(no subject)
Life... was warm. Warm, and it smelled good. Jill curled closer, pressing her forehead against... "Mgggh." She twisted, barely opening one eye, her leg sliding- Her leg sliding across his waist. His waist. Against- warm, bare skin. She opened both her eyes, leaning up to press a kiss to Peter's jaw. She half pushed herself up... and then slid back with a groan, her head pounding as her stomach flipped. "Whahappened?"
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He wasn't aware of much, just the warm sun, a light breeze, the bare leg across his-- woah. He turned his head toward the sound, receiving a kiss to his forehead in return. He cracked open one eye, squinting to open both, before sliding them shut again. Oh, dear lord. It was bright. And his head was pounding. He dragged his arm up, blocking the sun from his eyes, the shade a desperate relief. His eyes cracked open finally, glancing over at Jill. "I-" His voice was rough, over-used. "'M not sure." His arm felt like it was made of lead, but he couldn't see with the sun in his eyes.
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She was hiding her face against his throat, not even thinking past the fact that she wanted the world to stop moving and just wanted to go back to sleep. She couldn't, though, her eyes squinched closed. "Peter..." She trailed off, and pressed closer - not actually thinking about anything else past how warm he was. Her own voice sounded like she'd thought gargling thumbtacks was a good past time. "'S warm, though." God, she felt so sick.
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"Mmmm," He said, cocking his head against hers softly. He didn't really have much coherent thought past that. His head was spinning and he was trying not to think about food, at that exact moment. He blinked again, each time feeling like a hammer to the skull. He thought back, trying to remember last night. He remembered all yesterday afternoon, the midsummer celebrations, the food... then, somewhere between the second and third glass of wine and around the second piece of cake, things got blurry. And then went missing entirely. I don't remember what happened. He lay there, warm and dizzy, arm now flopped over his eyes, and tried to think.
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It probably was something like ten minutes before she managed to get past the nausea enough to try to move. Sort of. "We're lying on the ground," she said dumbly. She didn't know where exactly this patch of ground was, nor how precisely they got here. "Love, we should get up." She was mumbling, because the sound of her own voice seemed too loud, somehow. She cleared her throat, squinting as she managed to move back an inch or two. "Where's your shirt?"
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Time passed, with no particular interest upon Peter's part; he was dehydrated, exhausted, and his head was killing him. And he still couldn't figure out what happened last night. His brain was moving about as quickly as Jill's was, however, so when she said they were on the ground, he merely nodded, affirming her statement. They were, indeed, on the ground. He rolled toward her, pushing himself up on an elbow to attempt sitting up. He glanced down at her question, brow furrowed. "I- don't know." He frowned, and looked up at her. His eyebrows raised and his eyes lingered somewhere around the vicinity of her collarbone, lips somewhat parted. "And your dress seems to have-" He paused, pressing his lips together. "Well," He paused again, eyes sliding closed for a minute as he shook his head. "Right." It appeared that whatever last night was, they enjoyed themselves.
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Jill looked down abruptly - something the regretted immediately, sucking in a breath at the way it seemed her head saw fit to remind her that sudden movements weren't- well. "I've-" She stared down, her brows knitting as her fingers skimmed the- well. Red mark. That was just above the- the loose fabric of her bra- "Oh, goodness," she said quietly, looking back up at him (moving her head much, much slower), her lips in an o. "We-?" She twisted, trying to reach even with how stiff she was, to rehook- "Oh, sod it," she muttered, and shifted away enough to half turn, trying to figure out how to just get decent enough that they both could find the way to water. And a shower. And paracetamol. And bed- for sleeping.
"Can you?" She pulled her hair out of the way, wracking her mind- by the lion, she wished she could remember.
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He smiled crookedly, blushing furiously, he could tell. This was an interesting way to find themselves, to say the least, but it appeared they were at least mostly clothed, so there was that. His eyes grazed over the mouth-shaped bruise on her chest, lips quirking into a smile. They were adults, after all, and dating. It wasn't entirely unseemly. The fact that they were in some random grove and couldn't remember anything, on the other hand. That wasn't entirely pleasing.
He pushed himself to a fully seated position, fighting off the wave of dizziness. "Sure, just-" He reached out, pulling the two thin straps of lace together, and hooking them gently. His hands drifted back and he shrugged, smiling. "So."
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"Thank you," She said quietly, shifting to tug up the front of her dress, realising quite suddenly that, yes, she still had her- those pants that had been so wildly contested in the laundry room on, and he, thank goodness- well, his belt was undone, but- "We didn't-" She blurted, and then slowly started to turn red herself, her eyes flicking to the purplish-red mark just under his jaw.
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He shook his head, calm. "No, we didn't." He glanced aside, suddenly noticing the black polo tossed in the underbrush. He glanced down, fastening his belt before standing (slowly, dear god, slowly) and getting his shirt. He picked it up gingerly, turning back to her with a wince. Standing was possible, it appeared, though not preferable. He paused, tugging the shirt over his head quickly, running a hand through his hair after making himself something close to presentable. "We did something, I-" He shook his head. "I just don't know what."
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She reached up a hand, suddenly glad that she didn't have on shoes to start with - and realising that her dress was rucked up well onto her waist. "Oh, god," she murmured, before squinching her eyes closed. You can fix it when you get up. "I- I don't either. Although- you've a mark-" She bit her lip, looking up at him - squinting, because of the sun, her arm smeared with gold paint from goodness knew where.
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He grasped her hand, pulling her up with a quick smile.
"A mark-" He glanced down for a moment before quickly putting two and two together. "Right, gotcha." He paused, suddenly a little self conscious. "Where, exactly?"
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She closed her eyes, actually making a small noise of discomfort as the world shifted and tipped. She swallowed back the nausea, and tugged her dress down those precious few inches before she was able to gather herself up enough to look up at him. "Right here." She reached up and skimmed the mark with her fingers, closing her eyes for just a moment. If she wasn't horribly mistaken, it looked like teeth marks. Not breaking the skin, but- "That can't have just been wine." Although, if she'd more experience drinking, she'd surely know that getting that drunk was entirely possible.
Her skin seemed to have settled in an odd mixture of sickly-pale and ruddy rose, the color splotched on her face and down her neck. "I think I bit you," she said, her voice small, ducking her head as she fixed her dress - that didn't really need that much fixing.
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He pressed his lips together softly as her fingers touched his skin, and he smiled crookedly. Ah, right. How typical, of course, that it would be just on his neck. "I really don't think it was. Well. It was wine, just." He shook his head, only a little. "It seemed to have some improvements added." This kind of headache and pain wasn't normal, even for wine.
His grin widened as he slipped his hands into his pockets. "I noticed." As she rearranged her dress, the strap slipped, and he noticed a red mark on her shoulder, near the edge of her collarbone. He reached out, fingers slipping over the skin quickly. He flushed, face ruddy. "I seemed to have returned the favor."
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She turned to look, sucking in a breath when her head reminded her exactly why she couldn't remember any of this. "You did? I mean, you... did." She cleared her throat, squaring her shoulders just a bit. "I sort of wish I could remember," she said quietly, the redness of her cheeks not even fading in the slightest. She reached up and fixed his collar, tugging her lower lip between her teeth. "I mean, I've never- not like that. Not quite like the way that evidently... was."
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He chuckled, nodding. "Same," He sighed, shrugging, stealing a glance up at her face before looking away, squinting. "Seems like quite the night to remember."
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She swallowed hard, looking down at the ground. "We... should go... away." She licked her lips. "I mean, showers. And- and..." She didn't even want to think about food at the moment, but she knew that they couldn't just stay here, awkwardly looking at one another and then being too self-conscious to do anything else. She bit the inside of her lip, before she finally let go of the last thing on her mind. "I'm sure we'll do... that... again, someday." Oh, how her face burned, and she bit her lip, not able to quite just let that sit. "Should we go?"
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His face split into a grin (ow, ow), and then faded a bit, to save his head, but he nodded. "A shower sounds like a really, really good idea." He glanced down, making sure he was put together enough for the public, and then nodded, heading for the path, slowly. Moving still hurt, but for some reason, he thought that a good trek up to the Compound would do them both a world of good. He knew they'd do... that. Again. And soon, probably, given the way things were going. But at their own, normal, uninebriated pace, no doubt. He didn't need to say it; they were on the same page about that, at least.