Lines in the Sand - SPN - Jo/boy!Bela
Title: Lines in the Sand
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Jo/boy!Bela
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no money off this.
Word Count: ~3,200
Warnings: Lots of angst.
Summary: This is a bad idea. They’re not friends, and this won’t end well.
Notes: This is a ridiculously late birthday present for my lovely familiardevil. I suppose this could count as an early Christmas present by this point. I AM SO SORRY IT’S LATE, BB, YOU DESERVE BETTER. But I really hope you enjoy this, bb. I love you. Beta'd by coyotesuspect.
There are bad ideas. There are really bad ideas. And then there are “Joanna Beth Harvelle, what the fuck are you thinking?” ideas.
Talbot falls squarely into category three.
******
They’re not friends.
Jo likes to grab him by his tie; it’s made of silk and it feels so nice in her hands, soft and smooth. She likes it best when his tie tightens around his throat as she drags him to her, when she crushes their mouths together and bites down on his bottom lip hard enough to make him gasp.
“You’re so mean to me,” he hisses. His voice is playful, lighthearted, even as he pulls her head back by the hair viciously-hard enough that Jo winces-and then runs his lips down her throat in a manner that’s almost gentle.
“Shut up,” she says. Jo shoves him off easily and pushes him back until he his knees hit the bed and then he’s flat on his back. “I like it better when you don’t talk.”
Talbot responds with a laugh, low and deep even as Jo climbs on top of him and straddles him, her knees on either side of him. She shuts him up with a hard kiss, open-mouth and wet and just the slightest bit punishing, biting down on his lip again.
Talbot is pulling her pants down easily and he slides one hand inside her underwear and gets a finger in her, pushing his thumb up against her clit. Jo wishes she could, but she can’t fight the groan the leaves her lips, or the way her eyes slid shut slightly, or how her hips arch into the pressure.
Talbot is grinning at her, triumphant and smug.
“I bet you fight like you kiss,” he whispers softly-his voice reminds Jo of velvet or silk or any of the fine fabrics Talbot always wears. “I bet you fight like you fuck. Or are you this vicious only to me? Am I just special?”
The last word is dripping with disdain, different than the flirty, arrogant way he usually speaks.
Jo would really like it if Talbot didn’t say another word tonight.
She pulls him up by his tie, dragging his head up to meet hers in a rough kiss. She distracts him like this while she cups his cock, warm even through the cloth, and squeezes. Talbot gasps in her mouth, somehow surprised, and Jo savors the sound; it tastes like a victory, even if it’s fleeting and only for a moment. She wants to do it just like this, make him come all over his designer pants with nothing but her hands and gloat afterwards-but no, Jo has needs.
She manages to pull his pants and boxers down just low enough to expose his cock, hot and wet at the tip. “Talbot,” she hisses, sinking down on him. “Don’t ruin this with words.”
She thinks he might argue for a moment, recognizing the belligerent twist of his mouth and the way his eyes flash. Jo prepares to shut him up with another biting kiss, but he clamps his mouth shut almost immediately. He jerks his head in a curt nod before he grips her hard by her hips and thrusts up into her until she sees white behind her eyes.
He’s good at this, knows his way around her body with minimal direction, knows where to work his fingers in and how to make her gasp and moan and shake. It’s one of the things she likes about him. There’s a lot she likes about Talbot.
There’s just a lot more she hates.
Later-much later-Jo quietly slips out of his hotel room-it’s always in his hotel room, Talbot would not lower himself to her standards-while he’s distracted, getting drinks or cleaning up in the bathroom or merely asleep. He always comes back or wakes up to an empty room but Talbot never complains about this the next time they see each other.
It never goes beyond this-alcohol-induced kisses, hotel trysts with come-stained silk sheets and dirty little secrets between them. It never goes beyond into anything else-not than it ever could. They’re not that kind of people.
Jo never minds-she doesn’t want this to be anything more than what it is, even if that means she’s never really quite satisfied.
******
“Let me buy you a drink,” he says the first time they meet.
No, that’s a lie. The first time they meet is on a hunt. It’s supposed to be a routine salt ‘n burn and Talbot shows up as Jo’s digging up the grave with his own shovel. He tells her he’s a hunter and Jo’s dumb enough to buy it, even though no hunter has hair that good or well-styled. Jo doesn’t even have hair that good.
It doesn’t take long for Jo to realize she’s been played-that Talbot stole a family ring from the corpse and now the haunting would never stop-it’s long enough for him to get away and slip into the cracks of the world.
The second time they meet, it’s an upscale hotel bar. Jo punches him in the face, and after Talbot recovers, he offers to buy her a drink.
“I want the ring back,” she hisses.
“Sorry, darling,” he says, “I sold it. It’s long gone.”
“You sold it?”
“Will you calm down? Let me order you something, what do you drink?”
“That ghost is going to keep haunting that house unless I destroy that ring.”
Talbot chuckles softly to himself. “That’s really not my concern.”
“There are people in that house. They could die.”
“Well, perhaps they should move then.”
Jo moves to punch him again, but this time, Talbot has the good sense to duck out of the way.
“God, you hunters are always so unnecessarily violent,” he says, rolling his eyes. “It’s really quite predictable.”
Jo is fuming. Jo has her hands clenched in fists and wants nothing more than to wipe that smug look of his face.
“You really look like you could use a drink,” he repeats, holding up his own glass of scotch.
“Go to hell,” she spits at him.
Talbot’s lips twitch into a hard smile-it’s no longer smug but it’s nowhere near happy. “Aren’t we all?”
Jo leaves, because there’s nothing more she can say or do but seethe. She goes back to her hotel room, plotting out all the ways she can ruin Talbot, wondering if it would be better to just shoot him. She wants to throw and break things, adrenaline and fury driving her to fight.
She doesn’t get much sleep that night.
The next morning, Talbot is waiting in the hotel lobby for her.
“I would have gone straight to your room, but I was worried you’d shoot me,” he says, smiling at her, the charm turned up to eleven. “I thought I’d be safe in a public lobby.”
“What the fuck do you want?”
Talbot just smiles wider, and pulls out what looks like a small address book.
Jo raises an eyebrow and doesn’t take it from him.
“You’re going to be difficult, aren’t you?”
She glares at him.
“It’s a listing of a few people I know with some rather unsavory dealings with the occult,” he explains. “I think it could pique your interest. Perhaps you can check it out.”
“You’re selling out your buyers?”
“Just the ones who’ve screwed me over,” he says with a vicious smirk.
Jo continues to stare at him dubiously, but it doesn’t seem to bother Talbot.
“Now,” he says, grinning at her, “are you going to let me buy you that drink?”
She follows him to a bar-a different one from where he was cooling his jets yesterday-and lets him buy her a beer. She doesn’t say anything to him for a long time, nursing her drink and watching him carefully instead, content to let Talbot do all the talking.
“How did you find me?” she asks at some point.
“I wouldn’t be good at my job if I told you, would I?”
Jo makes an hmm noise and takes another sip.
“I suppose,” she says neutrally.
Talbot smiles at her but it loses the charm it had, turning cold and hard. He sets down his drink. “Now, how did you track me down?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jo smiles sweetly at him.
He cocks his head to the side and chuckles softly. Jo expects him to keep pressing her, but he doesn’t repeat the question.
They sit in silence for a moment, as Jo ponders Talbot and this weird situation and the little address book he gave her. “Am I supposed to really believe this information is legit?”
“Hey, do what you want,” he shrugs. “Believe it or don’t, I don’t really care all that much about what you do with it.”
Jo lets the words sink in-she doesn’t believe him, not at all. She’s sure there’s something else going on here, another ulterior motive, schemes upon schemes.
“This doesn’t fix anything, you know,” she says. Her voice is softer than she thought it would be, softer than she felt. “Those people are going to die if they don’t move out.”
“I know.” Talbot gives an easy shrug. “Collateral damage happens. That’s not why I’m doing this.”
“Then why?”
“Because, darling,” he says and the endearment sets Jo’s teeth on edge, more so than the smirk on his face. “I’d be an idiot if I let a potential asset get away.”
“Oh, I’m an asset?” She growls.
“You’re not trying to shoot me, I think that’s a good start.”
Jo slowly clenches and unclenches her fists, willing down the urge to punch him again. She wants to know more, because Jo doesn’t trust a word he says, but she thinks she’ll never get a straight answer even if she tried. She wonders if it’s even worth it.
“I don’t like you,” she says quietly. She’s angry, but her words aren’t. It’s not even a protest. It feels more like a statement, a simple declaration of truth-laying down the lines in the sand.
Talbot laughs, sharp, like the edge of a razor. “Tell me something I haven’t heard before.”
Fucking Talbot-no last name-isn’t a good idea, but it wipes the smug look of his face for a few minutes.
******
They are not friends.
This is a bad idea. A very bad idea. A stupid mistake.
You’re just a mistake, you know, she tells him sometimes. He doesn’t argue with her, but he smiles at her, sweet as honey; Jo knows him well enough by now to see the cracks in it.
Same to you, darling.
They fight. They argue. They fuck. They tear at each other’s clothes and skin and roll around on the bed. He holds her down and fucks her so slow, teasing son of a bitch, but Jo refuses to give.
Sometimes it’s civilized (please, there’s nothing civilized about sex, Talbot says, laughing at her). Sometimes, it’s a game, one-upmanship (it’s the only good thing about this).
Sometimes, they just want to make each other scream.
They should stop. Jo knows they should. It’s not that she feels guilty or ashamed; it’s that she’s sure this is going to burn them both up from the inside. It’s that sometimes, Jo is really tired of fighting.
“Why are we here?” she asks one day, when they’re both tired and done with each other, lying in bed.
Talbot arches an eyebrow. “Well, it is my hotel room-”
“No, I mean, why are we even doing this?”
“I’m hot, you’re hot-”
“We hate each other-”
“I don’t hate you,” he says suddenly. It startles Jo enough to silence her. “You’re irritating and self-righteous and naïve, but…you could be worse.” He trails off, voice going lower and lower until it’s almost soft; delicate. He shrugs in a too-nonchalant manner.
Jo scrunches up her face. “What, is this your way of telling me you like me?” The idea seems absurd.
Talbot sets his mouth in a hard line. “It’s my way of saying you’re not the worst company in the world, but I certainly wouldn’t miss you when you’re gone.”
“Fine then,” Jo snarls as a sudden and familiar flash of anger hits her, and gets out of bed, just like that.
“Typical,” Talbot sighs, rolling his eyes but he doesn’t move from his position.
Jo puts her clothes back on and grabs her bag in silence, and it’s not until she has one foot out the door does she pause in what she’s doing. She turns her head back to Talbot tentatively, who’s staring at her like he was expecting her to give one last look before she stormed out. Like he expects her to come back, because Jo always storms out.
“It’s never going to get any better between us, is it?” she asks. The anger has burned out as quickly as it hit her-it’s more of a mellow resignation now.
Talbot is quiet for a minute, his face thoughtful and Jo wonders if he’s asked himself the same thing as well. She can never be sure, there’s so much about him she doesn’t know. She doesn’t think she’ll ever know, and she isn’t sure she really wants to.
“Just wishful thinking, darling,” he replies gently. “And wishing never got anyone anywhere.”
Jo nods, still not sure what to make of this. This doesn’t feel like another con, another act and she would like to think that maybe Talbot can feel something like regret-but she isn’t willing to get her hopes up. “I really can’t expect anything more from you, can’t I?”
“If you honestly did, you’re more naïve than I thought.”
Jo almost laughs-it’s not like she didn’t know that. Not really. But having it spelled out like that feels far too much like a certainty she didn’t want to have.
This isn’t going to end well.
*******
She isn’t sure why they keep this up. She isn’t sure why Jo comes back, follows him to his hotel-on a day they’re not even supposed to meet-and breaks in, as if she’s spoiling for a fight. She doesn’t know why they don’t just stop.
Jo is pretty sure Talbot doesn’t know why either. It makes her feel a little bit better.
She finds him slumped against the bed, loose-limbed and messy. He has a few days worth of rough stubble and there’s what looks like gun-powder on his face. His suit jacket is gone, his tie is askew and his picture perfect, ridiculously expensive clothes are wrinkled. There’s an empty bottle of vodka next to him.
He doesn’t seem to notice Jo breaking in-or doesn’t seem to care. Poor survival instincts aren’t usually something she associates with Talbot. It’s a little disconcerting.
“Wow,” she says, folding her arms. “I should take a picture.”
Talbot slowly turns his head, moving like he’s stuck in molasses and raises an eyebrow at her.
“They’ll let anyone here, don’t they? And I thought this place has standards.” He says, his mouth curved upwards. He grabs the vodka bottle and tips it back, only to make a face of pure disappointment when he realizes it’s all gone.
“Get me another one, will you?”
Jo scoffs. “After sweet-talking me like that? Why of course, darling,” she sneers.
Jo heads over to the mini-bar and finds a bottle of whiskey. She takes a full gulp and walks back towards him, sitting cross-legged across from Talbot on the floor. He outstretches his hand out to her but she pointedly ignores him and keeps drinking.
He rolls his eyes. “Well, if you’re not going to be useful…” He trails off, his eyes unfocusing, like he’s seeing something else.
“What are you even doing here?” He says, his voice dropping to a whisper.
Jo shrugs, setting the bottle down just out of Talbot’s reach. “I heard you were in town and-”
Talbot’s face breaks open into a wide grin. “You wanted to see me, how sweet. I knew you were a softie.”
Jo narrows her eyes. “Yeah, but now that I see you’re a drunken mess on the floor, I think I’ll go and find a better way to waste my time.” She gets up and starts to make her way towards the door.
“Wait,” he says abruptly and tries to pick himself back up but the movement takes more coordination that he has and he trips over his own knees, falling down to the floor.
Jo wants to laugh but Talbot is throwing her off-more so than usual. He’s drunk and stupid and not at all the dignified, refined thief he normally is and something just feels off.
“What’s wrong with you?” She asks.
Talbot stills. He’s sprawled out on the floor, looking completely ridiculous but his face is utterly serious.
“It’s April,” he says somberly. He’s not looking at her, staring at the ceiling.
“Yeah, and?”
Something passes over his face, faint and flicking; it makes him seem far younger than he actually is, erases the sharp lines of his face and turns them into something soft.
“Nothing,” he says in a muted tone of voice.
“No, what?” Jo crouches down by him, leaning over.
Talbot is shaking his head, which looks odd when he’s flat down on the ground.
“Talbot?”
“I can only run so long,” he says faintly and his voice is rough like he’s choking.
“Talbot, what are you talking about?”
He finally turns his head to look at her and stares like he’s never seen her before, head cocked and eyes wide-almost like a startled animal. It lasts for only a split second before a familiar smile slips back onto his face.
“Like I said, nothing.”
As he said, Jo can’t really expect anything more from him.
Jo smiles grimly and shakes her head. “Whatever.”
“Hey,” he says, sitting up, and grabs her gently by the arm. “C’mere.”
Jo shakes his grip off easily. “Talbot, I’m not in the-”
He places a finger on her lips; Jo bites down on it and Talbot yelps.
“How about when you’re sober?” she sneers.
“Can we just not, Jo?” he says, sounding as irritated as she feels. His eyes are still unnaturally wide, unsettling. He looks like he’s trying to smile, his mouth twitching and curving but it doesn’t look the same as his usual smirks. “What is it you say-let’s not ruin this with words?”
Jo would say he’s pleading, if she didn’t know Talbot so well. As well as she could ever know him.
She doesn’t answer. She presses him against the bed and grabs his face in her hands, holding him still before she kisses him. He tastes like alcohol and ashes and bitterness but he grabs on to her waist and doesn’t let go.
Sometimes, you’re just lonely.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Jo/boy!Bela
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no money off this.
Word Count: ~3,200
Warnings: Lots of angst.
Summary: This is a bad idea. They’re not friends, and this won’t end well.
Notes: This is a ridiculously late birthday present for my lovely familiardevil. I suppose this could count as an early Christmas present by this point. I AM SO SORRY IT’S LATE, BB, YOU DESERVE BETTER. But I really hope you enjoy this, bb. I love you. Beta'd by coyotesuspect.
There are bad ideas. There are really bad ideas. And then there are “Joanna Beth Harvelle, what the fuck are you thinking?” ideas.
Talbot falls squarely into category three.
******
They’re not friends.
Jo likes to grab him by his tie; it’s made of silk and it feels so nice in her hands, soft and smooth. She likes it best when his tie tightens around his throat as she drags him to her, when she crushes their mouths together and bites down on his bottom lip hard enough to make him gasp.
“You’re so mean to me,” he hisses. His voice is playful, lighthearted, even as he pulls her head back by the hair viciously-hard enough that Jo winces-and then runs his lips down her throat in a manner that’s almost gentle.
“Shut up,” she says. Jo shoves him off easily and pushes him back until he his knees hit the bed and then he’s flat on his back. “I like it better when you don’t talk.”
Talbot responds with a laugh, low and deep even as Jo climbs on top of him and straddles him, her knees on either side of him. She shuts him up with a hard kiss, open-mouth and wet and just the slightest bit punishing, biting down on his lip again.
Talbot is pulling her pants down easily and he slides one hand inside her underwear and gets a finger in her, pushing his thumb up against her clit. Jo wishes she could, but she can’t fight the groan the leaves her lips, or the way her eyes slid shut slightly, or how her hips arch into the pressure.
Talbot is grinning at her, triumphant and smug.
“I bet you fight like you kiss,” he whispers softly-his voice reminds Jo of velvet or silk or any of the fine fabrics Talbot always wears. “I bet you fight like you fuck. Or are you this vicious only to me? Am I just special?”
The last word is dripping with disdain, different than the flirty, arrogant way he usually speaks.
Jo would really like it if Talbot didn’t say another word tonight.
She pulls him up by his tie, dragging his head up to meet hers in a rough kiss. She distracts him like this while she cups his cock, warm even through the cloth, and squeezes. Talbot gasps in her mouth, somehow surprised, and Jo savors the sound; it tastes like a victory, even if it’s fleeting and only for a moment. She wants to do it just like this, make him come all over his designer pants with nothing but her hands and gloat afterwards-but no, Jo has needs.
She manages to pull his pants and boxers down just low enough to expose his cock, hot and wet at the tip. “Talbot,” she hisses, sinking down on him. “Don’t ruin this with words.”
She thinks he might argue for a moment, recognizing the belligerent twist of his mouth and the way his eyes flash. Jo prepares to shut him up with another biting kiss, but he clamps his mouth shut almost immediately. He jerks his head in a curt nod before he grips her hard by her hips and thrusts up into her until she sees white behind her eyes.
He’s good at this, knows his way around her body with minimal direction, knows where to work his fingers in and how to make her gasp and moan and shake. It’s one of the things she likes about him. There’s a lot she likes about Talbot.
There’s just a lot more she hates.
Later-much later-Jo quietly slips out of his hotel room-it’s always in his hotel room, Talbot would not lower himself to her standards-while he’s distracted, getting drinks or cleaning up in the bathroom or merely asleep. He always comes back or wakes up to an empty room but Talbot never complains about this the next time they see each other.
It never goes beyond this-alcohol-induced kisses, hotel trysts with come-stained silk sheets and dirty little secrets between them. It never goes beyond into anything else-not than it ever could. They’re not that kind of people.
Jo never minds-she doesn’t want this to be anything more than what it is, even if that means she’s never really quite satisfied.
******
“Let me buy you a drink,” he says the first time they meet.
No, that’s a lie. The first time they meet is on a hunt. It’s supposed to be a routine salt ‘n burn and Talbot shows up as Jo’s digging up the grave with his own shovel. He tells her he’s a hunter and Jo’s dumb enough to buy it, even though no hunter has hair that good or well-styled. Jo doesn’t even have hair that good.
It doesn’t take long for Jo to realize she’s been played-that Talbot stole a family ring from the corpse and now the haunting would never stop-it’s long enough for him to get away and slip into the cracks of the world.
The second time they meet, it’s an upscale hotel bar. Jo punches him in the face, and after Talbot recovers, he offers to buy her a drink.
“I want the ring back,” she hisses.
“Sorry, darling,” he says, “I sold it. It’s long gone.”
“You sold it?”
“Will you calm down? Let me order you something, what do you drink?”
“That ghost is going to keep haunting that house unless I destroy that ring.”
Talbot chuckles softly to himself. “That’s really not my concern.”
“There are people in that house. They could die.”
“Well, perhaps they should move then.”
Jo moves to punch him again, but this time, Talbot has the good sense to duck out of the way.
“God, you hunters are always so unnecessarily violent,” he says, rolling his eyes. “It’s really quite predictable.”
Jo is fuming. Jo has her hands clenched in fists and wants nothing more than to wipe that smug look of his face.
“You really look like you could use a drink,” he repeats, holding up his own glass of scotch.
“Go to hell,” she spits at him.
Talbot’s lips twitch into a hard smile-it’s no longer smug but it’s nowhere near happy. “Aren’t we all?”
Jo leaves, because there’s nothing more she can say or do but seethe. She goes back to her hotel room, plotting out all the ways she can ruin Talbot, wondering if it would be better to just shoot him. She wants to throw and break things, adrenaline and fury driving her to fight.
She doesn’t get much sleep that night.
The next morning, Talbot is waiting in the hotel lobby for her.
“I would have gone straight to your room, but I was worried you’d shoot me,” he says, smiling at her, the charm turned up to eleven. “I thought I’d be safe in a public lobby.”
“What the fuck do you want?”
Talbot just smiles wider, and pulls out what looks like a small address book.
Jo raises an eyebrow and doesn’t take it from him.
“You’re going to be difficult, aren’t you?”
She glares at him.
“It’s a listing of a few people I know with some rather unsavory dealings with the occult,” he explains. “I think it could pique your interest. Perhaps you can check it out.”
“You’re selling out your buyers?”
“Just the ones who’ve screwed me over,” he says with a vicious smirk.
Jo continues to stare at him dubiously, but it doesn’t seem to bother Talbot.
“Now,” he says, grinning at her, “are you going to let me buy you that drink?”
She follows him to a bar-a different one from where he was cooling his jets yesterday-and lets him buy her a beer. She doesn’t say anything to him for a long time, nursing her drink and watching him carefully instead, content to let Talbot do all the talking.
“How did you find me?” she asks at some point.
“I wouldn’t be good at my job if I told you, would I?”
Jo makes an hmm noise and takes another sip.
“I suppose,” she says neutrally.
Talbot smiles at her but it loses the charm it had, turning cold and hard. He sets down his drink. “Now, how did you track me down?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jo smiles sweetly at him.
He cocks his head to the side and chuckles softly. Jo expects him to keep pressing her, but he doesn’t repeat the question.
They sit in silence for a moment, as Jo ponders Talbot and this weird situation and the little address book he gave her. “Am I supposed to really believe this information is legit?”
“Hey, do what you want,” he shrugs. “Believe it or don’t, I don’t really care all that much about what you do with it.”
Jo lets the words sink in-she doesn’t believe him, not at all. She’s sure there’s something else going on here, another ulterior motive, schemes upon schemes.
“This doesn’t fix anything, you know,” she says. Her voice is softer than she thought it would be, softer than she felt. “Those people are going to die if they don’t move out.”
“I know.” Talbot gives an easy shrug. “Collateral damage happens. That’s not why I’m doing this.”
“Then why?”
“Because, darling,” he says and the endearment sets Jo’s teeth on edge, more so than the smirk on his face. “I’d be an idiot if I let a potential asset get away.”
“Oh, I’m an asset?” She growls.
“You’re not trying to shoot me, I think that’s a good start.”
Jo slowly clenches and unclenches her fists, willing down the urge to punch him again. She wants to know more, because Jo doesn’t trust a word he says, but she thinks she’ll never get a straight answer even if she tried. She wonders if it’s even worth it.
“I don’t like you,” she says quietly. She’s angry, but her words aren’t. It’s not even a protest. It feels more like a statement, a simple declaration of truth-laying down the lines in the sand.
Talbot laughs, sharp, like the edge of a razor. “Tell me something I haven’t heard before.”
Fucking Talbot-no last name-isn’t a good idea, but it wipes the smug look of his face for a few minutes.
******
They are not friends.
This is a bad idea. A very bad idea. A stupid mistake.
You’re just a mistake, you know, she tells him sometimes. He doesn’t argue with her, but he smiles at her, sweet as honey; Jo knows him well enough by now to see the cracks in it.
Same to you, darling.
They fight. They argue. They fuck. They tear at each other’s clothes and skin and roll around on the bed. He holds her down and fucks her so slow, teasing son of a bitch, but Jo refuses to give.
Sometimes it’s civilized (please, there’s nothing civilized about sex, Talbot says, laughing at her). Sometimes, it’s a game, one-upmanship (it’s the only good thing about this).
Sometimes, they just want to make each other scream.
They should stop. Jo knows they should. It’s not that she feels guilty or ashamed; it’s that she’s sure this is going to burn them both up from the inside. It’s that sometimes, Jo is really tired of fighting.
“Why are we here?” she asks one day, when they’re both tired and done with each other, lying in bed.
Talbot arches an eyebrow. “Well, it is my hotel room-”
“No, I mean, why are we even doing this?”
“I’m hot, you’re hot-”
“We hate each other-”
“I don’t hate you,” he says suddenly. It startles Jo enough to silence her. “You’re irritating and self-righteous and naïve, but…you could be worse.” He trails off, voice going lower and lower until it’s almost soft; delicate. He shrugs in a too-nonchalant manner.
Jo scrunches up her face. “What, is this your way of telling me you like me?” The idea seems absurd.
Talbot sets his mouth in a hard line. “It’s my way of saying you’re not the worst company in the world, but I certainly wouldn’t miss you when you’re gone.”
“Fine then,” Jo snarls as a sudden and familiar flash of anger hits her, and gets out of bed, just like that.
“Typical,” Talbot sighs, rolling his eyes but he doesn’t move from his position.
Jo puts her clothes back on and grabs her bag in silence, and it’s not until she has one foot out the door does she pause in what she’s doing. She turns her head back to Talbot tentatively, who’s staring at her like he was expecting her to give one last look before she stormed out. Like he expects her to come back, because Jo always storms out.
“It’s never going to get any better between us, is it?” she asks. The anger has burned out as quickly as it hit her-it’s more of a mellow resignation now.
Talbot is quiet for a minute, his face thoughtful and Jo wonders if he’s asked himself the same thing as well. She can never be sure, there’s so much about him she doesn’t know. She doesn’t think she’ll ever know, and she isn’t sure she really wants to.
“Just wishful thinking, darling,” he replies gently. “And wishing never got anyone anywhere.”
Jo nods, still not sure what to make of this. This doesn’t feel like another con, another act and she would like to think that maybe Talbot can feel something like regret-but she isn’t willing to get her hopes up. “I really can’t expect anything more from you, can’t I?”
“If you honestly did, you’re more naïve than I thought.”
Jo almost laughs-it’s not like she didn’t know that. Not really. But having it spelled out like that feels far too much like a certainty she didn’t want to have.
This isn’t going to end well.
*******
She isn’t sure why they keep this up. She isn’t sure why Jo comes back, follows him to his hotel-on a day they’re not even supposed to meet-and breaks in, as if she’s spoiling for a fight. She doesn’t know why they don’t just stop.
Jo is pretty sure Talbot doesn’t know why either. It makes her feel a little bit better.
She finds him slumped against the bed, loose-limbed and messy. He has a few days worth of rough stubble and there’s what looks like gun-powder on his face. His suit jacket is gone, his tie is askew and his picture perfect, ridiculously expensive clothes are wrinkled. There’s an empty bottle of vodka next to him.
He doesn’t seem to notice Jo breaking in-or doesn’t seem to care. Poor survival instincts aren’t usually something she associates with Talbot. It’s a little disconcerting.
“Wow,” she says, folding her arms. “I should take a picture.”
Talbot slowly turns his head, moving like he’s stuck in molasses and raises an eyebrow at her.
“They’ll let anyone here, don’t they? And I thought this place has standards.” He says, his mouth curved upwards. He grabs the vodka bottle and tips it back, only to make a face of pure disappointment when he realizes it’s all gone.
“Get me another one, will you?”
Jo scoffs. “After sweet-talking me like that? Why of course, darling,” she sneers.
Jo heads over to the mini-bar and finds a bottle of whiskey. She takes a full gulp and walks back towards him, sitting cross-legged across from Talbot on the floor. He outstretches his hand out to her but she pointedly ignores him and keeps drinking.
He rolls his eyes. “Well, if you’re not going to be useful…” He trails off, his eyes unfocusing, like he’s seeing something else.
“What are you even doing here?” He says, his voice dropping to a whisper.
Jo shrugs, setting the bottle down just out of Talbot’s reach. “I heard you were in town and-”
Talbot’s face breaks open into a wide grin. “You wanted to see me, how sweet. I knew you were a softie.”
Jo narrows her eyes. “Yeah, but now that I see you’re a drunken mess on the floor, I think I’ll go and find a better way to waste my time.” She gets up and starts to make her way towards the door.
“Wait,” he says abruptly and tries to pick himself back up but the movement takes more coordination that he has and he trips over his own knees, falling down to the floor.
Jo wants to laugh but Talbot is throwing her off-more so than usual. He’s drunk and stupid and not at all the dignified, refined thief he normally is and something just feels off.
“What’s wrong with you?” She asks.
Talbot stills. He’s sprawled out on the floor, looking completely ridiculous but his face is utterly serious.
“It’s April,” he says somberly. He’s not looking at her, staring at the ceiling.
“Yeah, and?”
Something passes over his face, faint and flicking; it makes him seem far younger than he actually is, erases the sharp lines of his face and turns them into something soft.
“Nothing,” he says in a muted tone of voice.
“No, what?” Jo crouches down by him, leaning over.
Talbot is shaking his head, which looks odd when he’s flat down on the ground.
“Talbot?”
“I can only run so long,” he says faintly and his voice is rough like he’s choking.
“Talbot, what are you talking about?”
He finally turns his head to look at her and stares like he’s never seen her before, head cocked and eyes wide-almost like a startled animal. It lasts for only a split second before a familiar smile slips back onto his face.
“Like I said, nothing.”
As he said, Jo can’t really expect anything more from him.
Jo smiles grimly and shakes her head. “Whatever.”
“Hey,” he says, sitting up, and grabs her gently by the arm. “C’mere.”
Jo shakes his grip off easily. “Talbot, I’m not in the-”
He places a finger on her lips; Jo bites down on it and Talbot yelps.
“How about when you’re sober?” she sneers.
“Can we just not, Jo?” he says, sounding as irritated as she feels. His eyes are still unnaturally wide, unsettling. He looks like he’s trying to smile, his mouth twitching and curving but it doesn’t look the same as his usual smirks. “What is it you say-let’s not ruin this with words?”
Jo would say he’s pleading, if she didn’t know Talbot so well. As well as she could ever know him.
She doesn’t answer. She presses him against the bed and grabs his face in her hands, holding him still before she kisses him. He tastes like alcohol and ashes and bitterness but he grabs on to her waist and doesn’t let go.
Sometimes, you’re just lonely.