fic: however far away (rpf: stargate: atlantis)
prettylightsfic ficathon: phrenitis requested torri/joe and tokyo, hidden.
STATUS: Complete
SUMMARY: Tokyo in the summer.
RATING: R
CLASSIFICATIONS: Torri/Joe
SOUNDTRACK: "Love Song" (Tori Amos)
ARCHIVING: Do not archive. Thank you.
NOTES: This story is RPF (real person fiction). If that bothers you, turn away now.
THANKS TO: mylittleredgirl for betaing!
WORDS: 1,355
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't sue.
Copyright anr; December 2010.
* * * * *
However Far Away by anr
* * * * *
whenever i'm alone with you
*
No matter how tempting it is, how easily they got away with anonymity last night, she knows they can't go the airport together. There's just too great a risk they'll run into the media, or someone they know, or even a tourist with a handy camera phone.
She kisses him goodbye in the alcove just inside her -- their -- hotel room, her back against the closet door and his hands low on her hips. She drags her fingers through his hair and thinks, enough this time, enough for now.
He kisses her nose before he pulls back completely, tilting his head to the side as she touches his cheek with her fingertips.
"See you soon," he promises.
She smiles.
*
She wakes him with a kiss, her leg sliding over his until she's lying on top of him, his morning erection hardening against the softness of her belly.
He smiles, eyes still closed, and runs his hands down her back, up again, down and then up. She shifts until his dick is between her legs, slides onto him with a groan. His hands flex between her shoulder-blades, and the room fills with the sounds and smells of slow, warm sex.
*
He sits in the chair by his window and smokes a cigar. It's raining outside still, water beading on the glass and reflecting tiny curves of neon light into the dark room.
She curls up in his lap, her head on his shoulder, and listens to the low hum of the air-conditioning unit, the sound of his exhales, the muted thrum of her own heart beat, steady and content.
"Only another month," he says quietly.
"Hmm." Less than that, actually. Twenty-nine days. "It'll be good to be back."
Working again, familiar faces and sets all around. The two of them in the same city for more than a couple of stolen days. He's going to live with Jason this season, an arrangement that works out nicely for all of them; she can't wait.
*
The storm hits as they leave the railway station, soaking them as they rush for the hotel. Water is dripping from the frames of his green-glasses, pooling in the dips of her cowboy hat, but they're laughing as they duck into the elevator, as they make their way back to their rooms.
Their connecting doors are still open, and he places her hands on the door frame, keeping her back to him as he peels off her jeans, and his, fingers sliding between her legs and stroking deep. She presses back against him, arches her back.
"Don't tease," she says, maybe moans, and he huffs out what might be a chuckle.
"Patience," he says.
*
On the JR East back to Shinjuku, she wraps her arm around his waist.
*
They buy sushi from a street vendor, coffee from the Starbucks above the Shibuya crossing. Storm clouds are rolling in fast above them, lightning flashing from building top to building top. She imagines she can hear thunder above the sounds of traffic and hundreds of conversations. They should probably head back to the hotel, she knows, before they get caught in the rain, but Joe seems reluctant to leave.
Standing outside the 109 building, he kisses her like they're the only two people there.
*
"This feels very Lost in Translation," she says, laughing. "Just so you know."
Grinning, Joe flicks her cap off of her head and replaces it with a bright pink cowboy hat. "You look like a tourist," he says.
"I am a tourist." She buys the hat and a pair of green-lensed glasses that she slides onto his face before he can protest. "And so are you."
*
She knows they should stay hidden and out of sight, that it's foolish to leave their rooms together, but the city lights are bright against the darkening sky, the still-thick crowds a tempting shield.
They head into Shibuya, baseballs caps pulled low in an attempt to maintain some sort of anonymity. Joe takes her hand when they leave the station, holding on tight as they cross the intersection and disappear into the mess of alleys and narrow streets.
*
Joe arrives back soon after her. As he walks into his room, she presses against him, presses him back against the door, one hand gripping his shirt and her other sliding around his neck, fingers threading through his hair. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her even closer.
"Missed you," he says.
Smiling, she stretches up and kisses him.
*
He has work in the morning, a promo. Heading into Harajuku, she gets lost in the crowds on Takeshita Dori, wandering in and out of stores. It's tempting to buy and buy and buy, but she knows she'd never wear or use most of it again, so she limits herself to window shopping for as long as she can stand the heat.
When she finally can't bear the humidity anymore, she heads back to the hotel.
*
They do sleep, mostly.
*
They eat picnic-style on her still-made bed, the TV providing background noise in the form of some Japanese shopping network. They can't understand a word anyone's saying in it but the 'oohs' and 'ahhs' are brilliantly over the top; she's somewhat tempted to raid the minibar and make up a drinking game.
When they've finished eating, she lies across the bed with her head in his lap and listens to him describe a recent night out with David. One of his hands is in her hair, fingers absently combing; she has to force herself to concentrate on what he's saying.
"Tor?"
She tilts her head to the left and looks up at him. "Hmm?"
His finger traces the curve of her hairline. "I'm glad you're here."
*
While he calls his wife and children, she showers in her own rooms, lingering under the hot spray until the hours of travel have melted away. Joe's sitting in the chair near her window when she gets out of the bathroom, a room service menu in his hands.
"In okay?"
She wraps her hair into a towel. "Sounds good."
Walking over, she takes the menu from him. While she studies their choices, his fingers find the end of her robe belt and tug playfully, the loose knot unravelling. Lowering the folder, she arches an eyebrow. "I thought you were hungry."
Pushing the folds of the robe apart, he slides his hands around her waist, pulling her a step closer. He leans forward and kisses the skin between her breasts. "I am."
*
It's mid-afternoon before either of them are willing to leave the bed.
*
She dreams of London, snow falling on the Thames outside a hotel room, a warm, familiar body weight pushing her into the mattress, fingers skimming the curve of her hip, her thigh. She moves restlessly --
-- and wakes. As her eyes blink open, he smiles down at her, his head propped up on one hand. "G'morning."
Her eyes drift shut again as she stretches. "Mmm." When her toes brush against his feet, she smiles. "Morning."
His other hand, already on her abdomen, smoothes lower.
*
The hotel is quiet when she arrives, the pre-dawn hour disgustingly early. Dumping her bags in her room, she opens her connecting door and finds his already unlocked and ajar. She smiles.
Stealing inside, she tugs at her clothes, shedding them piecemeal as she walks across to the bed. He's asleep, one arm crooked above his head, his other lax on his chest and she slips between the sheets slowly, not wanting to wake him. He stirs anyway, his face turning on his pillow towards her, but his eyes don't open and his breathing stays even.
Pressing against his side, she closes her eyes and breathes in deep.
*
They meet in Tokyo in the summer, the humidity high and unwelcoming, lightning crackling on the horizon.
It's perfect.
* * * * *
The End.
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated. *g*
STATUS: Complete
SUMMARY: Tokyo in the summer.
RATING: R
CLASSIFICATIONS: Torri/Joe
SOUNDTRACK: "Love Song" (Tori Amos)
ARCHIVING: Do not archive. Thank you.
NOTES: This story is RPF (real person fiction). If that bothers you, turn away now.
THANKS TO: mylittleredgirl for betaing!
WORDS: 1,355
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't sue.
Copyright anr; December 2010.
* * * * *
However Far Away by anr
* * * * *
whenever i'm alone with you
*
No matter how tempting it is, how easily they got away with anonymity last night, she knows they can't go the airport together. There's just too great a risk they'll run into the media, or someone they know, or even a tourist with a handy camera phone.
She kisses him goodbye in the alcove just inside her -- their -- hotel room, her back against the closet door and his hands low on her hips. She drags her fingers through his hair and thinks, enough this time, enough for now.
He kisses her nose before he pulls back completely, tilting his head to the side as she touches his cheek with her fingertips.
"See you soon," he promises.
She smiles.
*
She wakes him with a kiss, her leg sliding over his until she's lying on top of him, his morning erection hardening against the softness of her belly.
He smiles, eyes still closed, and runs his hands down her back, up again, down and then up. She shifts until his dick is between her legs, slides onto him with a groan. His hands flex between her shoulder-blades, and the room fills with the sounds and smells of slow, warm sex.
*
He sits in the chair by his window and smokes a cigar. It's raining outside still, water beading on the glass and reflecting tiny curves of neon light into the dark room.
She curls up in his lap, her head on his shoulder, and listens to the low hum of the air-conditioning unit, the sound of his exhales, the muted thrum of her own heart beat, steady and content.
"Only another month," he says quietly.
"Hmm." Less than that, actually. Twenty-nine days. "It'll be good to be back."
Working again, familiar faces and sets all around. The two of them in the same city for more than a couple of stolen days. He's going to live with Jason this season, an arrangement that works out nicely for all of them; she can't wait.
*
The storm hits as they leave the railway station, soaking them as they rush for the hotel. Water is dripping from the frames of his green-glasses, pooling in the dips of her cowboy hat, but they're laughing as they duck into the elevator, as they make their way back to their rooms.
Their connecting doors are still open, and he places her hands on the door frame, keeping her back to him as he peels off her jeans, and his, fingers sliding between her legs and stroking deep. She presses back against him, arches her back.
"Don't tease," she says, maybe moans, and he huffs out what might be a chuckle.
"Patience," he says.
*
On the JR East back to Shinjuku, she wraps her arm around his waist.
*
They buy sushi from a street vendor, coffee from the Starbucks above the Shibuya crossing. Storm clouds are rolling in fast above them, lightning flashing from building top to building top. She imagines she can hear thunder above the sounds of traffic and hundreds of conversations. They should probably head back to the hotel, she knows, before they get caught in the rain, but Joe seems reluctant to leave.
Standing outside the 109 building, he kisses her like they're the only two people there.
*
"This feels very Lost in Translation," she says, laughing. "Just so you know."
Grinning, Joe flicks her cap off of her head and replaces it with a bright pink cowboy hat. "You look like a tourist," he says.
"I am a tourist." She buys the hat and a pair of green-lensed glasses that she slides onto his face before he can protest. "And so are you."
*
She knows they should stay hidden and out of sight, that it's foolish to leave their rooms together, but the city lights are bright against the darkening sky, the still-thick crowds a tempting shield.
They head into Shibuya, baseballs caps pulled low in an attempt to maintain some sort of anonymity. Joe takes her hand when they leave the station, holding on tight as they cross the intersection and disappear into the mess of alleys and narrow streets.
*
Joe arrives back soon after her. As he walks into his room, she presses against him, presses him back against the door, one hand gripping his shirt and her other sliding around his neck, fingers threading through his hair. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her even closer.
"Missed you," he says.
Smiling, she stretches up and kisses him.
*
He has work in the morning, a promo. Heading into Harajuku, she gets lost in the crowds on Takeshita Dori, wandering in and out of stores. It's tempting to buy and buy and buy, but she knows she'd never wear or use most of it again, so she limits herself to window shopping for as long as she can stand the heat.
When she finally can't bear the humidity anymore, she heads back to the hotel.
*
They do sleep, mostly.
*
They eat picnic-style on her still-made bed, the TV providing background noise in the form of some Japanese shopping network. They can't understand a word anyone's saying in it but the 'oohs' and 'ahhs' are brilliantly over the top; she's somewhat tempted to raid the minibar and make up a drinking game.
When they've finished eating, she lies across the bed with her head in his lap and listens to him describe a recent night out with David. One of his hands is in her hair, fingers absently combing; she has to force herself to concentrate on what he's saying.
"Tor?"
She tilts her head to the left and looks up at him. "Hmm?"
His finger traces the curve of her hairline. "I'm glad you're here."
*
While he calls his wife and children, she showers in her own rooms, lingering under the hot spray until the hours of travel have melted away. Joe's sitting in the chair near her window when she gets out of the bathroom, a room service menu in his hands.
"In okay?"
She wraps her hair into a towel. "Sounds good."
Walking over, she takes the menu from him. While she studies their choices, his fingers find the end of her robe belt and tug playfully, the loose knot unravelling. Lowering the folder, she arches an eyebrow. "I thought you were hungry."
Pushing the folds of the robe apart, he slides his hands around her waist, pulling her a step closer. He leans forward and kisses the skin between her breasts. "I am."
*
It's mid-afternoon before either of them are willing to leave the bed.
*
She dreams of London, snow falling on the Thames outside a hotel room, a warm, familiar body weight pushing her into the mattress, fingers skimming the curve of her hip, her thigh. She moves restlessly --
-- and wakes. As her eyes blink open, he smiles down at her, his head propped up on one hand. "G'morning."
Her eyes drift shut again as she stretches. "Mmm." When her toes brush against his feet, she smiles. "Morning."
His other hand, already on her abdomen, smoothes lower.
*
The hotel is quiet when she arrives, the pre-dawn hour disgustingly early. Dumping her bags in her room, she opens her connecting door and finds his already unlocked and ajar. She smiles.
Stealing inside, she tugs at her clothes, shedding them piecemeal as she walks across to the bed. He's asleep, one arm crooked above his head, his other lax on his chest and she slips between the sheets slowly, not wanting to wake him. He stirs anyway, his face turning on his pillow towards her, but his eyes don't open and his breathing stays even.
Pressing against his side, she closes her eyes and breathes in deep.
*
They meet in Tokyo in the summer, the humidity high and unwelcoming, lightning crackling on the horizon.
It's perfect.
* * * * *
The End.
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated. *g*