he wants his next fix and he wants it now.

At least he has the good sense for now not to push her into anything. She'll let him know when she's ready for more. All he has to do is get better at reading the signals.

"Do you want anything?" It's a good, open-ended question; he lets it stand.

[anythingbutblue]

That's a question she could take anywhere, and she'd bet a million woolongs on the fact that it was deliberate on his part.

And she kind of likes that, too.

She smiles, a little amused. "Where do I start?"

There's a lot she wants, and that's far from being all flirtation.

But it takes two seconds to light the cigarette between her lips, and rather than sit back once she's tucked her lighter away, she sits forward.

"I want you to admit that you like me without tacking on anything about how I'm the person you're closest to or saying something very flattering but very neutral about how anybody would have to be blind not to notice my body."

Her voice is silky and her eyes are shrewd, but it all comes out impulsively.

"Don't worry. I'm not expecting any declarations of love. But after hearing for so long that women aren't your style, Mister Saxophone, I wouldn't mind hearing that I'm at least an exception to the rule."

[bothbutneither.livejournal.com]

His eyes light up at that challenge: it's one he can meet. There's no reason to rush to meet this head-on, like some kind of car crash, though. He'll take his time with it and he does, opting not to lean forward to be just that much closer. Instead, he takes a moment to study her, a grin flirting with the edges of his lips; he pushes back his long hair, looks down at his hands, smooths out a crease on the thigh of his pants, taps a finger to his lips.

Only then does he look back up to meet her eyes through that haze of smoke that clings to her like a protective lover. "I like you, Faye." She's not just an exception to his rule; she's an exception to every rule.

He could tell her he's had dreams about her body or that he's fantasized about her lips, but she doesn't want anything tacked on so he doesn't tack anything on.

"I like you very, very much. How's that?" His finger snakes over to trace her thigh up and down, resting it finally on her knee. "And sometime I'll tell you exactly why I told you women aren't my style that night in Blue Crow. But not right now."

Right now he's impatient for her to finish that cigarette. He's ready for everything coming between them to be out of the way so there are no distractions, no security blankets, no easy outs.

He wants what's next.

[anythingbutblue]

When his fingertip meets her stockinged leg, she can't fight the compulsion to watch it until it comes to a stop at her knee.

This isn't like any flirtation she's ever had. Some of the differences are more obvious than others, but how often has she been on the verge of whatever the hell this is with someone she's known for this long? And who she's been attracted to -- despite everything -- for so damn long? How often does she get something like this that's unrehearsed and unplanned and unprofessional and reciprocated with time for it to actually go somewhere?

Almost never.

It puts her in a strange situation. There's a desire to fall into the coyly seductive role that she's embraced for years, enjoying it at least as much as she's bemoaned it, and there's the desire to act purely on gut instincts.

And if they could, those gut instincts would have her grabbing Gren and running from him at the same time.

"And a couple of other nights here, too?" The night she met him wasn't the only time he made that claim to her, but what she does do is smile and answer his question, pleased and barely trying to hide it. "I think that'll do."

[bothbutneither.livejournal.com]

With Faye he often feels like they take a step forward together only to find themselves right back where they started, if not having lost ground. But he's tired of that: this door is open and his foot's firmly planted to keep it from closing unexpectedly.

This turn of events is really pleasing. Mind racing, he thinks to all the possibilities that can spring from this, including where they go next and how they go about it. He starts visualizing things and then... these four little words creep into the back of his consciousness and they're so soft he almost doesn't hear them at first, but they get louder and louder until he just can't ignore them any more, and the words go like this: what am I doing?

For so long, he's been... well... celibate and he's been that way by choice because of all the things that happened to him in prison. The last person he had the misfortune to fall for was Vicious, and look how well that one went. Before that, it was this guy on Mars, a fellow musician, and to get away from that relationship, he went all the way to Titan. The one before that was a man, and the one before that, too, and... it's hard to remember the last time he was involved with a woman. It was certainly a long time ago -- years and years, eight or nine or more. What if he can't do this the right way? What if she loses interest? What if he can't...

His hand still rests on her knee; looking down at it, he simply stops. He stops and looks up into Faye's face. There's no desire to interrogate her or extract promises that aren't ready to be made. But even though life isn't fair, he thinks asking his next question certainly is.

"How about you, Faye? Can you do the same thing: admit you like me without going back into that shell you like to carry around with you?" He'd really like to know.

[anythingbutblue]

She doesn't like it much when the tables have been turned, and it's obvious in the set of her jaw, the evasiveness of her eyes, the way her lips purse slightly.

But she didn't invite anything with an open-ended question like he did, and funnily enough, it's the shell part that bothers her the most for the moment.

Getting up, she walks over to the window and opens it about halfway. She's never seen Gren smoke and his room certainly doesn't have the ash trays hers does, so she'll just tap ash outside.

"You make it sound like I can make any guarantees."

She's never been able to make many of those.

The memory of how much she didn't want him to be dead and how desperate she felt to understand what was going on between them when she didn't remember anything is painfully vivid in her mind.

With one hand on the window frame, she languidly holds her cigarette out of the window, giving it a tap against the ledge. "I can admit it."

She just can't look back at him yet, and... maybe that's the answer he's looking for right there.

She should probably steel herself.

[bothbutneither.livejournal.com]

There's a saying about actions speaking louder than words and he's always believed that's true... some of the time. There are other times when words mean exactly what they're supposed to mean. He's known Faye a long time, like she's quick to point out, but that's not why he likes her. It only enhances what he feels for her since every time he's looked at her or talked to her or spent time with her he's had to acknowledge that little something welling up inside. Women aren't my style is self-defense, pure and simple, just like Faye's suit of armor becomes evident in her words, in the twist of her lips and the evasiveness of her eyes.

Right now he's going to go with her words: he'll take her admission at face value, mostly because he likes to think she's not going to lie to him. She has no reason to lie: this is equally risky for both of them. With that in mind he stands and joins her at the window, rests a hand gently on the back of her neck in that way hesitant not-quite-lovers have.

"Nothing comes with guarantees." He remembers Vicious's words: there is nothing to believe in; there is no need to believe. How wrong he was, and how sad. While he believes his own words -- that there are no guarantees -- he still can't help being hopeful. Through everything, he's remained an optimist. Even when life's kicked him and beat him and left him bloodied and bruised, naked and dying, he's still been optimistic. I want to go to Titan. He's always been attuned to the beauty in life; if he really is dead -- if he really did die before he got here -- then his last words were so beautiful.

Maybe that's what's set the stage for this next part of his... life, his journey, his set of experiences. Maybe that's why for him everything here is almost painfully lovely. The maybes don't matter now, though: gently, he turns Faye away from the window and toward him, and puts both arms around her and holds her.

He just holds her.

[anythingbutblue]

She nearly drops her cigarette in surprise, and when both of his arms go around her, her eyebrows knit together fiercely.

She wants to ask him why he thinks he knows her that well and why he seems to see right through her.

And why she can never quite figure him out.

When her surprise wears off, she reaches back and flings her cigarette out through the window, then cautiously wraps one arm after the other around his neck.

After a moment or two she steps back, as uncertain about what to do with him as ever. Not that she intends to let him know that.

"I should go."

It almost doesn't sound like herself talking.

"But I could come back tomorrow." She smiles slightly. "If that's the kind of thing you might be interested in."

[bothbutneither.livejournal.com]

"I think you should stay." His arms fall reluctantly, his eyes never leaving her face. "But if you want to go, you should, and if you do, then you should definitely come back tomorrow."

He's torn: they could take this so slowly, or they could move ahead quickly. That, of course, makes the assumption that they both want the same thing and it's probably too early for him to have any expectations at all.

Still, a big part of him really wants Faye to stay right where she is. If she's not ready for that, though...

Yes, no. Push, hold back. Embrace, let go. Both, neither. Gay, straight.

Bi.

Too many labels.

Do you mind if I kiss you goodbye?

He doesn't ask: he just does it. For once, he simply does exactly what he wants without questioning it.

[anythingbutblue]

She doesn't know how he can say such simple, matter-of-fact things and throw her so off balance.

But then he kisses her, no less indulgently than the first time, and she has to remind herself that the plan was to leave and come back later.

And then force herself to step back, a demure little smile on her lips, and open the door to let herself out.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Mister Saxophone." She's still smiling, barely peeking back inside the door. "Try to stay out of trouble in the meantime."

[bothbutneither.livejournal.com]

"It's what I do best."

That's a bald-faced lie and they both know it, but it makes him smile; he hangs by the door as she makes her way through.

"Take care, Faye." It's his standard goodbye to her and he watches her with the utmost fondness as she makes her way down the hall. This is... by far his best night at this place, and his best night in general in a long, long time. Unexpected, but really nice.

He knows full well as he moves back into the room and closes the door that he's going to have a hard time falling asleep tonight, but that's all right. He actually feels alive: perfectly, unquestioningly alive.

[anythingbutblue]

Her boot heels click against the floor, and she makes it about two-thirds of the way down the hall to her room before she wonders when the hell she started playing it safe.

I think you should stay.

It's been a long time since she was careful and a long time since she was delicate.

Sometimes you just have to take what you want and take care of the fallout -- if there is any -- after.

(Or even better, let someone else take care of it.)

The click of her heels is faster on the way back to Gren's room, and not bothering to knock, she just goes ahead and lets herself back in.

[bothbutneither.livejournal.com]

Now that's unexpected.

This time when the door closes they're both on the same side: he likes it much better that way. Moving toward Faye, heart pounding with anticipation, he takes her hand in his. There's a time for words, but... this isn't it.

No. This is a time to pull out all the clichés: dim the lights, let the breeze flutter the curtains, trace her lips with his fingertip, kiss her eyelids one at a time, let the whole thing feel like a glamorous, languorous slow dance. It's been a long time and he wants to get things right.

And if he runs into something along the way where he's out of practice -- a little rusty -- maybe she'll help him out. After all, this is for both of them. Eyes soft and huge and liquid, he both can and can't believe this is happening.

But he's really glad it is.