(Untitled)

[charlesmacaulay]

The hallway of the hotel was long and boring and fluorescently lit, like every other hotel Charles had been in - and that amounted to quite a few, considering his recent career choices. He sorted through the keys in his pocket and opened the door to his room first, dropping his valise just inside. He looked up and down the hall, making sure nobody

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[c_macaulay]

Camilla did not notice that anything was missing, until she went back to her room for the evening and the usual desultory rummage through her purse did not yield the key. "Merde." She rummaged again, this time holding the purse open to the light and actually looking. No luck. Finally, in desperation, she tried the doorknob. God help her if she'd locked herself out --

But the door opened.

It was not outside the realm of possibility that she'd forgotten to lock it herself. Certainly she didn't fear a break-in. Everyone lived by looting, and there was an abundance of goods to loot; there was hardly any reason anyone should want anything Camilla herself might have brought, when they could get the same thing new at one of the airport shops.

She didn't even turn on the lights. It was a small room. She knew where everything was, could navigate it blind.

[charlesmacaulay]

Charles flipped on the light over his head suddenly, taking a perverse pleasure in watching her squint. He dangled her key in the air. "You dropped this."

[c_macaulay]

She shielded her eyes and peered at him from beneath their shade. "Dropped it, did I?" Skepticism rich in her voice, and not a little exasperation. "What do you want?"

[charlesmacaulay]

Charles let the key slip through his fingers, smiling at it clinked onto the desk. "Just to talk, Milly. We need to talk." His voice was soft, silky... predatory. He stretched out his long legs, crossing them in front of him, his attitude deceptively insouciant.

[c_macaulay]

Disarrayed, rumpled, her cool facade completely shattered, Camilla lay panting against the pillows. A bite mark marred the perfect paleness of her shoulder. She turned her head slightly, face framed by a glorious tangle of gold, and gave Charles a smile of absolute bliss.

"I still hate you," she said dreamily.

[charlesmacaulay]

He smiled, lighting a cigarette for her. "I know." Arming himself with a cigarette of his own, Charles fell onto the pillow next to her. He could live like this forever, he thought, then mentally shied away from the automatic reference. "I'll try, Milly," he said instead, just as though their interlude had never happened. "The drinking. I'll try. If you want me to."

[c_macaulay]

She took the cigarette without thinking. She hadn't smoked in years; she'd quit, when Nana started getting ill, because she hadn't wanted to make it harder for Nana to breathe.

It seemed tonight was a night for picking up bad old habits.

"You've said that before," she said, exhaling smoke. "Too many times. I'd like to see you really try, but honestly, Charles, there isn't a whole lot else to do here. Reading, drinking, and --" well, what they'd just been doing.

[charlesmacaulay]

That made him laugh. "I'll take the 'and...', for preference." God, he felt so relaxed. He sat up and stretched. "I stand by it, Milly. I'll try, if you want me to."

A mercurial change of mood: he still wanted her. Would always want her, he thought. "Come shower with me," Charles said playfully, stubbing out his cigarette, beckoning. "Come on."

[charlesmacaulay]

Charles' expression darkened as he registered what Camilla was wearing. "Nice, Milly."

He was furious, but knew better than to show it. Not after all this careful spadework. Better to show hurt than anger. She might even feel guilty, and that would be all to the good.

He bent to pick up his discarded clothes. "Since I have clearly been dismissed, and since you're at such pains to make sure I know that any joy I might feel at being with you again is not the proper response," he looked at her, raw pain in his gray eyes, "I'll be in the bar. Let me know when you'd like me to service you again, will you?"

Charles knew a good exit line when he had one. He stood not upon the order of his going, but went, being careful not to slam the door behind him. A gentle 'snick' was so much more effective as punctuation.

[c_macaulay]

He had dressed and left all while speaking, so that Camilla could not get a word in edgewise. She might not have said anything even if given the chance. Everything she needed to say was embroidered on that shirt pocket