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Oct. 27th, 2007 09:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anythingbutblueFaye hates losing.
She hates it when the stakes are high, she hates it when the stakes are low, and she hates it even when there really aren't much in the way of stakes at all.
Some of the things she misses most about life out there are the toys she had at her disposal to make sure she didn't lose.
But she knew what she was getting into when she made Gren the proposition, and she knew what she was getting into when he -- almost to her surprise -- gave her a catlike smile and agreed to play with her so long as it wasn't for money.
Gren isn't totally without guile. And it's nothing that shocks her. It's not like he's a different person now than the Gren she knew before. She's seen this side of him -- seductive and playful -- in glimpses before now. In the idle flirtation between reminders that women aren't his style, mostly, and in retrospect, she thinks even on his face for a fleeting moment when she burst in on his shower with her gun drawn back on Callisto, right before he backed her up against the wall and disarmed her more easily than anyone ever had before.
Or has since, for that matter.
She still hates losing.
Even when clothes are the stakes and she's already discovered she likes being naked with her opponent. More than likes it -- not that she's close to admitting that to anyone but herself and sometimes not even going that far -- but kind of craves it like a new addiction.
She was a little unhappy with Gren's refusal to consider her boots two separate articles of clothing and she was miffed when he wouldn't count the headband as one at all, but he was right that she already had more to take off than he did.
Leveling the playing field is just something she's never been too concerned about.
This game, so far, has been pretty good to her even though she had no cards hidden on her, no toys to help her. It's mostly been a test of skill. Mostly, and she's still wearing more than Gren is. Even without cheating, she's still good at what she does. Cheating well requires really knowing your way around a game, after all, and she's a pro.
Losing a few unfortunate hands to Gren doesn't kill her, especially not with the way his big blue eyes seem to try to soak up as much of her as they can, and she wonders when his attention became so important to her but is smart enough not to think out loud about things like that because nothing good could come of it.
He doesn't have much left to lose when she wins the shirt off his back, but when he catches her wrist and suggests she takes it off of him herself, she can feel something a little surprised and a little breathless on her face for a moment before it's taken over by a flirty self-satisfied smile.
And she thinks when she crosses toward him and busies her hands with his shirt that she doesn't mind at all that he seems to have lost interest in the game.
Her headband is the last thing to go.
When he'd told her about her about his friend Charlie who'd died, she hadn't known what to make of it and had hated the sad look in his eyes so much she could hardly sit still.
She wasn't very good at being comforting -- that's not her thing -- but Gren hadn't seemed to mind much.
Two nights ago she stopped by the bar for a scotch and was presented with a note from Spike and had felt so frustrated when she read it that she'd downed her scotch, plunked the glass back down on the bar, and stalked back upstairs to her room without so much as a glance at her tab, nearly running over some guy on her way up.
She'd left the note, folded, on her desk and then went to see if Gren was in his room, but she never brought it up to him. And even though she skillfully evaded any questioning about her mood that night, she didn't evade his arms at all.
If it's becoming habit, she thinks she has worse ones.
One of the things she likes about Gren is that he knows just how attractive he is. He's not cocky about it and it's never a big deal, but he's aware and he's confident. And that makes him even more attractive to her.
She's spent more time with him in private than in public, as if he's a secret just for her and what they're doing together is something she wants to keep to herself, but it's not through purposeful effort.
It's just happened that way.
It doesn't mean she's not happy to see him when she's smoking outside and notices him coming out of the bar. She doesn't know whether he'd known she was out here or not, but she finds herself liking the way the sight of him has her forgetting -- just for a second -- to breathe.
And she makes a point of coaxing it out of her system by the time he's gotten close to her.
No matter what happens, she doesn't think she'll ever be able to look at him quite the same way again.
She hates it when the stakes are high, she hates it when the stakes are low, and she hates it even when there really aren't much in the way of stakes at all.
Some of the things she misses most about life out there are the toys she had at her disposal to make sure she didn't lose.
But she knew what she was getting into when she made Gren the proposition, and she knew what she was getting into when he -- almost to her surprise -- gave her a catlike smile and agreed to play with her so long as it wasn't for money.
Gren isn't totally without guile. And it's nothing that shocks her. It's not like he's a different person now than the Gren she knew before. She's seen this side of him -- seductive and playful -- in glimpses before now. In the idle flirtation between reminders that women aren't his style, mostly, and in retrospect, she thinks even on his face for a fleeting moment when she burst in on his shower with her gun drawn back on Callisto, right before he backed her up against the wall and disarmed her more easily than anyone ever had before.
Or has since, for that matter.
She still hates losing.
Even when clothes are the stakes and she's already discovered she likes being naked with her opponent. More than likes it -- not that she's close to admitting that to anyone but herself and sometimes not even going that far -- but kind of craves it like a new addiction.
She was a little unhappy with Gren's refusal to consider her boots two separate articles of clothing and she was miffed when he wouldn't count the headband as one at all, but he was right that she already had more to take off than he did.
Leveling the playing field is just something she's never been too concerned about.
This game, so far, has been pretty good to her even though she had no cards hidden on her, no toys to help her. It's mostly been a test of skill. Mostly, and she's still wearing more than Gren is. Even without cheating, she's still good at what she does. Cheating well requires really knowing your way around a game, after all, and she's a pro.
Losing a few unfortunate hands to Gren doesn't kill her, especially not with the way his big blue eyes seem to try to soak up as much of her as they can, and she wonders when his attention became so important to her but is smart enough not to think out loud about things like that because nothing good could come of it.
He doesn't have much left to lose when she wins the shirt off his back, but when he catches her wrist and suggests she takes it off of him herself, she can feel something a little surprised and a little breathless on her face for a moment before it's taken over by a flirty self-satisfied smile.
And she thinks when she crosses toward him and busies her hands with his shirt that she doesn't mind at all that he seems to have lost interest in the game.
Her headband is the last thing to go.
When he'd told her about her about his friend Charlie who'd died, she hadn't known what to make of it and had hated the sad look in his eyes so much she could hardly sit still.
She wasn't very good at being comforting -- that's not her thing -- but Gren hadn't seemed to mind much.
Two nights ago she stopped by the bar for a scotch and was presented with a note from Spike and had felt so frustrated when she read it that she'd downed her scotch, plunked the glass back down on the bar, and stalked back upstairs to her room without so much as a glance at her tab, nearly running over some guy on her way up.
She'd left the note, folded, on her desk and then went to see if Gren was in his room, but she never brought it up to him. And even though she skillfully evaded any questioning about her mood that night, she didn't evade his arms at all.
If it's becoming habit, she thinks she has worse ones.
One of the things she likes about Gren is that he knows just how attractive he is. He's not cocky about it and it's never a big deal, but he's aware and he's confident. And that makes him even more attractive to her.
She's spent more time with him in private than in public, as if he's a secret just for her and what they're doing together is something she wants to keep to herself, but it's not through purposeful effort.
It's just happened that way.
It doesn't mean she's not happy to see him when she's smoking outside and notices him coming out of the bar. She doesn't know whether he'd known she was out here or not, but she finds herself liking the way the sight of him has her forgetting -- just for a second -- to breathe.
And she makes a point of coaxing it out of her system by the time he's gotten close to her.
No matter what happens, she doesn't think she'll ever be able to look at him quite the same way again.
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Date: 2007-10-28 03:25 am (UTC)There's no keeping the edge of pleased surprise out of her voice as she reaches for one of the glasses.
Besides surprising her more than anyone else, Gren's actually a nice guy, unlike a lot of other ones she knows. That this attention is for her makes her feel so smug.
"You're here to romance me by the light of the full moon?"
Even though she raises the glass to her lips, her eyes stay on his face.
"I hope you're not scared of werewolves."
In all the time she's known him, he's never said he's scared of anything.
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Date: 2007-10-28 03:42 am (UTC)In fact, it will do beautifully.
"I'm here to romance you by the light of the full moon. Are you warm enough?" There are ways and ways and ways to warm her up and keep her warm, and he knows so many of them. Some have less to do with clothing than others, but champagne as a warm-up is something that has a pretty good chance at being successful.
If nothing else, it's a start to what he hopes is an evening filled with opportunity.
"The full moon's pretty, but it's nowhere near as pretty as you." He doesn't need to flatter her just for flattery's sake: he does it because he wants to, because he can't stop thinking about her, because he has a very ulterior motive. The evening ought to end up with the two of them in either his room or her room and not a thing between them but heat.
The odds for this one are definitely in his favor, and that's a very good thing on a night when he just can't seem to get enough of her.
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Date: 2007-10-28 04:11 am (UTC)And the way she sees it, if they're real and one is interested in going after you, it'd probably find a way no matter where you are. Dangerous things tend to do that.
She's armed -- as usual -- and not too far from the door, but the idea of werewolves just doesn't frighten her.
With a sip of the champagne followed by a tilt of her head that could almost be taken of a calculated invitation, she smiles at Gren again.
It's reflex.
"You know, Mister Saxophone," she tells him, letting her cigarette fall from between her fingers and then crushing it with the toe of her boot, "lines like that sound much better coming from you than most guys."
There was a little space put between them when he opened the champagne and poured it, and her half-step toward him isn't the least bit accidental.
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Date: 2007-10-28 04:30 am (UTC)"Yeah? Do a lot of guys tell you that?"
The single word mine grabs his attention again and while they haven't had any conversations about exclusivity, he's starting to think he wouldn't mind if they did. Honestly, he doesn't want to share her with anybody. In fact, the very thought of that gives rise to a not-so-little flare of jealousy in the pit of his stomach.
He doesn't mind it at all. If a man can't be possessive of the person he's sleeping with every night, then what's the point?
He wants her. He wants her in the worst and best way. If it was up to him, they'd spend all their time alone together because really, when you have something like what they have, who needs the rest of the world? Or the rest of the universe, as the case may be?
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Date: 2007-10-28 04:58 am (UTC)On the other hand, if she did slosh champagne everywhere he might need to change his shirt. And she'd just have to go with him.
But he did say he was here to romance her by the light of the full moon, and she can't see any reason not to let him do as he pleases. It's an idea she can give her approval.
"Recently?" She lets out a very small laugh. "Just you."
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Date: 2007-10-28 05:20 am (UTC)For as long as he can remember, he's been a little bit prone to jealousy, to possessiveness, and though people say jealousy sits on them like a little green monster, he's never seen it that way. He figures it's a normal course of action: how can you be in love with someone and not exhibit a little bit of jealousy? For him, being in...
...wait a second. Yes, he's pretty crazy about her. Yes, he's jealous and possessive. Yes, he wants to be with her all the time. Yes, he thinks she's the best thing since sliced bread. Do his feelings have to be labeled?
Oh, of course they do, but not out loud. He can think whatever he wants, use whatever words he wants in his mind. There's something so treacherous about voicing the three little words, though: it's a verbal commitment and it would be really nice to know if the feelings were mutual before he goes ahead and risks everything. And isn't it too soon to talk about love? Or are there no rules and regulations?
They're both highly consenting adults, and right now words and declarations of any kind aren't necessarily appropriate. Something else is, though, because he walked out here with champagne and two glasses with the express purpose of seducing Faye to the best of his ability and the past few weeks have proved that his best is really pretty good. He hasn't heard a single complaint.
When her arm goes around him, he rests an arm around her tiny waist and pulls her closer -- not hard enough for either of them to spill their champagne -- and casts a moment's glance up at the moon. Yes, this is perfect, werewolves or not: he has no fear of them. He only has one fear, and that's for Faye to suddenly lose interest in him. It doesn't seem particularly likely. They are the prettiest boy and girl in the bar, after all, and that can't be denied.
"You're beautiful by moonlight." She's beautiful by any light and everybody knows it. But he's the one lucky enough to be in her arms, and for that he's so thankful. There in the moonlight, he dips in for another kiss and this one tastes tantalizingly like champagne. "You want to go on a date with me?"
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Date: 2007-10-28 06:11 am (UTC)He still kisses like it's a newly rediscovered vice, and she can hardly get enough of it. "A date?"
The idea brings a small involuntary smile to her face. He probably has no idea how long it's been since she's been on anything remotely resembling a date. If she counts the time she went home with Andy von de Oniyate -- and she shouldn't -- it's still been about two years.
"With you?" Her smile is sly. "I'd probably like that."
Her fingers are tempted to toy with the dark curtain of his hair, and she distracts herself with more champagne.
She has no idea what he intends for them to do on a date here, but she doesn't mind finding out.
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Date: 2007-10-28 06:41 am (UTC)It's beautiful, and it fills him with this inner light he can't shut off and doesn't want to shut off.
"How's dinner and dancing sound?" The dinner part is easy. For dancing, though, they'll have to improvise and he's more of a performer than a dancer anyway, but it's not traditional dance he's got in mind.
It's a very private sort of dance, just for the two of them. It doesn't happen in public.
"And maybe we can fit in another game of cards if you want. That last game was fun."
Especially the way it ended. He would lose to her every time if he could.
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Date: 2007-10-28 09:10 pm (UTC)"I thought it was a good game."
He's one of her favorite people to play against, too, if not the favorite. And suddenly it's not just because she knows she can easily win against him.
If the last game is anything to go by, they can both feel good about it when she wins.
"I also think," -- she's not making any attempt to keep the pleased undercurrent out of her voice -- "dinner and dancing sounds like the kind of thing I'd be willing to do with a guy like you."
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Date: 2007-10-28 09:31 pm (UTC)Again.
"I know a great little place for dinner, if you don't mind the rats. Sometimes it's a little noisy and crowded, but there's this corner booth where we could have some quiet space. And as for cards and dancing later... well, I have a private room in mind for that."
For a long time, he was anything but comfortable around Faye. They've always had this flirtation bubbling just beneath the surface threatening to break through, but he never really imagined it would. And because of that, he moved in this uncomfortable little dance around her: uncertainty was the name of the game and it ruled and colored everything he did and said with her. But the flirtation refused to stay hidden for one reason or another, and he couldn't be happier about it. As he takes a sip of champagne, he can't keep the smile out of his eyes.
"Have I told you today just how beautiful you are?"
He knows he's showed her, but maybe he hasn't said the words. And if he hasn't, that would be a huge pity. And if he has, he bets Faye can stand to hear them again. In his mind, she's royalty and deserves to be treated as such.
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Date: 2007-10-28 10:54 pm (UTC)A laugh, low and champagne-tinged, shakes her shoulders, and she'll move her arm from around him and walk with him back to the bar for dinner -- how much of this did he have planned when he came out here? -- and then their private card game and dancing, but first she stands directly in front of him, her face tilted up to his, and gets close enough that another kiss is inevitable should he take the slightest movement toward her.
(His eyes always were the prettiest she's ever seen.)
There's a part of her that wants to take handfuls of his hair and possessively hide them both behind it, but there's also something about the idea of being openly affectionate with him in a public place like the bar that's more exciting than she'll let on.
If he's really the prettiest guy in the bar -- and, oh, she's inclined to think he is -- there's more than a little smug pleasure to get out of the fact that she's the one he's giving all his attention to.
"All right, Mister Saxophone. I'll take you up on your dinner offer."
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Date: 2007-10-28 11:37 pm (UTC)He could stand out here all night, werewolves or not, just drinking her in so deeply. It would put dinner and strip poker and dancing on hold, but he's pretty sure he could live off the thrill of this proximity alone. It's part of this... call it what you will, this phase of his existence. Faye, on the other hand, might greatly appreciate a little more sustenance than his embrace has to offer. And so he steps back a fraction, the taste of her still playing over his lips.
He's immensely satisfied with this turn of events. Had he known that a little memory loss was what might lead to this... but he didn't, and he edged along with her as cautiously as he could. Faye's the last person in the world he wants to hurt or take advantage of, but she's been his willing partner in crime since that night he told her he thought she ought to stay and she surprised him by doing just that, in her own roundabout way.
Finally, though, he sets the half-full champagne bottle back into his pocket so his hand can find hers. The simple act of holding her hand fills him with a ridiculous little excitement, as if she's some prize he's just won and can't resist showing off. The only thing he wanted for the longest time was a chance at happiness; he'd pretty much decided that what happened in prison put an end to his opportunities, romantically speaking.
And then Faye came along and... she just isn't bothered. She cares but the way his body's been transformed doesn't seem to matter to her in the least; it's a delight and a precious taste of freedom he never expected to enjoy again. He'll hold her hand, her waist -- any part of her he can get -- as often as he can, anywhere he can, be it in public or in the privacy of their own personal dance hall.
"Let's get some dinner."
As nice as it is out here in the night air, he knows that pale golden moonlight only offers the tiniest hint of what's in store and like any explorer, he's eager to uncover what happens next.
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Date: 2007-10-30 06:18 pm (UTC)Gren, she thinks when he kisses her, might just be one of the finer things in life.
He's one of the finest things she's found here, that's for sure, and as much as that idea almost makes her laugh, she can't tell herself it's not true.
She wants him to go inside for dinner with her and not be able to take his eyes off her the entire time. She wants him to have a hard time not touching her.
She wants their next card game to end in a similar way to the last, and she wants him to spend the rest of the night adoring her with more than just those blue eyes.
Her arm uncurls from around his neck so they can walk toward the bar, but her hand only winds up in his. And even though it's the kind of thing that still surprises her a little, it's a good start.
She doesn't care if he catches sight of the little smile that refuses to leave her lips as they step inside and claim their corner booth.
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Date: 2007-10-30 07:31 pm (UTC)Things are so different now for both of them and honestly, he prefers it this way. It's not just because of the sex, although that's a perk he never expected to have again for as long as he... lived? was sentient? Whatever he is now -- he thought he was dead, he assumed he was dead -- whether he's alive, dead, or somewhere in between, he feels like he's been given such a gift. A second chance, the opportunity he always yearned for.
He just never thought the opportunity would present itself with Faye. Reaching across the table, he takes both her hands in his. It's an intimate gesture, a gesture of lovers. He just doesn't want to be not touching her because he spent enough years in solitude.
And then he pushes himself up from his seat, leans across the table, and kisses her like he can't stand not to for one more second, and he lets go of her hands in favor of pulling her closer, his fingertips tangling with her hair at the base of her neck. Eyes closed, he drinks her in: she's his sustenance emotionally, physically, and for the first time he thinks if he ever loses this, well... then it will be time to go. Then it will be time to embrace the abyss of death.
But not yet.
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Date: 2007-10-30 08:38 pm (UTC)Her eyes don't close completely when he kisses her over the table -- they stay open just enough that she can get a blurry up-close look at him between her eyelashes -- and yeah, she thinks he could keep this up for a while and she wouldn't mind. Service here is almost always faster than it would be at any restaurant she's ever been to, but even if they were on the outside, he could successfully keep her preoccupied.
Isn't that an interesting thought?
Come to think of it, hasn't he always been good at keeping her preoccupied, one way or another?
One of her hands comes up to cover his like she's... confirming that it's there or ready to move it somewhere even better or something -- she doesn't even know what -- but in the end, it just ends up staying there until they aren't locked together at the lips anymore.
When she looks at him -- eyes widening just enough not to be satisfied slits of green -- there's puzzlement in her eyes and even a little awe, though they're both quickly overtaken by a look of appreciation that's unashamed.
"You know, Mister Saxophone, I'm pretty sure you're really hitting on me this time."
There's a lazy upturn to the corner of her mouth.
She thinks she could handle being the only woman that's his style.
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Date: 2007-10-30 08:50 pm (UTC)"I could skip dinner and just take you upstairs." That probably qualifies as really hitting on her this time, and he likes it. It's one of those moments: his hands, so fluent on the keys of a saxophone, yearn to play her in much the same way.
Since when did he forget all about patience, about the slow art of expert seduction, about taking one's time with things? A good buildup is almost as good as what comes after and so, reminding himself of that, he untangles his hand from her hair and slowly sits back down again.
"But then there wouldn't be dinner, and that was our agreement." Now's the time to take the rest of that champagne out of his coat pocket before it spills all over it and he does, setting it down on the table but to the side: nothing but table gets to come between them so he can reach over for her hand again any time he wants.
Or any time she wants. This is a two-way street and he's been lucky enough to sense that she wants him as much as he wants her... despite everything that's happened.
He wishes he hadn't had to handcuff her and leave her on his bed back on Callisto, but he did. In a strange way that set the tone for this whole thing: it's not about bondage, though. It's about waiting, about patience, about understanding, and while he's wildly crazy about her right now, he knows how to draw a thing out and make it last.
"If you still want dinner, that is."
He might not need it, but he'll sure enjoy it.
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Date: 2007-10-30 09:37 pm (UTC)She says it with smiling pointedness -- he's the one who brought up a date, after all, and it's not her fault the idea's such an appealing one -- but that doesn't mean the smile on his face and the idea that he'd be willing to skip dinner in favor of her doesn't put a pleased and eager knot in her stomach.
In fact, she only wastes enough time to take another sip from her champagne glass before she looks around and waves a rat over.
Liking their agreement doesn't mean she's not just as interested in what comes after dinner, and being the reason he smiles like that goes right to her head.
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Date: 2007-10-30 10:55 pm (UTC)Just like the food will be when they get it, and he's looking forward to it. He even likes her impatience in calling over a rat so she can order her beef tenderloin medallions with Béarnaise sauce and an appetizer of assorted patés. It seems like the evening's theme is French; he follows suit and can't think of anything he'd like more than this. The words I'll have what she's having for an entree fall lightly from his tongue, making their way over to the rat for his or her understanding and acknowledgment. And as the rat's about to move away, he asks for one more thing.
"And another bottle of champagne."
Why not? He's going to make sure this evening is as close to perfect as he can. If there's anyone at this place who both demands and deserves perfection, it's Faye, and he's honored to provide it for her.
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Date: 2007-10-30 11:56 pm (UTC)"I'm not complaining, but aren't you the man who told me not too long ago that he didn't have much money?"
The smile hasn't left her face.
"Or have you decided there's no point in worrying about that?"
She would have. It's just like when she was awakened from cryo and didn't remember anything and couldn't possibly have been expected to pay so many millions of dollars to cover the bill: nobody here can expect her to pay to live here when she never even asked to.
She's been stuck here for two years.
And despite the lack of big men coming after her and wanting money from her, it's only been recently that she's started enjoying it.
If they're getting another bottle of champagne, she might as well help herself to some of what's left in the first bottle. As she reaches for it, her eyes hardly leave Gren's.
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Date: 2007-10-31 12:23 am (UTC)"I decided no matter what it costs, you're worth it." That might seem a little naïve, but it's the truth: there's nothing she can demand of him -- nothing he can offer -- that doesn't leave him feeling like it's absolutely worth whatever price he has to pay. Even back on Callisto when she overheard Vicious's message and came at him with her gun literally drawn, that was okay. That too was a price he was willing to pay, and it seems to have worked out to both his relief and his advantage even if reaping the rewards took a really long time. If he were a mathematician he might devise a formula having to do with benefits garnered versus time accrued and spent, but he could care less about that kind of thing. Money's always flowed right through his fingers, burned the proverbial hole in his pocket. Why should it be any different now?
Even if Vicious had given him the equivalent of
W225,000,000 in Titan opal, he would have frittered his cut away. Once his bounty expired, he'd have blown it all going back to Titan for purely sentimental reasons. It isn't like there was anything there for him.But there is here, and part of him just couldn't be more delighted. So before Faye can take up the champagne bottle it's in his hands and he's tippling the rest of it into her glass. Even if she drinks the entirety of the next bottle he's ordered too, she'll still beat his pants off at poker.
In fact, he's counting on it.
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Date: 2007-10-31 02:44 am (UTC)...but she doesn't.
If he hadn't just told her, she wouldn't be able to imagine anyone telling her something like that.
Much less someone like Gren, the saxophone-playing ex-soldier bounty head from Callisto who told her on their very first meeting that women weren't his style and later both saved her from from thugs and handcuffed her and left her in his apartment while he went off to...
(die)
meet Vicious.
She knows he was close to Julia, even though she knows they weren't close in the way that she's been with him the past few weeks. She knows there have been times that there was nothing she could've done to be comforting to him even if that was something she was any good at.
She knows there have been times when just his presence has been electric, even before she got temporary amnesia. He has that pull: it's magnetic, and she's lucky she's not such easy prey because she'd be missing on being wined and dined like this.
As she takes her glass in hand, she leans on the table, her chin in her hand.
"Oh, really?"
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Date: 2007-10-31 03:16 am (UTC)"Yes, really." He hasn't stopped looking into her eyes since he sat back down: only long enough to pour her some champagne. He never honestly expected to get such a thrill out of staring into anyone's eyes ever again and while that's as much a cliché as anything, he finds he doesn't mind in the least. "You're one of the smartest women I've ever met. You can more than hold your own in a fight. You're a really good shot. And on top of that, you're beautiful and you share my bed. So yes, Faye, you're so worth it."
She's worth all of it and more. There's something about her countenance that keeps bringing the word empress to mind, and if he knew more of his Earth history he might be able to tell which empress she reminds him of. But for the moment, that feel of authority and royalty suffices, and he feels like the luckiest man ever to kneel at a woman's side.
They're stuck here and he knows it: she can't see the door to leave and he doesn't want to leave, not knowing what will happen if he does. In the meantime, it's his humble and serious intention to make the time they have together the very best days of both their lives. He knows he really doesn't have that kind of power, but even people who are probably dead deserve to dream.
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Date: 2007-10-31 04:18 am (UTC)(She's starting to think he gets a real kick out of coaxing her until, like a suspicious cat, she's willing to go from keeping her distance and watching him carefully to stepping right up with a territorial air and settling in his lap.)
For a second, she just looks at him with both eyebrows raised in mild skepticism, but... that doesn't last.
She feels her expression -- almost completely involuntarily -- soften from skeptical to coy.
"You're a hell of a flatterer, Mister Saxophone." She doesn't even spare a glance for the rat approaching them. "But don't worry. I like it."
He wears it well.
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Date: 2007-10-31 04:41 am (UTC)It's curiously satisfying to him that when he has the internal conversation that asks what he would change, if anything, about the situation, he simply shakes his head and smiles quietly. Yes, he could wish that he didn't... die, or that Faye wasn't stuck here, or that he'd never been given drugs in prison, never tried to get revenge on Vicious. But all that's pointless: the things that happened happened and changing any one of those elements might mean he and Faye wouldn't have this opportunity now. It's just something he's not willing to give up under any circumstance.
Not until the day she tells him it's either time for her to go or time to leave. They have an agreement to go together and right now, she's the only person with whom he'd willingly walk into the unknown.
Right now there's dinner, and he's suddenly hungry, though not necessarily for the fancy French food in front of them. He'll eat it, though, because watching Faye eat it will be a treat all by itself.
Lifting his glass to hers, he offers a toast. "Here's to the loveliest woman in the universe. And just so there's no doubt in your mind, yes, I'm really hitting on you."
His laugh rings out like a melody.
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Date: 2007-10-31 05:56 am (UTC)And she likes that, too. Not only does she like it even more than she's willing to acknowledge, but she likes it more than she would've expected possible two years ago.
Or a year ago.
Or even about a month or so ago, really.
Dinner is all about two things she's very good at: eating her fill while she can and a little good old-fashioned seduction.
But not just on her part, and maybe that's something else that surprises her. Not that someone else would want to seduce her, but that someone who wants to is so good at it.
Intentional or unintentional, almost everything Gren does is watched with an eager, almost idle interest. She likes the way he holds himself, the quiet confidence not even prison or a changed body seems to have been able to take out of him, the little bit of hair that pretty much stays in front of his face, the anything-but-innocent smiles he gives her.
Most of the champagne is gone by the time dinner is done, and normally she would probably sit back, satiated, with a smile on her face and her hand flattened against her bare belly. Tonight, though, she sits forward, her hand tucked under her chin again, her attention all Gren's.
"If I recall correctly, there's a card game in your future."
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Date: 2007-10-31 06:10 am (UTC)There will be some back-and-forth: he'll win a hand or two; she'll win an equal or greater number of hands. And then the stakes will get higher, because there won't be so very many clothes left. After all, he only wears what any man wears while Faye's outfit is full of hidden items. Even though he's undressed her countless times, he's never stopped to actually count the number of items that compose her outfit. She wears more than he does, despite the fact that more of her shows when she's wearing it.
Who could help but notice that?
And then, when he's just about to lose, he'll insist that she be the one to help him out of his last item of clothing and then... then the dance will begin. Slowly at first, because that's how the best dances always start, and then it will pick up speed and intensity until the time for idle conversation is a thing of the past and the only sounds that matter are the small involuntary ones and the beating of their hearts and the percussion of their bodies' rhythms.
That's how he suspects things will go from here.
Reaching across the table, he covers her arm with his hand.
"I can hardly wait."
Later, he'll be hard-pressed to recall getting up out of the booth and moving toward the door. But the one thing he'll never, ever forget is the gleam of anticipation in Faye's huge green eyes and the way it makes him weak in the knees.