Kiss And Take Your Leave (Supernatural/True Blood)
Title: Kiss And Take Your Leave
Fandom: Supernatural/True Blood
Characters: you'll know who they are
Gen.
Disclaimer: Gosh, no, they ain't mine.
He rests the back of his head against the wall, bottle raised to his lips. He's not drinking it. He's here for something else, and strangely, she doesn't know what. She watches the way the moisture beads at the tip of the bottle neck, the way his skin glows subtly in the dim light of the bar, and that's it. Something flicks on, deep inside. She's seen men like this one every day that she's worked here, and she knows them inside out. They're hard, inside and out. She's never even considered one before tonight.
The bar work is tough, physically; some nights her feet throb with an ache so intense it takes all night to fade, the small of her back grumbling as she folds herself into bed, eyes gritty and red...yes, the work is tough. But it's simple. No thought required beyond what's needed to find the right bottle and glass - the occasional hairy encounter with an over-enthusiastic customer notwithstanding. It's simple work, clean work, and she loves it for this reason.
She looks quickly over her shoulder to gauge the reaction of the regulars. Yeah. They're giving him the trademark Bon Temps eyeball. It's this, more than anything, more than his easy manner, or his appealing hands, more than that other ache she doesn't let herself think about too much - it's that eyeballing they're giving him. The way they're thinking about him...it's more than she can bear, all of a sudden.
She abandons the tray for table five - ignoring the indignant 'Hey!' that spikes up in amongst the other noise - and makes her way over to where the stranger sits. She doesn't sway, like Dawn would, or saunter as she's seen Lafayette do; she wouldn't know how. She just plain walks over there, hips twitching nervously, aware that all eyes are on her now...except those of the man she's chosen.
He stares straight ahead. She flicks a glance at whatever he's staring at. Hmm. Odd, she thinks to herself. Why in the world would he be staring at...
"So. This is the 'get out of my bar' speech?"
Startled out of her reverie, she fixes her eyes on his. Green and alive, they seem to know what she's thinking.
She laughs.
He frowns.
She feels herself start to sweat, ever so slightly.
"Oh! No. I wasn't laughing at you. And, no, this wouldn't be that speech. At least, not exactly."
His face stays neutral enough, but those eyes are asking a question. And it's too darn quiet now, she can't stop herself from filling the silence, irrationally afraid that if she doesn't...no, she can't make herself finish that thought, not just yet.
"It's just, you know, we don't get too many tourists down this way, and sometimes people don't take too well to it, but I just wanted to say, that's not everybody. So, uh, I hope you don't think that...I mean, I hope you enjoy your beer." She crashes to a halt, cheeks pink, heart racing inexplicably, waiting for the rush of thought to come at her.
He looks up at her calmly. Quiet.
Nothing.
She pretty near falls over.
"So. Uh. Okay." She begins her pivot away from the booth and this embarrassment, needing some time to think about the quiet, and those eyes, and exactly what this means, when she feels a cool touch on her wrist.
He sets the bottle down with his free hand and says, "So. What time do you finish?"
She feels even more blood rise to her face. "Oh. No. That wasn't what..."
"Oh." His hand drops away. "Sorry."
And it's then, as his touch and his gaze leave her, as she feels the other ache raise its head again, and she realises that she made this decision as soon as she saw him, that she leans down and whispers, "One." This done, she walks smartly back to the tray she set down just before, and gets on with trying to pretend that green-eyed man isn't even there. She doesn't shoot him a second glance all night. Well. Not a third, anyway.
The clock creeps round to one and as usual, she's clearing away and when she looks up, sneakily...he's gone. She pretends that she doesn't feel a thump of sickening disappointment. Sam opens his mouth to say something to her, but she dodges the moment skilfully and beats a hasty retreat to get her bag, and slinks out without a word to anyone. She pauses briefly outside the bar and steadies herself. The night air is thick, and richly dark, and...quiet.
She snaps her head to the right and there he is.
"You gonna blush at me again?"
She does.
"I thought you left," she says, honestly.
He smiles then. It's glorious.
"Well. You were saying something earlier about traditional Louisiana hospitality...so I figured it would be rude to go until you'd -"
She stops his mouth with her own before she knows she's doing it.
It's all she knew it would be, when she saw his eyes, his hands, his mouth; it's hard and soft, urgent, quiet...new.
Brand new.
She feels powerful, and curious. She feels his quiet bleed into her. She feels as if she could do anything.
And, of course, this is when his phone rings.
He half-laughs into her mouth, rests his forehead against hers oh-so-gently, and rumbles, "I have to get that."
She manages to make a noise that approaches speech.
***
Five minutes later, he's gone for real. Rueful, reluctant, oh yes, but he goes. Family thing, she accepts, but does not allow herself to think, what kind of family thing? At one in the morning? No. This she does not think. Instead, she thinks of his stillness, his spark, his rough and smooth, the hints of more that he gave her during that brief, endless kiss.
She thinks he'll be back.
tbc? Please comment!
Fandom: Supernatural/True Blood
Characters: you'll know who they are
Gen.
Disclaimer: Gosh, no, they ain't mine.
He rests the back of his head against the wall, bottle raised to his lips. He's not drinking it. He's here for something else, and strangely, she doesn't know what. She watches the way the moisture beads at the tip of the bottle neck, the way his skin glows subtly in the dim light of the bar, and that's it. Something flicks on, deep inside. She's seen men like this one every day that she's worked here, and she knows them inside out. They're hard, inside and out. She's never even considered one before tonight.
The bar work is tough, physically; some nights her feet throb with an ache so intense it takes all night to fade, the small of her back grumbling as she folds herself into bed, eyes gritty and red...yes, the work is tough. But it's simple. No thought required beyond what's needed to find the right bottle and glass - the occasional hairy encounter with an over-enthusiastic customer notwithstanding. It's simple work, clean work, and she loves it for this reason.
She looks quickly over her shoulder to gauge the reaction of the regulars. Yeah. They're giving him the trademark Bon Temps eyeball. It's this, more than anything, more than his easy manner, or his appealing hands, more than that other ache she doesn't let herself think about too much - it's that eyeballing they're giving him. The way they're thinking about him...it's more than she can bear, all of a sudden.
She abandons the tray for table five - ignoring the indignant 'Hey!' that spikes up in amongst the other noise - and makes her way over to where the stranger sits. She doesn't sway, like Dawn would, or saunter as she's seen Lafayette do; she wouldn't know how. She just plain walks over there, hips twitching nervously, aware that all eyes are on her now...except those of the man she's chosen.
He stares straight ahead. She flicks a glance at whatever he's staring at. Hmm. Odd, she thinks to herself. Why in the world would he be staring at...
"So. This is the 'get out of my bar' speech?"
Startled out of her reverie, she fixes her eyes on his. Green and alive, they seem to know what she's thinking.
She laughs.
He frowns.
She feels herself start to sweat, ever so slightly.
"Oh! No. I wasn't laughing at you. And, no, this wouldn't be that speech. At least, not exactly."
His face stays neutral enough, but those eyes are asking a question. And it's too darn quiet now, she can't stop herself from filling the silence, irrationally afraid that if she doesn't...no, she can't make herself finish that thought, not just yet.
"It's just, you know, we don't get too many tourists down this way, and sometimes people don't take too well to it, but I just wanted to say, that's not everybody. So, uh, I hope you don't think that...I mean, I hope you enjoy your beer." She crashes to a halt, cheeks pink, heart racing inexplicably, waiting for the rush of thought to come at her.
He looks up at her calmly. Quiet.
Nothing.
She pretty near falls over.
"So. Uh. Okay." She begins her pivot away from the booth and this embarrassment, needing some time to think about the quiet, and those eyes, and exactly what this means, when she feels a cool touch on her wrist.
He sets the bottle down with his free hand and says, "So. What time do you finish?"
She feels even more blood rise to her face. "Oh. No. That wasn't what..."
"Oh." His hand drops away. "Sorry."
And it's then, as his touch and his gaze leave her, as she feels the other ache raise its head again, and she realises that she made this decision as soon as she saw him, that she leans down and whispers, "One." This done, she walks smartly back to the tray she set down just before, and gets on with trying to pretend that green-eyed man isn't even there. She doesn't shoot him a second glance all night. Well. Not a third, anyway.
The clock creeps round to one and as usual, she's clearing away and when she looks up, sneakily...he's gone. She pretends that she doesn't feel a thump of sickening disappointment. Sam opens his mouth to say something to her, but she dodges the moment skilfully and beats a hasty retreat to get her bag, and slinks out without a word to anyone. She pauses briefly outside the bar and steadies herself. The night air is thick, and richly dark, and...quiet.
She snaps her head to the right and there he is.
"You gonna blush at me again?"
She does.
"I thought you left," she says, honestly.
He smiles then. It's glorious.
"Well. You were saying something earlier about traditional Louisiana hospitality...so I figured it would be rude to go until you'd -"
She stops his mouth with her own before she knows she's doing it.
It's all she knew it would be, when she saw his eyes, his hands, his mouth; it's hard and soft, urgent, quiet...new.
Brand new.
She feels powerful, and curious. She feels his quiet bleed into her. She feels as if she could do anything.
And, of course, this is when his phone rings.
He half-laughs into her mouth, rests his forehead against hers oh-so-gently, and rumbles, "I have to get that."
She manages to make a noise that approaches speech.
***
Five minutes later, he's gone for real. Rueful, reluctant, oh yes, but he goes. Family thing, she accepts, but does not allow herself to think, what kind of family thing? At one in the morning? No. This she does not think. Instead, she thinks of his stillness, his spark, his rough and smooth, the hints of more that he gave her during that brief, endless kiss.
She thinks he'll be back.
tbc? Please comment!