This shirt is a good one; she likes it a lot. It's not Venusian Vanilla -- it's even paler than that, almost off-white -- but she likes the way it fits. She likes the way it looks
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Despite the conventional wisdom that says if a person immerses himself in a foreign country he'll become proficient at the language, he'll never fucking learn to speak French. Maybe that's because he's been in hiding for so damn long, or maybe it's because he's shit at other languages to start with. Sure, he knows enough Japanese to get into trouble, and enough Mandarin to have impressed Mao way back when. But he's never considered that to be a strength of his.
Junior, however, is a different story. She's a mimic and every now and then he swears he hears a bonjour or je suis Bethjoonya from her, but he could be making that up. At the moment she's not saying anything anyhow; she's sound asleep. He knows: he checked on her while Beth was getting ready for bed.
The curtains here are drawn and the light's down low. This place is so damn great. It's out of the way. He hasn't had to wear that cloak in weeks, although he sometimes does put it on for an advanced game of peek-a-boo with their little aijou. But that's just for fun, not out of
( ... )
She's been intrigued by him since he first shared his cigarettes with her, and she thinks, in retrospect, she may have fallen for him faster than would have if she hadn't been living alone in a church in this post-plague world for two years.
Okay, she knows she did. There's no real doubt about it.
But she loves him. He's her bounty hunter, Beth Junior's surrogate father, one of only two grown men alive here but the one of the two she really wants in her bed every night.
And the toothy grin she gives him as she walks across the room toward him probably says it loud and clear. "I don't know what list you're talking about." Selfishly, she hooks both arms around his neck. "The only list I know you have has at least two things on it that qualify as cheating."
"Like one of these?" Hell, if that isn't a clear and open invitation to touch her, he doesn't know what is. "Now tell me again: which one has to feel bad because it's labeled as the cheat: breast number one or breast number two?" His hands go to her chest like they're still doing that daily weigh-in from a couple years ago. He knows she was uncomfortable as hell during that pregnancy, but it had its perks for both of them.
Not all the perks were cheats on lists or suggestions from books, but he's an opportunist and can't help it if he wanted to take advantage of everything he could. That's... what opportunists like him do. Like sneaking out of the bar at the end of the universe for an unplanned visit with his woman and daughter. It's not his fault the Israeli army chose that day to plow down his return door... but in so many ways, as tough as it's been, he's so glad it happened that way. He can see himself back at the bar if that hadn't happened, all bitter and miserable and alone, no fun to be around, cursing at kids under his
( ... )
A weak noise of protest -- it's hard to protest when you've got a big grin on your face and laughter on your lips -- comes out of her, but she lets her arms tighten around him and accepts his kiss without a single complaint.
And when he puts her down and gets on the bed beside her, she grins all over again.
"No kidding?" He has all her attention; her right hand curls around the back of his neck. "I don't know, bounty hunter. I might need some physical proof here."
Since they've been living in this house she's had the chance to remember just how goddamn great it is that Beth Junior hit that milestone of sleeping straight through most nights.
That's one of the easiest requests he's ever had, and it's one he's only too glad to fulfill. Things haven't been easy since they left the bar. There's been a lot of long stretches of days and nights without any contact other than the briefest touch of a hand in reassurance and he still can't believe Natalya and Ciba never knew he was there. He's sure Vlad did, but kids are different. They see shit adults ignore.
None of them are here now, though, and he gets right to work unbuttoning that shirt she's wearing.
"Hey. This is my shirt." He says it as if it's some big surprise but ever since he's known Beth she's had a liking for his clothes. It's kind of nice, makes him feel like he's with her even when he isn't. If they ever get back to that snooty asteroid clothing store -- not fucking likely, but if they do -- he's going to get her a lifetime's supply of those Venusian vanilla shirts.
Get them a lifetime's supply. But hell, this is Paris, the home of high fashion. If it's ever safe for him to just walk into a tailor's shop, he can
( ... )
Of course he's kidding -- he's sharp as a fucking tack, and she discovered that pretty early on -- but sometimes even now his delivery makes it hard to tell if he's joking or not.
It's funny how little she minds letting him undo the buttons she just buttoned.
"I was admiring it one minute, and the next thing I knew I had it buttoned over me." She shrugs helplessly under his fingers, but it's less than effective paired with the smirk on her face.
"Just like that." As that last button comes undone, he grins over at her. This is sweet: they haven't had regular nights like this in a while and it's a treat. His hand might just have slipped to slide between that shirt of his and her skin.
"Oops."
Yeah, purely unintentional slip of his hand there but now that the deed's done, what the hell's he supposed to do, take it back? No, that would be silly. Or thiwwy, as Junior would say and for just a moment he stops, tilts his head toward the door, and listens carefully. Nope, nothing but the sound of a little girl breathing so steadily she can't be anything but asleep.
It's a pretty beautiful sound. Nothing to do but take advantage of the situation. It's what he does, and he's been doing it his whole life. Even in France, at a time when he's not even supposed to have been born. What the hell. It's just time travel, right? Leaning over, he does what he's been waiting for this whole night: he kisses that smug little grin on her face and this time, it's with a lot more intention than the
( ... )
His oops doesn't have her wondering how serious he is at all.
"You went to all that trouble to undo them," she answers with mock thoughtfulness, her telltale smirk refusing to disappear. "I'd hate to make you button them all again."
Looks like we have the night to ourselves is probably one of the single greatest statements ever made, and it occurs to her that it might even rival some of those three-word phrases of his that she's always been such a fucking sucker for.
With her hand still curled around the back of his neck, she directs him toward her for repeat kiss.
Love is such a damn funny thing. For the longest time he didn't believe in it. After that day Julia didn't show up, he lost a hell of a lot of faith in everything, and he lost it for a good long time. Then when he finally did see her again, he got a little taste of apology along with her explanation and then, as fate would have it, she died and then as fate would have it he ended up at the end of the universe, and so did Beth, and he started to believe in love again
( ... )
"I'm guessing you don't mean requests like get Junior, please, I need another half hour of sleep."
She grins again, teasing. He's actually pretty sweet about that kind of thing even though she's positive it's not what he meant at all. And she really does appreciate it. It's not often she's ever asked him to do something she could do, but lately -- since their trip ended and Yorick was found -- she thinks they've been functioning a little more as a team.
It hasn't been a completely intentional thing.
One of her legs hooks possessively over his. If he's not naked in about five minutes, she's going to lend him a hand. After all the help he's given her so far, it'd only be fair.
The hand that isn't lingering on the back of his neck takes the opportunity to find his other hand and show it how to join the other in her (his) open shirt.
That qualifies as a request and it's one his hand is only too happy to fulfill: under her clothes is its favorite place to be and he swears listing both breasts separately wasn't cheating. He doesn't have a favorite; they're both great. And they both get equal attention both now and always. In fact, the only reason his hands leave her chest at all is to slide that shirt of his -- hers -- off her shoulders because those shoulders are perfect and rounded and each one is so strong and capable and hard-working that it deserves a kiss, and another, and another because both he and Beth know things go better in threes.
Beth tastes good. She always has, and it's not like he sits around thinking about how people taste, but it's something he's always noticed with her. Like honey, she's sweet and he can't get enough of her. It doesn't matter where they are: they've had fun in Paris and on Mars and Venus and the end of the universe. Hell, they've had fun in zero gravity -- wouldn't that be a kick to do again, and wouldn't it also be a hell of a
( ... )
That's kind of perfect, and she offers no resistance to the downward path his mouth takes on her skin.
As far as she's concerned, he can map out whatever route he wants on her. But after about five minutes or so, just as she told herself she would, she makes a point of helping him get as undressed as she is.
Her toes flex against his calf, and very slowly, her fingertips skate down his spine.
You really take uninterrupted sex for granted when you don't have any kids, and there's been a time or two that she's caught herself in the desperate heat of the moment thinking don't pick now to wake up crying, Junior.
But things are going well on that front lately. They should have it pretty nice until Junior figures out how to climb of her crib and open doors on her own.
For now she basks in the quiet of the moment. It's cold outside, and she finds satisfaction in the warm sweat-damp skin at the small of his back, in the crooks of his knees and elbows, at the base of his throat.
Every now and then at night -- it's not a very common occurrence -- they'll hear the soft sound of women's voices as they pass by on the street. They're far enough from Paris that it's pretty much a rarity, but it does happen once in a while. Maybe his hearing's just a hell of a lot better these days because it's trained to listen for sounds from Junior's room but really, he's always been pretty damn adept at being aware of his surroundings. He remembers that time he and Beth took the Venus shuttle and caught that bounty head, the guy who used to be Syndicate and took off with the goods. What the hell was his name? Robertson, something like that. He did a damn good job of fooling that guy into thinking he was just asleep
( ... )
She smiles at the rumble of contentment that comes from him, the vibration of his chest against hers, and after the first kiss is done she barely pauses before moving in for a follow-up. "I love you, too."
She shifts just enough to rest her head against his shoulder, her arms and legs never fully disentangling from his, and idly her finger traces an invisible pattern over the ridges of his ribs.
It's a minute or two before she says anything else.
"Oh yeah?" He's still too comfortable to shift a whole lot as she says it, but he's definitely interested, definitely curious. At the same time he's not going to get his hopes up: she's told him -- not in so many words, but she's still made it perfectly clear -- that she doesn't want to risk not being able to get back here if they go through that little door. Hell, if he wasn't so damn hung up on her and Junior he'd try it and his age-old mantra of whatever happens happens still applies... but he knows only too well what it's like to be without her -- without them -- and that's one risk he really doesn't want to take.
And to think that for a while out here, he'd stopped thinking about doors. That ought to teach him a lesson or two. But as Faye was always fond of telling him, he's a lunkhead and maybe those lessons don't come so easy or stick like they should.
That's all well and good; the fingers on his right hand trail over Beth's collarbone gently. "How was the closet?"
No words get put in her mouth, even if he knows what he
( ... )
"Well," comes out of her like an automatic response, but once that one word is out, she pauses and just sinks for a moment into the sensation of his hand dancing over her collarbone.
She's not even 100% sure this is a conversation she wants to have, all things considered, or even that this is going to lead to a conversation in the first place, but the whole thing is a little like having an elephant living in your closet.
As long as it's there it's going to be hard to keep ignoring.
She turns her face just enough to look at him. "It kind of sucks as a closet," she goes on. "What with the door to the end of the universe still in it."
Junior, however, is a different story. She's a mimic and every now and then he swears he hears a bonjour or je suis Bethjoonya from her, but he could be making that up. At the moment she's not saying anything anyhow; she's sound asleep. He knows: he checked on her while Beth was getting ready for bed.
The curtains here are drawn and the light's down low. This place is so damn great. It's out of the way. He hasn't had to wear that cloak in weeks, although he sometimes does put it on for an advanced game of peek-a-boo with their little aijou. But that's just for fun, not out of ( ... )
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Okay, she knows she did. There's no real doubt about it.
But she loves him. He's her bounty hunter, Beth Junior's surrogate father, one of only two grown men alive here but the one of the two she really wants in her bed every night.
And the toothy grin she gives him as she walks across the room toward him probably says it loud and clear. "I don't know what list you're talking about." Selfishly, she hooks both arms around his neck. "The only list I know you have has at least two things on it that qualify as cheating."
Reply
Not all the perks were cheats on lists or suggestions from books, but he's an opportunist and can't help it if he wanted to take advantage of everything he could. That's... what opportunists like him do. Like sneaking out of the bar at the end of the universe for an unplanned visit with his woman and daughter. It's not his fault the Israeli army chose that day to plow down his return door... but in so many ways, as tough as it's been, he's so glad it happened that way. He can see himself back at the bar if that hadn't happened, all bitter and miserable and alone, no fun to be around, cursing at kids under his ( ... )
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A weak noise of protest -- it's hard to protest when you've got a big grin on your face and laughter on your lips -- comes out of her, but she lets her arms tighten around him and accepts his kiss without a single complaint.
And when he puts her down and gets on the bed beside her, she grins all over again.
"No kidding?" He has all her attention; her right hand curls around the back of his neck. "I don't know, bounty hunter. I might need some physical proof here."
Since they've been living in this house she's had the chance to remember just how goddamn great it is that Beth Junior hit that milestone of sleeping straight through most nights.
Reply
None of them are here now, though, and he gets right to work unbuttoning that shirt she's wearing.
"Hey. This is my shirt." He says it as if it's some big surprise but ever since he's known Beth she's had a liking for his clothes. It's kind of nice, makes him feel like he's with her even when he isn't. If they ever get back to that snooty asteroid clothing store -- not fucking likely, but if they do -- he's going to get her a lifetime's supply of those Venusian vanilla shirts.
Get them a lifetime's supply. But hell, this is Paris, the home of high fashion. If it's ever safe for him to just walk into a tailor's shop, he can ( ... )
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"You're observant, aren't you?"
Of course he's kidding -- he's sharp as a fucking tack, and she discovered that pretty early on -- but sometimes even now his delivery makes it hard to tell if he's joking or not.
It's funny how little she minds letting him undo the buttons she just buttoned.
"I was admiring it one minute, and the next thing I knew I had it buttoned over me." She shrugs helplessly under his fingers, but it's less than effective paired with the smirk on her face.
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"Oops."
Yeah, purely unintentional slip of his hand there but now that the deed's done, what the hell's he supposed to do, take it back? No, that would be silly. Or thiwwy, as Junior would say and for just a moment he stops, tilts his head toward the door, and listens carefully. Nope, nothing but the sound of a little girl breathing so steadily she can't be anything but asleep.
It's a pretty beautiful sound. Nothing to do but take advantage of the situation. It's what he does, and he's been doing it his whole life. Even in France, at a time when he's not even supposed to have been born. What the hell. It's just time travel, right? Leaning over, he does what he's been waiting for this whole night: he kisses that smug little grin on her face and this time, it's with a lot more intention than the ( ... )
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"You went to all that trouble to undo them," she answers with mock thoughtfulness, her telltale smirk refusing to disappear. "I'd hate to make you button them all again."
Looks like we have the night to ourselves is probably one of the single greatest statements ever made, and it occurs to her that it might even rival some of those three-word phrases of his that she's always been such a fucking sucker for.
With her hand still curled around the back of his neck, she directs him toward her for repeat kiss.
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She grins again, teasing. He's actually pretty sweet about that kind of thing even though she's positive it's not what he meant at all. And she really does appreciate it. It's not often she's ever asked him to do something she could do, but lately -- since their trip ended and Yorick was found -- she thinks they've been functioning a little more as a team.
It hasn't been a completely intentional thing.
One of her legs hooks possessively over his. If he's not naked in about five minutes, she's going to lend him a hand. After all the help he's given her so far, it'd only be fair.
The hand that isn't lingering on the back of his neck takes the opportunity to find his other hand and show it how to join the other in her (his) open shirt.
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Beth tastes good. She always has, and it's not like he sits around thinking about how people taste, but it's something he's always noticed with her. Like honey, she's sweet and he can't get enough of her. It doesn't matter where they are: they've had fun in Paris and on Mars and Venus and the end of the universe. Hell, they've had fun in zero gravity -- wouldn't that be a kick to do again, and wouldn't it also be a hell of a ( ... )
Reply
As far as she's concerned, he can map out whatever route he wants on her. But after about five minutes or so, just as she told herself she would, she makes a point of helping him get as undressed as she is.
Her toes flex against his calf, and very slowly, her fingertips skate down his spine.
You really take uninterrupted sex for granted when you don't have any kids, and there's been a time or two that she's caught herself in the desperate heat of the moment thinking don't pick now to wake up crying, Junior.
But things are going well on that front lately. They should have it pretty nice until Junior figures out how to climb of her crib and open doors on her own.
For now she basks in the quiet of the moment. It's cold outside, and she finds satisfaction in the warm sweat-damp skin at the small of his back, in the crooks of his knees and elbows, at the base of his throat.
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She shifts just enough to rest her head against his shoulder, her arms and legs never fully disentangling from his, and idly her finger traces an invisible pattern over the ridges of his ribs.
It's a minute or two before she says anything else.
"I checked the closet yesterday."
He'll know exactly which she means.
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And to think that for a while out here, he'd stopped thinking about doors. That ought to teach him a lesson or two. But as Faye was always fond of telling him, he's a lunkhead and maybe those lessons don't come so easy or stick like they should.
That's all well and good; the fingers on his right hand trail over Beth's collarbone gently. "How was the closet?"
No words get put in her mouth, even if he knows what he ( ... )
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She's not even 100% sure this is a conversation she wants to have, all things considered, or even that this is going to lead to a conversation in the first place, but the whole thing is a little like having an elephant living in your closet.
As long as it's there it's going to be hard to keep ignoring.
She turns her face just enough to look at him. "It kind of sucks as a closet," she goes on. "What with the door to the end of the universe still in it."
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