Fic: Bulletproof Soul - Part 4
Me again ^_^. I'm off on holiday for the weekend, so thought I'd post this before I went. I'm sure my brain won't go on holiday from daydreaming about this fic if the last few days are anything to go by so will hopefully post more soon. Thanks for your comments too x (Hope it's still okay to be carrying it on here - if it's better for me to post on Fanfic.net & just link or something, let me know mods!)
But yeah, so here's the next bit. I know I'm a tease and I draw it out but that's the fun bit imo ;)
Fic: Bulletproof Soul - Part 4
Rating: PG... still!
Genre: Shipperfic (or Angst? idk)
Post X3/Movieverse
Words for this part: 3,078
Disclaimer: X Men & Marvel etc: I didn't do it nobody saw me do it you can't prove anything.
Previous part HERE
Read from the start HERE
WHY DOES MY LJ CUT NEVER WORK THE FIRST TIME!! AAAARGH!
Her dark silhouette is back lit by the glaring lights of the mall but you still know it’s her walking towards you.
Her hair flies out around her and there’s an unmistakable bounce in her step now as she trots back to you, waving her bags.
You can’t help but smile around your cigar.
You’re leaning against the bike; legs stretched out and crossed in front, parked for the last half an hour while she went in and brought what she needed because you told her to.
You’d driven till it was dark, not stopping, not speaking. She’d held on tight and kept quiet too, maybe aware of the struggle inside of you.
You still have no idea what the fuck you’re doing.
You blow smoke into the air, letting the smell calm your senses as she bounds - literally, bounds - up to you.
She babbles a bit about how she found a great bargain bin of make-up and toiletries and that she’s completely set now.
For what, you don’t know, because you don’t even know where you’re going to stay tonight.
A dozen motels had flashed broken neon signs at you for the last hour but you’d steadfastly ignored them because when words like seedy or worse, sleazy came to mind, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull in. But you knew you couldn’t keep her on that bike all night, and when you saw an open late mall, you thought the least you could do was get her some clothes and a toothbrush - considering you’ve practically, well, kidnapped her.
You almost try and justify that she came of her own accord and she’s legally an adult now. You can tell yourself that but you don’t like the chances of you removing the lightning bolt Storm will leave in your ass when she sees you next.
You push those thoughts out for the moment though, reminding yourself that you’ve never been scared of disapproval before and you aint about to change that now. But she leans in to show you the things in her bag - your foreheads are close when she looks up at you; and though you’re trying to pretend otherwise, you think something has changed between you that can’t be changed back.
“So, thanks, Logan.”
You think she’s considering putting her arms around your neck and hugging you and you decide you’re not ready for that yet. You push off the bike, forcing her to step back a little.
“Don’t sweat it.”
You stub your cigar out on your palm as is just your habit now and she flinches and screws up her nose, like she always does. It makes you smile, and then she smiles back and you wonder if things have really changed that much.
You watch her as she rearranges all her new things into a bag she’s brought, a backpack that she slings onto her back before turning to you, patting the seat and speaking.
“So, where to?”
The million dollar question.
You cock an eyebrow. “It’s your party.” You stop yourself from saying kid at the end.
She gazes at you and you move over to get on the bike so you don’t have to look at her.
She swings up behind you and rests her chin on your shoulder then talks as if to herself.
“Well....I wanna do things I usually have to worry about, like I’d love to go to a concert. Or I just wanna do those things that feel good like, I dunno, go on a rollercoaster. Oh, and for a swim.”
You glance back at her over your shoulder, caught between feeling sad and amused. “Huh. Anything else, your highness?”
You’re not sure but you think you feel her arms tighten around your middle just slightly.
“Yes.”
You start the bike then, letting the noise drown out the silence, and your thoughts.
You drive for another hour, until you think you feel her leaning slightly heavier on you. A motel approaches that has a fully functioning neon sign and you think that’s what makes you finally turn in.
She sits up a bit straighter and you roar into the reception area and kill the motor.
You cast a look back at her once you’re off. She looks wide awake now which was definitely not the plan.
“Stay here, I’ll see if they’ve got anything.” You sound casual to your own ears but your heart is pounding like a jackhammer.
She just nods and you can feel her eyes on your back as you walk inside.
Eight minutes later you’re walking back towards her with a key for the last room they have available. Strangely convenient for deciding the torturous debate within yourself about separate rooms versus sharing, but part of you knows that she desperately doesn’t want to be on her own. And you’re beginning to realise you can’t deny her anything she wants. So far.
She’s still sitting on the bike, lining her eyes again, with a long black pencil this time and it reminds you of that first day. When everything changed. She looks up and you jangle the key; she smiles.
The room is rundown but clean, with a television at least. The double bed seems to glare at you and you stride right past it, keen to check out the bathroom because all you think it’s safe to think of, is getting under a shower. Alone.
The bathroom is fine, if a bit chipped and faded in places and you throw your bag on the sink. You think about telling her you’re having a shower but you change your mind and just shut and lock the door instead.
The water flows over your face and you brace your fists against the wall; contemplate trying to drown yourself. You’ve done some pretty fucked up things in your life but this - this is really taking the cake.
You must be some kind of sick fuck. This girl trusts you - has since the first time she saw you fighting in a cage of all things and you should have realised then that her judgement wasn’t fully functional if that’s what she came up with. You open your mouth to the jet of warm water and spit it against the wall. Christ, this is the second time you’ve turned around for her - against your better judgement - and like last time, you know it’s only gotta bring you trouble.
You shut the tap off abruptly and hear the television spewing noise through the thin walls. You shake the water from your hair and wrap a towel around your waist, leaning on the sink to look at yourself in the mirror. Fuck. It’s a bad situation if it relies on you being the most responsible one in it.
You dress back into your jeans and a clean white t shirt - trying to cover yourself as much as possible which is new. If you were here by yourself you’d spend the rest of the night lounging around the room naked because it’s so damn hot but that’s not happening - or helpful to think about.
When you walk back out there, you instantly regret the stop at the mall. She’s eating some Doritos she brought there, not that that’s the problem - it’s that she’s lying on her stomach right in the centre of the bed, laughing at something on the TV, dressed in a strappy light pink singlet and some offensively - well, to you anyway - small, light grey shorts.
She doesn’t look at you as you walk past her scowling and check the curtains are fully pulled before looking around, wondering where you’re going to put yourself.
She laughs again, and her hips jump as she does and you’re sure now that the floaty nightgown from last night was the lesser of two evils. You fall into the one threadbare armchair and decide that you might not move from here until the morning.
She glances over at you, and gestures with the bag. “You want?”
You shake your head. She gets up on her knees then climbs off the bed, and walks to the bathroom. You keep your eyes off her; instantly engrossed in the programme she was watching which turns out to be a re run of some old sitcom.
Once she’s gone you rub your hands over your face and drop your head on to the back of the chair.
But as you stare at the ceiling, you think to notice that apart from your paranoia, you’re kind of comfortable with each other. You don’t need to talk - never have. You never have to explain. You waver between thinking you’re in the worst situation you’ve ever been dumb enough to get yourself into, to thinking maybe this won’t be so difficult after all.
Then she comes in and jumps back onto the bed and it squeaks which makes you cringe a little. You shift your eyes to her and notice, before you look away again, that her hair is longer now, easily down to her waist.
“Logan?”
Christ, you’d kill for a beer.
You glance at her and she’s still on her back, looking at you almost upside down. Some of her hair is hanging off the bed.
“Why did you change your mind?”
A nice, ice cold beer. You’d literally kill for it, right now.
You shrug. “I can change it back again, if you like.”
She actually grins at that and you slip and glance at her cleavage, sitting high as it is what with her lying on her back. You rub your face and look back at the television.
And out of the corner of your eye you sense her clamber up off the bed and faster than you can react, she comes and sits on the floor at your feet, wrapping her arms around your knee. You want to object but think that’s maybe the worst thing you could do. So you wait.
“Well, thank you. It means a lot to me.”
“Hmm.”
She rests her cheek against your knee. You focus harder on the television and wish hopelessly that she wasn’t so close to your crotch.
“Will you look at me?”
No. But you do.
And then she looks away, working something through in her head you think. You tap the arm rest, torn between waiting patiently and getting up to throw her off you.
“I kind of want to talk to you about something.”
Your blood freezes and you focus on sitting still. She still won’t meet your eyes.
“I wanted to know if...if you’d sleep with me.”
That’s it. You draw bolt upright in the chair and she sits back on her knees, looking up at you a little fearfully.
“What? Marie, no. No! I can’t...you...”
She rolls her eyes and places her palms slowly on your legs, one on each knee.
“Just...calm down. Chill out for a second, hear me out.”
You frown down at her, noticing that she still hasn’t taken her makeup off and you can’t believe you’re actually listening and not halfway to the nearest bar by now.
“I’m not saying...I’m not asking you to do anything you...that I know you don’t want to do.” She’s staring at your chest as she talks and you know she’s choosing her words carefully. “It’s just that I don’t know if I’ll ever get a chance to know...what that feels like, to sleep right next to someone. And I know you’re probably planning on sleeping on this chair but I wondered if...you’d lie with me. On the bed.”
You stare at her for a moment, feeling like you’re in a dream and you’re not sure if it’s a good or a bad one. All you know is in that moment you can’t sit still and you push up out of the chair. She leans back so you can get past her and start pacing the worn carpet like a caged animal.
You’re trying to find words but what she’s just said pierced whatever’s left of your heart and you know you have to tread carefully.
You run your hand through your hair and turn back to her. She’s still kneeling on the ground, her posture straight, looking at you like she’s sitting in class and has just asked an innocent question about physics. Which is exactly what you don’t want her to look like right now.
You try and control your voice to come out calmly.
“Marie, Jesus. Do you realise what you’re asking of me?”
Her eyes are so wide and her lips are slightly sullen, but she’s trying to be strong, you know. She says nothing.
“Why...why didn’t you just stay and ask that of Ice B...Bobby?”
Her face clouds in confusion and her nose wrinkles. “Bobby?” She shakes her head. “Bobby and I...he’s with Kitty now. I thought you knew that.”
Your heart sinks at that revelation, even though a glimmer of smug satisfaction assaults you at the same time. You rub your face.
“Still...it’s just not a good idea, Marie. I’m not the right person to ask.” You see her collapse a little and it makes you want to go to her. You sit down on the bed instead, and try and form the right words which is hardly a strength of yours. You keep your voice low and calm though - the opposite of what you’re feeling inside.
“Can you see that I’m in enough shit as it is? Storm is gonna tear me a new one.” Her lips curve slightly at that and you resort to echoing Storm’s last words to you. “I’m your teacher.”
She beats you at your own game when she echoes your words from what feels like a lifetime ago.
“No, you’re not. And you’re not my father. You’re my friend.”
She has you and she knows it. You blink, almost stunned, but there’s a part of you that already knew she had you beaten from the jump.
You blow a long breath out and hang your head, your arms braced on your thighs. She keeps going.
“I know I’m asking a lot of you.”
You could never ask too much of me.
“It’s just...I just wanna know what it’s like.”
You think she’s right in some vague way. It’s fair because once her powers are back, there’s no nightgown that would cover all of that skin and no boyfriend who could afford to risk an accidental middle of the night brush with her powers. Well, except maybe someone with yours. You frown at that thought and then look back at her again.
“I must be getting soft in my old age.”
She grins at you - her whole face lights up and you realise then how much you love that little gap between her two front teeth.
She jumps up and throws her arms around your neck, kissing your cheek. You almost go to stop her but she’s off again before you can react - ducking back into the bathroom.
You press a fist to your forehead and turn to walk to the window and peer out - hoping to see some vending machine or lights for a bar somewhere from your view over the car park but you’re disappointed.
Well, what did you think was going to happen when you picked her up, genius?
You hear her come back into the room but you don’t turn around, you listen to the squeak as she puts her weight on the bed. You close your eyes for a second and then the curtains, finally turning to her.
She’s kneeling on the bed, her hands on her slim thighs.
“Logan, I really...”
“Shut up already will ya. Let’s just get some sleep.”
Not that you’ll be sleeping at all, even if this bed was made of goose down and lined with fucking Egyptian cotton sheets, you know you’re getting the worst night’s sleep you’ve ever had - and that’s saying a lot because you’ve had your share of nights in some of the biggest shitholes known to man.
But when you yank the covers off and climb in - still fully clothed even - and she watches you settle, slightly raised on a couple of pillows, it feels surprisingly less awkward then you’re banking on when she shifts closer, and nestles in to the crook of your shoulder - against your chest.
In fact her body moulds pretty perfectly against yours, soft and incredibly warm, and the breath she lets out is so contented and so fulfilled that you can’t help but feel begrudgingly glad that you can help her know what it’s like to be held, if not exactly how she deserves to be, then close enough.
Her small hand spreads tentatively over your chest, and you work on making your heart slow it’s frantic pace. But you let the hand that’s around her cup her shoulder, pulling her just a little tighter against you. Her head rests just below your chin and you can smell her hair - the scent so potent that it blurs your senses a bit and you forget yourself and press your lips against the top of her head for a second.
She wriggles against you a bit and you close your eyes, willing her to lay still and simultaneously trying to think of the 300 pound woman who’d served you at reception. If you can keep doing that, and if she doesn’t turn her face up to you, you think you’ll be alright. Her heartbeat is pretty fast as well, you try not to listen. But after a few agonising minutes, she makes a little contented sigh and then, faster than you would have believed, her breathing becomes even and deep and you realise she’s asleep.
You watch the television for a while longer, trying to concentrate on whatever crap is playing, instead of the rise and fall of her body breathing against you. But you feel your own eyelids getting heavy and now that you’re positive she’s asleep you give in and reach your other arm across to hold her too.
Against all your convictions you run your fingers slowly over her forearm and up to her hand that’s still resting over your heart. You think you feel something break inside you right then and your last thought before you sleep is that if you’ve gotta go down in a ball of flames, this is one hell of a way to do it.
* Part 5
But yeah, so here's the next bit. I know I'm a tease and I draw it out but that's the fun bit imo ;)
Fic: Bulletproof Soul - Part 4
Rating: PG... still!
Genre: Shipperfic (or Angst? idk)
Post X3/Movieverse
Words for this part: 3,078
Disclaimer: X Men & Marvel etc: I didn't do it nobody saw me do it you can't prove anything.
Previous part HERE
Read from the start HERE
WHY DOES MY LJ CUT NEVER WORK THE FIRST TIME!! AAAARGH!
Her dark silhouette is back lit by the glaring lights of the mall but you still know it’s her walking towards you.
Her hair flies out around her and there’s an unmistakable bounce in her step now as she trots back to you, waving her bags.
You can’t help but smile around your cigar.
You’re leaning against the bike; legs stretched out and crossed in front, parked for the last half an hour while she went in and brought what she needed because you told her to.
You’d driven till it was dark, not stopping, not speaking. She’d held on tight and kept quiet too, maybe aware of the struggle inside of you.
You still have no idea what the fuck you’re doing.
You blow smoke into the air, letting the smell calm your senses as she bounds - literally, bounds - up to you.
She babbles a bit about how she found a great bargain bin of make-up and toiletries and that she’s completely set now.
For what, you don’t know, because you don’t even know where you’re going to stay tonight.
A dozen motels had flashed broken neon signs at you for the last hour but you’d steadfastly ignored them because when words like seedy or worse, sleazy came to mind, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull in. But you knew you couldn’t keep her on that bike all night, and when you saw an open late mall, you thought the least you could do was get her some clothes and a toothbrush - considering you’ve practically, well, kidnapped her.
You almost try and justify that she came of her own accord and she’s legally an adult now. You can tell yourself that but you don’t like the chances of you removing the lightning bolt Storm will leave in your ass when she sees you next.
You push those thoughts out for the moment though, reminding yourself that you’ve never been scared of disapproval before and you aint about to change that now. But she leans in to show you the things in her bag - your foreheads are close when she looks up at you; and though you’re trying to pretend otherwise, you think something has changed between you that can’t be changed back.
“So, thanks, Logan.”
You think she’s considering putting her arms around your neck and hugging you and you decide you’re not ready for that yet. You push off the bike, forcing her to step back a little.
“Don’t sweat it.”
You stub your cigar out on your palm as is just your habit now and she flinches and screws up her nose, like she always does. It makes you smile, and then she smiles back and you wonder if things have really changed that much.
You watch her as she rearranges all her new things into a bag she’s brought, a backpack that she slings onto her back before turning to you, patting the seat and speaking.
“So, where to?”
The million dollar question.
You cock an eyebrow. “It’s your party.” You stop yourself from saying kid at the end.
She gazes at you and you move over to get on the bike so you don’t have to look at her.
She swings up behind you and rests her chin on your shoulder then talks as if to herself.
“Well....I wanna do things I usually have to worry about, like I’d love to go to a concert. Or I just wanna do those things that feel good like, I dunno, go on a rollercoaster. Oh, and for a swim.”
You glance back at her over your shoulder, caught between feeling sad and amused. “Huh. Anything else, your highness?”
You’re not sure but you think you feel her arms tighten around your middle just slightly.
“Yes.”
You start the bike then, letting the noise drown out the silence, and your thoughts.
You drive for another hour, until you think you feel her leaning slightly heavier on you. A motel approaches that has a fully functioning neon sign and you think that’s what makes you finally turn in.
She sits up a bit straighter and you roar into the reception area and kill the motor.
You cast a look back at her once you’re off. She looks wide awake now which was definitely not the plan.
“Stay here, I’ll see if they’ve got anything.” You sound casual to your own ears but your heart is pounding like a jackhammer.
She just nods and you can feel her eyes on your back as you walk inside.
Eight minutes later you’re walking back towards her with a key for the last room they have available. Strangely convenient for deciding the torturous debate within yourself about separate rooms versus sharing, but part of you knows that she desperately doesn’t want to be on her own. And you’re beginning to realise you can’t deny her anything she wants. So far.
She’s still sitting on the bike, lining her eyes again, with a long black pencil this time and it reminds you of that first day. When everything changed. She looks up and you jangle the key; she smiles.
The room is rundown but clean, with a television at least. The double bed seems to glare at you and you stride right past it, keen to check out the bathroom because all you think it’s safe to think of, is getting under a shower. Alone.
The bathroom is fine, if a bit chipped and faded in places and you throw your bag on the sink. You think about telling her you’re having a shower but you change your mind and just shut and lock the door instead.
The water flows over your face and you brace your fists against the wall; contemplate trying to drown yourself. You’ve done some pretty fucked up things in your life but this - this is really taking the cake.
You must be some kind of sick fuck. This girl trusts you - has since the first time she saw you fighting in a cage of all things and you should have realised then that her judgement wasn’t fully functional if that’s what she came up with. You open your mouth to the jet of warm water and spit it against the wall. Christ, this is the second time you’ve turned around for her - against your better judgement - and like last time, you know it’s only gotta bring you trouble.
You shut the tap off abruptly and hear the television spewing noise through the thin walls. You shake the water from your hair and wrap a towel around your waist, leaning on the sink to look at yourself in the mirror. Fuck. It’s a bad situation if it relies on you being the most responsible one in it.
You dress back into your jeans and a clean white t shirt - trying to cover yourself as much as possible which is new. If you were here by yourself you’d spend the rest of the night lounging around the room naked because it’s so damn hot but that’s not happening - or helpful to think about.
When you walk back out there, you instantly regret the stop at the mall. She’s eating some Doritos she brought there, not that that’s the problem - it’s that she’s lying on her stomach right in the centre of the bed, laughing at something on the TV, dressed in a strappy light pink singlet and some offensively - well, to you anyway - small, light grey shorts.
She doesn’t look at you as you walk past her scowling and check the curtains are fully pulled before looking around, wondering where you’re going to put yourself.
She laughs again, and her hips jump as she does and you’re sure now that the floaty nightgown from last night was the lesser of two evils. You fall into the one threadbare armchair and decide that you might not move from here until the morning.
She glances over at you, and gestures with the bag. “You want?”
You shake your head. She gets up on her knees then climbs off the bed, and walks to the bathroom. You keep your eyes off her; instantly engrossed in the programme she was watching which turns out to be a re run of some old sitcom.
Once she’s gone you rub your hands over your face and drop your head on to the back of the chair.
But as you stare at the ceiling, you think to notice that apart from your paranoia, you’re kind of comfortable with each other. You don’t need to talk - never have. You never have to explain. You waver between thinking you’re in the worst situation you’ve ever been dumb enough to get yourself into, to thinking maybe this won’t be so difficult after all.
Then she comes in and jumps back onto the bed and it squeaks which makes you cringe a little. You shift your eyes to her and notice, before you look away again, that her hair is longer now, easily down to her waist.
“Logan?”
Christ, you’d kill for a beer.
You glance at her and she’s still on her back, looking at you almost upside down. Some of her hair is hanging off the bed.
“Why did you change your mind?”
A nice, ice cold beer. You’d literally kill for it, right now.
You shrug. “I can change it back again, if you like.”
She actually grins at that and you slip and glance at her cleavage, sitting high as it is what with her lying on her back. You rub your face and look back at the television.
And out of the corner of your eye you sense her clamber up off the bed and faster than you can react, she comes and sits on the floor at your feet, wrapping her arms around your knee. You want to object but think that’s maybe the worst thing you could do. So you wait.
“Well, thank you. It means a lot to me.”
“Hmm.”
She rests her cheek against your knee. You focus harder on the television and wish hopelessly that she wasn’t so close to your crotch.
“Will you look at me?”
No. But you do.
And then she looks away, working something through in her head you think. You tap the arm rest, torn between waiting patiently and getting up to throw her off you.
“I kind of want to talk to you about something.”
Your blood freezes and you focus on sitting still. She still won’t meet your eyes.
“I wanted to know if...if you’d sleep with me.”
That’s it. You draw bolt upright in the chair and she sits back on her knees, looking up at you a little fearfully.
“What? Marie, no. No! I can’t...you...”
She rolls her eyes and places her palms slowly on your legs, one on each knee.
“Just...calm down. Chill out for a second, hear me out.”
You frown down at her, noticing that she still hasn’t taken her makeup off and you can’t believe you’re actually listening and not halfway to the nearest bar by now.
“I’m not saying...I’m not asking you to do anything you...that I know you don’t want to do.” She’s staring at your chest as she talks and you know she’s choosing her words carefully. “It’s just that I don’t know if I’ll ever get a chance to know...what that feels like, to sleep right next to someone. And I know you’re probably planning on sleeping on this chair but I wondered if...you’d lie with me. On the bed.”
You stare at her for a moment, feeling like you’re in a dream and you’re not sure if it’s a good or a bad one. All you know is in that moment you can’t sit still and you push up out of the chair. She leans back so you can get past her and start pacing the worn carpet like a caged animal.
You’re trying to find words but what she’s just said pierced whatever’s left of your heart and you know you have to tread carefully.
You run your hand through your hair and turn back to her. She’s still kneeling on the ground, her posture straight, looking at you like she’s sitting in class and has just asked an innocent question about physics. Which is exactly what you don’t want her to look like right now.
You try and control your voice to come out calmly.
“Marie, Jesus. Do you realise what you’re asking of me?”
Her eyes are so wide and her lips are slightly sullen, but she’s trying to be strong, you know. She says nothing.
“Why...why didn’t you just stay and ask that of Ice B...Bobby?”
Her face clouds in confusion and her nose wrinkles. “Bobby?” She shakes her head. “Bobby and I...he’s with Kitty now. I thought you knew that.”
Your heart sinks at that revelation, even though a glimmer of smug satisfaction assaults you at the same time. You rub your face.
“Still...it’s just not a good idea, Marie. I’m not the right person to ask.” You see her collapse a little and it makes you want to go to her. You sit down on the bed instead, and try and form the right words which is hardly a strength of yours. You keep your voice low and calm though - the opposite of what you’re feeling inside.
“Can you see that I’m in enough shit as it is? Storm is gonna tear me a new one.” Her lips curve slightly at that and you resort to echoing Storm’s last words to you. “I’m your teacher.”
She beats you at your own game when she echoes your words from what feels like a lifetime ago.
“No, you’re not. And you’re not my father. You’re my friend.”
She has you and she knows it. You blink, almost stunned, but there’s a part of you that already knew she had you beaten from the jump.
You blow a long breath out and hang your head, your arms braced on your thighs. She keeps going.
“I know I’m asking a lot of you.”
You could never ask too much of me.
“It’s just...I just wanna know what it’s like.”
You think she’s right in some vague way. It’s fair because once her powers are back, there’s no nightgown that would cover all of that skin and no boyfriend who could afford to risk an accidental middle of the night brush with her powers. Well, except maybe someone with yours. You frown at that thought and then look back at her again.
“I must be getting soft in my old age.”
She grins at you - her whole face lights up and you realise then how much you love that little gap between her two front teeth.
She jumps up and throws her arms around your neck, kissing your cheek. You almost go to stop her but she’s off again before you can react - ducking back into the bathroom.
You press a fist to your forehead and turn to walk to the window and peer out - hoping to see some vending machine or lights for a bar somewhere from your view over the car park but you’re disappointed.
Well, what did you think was going to happen when you picked her up, genius?
You hear her come back into the room but you don’t turn around, you listen to the squeak as she puts her weight on the bed. You close your eyes for a second and then the curtains, finally turning to her.
She’s kneeling on the bed, her hands on her slim thighs.
“Logan, I really...”
“Shut up already will ya. Let’s just get some sleep.”
Not that you’ll be sleeping at all, even if this bed was made of goose down and lined with fucking Egyptian cotton sheets, you know you’re getting the worst night’s sleep you’ve ever had - and that’s saying a lot because you’ve had your share of nights in some of the biggest shitholes known to man.
But when you yank the covers off and climb in - still fully clothed even - and she watches you settle, slightly raised on a couple of pillows, it feels surprisingly less awkward then you’re banking on when she shifts closer, and nestles in to the crook of your shoulder - against your chest.
In fact her body moulds pretty perfectly against yours, soft and incredibly warm, and the breath she lets out is so contented and so fulfilled that you can’t help but feel begrudgingly glad that you can help her know what it’s like to be held, if not exactly how she deserves to be, then close enough.
Her small hand spreads tentatively over your chest, and you work on making your heart slow it’s frantic pace. But you let the hand that’s around her cup her shoulder, pulling her just a little tighter against you. Her head rests just below your chin and you can smell her hair - the scent so potent that it blurs your senses a bit and you forget yourself and press your lips against the top of her head for a second.
She wriggles against you a bit and you close your eyes, willing her to lay still and simultaneously trying to think of the 300 pound woman who’d served you at reception. If you can keep doing that, and if she doesn’t turn her face up to you, you think you’ll be alright. Her heartbeat is pretty fast as well, you try not to listen. But after a few agonising minutes, she makes a little contented sigh and then, faster than you would have believed, her breathing becomes even and deep and you realise she’s asleep.
You watch the television for a while longer, trying to concentrate on whatever crap is playing, instead of the rise and fall of her body breathing against you. But you feel your own eyelids getting heavy and now that you’re positive she’s asleep you give in and reach your other arm across to hold her too.
Against all your convictions you run your fingers slowly over her forearm and up to her hand that’s still resting over your heart. You think you feel something break inside you right then and your last thought before you sleep is that if you’ve gotta go down in a ball of flames, this is one hell of a way to do it.
* Part 5