[Santo - The Beach]
[ master post]You have to walk down a ramp to get to the sand. The ramp stretches over sand dunes, with sea oats dotting them, blowing in the near-constant breeze. On the same level as the ramp: a boardwalk, dotted with places to get sketchy-looking fried food, to try your luck at a number of games of chance, to watch performers, to ride roller
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(On Titan, we were all comrades.)
There was nothing like this on Titan. Some might say sand is sand, but he knows better. This is no desert: it's the ocean -- the beach -- and the place is mercilessly devoid of cannon-fire and the sound of choppers overhead. Scorpions lurking in the rocks. Enemies dropping down in front of them.
No, this is lovely, and so is Faye. If he hadn't played his sax out by the lake that night he never would have met Kaylee and if he'd never met Kaylee, he wouldn't have had this opportunity to leave, even for a few days, and... look at how predatory Faye is: he's never seen her in a place like this before and he thinks that maybe every measured step of nonchalance she takes, every breath of ( ... )
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It's another world. It's not some bar at an asteroid at the end of the universe that has a fake landscape behind it and a door that disappears so you can never get back home. It'd be enough to make her feel sad if she had the time for that kind of thing.
But she doesn't.
"Just follow me, Mister Saxophone." There's nothing that isn't smug about the smile on her lips, and on the way to the spot she's picked out, she sheds her cover-up without the slightest care.
The sun's warm on her skin, and the air is almost salty. This sure isn't Mars.
They lay out some towels, she puts her beach bag down, and she promptly stretches out and makes herself at home, pulling out a pair of sunglasses to shield her eyes.
"Some place, huh?"
Try as she might at times, it's hard to hide the fact that she's wanted this so badly.
This time she digs into her bag for her suntan lotion.
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Like a good boyfriend in the service of a queen, he holds his hand out for the lotion. "You just let me know where you want it and I'll be happy to oblige." His fingers are trained in the expert application of a great many things. Sometimes, being a musician has unexpected perks.
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"I need it everywhere, you know. I don't want an uneven tan, now do I?"
She rolls onto her stomach with a careless kind of grace and then gives him a small smirk over her shoulder.
"Don't enjoy yourself too much. We are in public."
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It brings back memories of more private times, watching his hands move over her with a different type of purpose, and he smiles to her back, to the sea, to the salt air. For two and a half years he didn't think he'd ever have an opportunity to leave Milliways, and while he promised Faye he'd go with her if she could ever leave, it didn't occur to him that all they needed was a different door.
His hands move over the skin at the bottom of her bikini, but he takes his time. This is nothing to rush through. Idly, he wonders if dead people can tan: when he's done getting Faye oiled up, he'll roll up his sleeves, unbutton one button at the top of his shirt, and see what happens. He's betting on no tan at all. Callisto sure didn't afford for that anyway ( ... )
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Regardless of what she told him just a few minutes ago, she can't help but tease him.
When she's ready to flip over again, she'll spread lotion over the front of her body herself. For now she just rests her head on her arms and turns her face toward him.
Out in this brightness, his eyes are at their bluest.
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There's nothing chiding about the thought; he's more enamored of her than ever. He knows she's teasing, and he actually likes it: it's flirtatious and coy and even when she's face-down on a towel in the sand, sensuality radiates off her in great big waves.
At least he can feel it and if no one else can, then they're blind or stupid or both. People kill -- literally -- for women like Faye.
He would.
Shielding his eyes from the sun, he takes a look around: the water looks fantastic. There's a roller coaster he can take her on if she feels like being even more of a daredevil than usual, and if she gets hungry there's food. The money that Bar changed for them on the way out is in his pocket for one reason and one reason only: to spend on Faye.
This is her first vacation in years, and he'll do whatever he can to make it a good one for her. For both of them, but mostly for her.
(He likes it when she smiles.)
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He looks... happy. That's good, right? She knows that out here she feels kind of like she's finally managed to pick her way out of a pair of cuffs she's been wearing for nearly three years.
It's no offense to him. He's the best thing about her extended stay at the end of the universe. It's her considered opinion, here at just months away from birthday number twenty-six, that there's no one person who can be everything to another person. Sometimes she wonders if she's not less capable of it than most.
Not that she's willing to say that. But she realizes very well that she's not the kind of woman a guy'll want to take home to meet his mother. Or the kind of woman into white picket fences. Or the kind of woman who can run a household ( ... )
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Her smile is amusement mingled with just a tiny bit of disbelief.
"You're a tough customer, Mister Saxophone." There's something lofty about her tone even when she doesn't so much as lift her head from the pillow of her arms. "I don't know if there'll be any satisfying you out here."
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They've had this conversation before. "Or serve you hot vodka drinks, shower, and handcuff you to the nearest bed. The world is full of possibilities."
If he'd known her then the way he knows her now, he probably would have gotten to the handcuffs sooner... just as a precaution.
What he really wants -- and what he knows they'll get around to because she won't settle for less -- is to show Faye as good a time as he's capable of showing anyone. For a long time, he hasn't had much ability to do that. Even before he got to the bar, there were those years on Callisto and when you've got a bounty on your head, you tend to keep a low profile. And there wasn't a whole lot in Blue Crow to see or do: it's definitely a working class town at best ( ... )
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"I can't say I'm a fan of having my money taken or being killed, but hot vodka drinks and showers seem to do me in every time."
She's very conscious of the kisses he gives her shoulder, and she's just as conscious of the fact that they'd erase any shred of doubt remaining in the mind of anyone watching as to whether or not the two of them are actually involved.
And that's an odd feeling.
Not a bad one, but still odd.
"And I have such a history with being cuffed I'm starting to think my wrists are magnetic."
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He's pretty sure he never apologized for that, or for leaving her on his bed, alone in his apartment, and going off to die. Looking back, he thinks what happened was kind of inevitable.
Existing is so weird.
When he lived on Mars, he wasn't really covert about any of the relationships he was in. He didn't have to be: no one cared. No one was watching. No one measured him by pointing out things like oh, so you're with a man this time: tired of women? or hi, handsome, maybe you ought to join us and make it a threesome or you again, and with someone new: oh, look, it's a girl. Nobody paid attention and nobody kept score. And he wasn't even a perfect stranger like he is here. One thing he and Faye didn't have time to talk about was whether or not either of them had expectations on how to behave away from the bar with other people around, but he doesn't think that's really necessary. They're both adults -- consenting adults -- and he's very fond of Faye, some days almost to the point of distraction ( ... )
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She's genuinely interested in his explanation of what he'd really like to do while they're out here.
"This is all something we wouldn't be able to do otherwise." But she knows what he means, and that's precisely why she wanted to come to the beach. Beaches are almost a novel concept.
It's also why she wants to hit a casino later. It's been so long since she's been able to do that.
"But you should know I'm very interested in being wined and dined."
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One thing he really likes about Faye -- and she may not know this -- is how easy it is for him to spend time with her. Sure, it's easy on a physical level now, but it's also really easy when they don't have their hands all over each other. He likes her mind and the way she thinks and sometimes having a conversation with her is a little like a never-ending puzzle where he tries and consistently fails to guess what she's going to come up with next.
They're both incorrigible flirts... but they flirt better together. They're both pretty... but they're prettier together. They're both in love with luxury... but luxury suits them better together. And still, she keeps him on his toes in ways he never expects and for that, he appreciates her more than she could possibly know. He's thought a lot about the way he feels about Faye and while he's not head-over-heels, madly and impossibly in love, he could be. All it would take is a little push in the right direction ( ... )
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She lowers her sunglasses long enough to give him the full force of her sly smile.
"It feels like a million woolongs." Slowly, she flips over so she's flat on her back, legs bent at the knees. "Not that I've had my hands on that in a while."
Picking up the suntan lotion again, she opens it and starts by applying it to her neck and chest and stomach.
"I haven't sunbathed since the last time I was on Ganymede." It's been a long time. "And I was just on the deck of the Bebop then."
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