Sweet Dreams are NOT Made of This
Ryan wasn't a big snuggler. For one thing, Alex's body heat was such that he was a one man sauna. Must have been the nanogens or something, but he was a boiler, under the sheets, and not in a good way.
Frankie, on the other hand, was both smelly and rough. You never knew when you might get a bony elbow in the eye, or kicked off the bed. Plus, his personal hygiene was, on the best of days, suspect. He was the only man she ever knew who would take a shower, then put his same, old, dirty clothes back on. He had jeans so crusty, you could stand them up in the corner. Son of a bitch had to know how much she cared about him, just because she would actually sleep in the bed with him.
But Altaaf? Very, very different. He was fastidiously clean, even a wee bit OCD. That was his culture. He never left his clothes laying around, his room was perfectly neat and smelled nice. In the rock house, they created an oasis away from the rest of the world, and both of their violent pasts. They played video games, watched movies, cooked and laughed. Once they began sleeping together, it felt like all of his tension eased, at least somewhat, and he took to sex like a duck to water, being a playful and curious lover. It was pretty strange, being the one who did the guiding, but that was fun.
One night, just a couple of weeks after they became intimate, she was curled on her side, facing the door, and Altaaf was spooning behind her, his arm protectively thrown around her. He was warm, without being too hot, and she felt safe.
Ryan wasn't sure what it was, that first made her twitch. It could have been the scent that hit her nose, a mixture of sour sweat, tequila, blood, semen and urine. It was such a unique smell, he could have bottled it. Laying there, she wrinkled her nose, twitching it back and forth, like Samantha in 'Bewitched'. If it was a cologne, it could have been called 'Psycho Killer', but Talking Heads might sue.
Another scent joined the mix, along with the sound of a lighter, and the hiss of a cigarette being lit. Tobacco...cheap tobacco.
Holy fuck, Frankie, do you have to buy the cheapest, shittiest cigarettes in the store?
Ryan stirred, and Altaaf tightened his arm around her, as though he was unconsciously trying to keep her there, to himself. She felt warm, but also a cold shiver that went from her toes, all the way up her spine. She felt like someone was staring at her, and not a pleasant stare, either. She smelled the smoke and the sour scent, and she peeked one eye open, seeing a hat, a man and a large knife, all shadowed against the wall by the desert moon. Then, ever so softly, she heard him inhale, grunt, and let the smoke curl up around his brown hat, and his boot shift in the carpet, leaving a dirt streak, not unlike the skid marks in the underwear he rarely wore.
When she fully opened her eyes, she saw him sprawled in the chair, one leg bent, one hand holding his huge knife, the other holding his burning cigarette. Ryan felt punched in the stomach, a queasy feeling of joy, horror, fear and acceptance, because she always feared he or Alex, or both, would show up and poke the bubble that had surrounded them. Frankie loved poking pleasant things...making them all messy and painful. It was his gift, that and making her scream.
"Aren't you glad to see me, Firecracker?" He nodded towards the bed. "Who's the pretty boy?"
Ryan shrieked, and sat straight up in the bed, shaking and sweating. She grabbed the sheet, up to her chest, and had to blink several times, before she realized Frankie Roberts was not in the chair. It was just a dream, a bad dream, a good dream. A very complicated dream.
Altaaf sat up, and hugged her, and she just shook her head at his questions. He tried to soothe her, pulling her back down. He had enough nightmares of his own, he wasn't too freaked out, but he tried to get her to tell him what had rattled her that hard.
"Nothing." She laid her cheek against his heart, safe in his arms and trying to relax her coiled body.
Altaaf kissed her hair, crooning softly. "Monsters under the bed?"
"Beautiful monsters..." Altaaf fell back to sleep, and Ryan just stared at the window, wondering if she locked it. Of course, there was no lock that would keep him out, not if he wanted back in.
OOC: indianrunner mentioned here with the kind permission of his lovely, generous mun. seesonlysmoke mentioned with his writer's permission as well. Based on past RP with lexiromanov and indianrunner, good times.
Frankie, on the other hand, was both smelly and rough. You never knew when you might get a bony elbow in the eye, or kicked off the bed. Plus, his personal hygiene was, on the best of days, suspect. He was the only man she ever knew who would take a shower, then put his same, old, dirty clothes back on. He had jeans so crusty, you could stand them up in the corner. Son of a bitch had to know how much she cared about him, just because she would actually sleep in the bed with him.
But Altaaf? Very, very different. He was fastidiously clean, even a wee bit OCD. That was his culture. He never left his clothes laying around, his room was perfectly neat and smelled nice. In the rock house, they created an oasis away from the rest of the world, and both of their violent pasts. They played video games, watched movies, cooked and laughed. Once they began sleeping together, it felt like all of his tension eased, at least somewhat, and he took to sex like a duck to water, being a playful and curious lover. It was pretty strange, being the one who did the guiding, but that was fun.
One night, just a couple of weeks after they became intimate, she was curled on her side, facing the door, and Altaaf was spooning behind her, his arm protectively thrown around her. He was warm, without being too hot, and she felt safe.
Ryan wasn't sure what it was, that first made her twitch. It could have been the scent that hit her nose, a mixture of sour sweat, tequila, blood, semen and urine. It was such a unique smell, he could have bottled it. Laying there, she wrinkled her nose, twitching it back and forth, like Samantha in 'Bewitched'. If it was a cologne, it could have been called 'Psycho Killer', but Talking Heads might sue.
Another scent joined the mix, along with the sound of a lighter, and the hiss of a cigarette being lit. Tobacco...cheap tobacco.
Holy fuck, Frankie, do you have to buy the cheapest, shittiest cigarettes in the store?
Ryan stirred, and Altaaf tightened his arm around her, as though he was unconsciously trying to keep her there, to himself. She felt warm, but also a cold shiver that went from her toes, all the way up her spine. She felt like someone was staring at her, and not a pleasant stare, either. She smelled the smoke and the sour scent, and she peeked one eye open, seeing a hat, a man and a large knife, all shadowed against the wall by the desert moon. Then, ever so softly, she heard him inhale, grunt, and let the smoke curl up around his brown hat, and his boot shift in the carpet, leaving a dirt streak, not unlike the skid marks in the underwear he rarely wore.
When she fully opened her eyes, she saw him sprawled in the chair, one leg bent, one hand holding his huge knife, the other holding his burning cigarette. Ryan felt punched in the stomach, a queasy feeling of joy, horror, fear and acceptance, because she always feared he or Alex, or both, would show up and poke the bubble that had surrounded them. Frankie loved poking pleasant things...making them all messy and painful. It was his gift, that and making her scream.
"Aren't you glad to see me, Firecracker?" He nodded towards the bed. "Who's the pretty boy?"
Ryan shrieked, and sat straight up in the bed, shaking and sweating. She grabbed the sheet, up to her chest, and had to blink several times, before she realized Frankie Roberts was not in the chair. It was just a dream, a bad dream, a good dream. A very complicated dream.
Altaaf sat up, and hugged her, and she just shook her head at his questions. He tried to soothe her, pulling her back down. He had enough nightmares of his own, he wasn't too freaked out, but he tried to get her to tell him what had rattled her that hard.
"Nothing." She laid her cheek against his heart, safe in his arms and trying to relax her coiled body.
Altaaf kissed her hair, crooning softly. "Monsters under the bed?"
"Beautiful monsters..." Altaaf fell back to sleep, and Ryan just stared at the window, wondering if she locked it. Of course, there was no lock that would keep him out, not if he wanted back in.
OOC: indianrunner mentioned here with the kind permission of his lovely, generous mun. seesonlysmoke mentioned with his writer's permission as well. Based on past RP with lexiromanov and indianrunner, good times.