fic; Vegas
Title: Vegas
Characters: Nishikido Ryo and Sawajiri Erika
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Owned by Johnny's Entertainment and Stardust Promotion. Not mine, just messing with.
Summary: Make this last, take it slow; We've got it all figured out for now-- Ryo and Erika go on a roadtrip to Sin City.
For enerirenie. Belated happy birthday, love.
There are wrappers of chocolate strewn over the bed in their hotel room. He's sitting with his back to the headrest of the bed, hands behind his head and watching her. She's lying on her stomach with her feet in the air, mapping out their journey with bright-colored markers bought from a convenience store they'd passed in Los Angeles.
It's their last day in this heat-wrenched town and they've gone the full nine yards. Driving around the rented car with the top down, staying up all night gambling away five months' worth of earnings, visiting the tourist traps and the local strip clubs. They've gone an indeterminable number of miles on the interstate on a whim-- instead of grabbing a connecting from LAX to Narita, Erika had shelled out some serious credit for a BMW convertible rental.
"And then what," Ryo had began incredulously as their flight was called for the second time. He would laugh if she didn't seem so serious. And serious she was. She didn't even check her luggage in, and they were a million miles away from the gate.
Erika had given him an arch look. "Nishikido," she'd said, "'And then what' is the point." Then she heaved her bag over her shoulder, keys in hand, walking away from the counter. He'd shaken his head, waited a beat-- she wasn't returning, so he ran after her just as last call was announced.
Left hand driving had taken some getting used to. But the roads were as open as the vast expanse of sky, and they crossed to the desert without any major accidents.
They stopped for coffee and gas and junk food, getting by on credit cards and meagre English. Shaking in a caffeine-induced high, they drove through the night and most of the day, until finally, Nevada. Ryo and Erika crashed violently (and expensively) at the Four Seasons and woke up eighteen solid hours later in each other's arms with the sheets tangled around them. It was two in the morning, and Vegas was just waking up.
Erika's marking various spots in red on the interstate map. He asks after them.
"This is where we bought the markers," she tells him, pointing. "And this is where we got all that coffee. Remember the waitress, making eyes at you? She even pinched your butt and said you were cute. You were beet red by the time we got to the car." Giggling, she pointed to another red spot. "This is that gas station where you almost hit a trucker for staring at my chest..."
He laughs. "How the hell do you remember that shit?"
She shrugs. "Latent talent?" Erika looks up at him. "How's the hangover?"
Ryo shakes his head. "When in Vegas, you know..."
"Last night," she began suddenly, but she really meant this morning, because they never got up before midnight-- Erika trails off, lowers her head. He realizes that she's decided not to talk about it.
Ryo turns on his side to peer at her. "What?"
"Just forget it," she says, folding the map up carefully and putting the markers back into a clear plastic bag.
"No, tell me. Come on," Ryo insists.
Erika sits up, just looking at him. He looks back, a question in his eyes.
"We passed some of the wedding chapels," she tells him finally, and he knows where this is going. He must have been five different kinds of smashed.
But they say alcohol is the catalyst of truth, and she gets up to put the things away in her bag. He watches her slide off the bed easily, walking across the room to pick up her purse from the chair by the window. Her hair looks almost gold from this angle, against the daylight coming in. She's wearing one of his shirts, he notes idly. It fits perfectly.
It's their last day in this heat-wrenched town. "Sawajiri," he calls out.
Erika straightens. "Yeah?"
"Marry me, would you?"
She raises an eyebrow, one corner of her lips twitching. He has managed to deliver the words with the nonchalance of someone asking for aspirin, and he wonders briefly if that was what he had asked after all because, in reply, she drops two pills in his palm and a kiss over the top of his head. "Sleep it off."
But Ryo's pretty sure he did in fact ask her to marry him. To prove it, he tries again just as she hunkers down on the floor by the luggage to pack.
"In time," she answers, calmly folding clothes and then rolling them to make the suitcase more spacious.
At least it wasn't a 'no'. Ryo whines at her, clutching a pillow to his chest and rolling over to the edge of the bed. "We could go now, it'll be over in fifteen minutes."
Erika laughs, shaking her head and carefully folding a silk dress she'd worn the other night. She looked resplendent in it and he'd forgotten to tell her so. Then again his tongue was hanging out of his mouth at the time, he was so sure she'd understand.
"We could do it drive-through. Five minutes can't be long enough to change your mind halfway," he tells her, totally serious.
She only smiles at him, pulling on the zipper. It catches on a spot, so she frowns and moves to sit on it. "Help me out, you lazy slug."
He slides off the bed and kneels before her, pulling the zipper closed before looking up at her. "Come on, marry me."
She only laughs merrily in his face and stands up. "I'm going to shower." He's left sulking at nothing, grumbling under his breath about the fickle nature of women, ad infinitum.
Thirty minutes later he's driving out to McCarran and still scowling as they leave the inner city limits. "I would've married you back there," he muttered. "If you gave me a chance."
"I know," she replies, looking out to the desert, sunglasses over her eyes. Erika reaches for his hand just then, closes her fingers around his. "It's enough."
Ryo looks down at their entwined hands and nods. It is enough.
Characters: Nishikido Ryo and Sawajiri Erika
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Owned by Johnny's Entertainment and Stardust Promotion. Not mine, just messing with.
Summary: Make this last, take it slow; We've got it all figured out for now-- Ryo and Erika go on a roadtrip to Sin City.
For enerirenie. Belated happy birthday, love.
There are wrappers of chocolate strewn over the bed in their hotel room. He's sitting with his back to the headrest of the bed, hands behind his head and watching her. She's lying on her stomach with her feet in the air, mapping out their journey with bright-colored markers bought from a convenience store they'd passed in Los Angeles.
It's their last day in this heat-wrenched town and they've gone the full nine yards. Driving around the rented car with the top down, staying up all night gambling away five months' worth of earnings, visiting the tourist traps and the local strip clubs. They've gone an indeterminable number of miles on the interstate on a whim-- instead of grabbing a connecting from LAX to Narita, Erika had shelled out some serious credit for a BMW convertible rental.
"And then what," Ryo had began incredulously as their flight was called for the second time. He would laugh if she didn't seem so serious. And serious she was. She didn't even check her luggage in, and they were a million miles away from the gate.
Erika had given him an arch look. "Nishikido," she'd said, "'And then what' is the point." Then she heaved her bag over her shoulder, keys in hand, walking away from the counter. He'd shaken his head, waited a beat-- she wasn't returning, so he ran after her just as last call was announced.
Left hand driving had taken some getting used to. But the roads were as open as the vast expanse of sky, and they crossed to the desert without any major accidents.
They stopped for coffee and gas and junk food, getting by on credit cards and meagre English. Shaking in a caffeine-induced high, they drove through the night and most of the day, until finally, Nevada. Ryo and Erika crashed violently (and expensively) at the Four Seasons and woke up eighteen solid hours later in each other's arms with the sheets tangled around them. It was two in the morning, and Vegas was just waking up.
Erika's marking various spots in red on the interstate map. He asks after them.
"This is where we bought the markers," she tells him, pointing. "And this is where we got all that coffee. Remember the waitress, making eyes at you? She even pinched your butt and said you were cute. You were beet red by the time we got to the car." Giggling, she pointed to another red spot. "This is that gas station where you almost hit a trucker for staring at my chest..."
He laughs. "How the hell do you remember that shit?"
She shrugs. "Latent talent?" Erika looks up at him. "How's the hangover?"
Ryo shakes his head. "When in Vegas, you know..."
"Last night," she began suddenly, but she really meant this morning, because they never got up before midnight-- Erika trails off, lowers her head. He realizes that she's decided not to talk about it.
Ryo turns on his side to peer at her. "What?"
"Just forget it," she says, folding the map up carefully and putting the markers back into a clear plastic bag.
"No, tell me. Come on," Ryo insists.
Erika sits up, just looking at him. He looks back, a question in his eyes.
"We passed some of the wedding chapels," she tells him finally, and he knows where this is going. He must have been five different kinds of smashed.
But they say alcohol is the catalyst of truth, and she gets up to put the things away in her bag. He watches her slide off the bed easily, walking across the room to pick up her purse from the chair by the window. Her hair looks almost gold from this angle, against the daylight coming in. She's wearing one of his shirts, he notes idly. It fits perfectly.
It's their last day in this heat-wrenched town. "Sawajiri," he calls out.
Erika straightens. "Yeah?"
"Marry me, would you?"
She raises an eyebrow, one corner of her lips twitching. He has managed to deliver the words with the nonchalance of someone asking for aspirin, and he wonders briefly if that was what he had asked after all because, in reply, she drops two pills in his palm and a kiss over the top of his head. "Sleep it off."
But Ryo's pretty sure he did in fact ask her to marry him. To prove it, he tries again just as she hunkers down on the floor by the luggage to pack.
"In time," she answers, calmly folding clothes and then rolling them to make the suitcase more spacious.
At least it wasn't a 'no'. Ryo whines at her, clutching a pillow to his chest and rolling over to the edge of the bed. "We could go now, it'll be over in fifteen minutes."
Erika laughs, shaking her head and carefully folding a silk dress she'd worn the other night. She looked resplendent in it and he'd forgotten to tell her so. Then again his tongue was hanging out of his mouth at the time, he was so sure she'd understand.
"We could do it drive-through. Five minutes can't be long enough to change your mind halfway," he tells her, totally serious.
She only smiles at him, pulling on the zipper. It catches on a spot, so she frowns and moves to sit on it. "Help me out, you lazy slug."
He slides off the bed and kneels before her, pulling the zipper closed before looking up at her. "Come on, marry me."
She only laughs merrily in his face and stands up. "I'm going to shower." He's left sulking at nothing, grumbling under his breath about the fickle nature of women, ad infinitum.
Thirty minutes later he's driving out to McCarran and still scowling as they leave the inner city limits. "I would've married you back there," he muttered. "If you gave me a chance."
"I know," she replies, looking out to the desert, sunglasses over her eyes. Erika reaches for his hand just then, closes her fingers around his. "It's enough."
Ryo looks down at their entwined hands and nods. It is enough.