Tuesday, July 23, 2007
Summerland
Marc/Silvia/Drew/Jane


Marc was surprisingly nervous as he guided his little orange Mini off the
blacktop road into the lane that led to Silvia Martin's barns. Glancing in the
rear view mirror, he watched the hired pickup truck with its horse trailer in
tow carefully negotiate the turn after him. Of course, the fact that the trailer
had two horses in it rather that one was probably a good reason to be concerned.
Silvia had barely agreed to board Enzo, and likely only because she had a soft
spot for mutts and rejects, both two- and four-legged, or so he'd heard from
people at the open house. Phoenix would be another matter entirely. He'd seen
the hungry look in Silvia's eyes, the honest lust to feel the mare's solid mass
between her thighs. The big red had ignited something he suspected Silvia hadn't
felt in a while, though she'd allowed doubt to smother it. Marc had to admit it
intrigued him.

There were a couple pick trucks parked side-by-side near the open barn door.
Marc suspected one might be Drew's, thought it could also belong to Silvia's
hired hand. He rather hoped the carpenter was there, and not just because the
man was quite easy on the eyes. No, he was a potential ally in this situation,
someone who might be a voice of reason if it were called for. At least, that's
what Marc was thinking when the Mini slid to a stop beside one of the trucks and
he climbed out, smoothing down the tan Armani sports jacket he had on over his
jeans and white t-shirt. Copper-tinted Armani sunglasses partially concealed his
eyes as he scanned the property, getting a feel for the farm where he expected
he might be spending some of his time.

Normally, when expecting someone, Silvia had plenty of time to get her pace on:
wearing a path in the large doorway of her barn, glancing at her watch every few
moments. It was simple Equestrian Standard Time. If an event was to occur at
2:00 pm, it wouldn't actually commence until 3:30pm. It seemed the only time
horse shows ever began on time was when all the competitors were hung over.

Today, with no competition looming (not officially, at least -- whatever she and
Marc did was totally informal), she wasn't even in sight yet. At the moment she
was still in her kitchen, sharing a take-out styrofoam tray from the grocery
store's steam-tables with Drew. He was washing it down with a Coke, she with a
plastic bottle of Ski, both wielding plastic forks with practiced skill and no
small amount of laughter-fueled dueling over the best tidbits. When the ratty
old dog Spencer kept around for who knew *what* reason began to bark from the
barn's front porch, Silvia paid him no mind. He barked at anything, more or
less. Drew glanced up, but was drawn back when Silvia speared the last of
something he'd been aiming at. Silvia had all but adopted the animal, he knew,
since Spencer obviously couldn't be troubled with its vet check-ups, wormer,
flea prevention, and so forth, being too busy chasing ass and swilling beer.
With the pair occupied, it was Jane that first noticed the visitors, peering
from beneath Narc's neck in his stall.

Putting the brush down, she slid out and fastened the door behind her, brushed
her hands off on her too-tight jeans. She wore them mostly for Spencer, since he
liked to give her a possessive smack right on the rump at any opportunity -- not
that she actually owned anything else that hadn't recently lived in Silvia's
dresser or closet -- and clomped curiously toward the front of the barn. By
then, Marc was out of his micro-machine and sauntering towards her, looking
simultaneously out of place and at home. Frowning for a moment, Jane ran her
eyes up the lean, well-clad body before squinted curiously at the tall
brunette's face. It took a moment before recognition dawned on her.

"Oh! Hey, Mr. Prideaux." She smiled an enthusiastic-enough greeting and stepped
aside, partly out of the politeness she knew Silvia would expect, and partly so
she could maybe get a look at the newcomer's presumably nice ass as he walked
by. "C'mon in, I can get Silvie for ya, hang on."

Silvie. Interesting. Marc stopped at the threshold as Jane turned, drew in a
deep breath, and bellowed "HEY, SILVIE! YA GOT COMPANY! GET OUT HERE!" Then she
returned her attention to him, a thousand questions tumbling in her mind like
hamsters on wheels- was he rich? Duh! Was he single? Was he straight? Could he
change his mind if he wasn't? How drunk would he have to be... oy. The list was
endless.

Jane's speculative eyes darted to the sleek trailer that hadn't moved, but from
within it resonated a few footfalls on the thick, non-skid rubber mats over the
aluminum flooring. "So is that your boy? The rescue? Want me to get a rope or
anything?" Jane was almost as eager-sounding as Monica had appeared when
Silvia's critical gaze had raked Enzo's travel companion over the other day.

"No, thank you," Marc said, a shade too quickly and too brusquely, though his
accent softened the words somewhat. She took no notice- or at least she didn't
recoil. She was too busy nosing around for good railbird gossip. He didn't like
the look of the woman. Something about her was... hard. The rest was definitely
cheap, even if one looked beyond the clothes and drugstore cologne that clung to
her vaguely sallow skin, mixing unpleasantly with the aroma of stale cigarette
smoke. This one was more reject than mutt, he speculated, his eyes cutting in
the direction she'd yelled.

Having scented new arrivals, several whinnies issued from the barn by the time
Silvia managed to surface. Hearing Jane's racket, she'd scowled, glanced
curiously at Drew, and mumbled a 'what the fuck?' He shrugged and shook his head
as she swiveled in her chair and slid her feet into her boots, then slowly rose
to her feet to shamble outside. After unloading a couple hundred bales of hay
with just Jane (who lectured more on how to stack the bales rather than actually
contribute *to* their stacking) and Drew (Spencer supposedly had to be in town
for something until late -- likely a board meeting with Anheuser-Busch) to help,
Silvia was *really* wishing that progress on the hot-tub could continue
unimpeded with the worst of the 'puttin' by' out of the way.

Interestingly, Marc realized he felt genuinely pleased to see Silvia, even if
the reception didn't *appear* mutual in her almost formal nod of greeting. His
eyes flickered past her for a brief second when Drew appeared several feet
behind, but then they turned back to the Mistress of Summerland. He hadn't
missed the stiff gait and the flicker in her jaw when she put weight on that one
side. "Good afternoon," he greeted. "You have a very nice place here."

"Thank you," she returned, unsure whether it was a simple pleasantry or
something more sincere, but not dwelling on it. When in the presence of another
pack Alpha, one had to focus on appearing to be convincingly sound and thrifty,
or so she reasoned. Even here in her barnyard, Marc was disconcertingly
put-together. It was faintly irksome.

"I designed it, my grandparents built it," Silvia still couldn't help but adding
nonchalantly. It was Marc's turn to nod in response. He was, in fact, quite
impressed, especially given some of the gossip he'd heard. Many of the tales
were flat-out lies, and the rest mostly the jealous embellishments of catty
bitches, or so he reasoned.

"Let's look at the boy, then?" She flicked unerringly to the most important
order of business clattering around in the trailer now that it had stopped the
lulling movement that had rocked him into a comfortable half-doze. Before Marc
could respond with his planned speech, however, there was an interjection.

"You need me?" Jane was peering at her cell phone. "I gotta go pick Spence up
pretty soon," she said, indicating the voice-mail she'd just received. He'd been
starting earlier, staying out later, Jane had noticed, and she wondered if it
wasn't the wear and tear Silvia put on her help. Especially him, Jane thought.
That kept him away a lot. At least Drew got paid in trade, she thought a bit
snidely. Well, Spencer had promised something for the weekend, so she could bide
her time until then, surely. Wasn't like they didn't bunk together most nights
now, anyway. Guy like him needed space to do his guy things.

Silvia's nostrils flared and whitened slightly as she swiveled stiffly, hand on
hip, to eye Jane. "We're good, thanks, if you at least have the stall ready."
Her words were calm enough, but there was the faintest tinge of strain to them,
as though she were trying *not* to grit her teeth while she spoke to the other
woman, who seemed as oblivious to any tension as a puppy shredding a pillow.

Across the space, Marc briefly caught Drew's eye, which confirmed his initial
suspicions about Jane's character. It was a bothersome turn of events that would
bear watching. Ever since The Incident and subsequent make-up-sex impromptu
beach vacation, Silvia had treaded ever so carefully around Jane when Drew was
in proximity. Jane had caught onto it, too, and spared no chance to play up to
it in flirting, coy double-talk, and any number of ridiculous asshaberdasheries
that neither Silvia nor Drew found endearing, and always left Silvia feeling
tense, drained, and worn in a way that seemed to kill appetites other than just
the ones easily satisfied by good take-out.

"I put him down at the end by Brownie so he can see out *and* have a friend,"
Silvia explained, brushing Jane off like a pecker-gnat, even though the woman
still stood nearby, lingering in the hopes of seeing something worth
embellishing and retelling. What, Silvia didn't know, but like small-town
tornados to news-reporters on a slow day, Jane could use it and build it up from
there when down at the bar telling fish-stories. It was about her only claim to
fame... well, the only one that Spencer would approve of her sharing. Not that
the same rule applied to him, of course, Lori and others could tell her.

Marc nodded. "I wished to speak to you earlier, but circumstances, they were--"
He gave a little shrug as if to say, "You know how it can be." Glancing at the
trailer he took a breath, realizing that the speech he'd been rehearsing
probably wasn't right, especially since it seemed as if Silvia might have her
back up a bit. He would have to fly by the seat of his designer pants this time.
"I find myself with two horses instead of just one, so I was hoping we could
discuss our previous arrangements."

The fingers circling the mostly-empty Ski bottle tightened perceptibly, but
Silvia remained calm. "Oh?" She hesitated, realizing that sounded as though
she'd been caught off-guard, which she had, of course. "Ah, we can... ready
another stall..." she managed, feeling The Spot upon which she felt she'd been
put.

"Ooh, I thought you just had a gelding? Is he ridable? Are you going to want me
to exercise or train?" Jane started hopefully, but Silvia stepped delicately
sideways before Marc could answer, her back squarely to the inferior herdmate,
her posture the same as the warning lash of a tail, of pinned ears. "Train"
meant something different to Jane than it did to Silvia and most other
horse-conscious animal stewards on the planet.

"It won't be a problem. I oversee the training and exercise," Silvia began, but
then Jane ignored the prior warning, coming forward to turn the twosome into a
threesome. She stood next to the taller woman, looking both smug and
flirtatious.

"Yeah. From the ground."

Marc almost winced *for* Silvia at the pointed remark, his face assuming a cool
smoothness that masked the angry hot-spot forming in his belly at the woman's
blatant rudeness. At the same time, he knew better than to be fooled by Silvia's
seemingly calm acceptance of the unexpected turn of events he'd presented. Part
of his growing irritation stemmed from uncertainty and the desire to resolve the
matter without further interference.

"*I* can ride, if you need me to." Jane cut a sideways glance at Silvia, half of
her mouth turned up in "go ahead, deny it if you dare" smirk.

Silvia swallowed audibly and the plastic bottle in her hand popped under her
increasingly tight grip. "Jane, would you please go ready another stall for Mr.
Prideaux's second horse? Then you can leave early and go pick up Spencer," she
suggested coolly.

Satisfied, Jane swiveled on one heel with an ease Silvia no longer possessed. It
was something *else* she did, consciously or not, that subtly mocked her
"employer". With a playful swat to Drew's backside, which he
uncharacteristically did not avoid, wrapped up as he was in watching the
dark-haired pair converse, she sidled past him to the rake hanging from the
wall. As a parting note -- or was it one more bid for attention? -- she grinned
at him with a wink (was that shit *contagious*?) before heading for the
wheelbarrow and shavings pile outside. Jane was finally out of their hair,
thankfully, so Silvia turned back to Marc, wondering what the hell she'd just
agreed to, more off-balance than misaligning a jump.

"I do not think I will be needing her," he said, evenly but firmly, to Silvia's
relieved nod of silent 'gotcha'. He had no doubt she could ride -- at least the
two-legged stock. The real mystery was what she was doing here, given the
obvious tension. For just a moment he regretted the impulse that had led him to
this place, with the horse he was about to unveil. The past weekend had
certainly turned his world upside-down, in many respects.

Inclining his head a little, Marc walked toward the back of the trailer. Silvia
closed the distance between them, yet stayed a respectful distance behind. "With
regard to riding, we will have to discuss a schedule. I can hire someone to help
when I am too busy, though the club is running well now." Zel saw to that. He'd
be in trouble if she decided to leave, he thought.

"You can use any of the facilities, day or night. The indoor is through there,"
she nodded through the barn, Marc's gaze following her. "Although it isn't
heated, there are ceiling-fans for summer-riding and it's lit well. Footing's
good," she added, then lowered her voice. "Jane won't be a problem. I'll feed
and care for your horses myself, like they're family. But, I believe you know
that, or you wouldn't still be here." She was still stinging a little over
Jane's well-placed parting shot.

"I do," Marc confirmed. There was never a moment's doubt, despite the seed Jane
had tried to plant there.

To add insult to injury, there was a slam of a truck-door (Spencer's), the
revving of an engine, and through the rolled-down window, the woman in quesiton
called "'Bye, Silvie! Enjoy your ride!" before .38 Special began blaring. Silvia
closed her eyes momentarily, but since she'd pitched the Ski bottle at Drew with
a quiet "Toss this please?" before rejoining Marc, she had nothing to grip but
her own hands. Finally she hooked her thumbs in her jeans pockets to still them,
lest she wring the skin right off them.

It was Marc's horse... er, horses, so Silvia let him do all that he wanted in
regards to unloading them, merely standing by to lend a hand. The trailer was a
nice one. He'd hired professional haulers, not the typical backyard operation
with a large gooseneck and a contrary F-350 dually operated by a mom and pop
team that was so popular around here for carting horses to and from auctions or
sandlot farms. When the ramp lowered, it didn't squeak, and the spring-loaded
hinges made it considerably less heavy than the one Silvia's own old
custom-built sported still. From inside, the waft of pine shavings, manure, and
good hay filled her nostrils, and she saw one lean brown rump, but one big red
apple-bottom, too. Hmm, Trakhener? Hanoverian? Nice get-up-and-go, any rate, she
speculated. She'd laugh about that later to Drew, checking out butts that way,
he of course contributing that neither was as fabulous (or multitalented) as his
own.

Enzo was the first out. Anyone paying attention could hear Marc murmuring in
French, in a voice a couple pitches above his normal speaking voice, though it
was quite soft. "He is very much better than he was," the Frenchman commented,
though it was clear Enzo would be winning no prizes in the looks department in
the near future... or ever. Still, the bald spots had grown in and the
previously dull coat shone a bit in the sun. Brown eyes that had been lackluster
and vacant now curiously examined the new surroundings, ears and nostrils also
taking in everything they could. "C'est vrai, eh Dada?" he added to the horse,
smoothing one hand along the slightly bowed neck. "Tu es sans élégance, mais tu
es un bon cheval, no?"

The tumbling monologue of soft speak was one Silvia often used on her own
horses, the feeling of the sounds in their swiveling ears more comforting than
the actual meaning or anything else. The pitch was a fine art. It had to be just
right or Brownie would fuss and complain. Enzo seemed to be happy to oblige his
owner, though, not nearly as pretentious as the old heir-apparent to Summerland
that would be his neighbor. Maybe that was the effect of having known a
less-privileged life at one point. It made horses (as well as some people), less
picky.

"So we put him away first, yes?" Marc asked. There was no point in getting
Phoenix out of the trailer if she was just going to go back anyway, but he had
faith Silvia would at least honor her commitment to Enzo, angry or not. Silvia
nodded and turned slowly, minding the gravel that most people could jog across
easily. She could too, most of the time, but she was taking no chances now that
things were improving through her routine exercise swimming, occasionally
riding, and other things Drew helped her with.

Many of the stalls were empty, giving the barn a quiet sort of expectant
ambiance as Marc led Enzo down the concrete hallway, his hoofbeats and the man's
footfalls muted a bit by textured rubber mats. There were no barn-cats to
skitter to and fro to frighten him, and the birds had other barns they nested
in, Silvia keeping the one they were in as clean as possible from nuisance
beasts.  "I gave him this one. I see Jane has put your other one next door, so
that's good. I honestly didn't expect that much of her,"  Silvia remarked
candidly, sliding open the door, then crossing to the other to ensure that there
was a full water bucket and hay in both stalls.

Marc seemed pleased. Silvia waited until Enzo was safely inside, then leaned
against the door frame, her arms crossed. "You bought her, didn't you," she
remarked quietly. For some reason, it hadn't clicked, not even after her quiet
phone call to Monica just yesterday to find the mare had been sold to an
undisclosed buyer; not after the long nights of little sleep Googling the mare's
name and trawling horse message boards and the Facebook pages of her friends to
see if there were any announcements declaring 'new mare!' or 'just bought a
beauty!' the way horse people did about new arrivals, until Drew lured her into
the sack to distract her (and how...). But, there was that red rump, the sudden
"and then there were two," and Marc's perfectly normal-seeming refrain from
divulging more information. It was intuition. As soon as she got confirmation of
that, then she'd figure out how to react, picking relief, elation, irritation,
or any number of things ending in '... but *now* what?'

"Yes." It was almost anti-climatic, really. Marc didn't hem and haw, or even
explain -- not that he could have, really. The answer he gave some others, that
he didn't want Black Saddle's owner getting his ignorant hands on such a fine
animal, fit nicely with his new public persona of charitable benefactor, but it
wasn't the whole truth. No... just like Silvia, the animal had sparked something
in him. Like his love life, where it would all lead was a mystery.

"I should kick your pretty gay French ass, you know," Silvia continued amiably,
easing up off the frame with a pop, and beckoning him to follow her back out to
the trailer. "I worried for *days*, hoping it wasn't Ed." Monica and her family
took excellent care of their horses... but they also sold to the highest bidder,
and after the horse changed hands, who knew what would happen?

"Two days," Marc interjected and Silvia's eye twitched. Not even that, as he'd
only finalized the sale early the previous morning. Thirty-six hours, tops. Yet,
it was an interesting reveal. Silvia had cared enough to check. Thoroughly.

"What makes you think I want her in my barn?" her tone was the same, but the
question was more 'why do I want a reminder of what I can't ever have or be
again, than huff. "Why on *earth* would I?  Bigger, stronger, faster, hell,
she's even easier to get along with..." than Meg, they both knew she'd been
about to say. That... was possibly the most unsettling part. Very Lethal Weapon
2 (?) Was it okay to look at another horse and see its better attributes, while
not forgetting the ones that made Meg unforgettable?  Silvia shook her head, but
continued walking. No undoing it now, and she wasn't sure she *wanted* to undo
it.  Everything felt confusing, new, and juuust on the edge of something
unknown- oddly?- the same way Silvia'd felt in Drew's bedroom after that first
pizza.

Marc let Silvia get a couple steps ahead while he processed, then took several
long steps that brought him alongside her. "And it will be my 'pretty gay ass'
on her back, so for you it is just some space in your building, yes? You have
plenty." Despite his own accent, he had managed to parody her inflection
perfectly, making her her jaw tense. And, while his next words were outwardly
appeasing, the tone beneath them was not. "But if it is so much trouble to you,
I can go elsewhere."

The invisible gauntlet lay on the ground between them, a challenge they both
seemed to be rising to. Silvia could *feel* it there, a combination of mocking
and beckoning, and she was ever so grateful Jane and her Stable-Hand Ken weren't
around to witness it. Even the dog was gone somewhere. Drew wasn't, though. He
was right there, seeing, taking in everything with those analytical eyes. Silvia
cringed a little, thoroughly ruffled and discombobulated.

"You forgot French," Silvia tossed back, hedging, and everyone knew it. Silvia
didn't know which she was more frustrated about: the fact that Marc had gotten
the mare at all, so that she was in closer proximity- a tease!- than she would
have been had she been sold and shipped across the continent, that she hadn't
gotten to her first, in spite of all of her adamant declarations against picking
up another horse of her own, or that the mare was simply *better* than even her
best had been. That really hurt. That felt, more than anything, like letting Meg
down somehow, a dig at him ex-post-facto.

"Madame, I never forget French." It was said, of course, with the sort of
effortless arrogance that only the French can muster. Then one side of Marc's
mouth gave an upward flicker. He took off his sunglasses and hooked them in the
neck of his shirt. "At least you did not say you would have your boyfriend kick
my ass. I would have thought much less of you." He glanced over at Drew. "Though
I may have enjoyed it."

"I can kick my own ass, thank y--" Silvia's snap fizzled like a bad firecracker.
"Oh, fuck it. Put her in the damned stall," she growled, glancing at Drew, a
definite 'don't you *dare* snicker until it's just us and beer' unspoken in the
flicker. Cornered. Coerced somehow into staring at something she'd fought at all
costs to cover up and push away and hide. Oroboros was a bitch.

Victory wasn't so much sweet as it was a relief. It might not be obvious to
everyone, but there was no question in Marc's mind about when it had become a
contest: almost ten years ago, in an English ring. The fact that they'd both
walked away, albeit years apart, had no bearing on the matter. What held him in
check now wasn't Silvia's current attitude or his own pride. It was the snide
words of the trashy brunette: from the ground. That had an interesting double
meaning if one considered what had happened to Silvia, not that he believed the
other woman was that layered. No, she'd been aiming for the cheap shot. And yet,
they were absolutely on his mind as he walked up the trailer's ramp and led
Phoenix out.

As the sleek mare hopped gaily off the back of the trailer, forgetting the ramp,
Silvia almost sneered as she glanced away. Just great. She was light on her feet
and easy to manage, which just enough attitude... and a big tease, too. If *she*
started winking, there was going to be a beating, Silvia thought. She looked
just as big and shiny and oh-so... yes, huggable, as she had at the open house.
Silvia crossed her arms over her midriff, rounding her shoulders a bit, and
blinked a few times. Marc's eyes were discretely averted from the scene, his
attention purposely fixed on other details. On solid ground the mare was
standing calmly, head up, gazing casually around at her surroundings ears
swiveling to take in all the new sounds. She *was* a doll (albeit a BIG one),
Silvia had to admit. That was exactly why she had a wad of cash in her purse,
which was carefully stashed so Jane didn't find it, intended to serve as the
down payment on the mare until the rest of the money could be wired over. It was
useless now, though. Here she was, in big, bold, living color... with someone
else's name on the papers. That thought made her stomach tumble.

The mare playfully lipped Marc's jacket before circling him and sniffing the
ground, then wandered over to curiously nose Drew's pockets. He stood still for
it, having grown more used to such things, but he wasn't yet at the point where
he was touchy-feely back. Besides, his attention was on the people.

"Great. Who's been hand-feeding her," Silvia remarked, thinking of the Jr. Mints
Brownie loved. The answer, of course, was Monica. She had admitted as much at
the open house, and if asked, she'd have fully outed Silvia as having taught her
indirectly. At the sound of Silvia's voice, the mare turned and lifted her
muzzle right up to Silvia's nose and gave her a brief, deep sniff which Silvia
returned out of habit, before lipping at her crossed arms. Unable to resist *or*
endure the persistent nudging, Silvia uncrossed them and put her hands on either
side of the mare's face on the soft spot just below the halter's noseband.

"Careful," she murmured. "Let's get you inside, heifer. You'll bleach if you
don't watch." The words were quiet, softened, as though they'd been smushed up
with honey and made easier to digest for a foal instead of a horse bigger than
Marc's car (orange! Hmmf). Silvia glanced sheepishly at Drew, who was as good at
looking utterly neutral as Marc when he needed to, but then she let the mare
head-butt her along in front of her, Marc on the other side, as the trio
disappeared into the barn. Drew stayed outside, caught up in his thoughts.

Marc's tone with the big red mare was much the same as it had been with Enzo,
and it didn't switch back completely when he next spoke to Silvia, his hands
still stroking the mare's long neck as she settled in to her new home. "You
would prefer I pay by the week or the month? I brought my checkbook today, but I
can arrange for electronic transfer in the future if you prefer, or cash."

"However's easiest for you," Silvia returned briskly, as professional as if she
hadn't been completely tempted to flick Marc away and wool up on the mare
herself, baby-talking her before putting her into her new stall (though,
somewhat unexpectedly, Marc was doing more of that than most would have expected
from him). Her eyes were on the mare's coppery glow, the way the muscles flexed
and moved beneath the glossy hide, the way her unique eyes seemed lazy,
half-lidded, as if she were returning from a work-out, not settling into a
different barn. Brownie's nostrils flared as he pressed them against the bars
separating the two horses, trying to introduce himself, but the big mare didn't
really care about anything except her hay. Finally, Brownie gave up and sulked
in his corner with a huff. Silvia leaned against the stall again, just watching
the two.

"Do you even have any plans for her, besides the obvious?" Silvia queried after
a moment, the obvious being "Nya-nya-nya-nya-NYAAA-NYAAAA", at least in her
world.

The initial reply was a vaguely ambiguous little shrug. The follow-up was more
candid, if not wholly truthful. "I thought only to keep her from your former
petit-ami. He should be trusted with nothing more than a cheval de bataille...
uh..." Marc had to pause, looking up as he hunted for the word. "The wooden toy
horses children ride, with the... uh... rockers on the bottom. You know, yes?" A
hand made a rocking sort of motion in the air for emphasis/

Vaguely, Silvia did, and she nodded. He turned back to Phoenix, his head cocked
to one side just slightly. "Before Enzo, I had never ridden an American horse.
He is of pleasant temper, but he is hardly a true example."

Marc had the grace to preface his next statement with a rueful expression. "My
grandfather, he would not have considered bringing such an animal into his
stables. We had French horses, and one or two Spanish, and an English pony, but
never an American. They were, in his words, 'les batards.' Bastards. And so they
did not belong in his world." Not just American horses, either. Even before his
only daughter had come home from the States pregnant, the senior Prideaux had
looked down his Romanesque nose at the "colonial upstarts." Afterward... well,
any goodwill he might ever have fostered was utterly extinguished.

Irony, it was a real bitch.

"Meg was an All-American boy. He was a Saddlebred, like Brownie," she replied
simply, nodding to the drowsing old man in the next stall, ears lax, bottom lip
drooping. Didn't look much like the brother of a world champion, let alone a
world champion in his own day. The rest was implied, like 'and he gave yours a
run for his money'. Marc acknowledged at least her comment with a small nod; it
may have been more, but he wasn't saying it aloud.

"Want me to print your stuff out now or send it to you? Laptop's inside, as I
found out Dad's computers were about as advanced as oversized calculators," she
shrugged, frowning.

"Tomorrow is soon enough," Marc said. "I will be back around noon, if that will
not interfere with your schedule."

"Sure, that's fine," Silvia agreed, not pointing out that she *could* be out of
bed earlier than he, and undoubtedly usually was. Why she felt the need to
one-up him, she didn't know, but she was glad she had the sense not to.

To this, Marc was oblivious, caught up instead in his previous train of thought.
Silvia's father was dead, that much he knew. It had been in one of the reports
he'd gotten from his private investigator a while back. She was the sole owner
of the land on which they now stood. Only child -- something else they had in
common, he supposed. "He ran Summerland himself, your father?"

"Chased it, more like," Silvia replied. "Summerland was my maternal
grandparents' property. He received it as a wedding gift from my mom's family.
All of it but one small piece is still intact," she continued. "When I was
little, they figured I could ride a little, so my dad sunk a chunk of money into
the place to make it what it was in it's heyday, but when he chased off the help
with his attitude, it ran back downhill. It ate him alive and he died at letting
it slip through his fingertips." She shrugged. "He didn't *want* to leave it to
me. He always made wanting a male heir pretty clear, but he didn't have anyone
else." Silvia's father had wanted a son more than anything. When it was
suggested that Silvia's mother have no more children after her, things started
to go downhill. Although Silvia'd been hard-pressed to find anything redeeming
about the situation at first, having Drew around was definitely an improvement
upon things.

In the distant past, his grandfather would have been pleased to point out that
sons were generally more tractable than daughters... up until Marc had defected
in a manner even more spectacular than his willful mother. And yet, estrangement
or no, one day Marc would inherit his grandparents' considerable properties.
Whatever else his faults, he was male and bore their name, and French law was
clear on certain matters. He tried to imagine himself in their mansion, first
alone, and then with Haden, which--

"Thanks," Silvia said suddenly, interrupting his imaginings. She had a brief
flash of that mellow eye rolling white-ringed, the mare's patient, kind face
sweaty and being hauled on by an idiot rider (in *hideous* leather pants) and
she was unable to hide the face she pulled at that 'what-if'. The mare wasn't
hers, but she was safe.

Marc got it, even if the reason was implied rather than overt, and he gave
Silvia simple hand wave as if to say 'no problem'. Then his serious expression
fell away. "So... you could ride *a little*," he echoed her words, chuckling.
"Others should wish for your 'little' skill, I think, Balle Argentée." He used
her old nickname with something akin to affection, the respect of one competitor
for another. "But that is perhaps for another day."

In spite of herself, a corner of Silvia's mouth twisted upward as she gave her
head a slow shake. "Silver tarnishes and goes dark after a while, and it was
always a softer metal anyway. Lot of dents in it." She made sure the mare's door
was closed, as well as Enzo's, and picked up the end of a lead rope that had
fallen to touch the floor. Re-coiling it and putting it back on its hook, Silvia
added, "It'll be a long time before I'm able to get on something like Omega Red
there again," she smirked, but when she realized what she'd said, she stopped,
frozen for just a second before releasing the lead rope and heading toward the
front of the barn to see Marc off.

"My grandmere, she would say that her Sterling was improved by the signs of
wear. That is what showed it was real," Marc observed, hooking the handle of his
car door to pull it open. The trailer had already gone, the driver having been
paid beforehand. "A demain," he told her. "Tomorrow. Noon."

Silvia suspected his grandmother wouldn't be buying any of that Oneida crap from
Dillard's, as much money as *that* family had- and made sure everyone knew it.
But Marc was leaving, and there was no reason for her to detain him further,
just for the benefit of getting her own cerebral itch scratched. Vaguely, she
replied "Yeah, tomorrow- thanks," for whatever, she didn't know, but it seemed
like the right thing to say.

After Marc's little orange ride had completely disappeared into the main road,
she slowly made her way back down to the mare's stall and just watched her draw
in giant mouthfuls of hay, chew, and swallow, occasionally nosing Silvia's arm
as if to say "You *sure* you don't want any? I got plenty..." Great, one who
wasn't a food-mooch, but a real lover, too. She hadn't even gotten a good look
at Enzo, who had immediately let everyone know that his stall was *his* by
marking it with a foamy, darkened urine spot in the middle of the shavings.

"He's been sent to torture me. I really *should* have attended Baptist
church-camp that one summer," Silvia mused aloud with a sigh. Her back and
shoulders were aching, and she'd managed to get a splinter of something dried
and baled in one of her fingertips that she'd have to dig out later. At least
The Help was gone for awhile. But Drew wasn't, and she owed him more than an
apology, by her reasoning, for totally running the Liberace and Friends
Horse-Unloading Goodtime Hour...

Time: Monday July 23, 2007
Place: Swimming Hole
People: Ellis/Danny

After she'd locked up her apartment and climbed into his truck, she leaned back
in the seat. It actually felt really nice to get away from the whole apartment
and cafe thing for a bit. She was glad she'd suggested it. She stretched her
arms over her head, as he drove, "I'm glad I thought of this. We used to go
swimming all the time when it was hot, or when we just wanted to relax, but I
haven't been in a long time. Too much going on. This'll be nice."

"Yeah," Danny agreed. "In high school, after we all learned to drive, it was
pretty much every day in the summer." He glanced across at Ellis's expression.
There was less of a worry-wrinkle between her eyebrows already. "Not too many
people had air conditioning at home back then, and fans only moved the humid air
around. We'd go evenings after work for a couple hours. On the weekends we'd
load up the back of the truck and head out someplace for the whole day. It was
great." Before businesses and worries, back when the work was part-time, used to
fund beat-up cars and prom and stuff. "We can hit the DQ out on the highway
afterwards. Ice cream's okay for you?"

"Sounds a lot like the way we did things back where I was... minus the air
conditioning, anyway," Ellis said, laughing, as she brought her arms down to
rest at her side, leaning her right elbow on the open window. "Bad wiring in the
house. At least we had the dam to go swimming in when it was hot. Made pretty
good use of it, too."

She was kind of surprised, not that he suggested stopping somewhere. He'd done
that. It was more him asking if ice cream was okay for her. She couldn't really
remember him asking her if something was okay before. Her having to order
something safe or politely declining based on her diet, that she remembered. She
smiled, nodding, "Yeah, ice cream is okay. One of the few things I can have.
Sounds like a good plan for after."

They drove a ways, eventually turning off the blacktop onto a gravel road. At
one point Danny hopped out to open a gate, waving off Ellis before she could
even open her mouth. He knew what she'd say at this point. "Technically this is
private property," he said, sliding back behind the wheel without bothering to
fix his seat belt, "But the guy doesn't care as long as we don't scare his
horses, get drunk, or otherwise act like jackasses. Plus, back here there
probably won't be any high school kids busting in on us."

In fact, when she'd seen the gate up ahead, Ellis had offered to get out. Her
thinking -- that it didn't really make sense for Danny to put the truck in park,
leave it running, get out and open the gate before getting back in and going,
when she could do it -- apparently didn't meet with the same sort of thinking on
his end, but, oh well. When he pointed out that it was private property, it did
make some sort of sense, actually. He elaborated on that, concluding with the
fact that no high school kids would likely be busting in on them, to which she
tapped the side of her head with her index finger, and smiled, "Right, stowed
away for future reference. No need to worry... so long as those high school kids
stay away."

The horse farm wasn't as big as some in the area. They mostly boarded rather
then bred, serving the second-tier folks who might own a horse or two and ride a
few competitions, but didn't make a complete lifestyle of it, like Black Saddle
or Summerland in its heyday. The owner's nephew was about Danny's age and they'd
gone to school together. Greg had headed off to college and then moved on, close
to ten years ago now. He was probably married with kids or something. Wow. That
was a thought.

Danny shook it off, along with an image of Zel that intruded itself into the
forefront of his mind. When he was alone with the gorgeous, dark-haired dancer,
it was easy to just lose himself and think about nothing but her, to forget
Belle Reve and all the other stuff that came with it -- clothes off *or* on.
There was both good and bad in that, he knew. She made him feel great, and
talking with her was easy... well, easy-ER, at least. Ellis was more like the
girls he'd gone to high school with, part of the Belle Reve make-up even if she
*was* a transplant. It would occur to him only much later that he'd never
considered putting Zel and his mother in the same room the way he'd so casually
suggested to Ellis over dinner...

He pulled off near a stand of trees, parking in the shade. A wide stream made a
bend, pooling out into a decent-sized swimming hole. Ellis glanced out the
windshield of the car, taking in the view in front of her. The small stream, the
natural pool it ended at, the trees. Not a bad little place for a swimming
excursion. It made her glad, again, that she'd suggested getting away from her
apartment for a bit.

Turning off the truck, Danny leaned to one side to pull his wallet out of his
pants. Ellis had just started to reach for the handle on the door when Danny
leaned over to open the glove compartment, giving Ellis's leg a playful little
nudge as his hand went between her knees to pull the release. Then he stuck both
keys and wallet in the glove compartment. Her hand had stopped, now just resting
on the handle, when he gave her that devil-may-care, oh-what-the-hell smile he
was so damn good at and leaned in to kiss her. That grin of his was starting to
become one item on a long list of weaknesses of hers, up there somewhere with
chocolate and a decent cappuccino.

Of course, that smile of his was usually only a warm-up. This time was no
exception to that. As he kissed her, slowly and with definite intent, all
thoughts of actually getting out of the truck were temporarily forgotten. She
let the kiss deepen, content for the moment to sit in the truck and enjoy that
playful, teasing side of him that he showed when he did kiss her. For her part,
she did her own fair share of teasing and tempting. She could feel his hand
making a shallow dive up under her skirt again, sliding along the top of her
thigh, thumb brushing along the more sensitive skin on the inside. She scooted
forward a bit, allowing her legs to slide apart ever so slightly for a moment.
There was a soft little almost-purr sound that made its way out of the back of
her throat, matching the deeper-pitched sigh that came from his, before she
pulled the handle of the door and ended the kiss, which was a lot harder than
she'd thought it would be. He watched as she slipped out of the truck, taking a
few steps backward, a playful smile on her face as she stopped..

"Damn, you're good... but if you want more, you're going to have to come and get
me."

{tbc}

When: Saturday, July 21, 2007
Where: Cafe Bardot
Who: Ellis/Devon

What Devon had in mind already did not match what she was actually living in
presently so she was not about to question any kind of occupation that would
fill her time.

"I'm up for anything, really Ellis." Devon patted Ellis' hand and smiled. "All I
need is a little training and I'll be good." She continued before straightening
up. "And besides, I doubt my son would want me doing any hard labour so...being
a waitress should be okay for me."

tag: Ellis

> When: Saturday, July 21, 2007
> Where: Cafe Bardot
> Who: Ellis/Devon

      "Poor kid," Ellis said, with a hint of laughter, as she shook her head. It
sounded like the worst thing in the world if one were that age and had all those
adventures ahead of them, "Oh well, at least you know his priorities are in the
right place. Most would have been out the door, on the next flight with no
regrets or second thoughts about anything beyond where they put their passport."
      Ellis shrugged, shaking her head, as she glanced out the door. She'd only
been back in town for a couple of weeks, and she hadn't heard about anyone
hiring. Of course, she'd also barely managed to get out of the cafe to go
anywhere but the store, either. So, that might have had something to do with it.
      "I don't know if anyone's hiring," she explained, "but I have only been
back in town for the past couple of weeks. I have a girl working for me, but
she's more part-time than anything. Having another person here working the front
would free me up to get the kitchen portion back open, though, not to mention
getting caught up on the paperwork and all the office stuff. I'm not sure if
it's what you had in mind, though?"

      (tag: Devon)

> "Wilson put on a brave face when his friends came over one last time to ask if
he wanted to come with them. I knew he was dying to go but he told them he had
enough of traveling and he wanted to spend some time with his mum." Devon
chuckled affectionately. "That boy is far too good for his own good."
>
> Again Devon laughed at Ellis' last reply before she downed the last of her
tea. "Although I must admit, I came in here with ulterior motives. You wouldn't
happen to know if there are available job positions around do you?"

OOC: I'll get a reply to this post tomorrow. Sorry I have been gone for a
while. There was a recent, unexpected death in my family and I've been playing
nursemaid to two of my family members who had to go and get the swine flu. Not
fun, but I'll definitely get a reply to this tomorrow.

       Bridget

> When: Saturday, July 21, 2007
> Where: Cafe Bardot
> Who: Ellis/Devon
>
> Devon laughed at Ellis' reply. Time had passed since she first came into the
cafe and now she felt a bit cooler and she was grateful for it.
>
> "Wilson put on a brave face when his friends came over one last time to ask if
he wanted to come with them. I knew he was dying to go but he told them he had
enough of traveling and he wanted to spend some time with his mum." Devon
chuckled affectionately. "That boy is far too good for his own good."
>
> Again Devon laughed at Ellis' last reply before she downed the last of her
tea. "Although I must admit, I came in here with ulterior motives. You wouldn't
happen to know if there are available job positions around do you?"
>
> [tag: Ellis]
>

"We could wait a little longer," she said with a nod, "since darker
makes them that much better."  Then Natalie craned her neck and
squinted slightly in the sun.  "So...in the meantime..."

  Corey
agreed with her about the darkness and the fireworks. Explosions in the
dark sky were the best. They didn't have that long to wait either as
the sun was disappearing over the horizon line.

   "Hey,
whatever you want. I'm up for anything..." he smiled then hoping that
wouldn't be misconstrued added, "well, almost anything."

   "Almost anything huh?  Like..."  Natalie quirked a dark brow and grinned at
him.  "Like rob a bank or steal me a pony?"

   "Umm, those would go under the category 'almost anything'. My dad's a cop
remember? So I gotta be a good guy," he smiled.

She
sat up and crossed her legs Indian-style, facing him.  "No, not
really.  You could tell me... what you want to be when you grow up?"

   "OK,
I'll tell you but remember our earlier conversation? You said you'd
tell me what the other girls..or girl said about me. Besides that I
have a good haircut," Corey wasn't about to let that go.

   
"Anyhow, a part of me wants to be a cop...like my dad and his dad
before him and some other relatives. It's kind of a family tradition if
you know what I mean."

    "But then I don't know if I'm cut out
for cop stuff, I mean - think about it - my only sports are running and
tennis. Not exactly the most macho guy in the world, am I?" he shrugged bare
shoulders.

   He felt at ease enough with her that he didn't need to be all concerned about
revealing feelings and such.

 
  Natalie thought about it for a moment and shrugged her tan
shoulders.  "Cops have to run.  Can't catch anyone by standing and
asking them to stop and drop."  She wiggled her brows now.  "Or, they
run all the time in the movies at least."

   "They also beat the bad guys up with karate and punches n' stuff," Corey
pointed out.

Hints
of a grin touched her lips but the tone of her voice was still rather
pensive.  "Do you ever go out on runs or anything with him?"

   "My dad? Uh, no way. He doesn't run. His knees arent that great anymore
either," Corey shook his head.

   "But tell you one thing, I wouldn't wanna be the guy who fights him. My dad
knows how to handle himself."

   Natalie
giggled a little and gave him a gentle poke in the arm.  "I meant in
his car -- like when he's patrolling and stuff.  Not actually
running...I should have clarified, sorry."  She looked apologetic the
nodded her head in agreement.

   "Ohhhhhhhh, sorry," Corey had
completely missed the question, "But no, it's against department policy
to take civvies along on patrols."

"Yeah, I bet he's not all that fun to have a run-in with.  Has he had any big
problems with anyone since he came here?"

 
"Oh a few. Recently he and this gorgeous veternarian had a run in with
some horse owner who was starving his horses. It was really bad. I went
and helped her with caring for them a few times. God, I hate it when
people are cruel to animals like that," Corey was still bothered by the
memory of those horses in that barn.

  "He might have hit the dude....maybe...but I'm not sayin'," Corey smiled then.

 
"I can understand that," Natalie said with a decided bit of a nod.  "I
get the urge to punch people sometimes, too, and that's mostly just
jerks at school.  But with his job, yeesh," she empathized.  "Not that
I *do* all the time of course...or any of the time really...I think I
got it from only having older brothers."  She laughed.  "No, I kind of
just like to dramatize stuff sometimes--even though there *are* moments
when I wish I could just punch some people."

  "Yeah, don't we all. Don't we all," he smiled.

   "Long as you don't punch me, I bruise easily you see," he quipped.

   "Poor thing..." she crooned softly.

   "Hey
now I think it's fair if I ask you - what do you want to do when you
graduate high school? Career plans. That sort of thing."

   "Invent
something amazing and become a millionaire and have a ranch with dozens
of horses at my fingertips."  Natalie exhaled a soft sigh.

   "Gee, sounds simple enough," grinned Corey.

 
"No, not quite... I wouldn't mind the ranch or the horses," she
amended, "but I think something like -- investigative journalism or
something...I could go under cover and get dirt on people who should be
arrested."

    "Interesting work alright, sounds a bit dangerous though. Course if nothing
else, you can beat'em up," he joked.

   "So, how about telling me what else the girl said about me besides I have a
good haircut? I can't help it, I'm nosey."

   "You ARE curious," the brunette teased with a gentle poke to his chest. 
"That killed a cat once, you know."

   "Think that's an urban legend, dudette," Corey grinned.

Natalie
indulged a mock-serious expression then pretended to think about it for
a long moment.  "They think you're a smokin' tennis player," she
revealed a bit at a time.

  "Interesting. And now it's they?
Since I'm not on the tennis team yet and I've only been practicing this
summer on park courts, not sure how they've even seen me play?" he
shrugged.

  "Small town," she said with a small lift of her
narrow shoulders.  "Word gets around, I guess."  She quirked a brow. 
"And your tan..."

"My tan? OK, now it's getting creepy. I
obviously only have gotten a tan this summer vacation. I almost feel
now like I'm being stalked," Corey sat up.

   "People notice
you," Natalie said with a shrug, "and everyone knows girls like to go
on and on about boys they think are cute."  She grinned.  "So really
you should be flattered.  They might even be picking out your next
haircut for you."

   "Whatever...why don't we pull out some of the fireworks now? Its dark enough
and I wanna shoot stuff," he grinned.

   "Ab-so-lute-ly!" 
The brunette unfolded her legs and got to her feet, dusting the bit of
sand from her hands.  "That's what the Fourth is all about, right?" 
She quirked her brows then added, "Well, with the exception of our
nation's independence and all of that...."

  "Yeah, I think I've
heard a little about that kinda stuff," Corey laughed then the two of
them went to the back trunk of the car.

   Soon they were
setting off all sorts of fireworks, savoring the rockets shooting into
the night sky, the mulitcolored explosions, and smell of gunpowder.
Though the box seemed huge and it was stuffed with the things, it
didn't take all that long and they were staring into the bottom lining
of a now empty container.

   "Well, that was fun...short but sweet," Corey shrugged, "Kinda like you!"

   He grinned.

    Natalie grinned, too, and reached to place a quick kiss to his lips.  "You're
lucky that I like you," she teased him, "Or I might have had to punch you."  And
then with a playful poke to his ribs she darted off, jogging along the sandy
bank of the lake with a sparkler in hand for a last bit of a jaunt before
heading home.

-end-

Time: Monday July 23, 2007
Place: Cafe Bardot
People: Ellis/Danny

Oh. Well. *That* hadn't occurred to him at all. Why not? Maybe because he'd
gotten good at compartmentalizing all things Zel and all things Ellis into to
entirely different places. That wasn't tough. Until now, of course, when the
warning klaxons were going off for the impending collision. "Never thought of
that as your scene," he commented, taking a bite of the pizza. It was not, in
fact, the same as the real thing (in his opinion, being a connoisseur of pizza),
but it was good enough and he hadn't had to cook it himself. His look turned
mischievous. "I mean, not a cow in sight."

Well, that explained why he'd never asked her to go there, after that one time
she'd gotten sick right before the whole disaster in Australia had occurred, and
she'd had to go running off to focus on that. Still, though, it did cause her to
frown, slightly. Not her scene.. She was, mildly, wounded that thought would
occur to anyone and part of her, a small part, almost rushed to her own defense.
She bit that back, though, and instead settled for taking a bite of pizza and
slowly chewing it while she mulled that over.

And then he made the comment about the cow.. She reached over and playfully
smacked him in the arm as she said, "Oh, very funny. No, I don't suppose there
are cows there."

She laughed for a few minutes, then sighed, resting her chin in the palm of the
hand of the arm she had resting on the counter, reflecting on the part before
that, again. Did she really give off the whole blow-in from the country in
Australia vibe that much? It wasn't like she was Crocodile Dundette, or
something along those lines, but it also wasn't like she'd never been to the
city and appreciated its many forms of entertainment (and did she *ever*
appreciate the many distractions in comparison to living on a cattle station?!).
She'd lived in the city for four years, for heaven's sake, quite successfully
without the presence of cows or any other farm animal, what was more.. She
decided to inquire about it. Hell, what was the worst he could say...well, aside
from the Croc Dundette vibe? It wasn't so much the fact that he'd dismissed it
as not her scene, as it was concern that she was giving everyone the totally
wrong impression, not that he knew that. She stared at the glass of lemonade her
free hand was wrapped around, her eyebrows furrowing, as she asked, her voice
quiet, "Is that how people see me?"

"Uhm..." Danny knew he was in trouble somehow, from the look on Ellis's face and
something odd in the tone of her voice. "I mean, I never asked, so..."

He put his pizza down and turned to face her, shaking his head. "You're just...
kinda like my sister, in the not-creepy way," he quickly added. "You look really
nice when you dress up, but you look totally hot in jeans and a t-shirt, too.
You don't get all bent out of shape about a little dirt or breaking a nail or
whatever." He reached out and put his hand over the one she had wrapped around
the glass, giving her one of his dimpled smiles. "Really, that kind of flash and
fakeness just didn't match up in my head with you being so normal and practical
and whatever. Kinda saw you as a beer-and-pool type girl. My bad, I guess.
Sorry."

Well, thank God he'd continued rather than stopped at the whole you're kinda
like my sister thing. That would have been cause for a completely different set
of issues. She sighed, looking up as she smiled, somewhat reassured, but not
totally. She could deal with that later. Her smile was more apologetic than
anything, as she shook her head, "No, I just over-thought it, mostly in terms of
business and that. It's fine. Don't worry about it."

And he wouldn't have, except...

Well, he didn't see her as flashy or fake, more the normal and practical type.
There were some girls who would probably take offense at that. Not her, but some
would. She sighed, again, her shoulders falling into a more relaxed, less on her
guard, position, before she joked, "Even we beer and pool types don't mind the
occasional foray into the unknown. It's fun to be impractical and fun sometimes.
I know I'd go crazy if I was normal and practical all the time, and... well, I
wouldn't exactly describe our first meeting as practical. Fun, definitely.
Practical, not a chance. So, I definitely think you'd hate if that whole
practical, normal thing was the only side of me you ever got to see."

Mmm; that might depend on whether her practical side liked to run around naked.
Okay, that was a terrible thought, but he honestly wasn't ready to get dragged
into a whole girly-type insecurity thing tonight. Seriously, what was it? He
thought she was hot, and he'd said so. She cooked well, and he'd said that, too.
It wasn't bullshit when he said he liked the whole tomboy-jeans thing. Now he
was somehow in trouble for saying she *wasn't* fake. WTF? At times he wondered
if Ellis's aggressive I-can-take-care-of-myself attitude wasn't exactly what it
was supposed to look like. (Okay... no more daytime TV at the shop. That stuff
was going to his head.)

"There's a lot of good places in Lexington, if you're really looking to branch
out some," he commented, turning back toward his food. Around a mouthful of
pizza, he added, "Though if you're looking to cut loose and re-enact the whole
festival-meeting, I'm good with that, too."

Open mouth, insert foot. She might have found it amusing if it wasn't so bloody
frustratingly typical of her, all the time lately. After a second taken to
reflect on her amazing ability to make things completely awkward, all on her
own, she ate the last of her slice of pizza before she got up from her chair.
She headed toward the pile of dishes in the sink, setting the plate down, before
she sighed and cringed, feeling more than her fair share of foolish for even
getting off on the subject. "Like I said, I over-thought it. Business hasn't
exactly been stellar, and I've been trying to think of what I'm doing that I
could improve on. What you said, it sort of had me worried I was giving off this
whole Croc Dundette vibe that was driving business away. Stupid, but it
happens."

She crossed her fingers, holding them up in front of her, with a bright, happy
smile, "No more worry over stupid things. I promise. Cafe's downstairs, you're
up here. You have my undivided attention, now. I swear."

"Honey, I get it. It's your business." Another way she was like Kellie,
actually: head in the game where her livelihood was concerned. "You don't have
to be sorry about that." Though, if Ellis was worried about being too hick, she
hadn't taken a good enough look at some of the locals. He had to think a moment
about what he planned to say next, since she was often touchy about taking help.
"You know, my mom and her church committee-group-whatever thing go out like once
a month. I could put a bug in her ear to come here some time, if you want.
Around here, you get church ladies on your side and you're golden." He moved the
fingers of one hand in a open-close, chatter-chatter motion while he grabbed a
piece of pizza with the other hand. "They talk."

"And go figure," Ellis said, with a bit of the wry sense of humor she had from
time to time thrown in. "All my professors and whatnot always told me good
coffee sells itself. Teach me to take their advice to heart, next time."

She scratched her shoulder, before she nodded, slowly, "Well, you did say you'd
give me free advertising space on your cast when we first met. Of course, I
guess I would've not had to have everything in Australia go circling the drain
to have taken advantage of that. So, in that case, if you want to use word of
mouth, I wouldn't turn you down. I'd offer free food in payment, but I'm running
out of meals I could give you for free."

He laughed. There was no such thing as too much free food. "Change comes slow
around here, but people catch on to a good thing. I'm kinda surprised the club's
doing so well so soon. The last one was sketchy. Might be curiosity, I dunno.
Plus, the guy's half-way plugged in with the horse people. That can make a
difference around here, too."

She nodded, after a brief shrug, "Not all that different from where I was
before, basically. Save a few hundred head of cattle and a bunch of loud
annoying sheep, I guess. Early days, again. I only just got it back open, after
all. Shouldn't worry."

Danny nodded, finishing up his food and taking the dishes over to the sink with
hers. He slid one arm loosely around her waist, his face spreading into his
characteristic smile. "No, you shouldn't. It'll happen." Then he grabbed a fresh
beer out of the refrigerator to take back to his seat.

"Okay, enough boring businesswoman, or I'll have talked you to sleep. You didn't
come here to hear me talk business all night," she said with a shake of her
head. Then she walked back around and plopped down on the stool again. She
crossed her left leg over her right as she said, "So, like I said, undivided
attention. You have it now. What are you going to do with it? And, just so you
know, there's no wrong answer."

Aaaand, the gauntlet had been thrown. "Mmm..." he pretended to muse before
saying with faux-innocence, "Bible study?" His hand was on her knee, fingertips
gliding just under the hem of her skirt and around the outside of her thigh. It
was a joke of course. In high school "bible study" had been code for something
of a very different nature for him and his friends, though Ellis wouldn't know
that. At the same time, if pressed, he could probably still name every book in
the bible from his Sunday School days. "Maybe there's a nice documentary on PBS
or Discovery Channel? The club's not open on Mondays, so that's out." Though
they could always go out-out if she wanted. It wasn't something she'd ever
really suggested before tonight.

"Bible study." So there *were* wrong answers, clearly. She hadn't really
expected him to go that particular route of suggestions. Ellis didn't have too
much time to contemplate just where the bible study suggestion had come out of,
though. She glanced down at her knee, watching his fingertips for a second
before she glanced back up, her eyebrows raising, as a faint smile fell across
her face. Well, if he wanted to tease, she could give back, just as good. She
took a moment to compose herself, and said, perfectly seriously, "Or, if we
really want to go crazy, there's Food Network, too? I think I saw something
about a special Ace of Cakes marathon, too. I don't know about you, but air a
couple of hours worth of cake shows and I'm just glued to the tv."

"You can never go wrong with cake," Danny agreed, his hand sliding a little
further up, moving lightly, his fingers spreading out. Of course, that was
probably on her Forbidden Food list. He'd have to remember that stuff. "My mom
makes a wicked Red Velvet for my birthday every year." He looked over as if
daring her to say something else, even as his hand continued its teasing
progress.

There were times when Ellis's perfectly serious act could be taken the wrong
way. Usually the times when she managed to keep a straight face longer than a
couple of minutes. She couldn't help herself, though, and even trying to look
dead serious for two minutes proved to be impossible, as she burst out laughing
not too long after the last words had left her mouth. After she had stopped, she
sighed, before she shrugged, "I remember you mentioning swimming holes way back
a few weeks ago. That could be fun. Put a few drinks in a cooler, grab a couple
of towels. I could live with escaping here for a few hours. What do you think?"

Danny nodded. It sounded great, and his face reflected that fact. "I'm not sure
if I have a suit down in the truck." He usually tried to keep one handy in the
summer. Not that it mattered, if he took her to the right spot. He'd swum in his
underwear dozens of times, or in nothing at all equally often. He leaned in, his
mouth an inch or so away from Ellis's. "But I bet I can improvise just fine."

Ellis slid a bit forward on the stool, which had the unintended, but by no means
unwelcome, effect of causing his hand to slide further up her leg. Nobody was
complaining. There was the faintest look of faux confusion on her face as she
brought her own mouth mere centimeters away from his own, pausing a moment
before she maneuvered so that it was right next to his ear. She whispered, "Oh,
I'm counting on your ability to improvise, but I don't remember saying anything
about swimsuits."

Having said that, she stood up before his hand could end up someplace that would
keep them from leaving the apartment any time soon, though she did so slowly and
a bit teasingly, biting the edge of her lip as she started to move past him.
"So, settled then. You grab some drinks, I'll get a couple of towels?"

"Yes, ma'am." Danny watched her walk away, head tilted a little to one side, but
he was ready when she came back out. A few drinks had been stowed in a small
cooler he'd found on top of the refrigerator. It was neatly poised on the stool
he'd occupied before, while Danny leaned against the counter. "All set?" he
asked when he saw her.

After digging out a couple of larger towels, Ellis headed toward her room in
search of shoes. Barefoot was one thing around her apartment, not the best
outside, unless you were on grass. She slid a pair of flip flops on, before she
grabbed her keys off the nightstand next to her bed and walked back out with the
towels, and a pair of clothes she didn't care if she got wet afterward or not,
stowed in a bag she had slung over her shoulder. She nodded, as she stepped back
into the kitchen area, "Yeah, I think so."

{tbc...}

Time: Monday July 23, 2007
Place: Cafe Bardot
People: Ellis/Danny

Work had seemed to drag on forever today, and Danny had practically burst out
the door of the shop when it was time to go. Even though it was in the opposite
direction, he'd gone home to shower and change before heading over to Cafe
Bardot. He was starving, so food was legitimately on the agenda, but he clearly
wasn't thinking only of his stomach when he parked his truck by the curb near
Ellis's place and strode easily into the front door.

Ellis sighed somewhat heavily as she leaned over, proceeding to finish wiping
down the last table before she picked the chairs up and set them upside-down on
top of the table. She hadn't locked the door, knowing that Danny was likely to
show up at any time. She'd already gone upstairs and set out a change of
clothes. There were coffee stains on her shirt, for one, and for another she
didn't feature having dinner with anyone, much less Danny, when she'd been
working her bum off in what she was currently wearing. As she straightened up,
she spotted him strolling through the door, that familiar, lazy grin on his
face. She smiled back and nodded quickly before she said, as she walked back
toward the counter to set the washrag on the hanger over the sink, "You have
great timing. Since you're over there, why don't you lock up?"

"Uh, yeah," he answered, retracing a couple steps to flip the locks and turn the
Open sign to Closed. "Voila," he announced when he was done.

She spun around, dusting her hands off as she laughed, then placing her hand
over her mouth while she looked down at her clothing combo of worn jeans,
stained pink tank top, and work boots (which she still had not managed to get
rid of despite having had every intention of doing so for the past couple of
weeks). Danny was looking at her as well, though he was doubtlessly thinking
something entirely different than she.

"Talk about taking your work home with you. Here I am covered in it. You don't
mind if I change, do you? I know we know what I look like when I'm not at my
best, but at least allow me to live with the delusion that I do actually have
dinner with you looking less like I've managed to spill almost every cup of
coffee down myself all day. Anyway, food's upstairs. Finally got my own kitchen
unpacked and I had to try out the stove and whatnot up there. I didn't think
you'd mind the change of scenery, either.."

Damn, the girl could talk. Not like Zel couldn't, but it was different. Ellis's
style was more of a rapid-fire brain-dump than the silkily crafted barbs and
innuendo that peppered the dancer's conversations. Sometimes one was easier than
the other. "You know me. Easy all the way." Oh, he was so tempted to ask if she
needed help changing, or point out that she needn't get dressed at all, but
instead he just followed Ellis upstairs, his stomach growling as soon as the
kitchen scents tickled his nose.

Another giggle escaped Ellis as she heard the tell-tale sounds of hunger in the
form of his stomach growling just about the time she reached the door at the top
of the stairs, Danny close behind her. She opened the door, putting a little
extra effort into it. For some stupid reason that door had recently started
sticking when opened. She made a mental note to pull out the tool kit and fix it
when she had a spare moment. Finally, after another push, it jerked open and she
almost fell through. It was Danny's turn to laugh now. She stood by, letting him
through the door before closing it behind them. Then she started to head toward
her room, saying, "There's drinks in the fridge, beer, Pepsi, iced tea,
lemonade. Help yourself. Pizza's done, I just stuck it in the warming drawer.
You can help yourself to that, too, and I won't be more than a few minutes."

Danny got a beer, but left the pizza alone for now. Yes, he had manners.
Besides, it was more fun to eat with Ellis. For food on his own he could have
hit the drive-through and dropped in front of the TV, either in an empty house
or with the volume turned up to mask the sounds of the Love Couple. He
half-listened to her moving around as he sipped his beer and wandered about
looking at the pictures and knick-knacks. He imagined her with her clothes off
(manners, yes, but not a monk!), then pictured her running a brush or her
fingers through her hair. Like Zel, she had really great hair, long and dark.
His favorite. But, she also tended to wad it up a little haphazardly or twist it
around when she was working. Hopefully it would be down when she came out. He
liked the way the curling strands fell around her face.

After tossing her earlier outfit on top of the pile of clothes lying in her
hamper, Ellis pulled a set of cleaner (not to mention cooler) clothes out of the
closet. Black tank top with a white and black skirt was always a fairly decent
choice. Not too over the top, very casual, and yet she still looked like she
made some sort of attempt beyond just pulling the first thing she could find out
of her closet. She studied herself in the mirror for a few minutes before
pulling her hair out of the clip it had been in and bending over to shake it
out. When she straightened up she shrugged, then headed out to the kitchen and
living room. She spotted Danny waiting for her and, after pulling a glass out of
one of the cabinets, she reached into the fridge and grabbed the pitcher of
lemonade, commenting, "There, much better."

He'd have to agree. Hair *and* bare legs. It was all good. His eyes followed
Ellis as she took a drink. Then she set the glass down on the counter and leaned
over to pull the pizza out of the oven's warming drawer, giving him another
lovely view. He stepped closer when she put it the hot pan the counter. He
wasn't really aware that pizza wasn't something Ellis really ever got to indulge
in, since he tended to forget about her food issues. However, a friend had sent
her a care package full of gluten-free mixes, and it would have been impolite to
not try them out. Plus, since the gift had been accompanied by a note that said
they'd actually tried some and there seemed to be no real difference between the
gluten-free and actual gluten mixes, she'd had to take their word for it. She
cut a couple of slices as she glanced up, asking, "So, how was the road trip?
Everything go all right?"

It was the most she was going to dig about it, not going for details, just
inquiring if it went all right. If he wanted to talk about it beyond that, he
would, she understood that. She didn't see how asking how the road trip had gone
was any different than if he happened to ask her if her weekend at the cafe had
gone off all right. So, she figured it was less controversial than the other
things she could have asked about.

"Yeah, it was fine. Got all my stuff settled in at the shop and Kellie's place."
Despite his insistence that it was "their" house, Danny was having a hard time
referring to it that way. He took another swig of his beer, watching her hand
work the pizza cutter. Would it be plates or stand-up over the pan? "I might
start picking up a couple shifts as a bouncer, over at the dance club," he
gestured in the general direction. "Save some cash, get a place of my own."

"Wow, that's great," Ellis said, not really all that surprised by the revelation
that he was already considering trying to move out of his sister's place. It was
more the bit about him considering taking some shifts as a bouncer that caught
her off guard. She reached up to pull a couple of plates out of the shelf above
her. She set about putting a couple of slices on each plate before she walked
around and sat down on one of the bar stools she had at the counter, "Probably a
fair bit awkward living with your sister after you've gotten used to having your
own space and all that."

Danny nodded. "I had a roommate, but that's not the same thing." He followed,
sitting on the stool next to her.

She took a bite of her pizza before reaching across the counter for her glass of
lemonade. She set it next to her plate as she shook her head, smiling, while she
said with a hint of teasing to her voice, "Guess if I want to see you, I'll just
have to drag myself away from balance sheets and bills long enough to visit that
club. I could think of worse ways to spend an evening."

{tbc...}

When: Saturday, July 21, 2007
Where: Cafe Bardot
Who: Ellis/Devon

Devon laughed at Ellis' reply. Time had passed since she first came into the
cafe and now she felt a bit cooler and she was grateful for it.

"Wilson put on a brave face when his friends came over one last time to ask if
he wanted to come with them. I knew he was dying to go but he told them he had
enough of traveling and he wanted to spend some time with his mum." Devon
chuckled affectionately. "That boy is far too good for his own good."

Again Devon laughed at Ellis' last reply before she downed the last of her tea.
"Although I must admit, I came in here with ulterior motives. You wouldn't
happen to know if there are available job positions around do you?"

[tag: Ellis]

> When: Saturday, July 21, 2007
> Where: Cafe Bardot
> Who: Ellis/Devon

       "Don't be so sure of that," Ellis said, in regard to the cows, with a
faint laugh, "Bloody obstinate things. Then again, I never was much for
following a bunch of stock animals around."

       "Pretty impressive," she said, with a nod, as she sat back down in the
stool behind the counter, "I can kind of relate. I spent most of my time after I
turned 10 taking care of the house for my grandfather. Must be the way a
person's raised. Still, I'm not sure, if given the opportunity to go to Europe,
I wouldn't be at the airport on the first plane out."

        Ellis shrugged, setting her hand on the money and sliding it across the
counter toward herself, "I had a friend who told me once that the best way to
help yourself out was to give, freely, to others. I guess it was the more you
give the more you get back, philosophy. And, on the same note, I had a professor
who told me the best form of advertising was good word of mouth."

        "I know how that goes," she said, nodding quickly, before she continued,
"I'm far better at good coffee and baked goods than I am at mustering cattle and
sheep. That's why I'm here."

     (tag: Devon)

> Devon chuckled softly at Ellis' surprise and shrugged. "Small world indeed."
And as she listened to her retelling her past, Devon couldn't help but chuckle
even more out of amusement. "Can't speak for you but I'm guessing cows are much
more entertaining than human beings." She shook her head, remembering her ex.
>
> "My son just recently graduated. He decided to take a year off. And instead of
backpacking through Europe or Asia like his friends, he's decided to take care
of his mother, that kind boy." Devon ran her slender fingers through her thick
dark hair.
>
> When told of the free drink, Devon shook her head. "Please. I insist. The
place is empty. And I don't feel quite comfortable accepting free anything from
anyone. A...pet peeve of mine of sorts." She shrugged. Accepting the drink, she
placed the money on the table. "You can take it or donate it to charity."
>
> "Fresh start, absolutely." Devon nodded and sipped the tea, contemplating a
bit. She wanted to forget her past, that was why she moved. Forget everything
about being in the city.
>
> tag: Ellis
>

I'll move Marc on to his other appointment after riding with Eden.

Hrm... looks like Kellie and James might be having their first fight,
muahahahahaha!


---- jace k <heidycarpenter@...> wrote:

=============
Gang, real life has gotten in the way.. big time.. I'm not sure when I can make
it on here to write. I'm so sorry. I keep planning to get on and write but then
by the end of each hellish day I don't have anything creative at all to say... I
don't know what to do. I hate leaving you all hanging on here. Jill I know
you're really the only one effected by me not writing.. I wish I could write
like I used to, but I can't and its so not fair. I'm holding up all your
stuff... :( If you want to boot me I understand, or I'll just take a backseat
for now and hopefully things calm down.. :(

-Jace

Real life happens, I understand.

If you want to hang on writing with Jill, we can always just say Spencer was
using Jane for ass and when he thought she was knocked up, split town with his
last paycheck, and since Dillon's a little too dramatically complex to get all
lined up to be boytoy material, I guess we can just say he committed suicide
because he found out he'd caught the gay from the men's restroom down at Marc's
club, and then Maggie went back to the big city life. Dunno what to do with
Eden. I thought she was originally going to spark it off with the Sheriff, but
if Silvia wants to inherit a barnload of nags, she can probably handle it.

Your call.


   ----- Original Message -----
   From: jace k<mailto:heidycarpenter@...>
   To:
beautifuldreamersrpg@yahoogroups.com<mailto:beautifuldreamersrpg@yahoogroups.com\
>
   Sent: Wednesday, September 23, 2009 2:53 PM
   Subject: [beautifuldreamersrpg] OOC: Real Life


     Gang, real life has gotten in the way.. big time.. I'm not sure when I can
make it on here to write. I'm so sorry. I keep planning to get on and write but
then by the end of each hellish day I don't have anything creative at all to
say... I don't know what to do. I hate leaving you all hanging on here. Jill I
know you're really the only one effected by me not writing.. I wish I could
write like I used to, but I can't and its so not fair. I'm holding up all your
stuff... :( If you want to boot me I understand, or I'll just take a backseat
for now and hopefully things calm down.. :(

   -Jace





[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Gang, real life has gotten in the way.. big time.. I'm not sure when I can make
it on here to write. I'm so sorry. I keep planning to get on and write but then
by the end of each hellish day I don't have anything creative at all to say... I
don't know what to do. I hate leaving you all hanging on here. Jill I know
you're really the only one effected by me not writing.. I wish I could write
like I used to, but I can't and its so not fair. I'm holding up all your
stuff... :( If you want to boot me I understand, or I'll just take a backseat
for now and hopefully things calm down.. :(

-Jace

When: Saturday, July 21, 2007
Where: Cafe Bardot
Who: Ellis/Devon

Devon chuckled softly at Ellis' surprise and shrugged. "Small world indeed." And
as she listened to her retelling her past, Devon couldn't help but chuckle even
more out of amusement. "Can't speak for you but I'm guessing cows are much more
entertaining than human beings." She shook her head, remembering her ex.

"My son just recently graduated. He decided to take a year off. And instead of
backpacking through Europe or Asia like his friends, he's decided to take care
of his mother, that kind boy." Devon ran her slender fingers through her thick
dark hair.

When told of the free drink, Devon shook her head. "Please. I insist. The place
is empty. And I don't feel quite comfortable accepting free anything from
anyone. A...pet peeve of mine of sorts." She shrugged. Accepting the drink, she
placed the money on the table. "You can take it or donate it to charity."

"Fresh start, absolutely." Devon nodded and sipped the tea, contemplating a bit.
She wanted to forget her past, that was why she moved. Forget everything about
being in the city.

tag: Ellis

Sunday, July 22, 2007
Place: Marc's House
Tags: Marc and Zel

Marc was tired by the time he got home. The open house had taken more out of him
than he'd anticipated, even before the riding. It had been a deep, visceral
thrill, being on the back of the big red horse. His official excuse for buying
the animal was to keep it out of Ed Doyle's incompetent (and badly dressed)
hands, as he had little doubt the man would carry through with his threat just
to rile up Silvia Martin. However, the real reason he'd signed a sheaf of papers
and promised to messenger over a check tomorrow was the way he'd felt during
those ten minutes... and maybe a little bit to rile Silvia Martin. What he'd
said to her was true: he didn't have any plans to resume his career. That didn't
mean he couldn't ride for fun, right? Enzo was a good-natured horse, all things
considered, but there was simply no fair comparison between the two.

Coming into the kitchen from the garage, Marc tossed his jacket on the counter
and pulled open the refrigerator, untucking his shirt with his free hand as he
considered his options. The sun and vodka had made him thirsty and the riding
left him smelling like horse (his pants were no doubt a wreck). He was going to
shower before Haden came over, even though they were planning to swim in the
pool. It was more for the feeling than anything else. This was new ground for
him; he needed to feel as if he were in his "right state." Even so, a smile
pulled at the corners of his mouth as he thought about the previous night at the
club -- not the sex, but the look on Haden's face when he'd been invited. There
were expectations on both sides, even of they were unspoken.

"Zel, are you home?" he called out, twisting the top off a bottle of water and
taking a deep pull.

*THUMP*

Marc looked up, brows furrowed, brushing a drop of water from his chin and
shutting the refrigerator door. There was some rustling before he heard a
distant, distracted (irritated?) "WHAT!" from upstairs, followed by a quieter
"justadamnedminute". A few moments later, a too-cheerful "cooomiiiing" that
didn't mask the... whatever it was... in Zel's voice could be heard, and then
Zel's light footsteps descending the stairs.

When she rounded the corner into the kitchen, Marc thought Zel looked normal
enough... pretty much. She was dressed in a pair of black shorts and a black
tank-top, standard fare for an afternoon of doing nothing, but upon closer
inspection her face was shiny, the vee between her breasts was a bit splotchy,
and she was wringing her hands together furiously as the scent of hand sanitizer
wafted up. His nose wrinkled a bit at the sharp medicinal-alcohol smell, but he
said nothing.

"Hey," she breathed cheerfully, her chest laboring slightly with maintaining
calm, even breaths. "Ah, didn't expect you back so soon. Was busy, ah-
furniture? Re- ah, re-arranging my furniture," she explained needlessly while
hastily re-ponytailing her frizzed hair.

"I see..." he said, nodding. It wasn't true, but this seemed as if it might be a
situation that called for some discretion. Besides, Zel has just recently
started behaving as if this was her home rather than some hotel that she had to
tiptoe around, so he didn't want to make her feel ill-at-ease.

"S-so, how was your d- Oh, god, Kitten- what happened to yo--" she caught
herself as her glance slid up and down to Marc's own flushed face, mussed hair,
and... pants. Was this a don't ask, don't tell moment they'd just caught one
another in?

Being discreet didn't mean he couldn't have a *little* fun, right? "I met a
tall, strong rousse... uh, redhead?" His face briefly reflected his indecision
with the phrase, but then the smile came back. "And I decided that I could not
ignore the opportunity to take a ride."

Immediately, Zel paled. "Oh?" Had Talia returned? She didn't even want to think
about that on *top* of being... interrupted. "Um- want me to throw something
together and clear out for the evening?" Her hands knotted together. Having a
car had been so *nice*, too...

Okay, that wasn't the effect he'd been hoping for. He could almost hear the joke
falling flat on the Italian marble tile between them. She could sense it, too.
Whoa, overshot *that* one, she thought with a quickly-suppressed grimace of
L'Awkward. "It was a horse," he clarified, her color returning. "I rode a very
nice horse this afternoon." It sounded odd somehow, hearing himself say it. He
didn't yet confess to the purchase. Zel probably wouldn't care about that
anyway... though there was something else she ought to know. He hadn't had the
chance to speak to her last night when he'd gotten home from the club, since
she'd already gone into her room for the night, and she'd still been asleep when
he'd left for the open house.

"Oh," she replied, and was silent for a moment. "T-that's good. I was wondering,
that's all," she stretched the corners of her mouth into what should have felt
like a smile, but still felt entirely too jittery, wondering if the word
"BUSTED" was on her forehead.

"Haden is coming over later to go swimming." Marc tried to sound casual, taking
another sip from his water bottle when his mouth went suddenly dry.

Zel's smile turned genuine. "Aw, that's great!" she swiped his arm playfully. "I
have some stuff to do at the club, so I'll be out pretty late. Um, I ah- might
not be in, so..." Not all of it was true, but it was so ambiguous it could have
gone either way. Diego's visit had left a bad taste in everybody's mouth
(well... not Marc's this time), so Haden was pretty much exactly what Zel
thought Marc needed, especially since things were going so well for herself.
Either way, she could crash on Marc's couch at the club later, pop in for a real
shower, and nap off the rest of the day after the coast was clear.

Marc wanted to protest that she didn't have to go. There could be a certain
comfort in having a third party around, even someone out of sight. Just in case.
At the same time, she might have plans with Blond Local Talent and he didn't
want to cramp her style there. It was good that she was getting out with someone
besides the sleezy Diego. "Of course," he said instead. "No hurry. I am going to
go clean up first." Wash off the stink of privilege more than horse, if he was
going to be honest. Not that that he hadn't spent years -- or his whole life --
immersed in groups that thought quite a lot of themselves and their place in the
world, but spending time with Eden and Haden and even Zel had slowly gotten him
used to another perspective on things.

"Everything's kind of touch-and-go, but..." Zel didn't have to finish the 'I
hope' part of it, for either Marc or herself. And, speaking of not finishing...

In a spur-of-the-moment impulse, Marc leaned in to brush a kiss on Zel's cheek.
"You look very beautiful today, cher."

The flush crept back up, unspoken pleasure and gratitude. There was something
unaccountably alluring about the scent of outdoors and horse on the handsome man
of the house, not to mention the brush of mouth on skin that made her breath
hitch, the swallow hang in her throat with an audible squick as it went all the
way down. Smiling gamely, Zel returned the affectionate gesture but stepped back
quickly. "I think I should catch a shower. I got all h-" She also had to hastily
stow some playthings that an open bedroom door might not be so discreet about.

"Of course, you go first," Marc said. He wanted to eat a little bit anyway, not
having done so at the open house, and take a little time to absorb not only what
he'd already done (a horse?! it was just starting to sink in), but what he was
possibly about to do this evening. Then he'd clean up and call Haden.

Nodding, Zel turned and actually hitched her step in almost a skip before she
caught herself with a sheepish backward glance, then ascended the stairs. She
did her 'cleaning up' and then cleaned up, and was back down, cellphone in hand,
a pair of dark-wash cutoffs riding below her new bellybutton stud (and skimpy
underwear) and the obligatory dark bra under a light cami with a few rhinestones
thrown on to make it truly Zel. She hadn't bothered to put her bling on yet, but
it was laid out neatly on her bed so all she had to do was dart upstairs, slide
and snap it on, and be ready for... whatever. Of course, if whatever never came,
she'd have felt a little silly, but better to be silly and prepared than
unprepared.

Marc was out by the pool, standing in the shade of the trees by the patio table.
He'd wandered out there, water still in hand. The sun was on its way down, but
there was still a decent chunk of evening light left. It played on the pool,
casting glittering spots around in an irregular pattern as the surface of the
water shifted. He was anticipating going in, letting the water wash things away.

"So the Haden business, is this a sleepover kinda thing?" Zel said, crossing one
foot beneath the other in the chair she'd just plonked into.

Wandering over, Marc sat down across from Zel. "I think so, yes," he answered.

She'd figured as much. Marc was like she was, seldom letting people into the
Inner Domain... lest the little bastards gnaw through the restraints and break
free, then lead the SWAT right back to- no, really, it was just her way of
keeping people at a Safe Distance until she knew they knew they deserved it. Not
that sex in her own bed would be any better than it could be with one leg up on
a hotel dresser, or on the bathroom floor, or over the edge of the bed. Sex was
sex, and when Zel had a hand or whatever else in it, it was good, she figured...
but it was all that emo bullshit starting to come 'round knockin' when she
thought of a certain set of dimples or big blue eyes, or that lit-tle trail of
dark blond hair right down...

Zel shook her head, an odd smirk on her face even as her eyes refocused from the
tabletop. "If you don't need a third wheel, just let me know. I can stick around
and run interference if he gets too emo, or clear off if you need me to," she
reminded him, glancing at her cellphone, then, for some stupid reason, flicking
it open and scrolling through the texts, just in case one was hidden there, much
like knowing what was in the fridge, yet still opening it to see if anything had
changed when hungry and none of the fare was suitable.

"You are welcome to stay," Marc offered, silently re-affirming the "this is your
house, too" perspective he'd been trying to get her to accept. Then he smiled
around the mouth of his water bottle. "Haden is a little afraid of you still, I
think."

The scowl Zel leveled at Marc was in play. "He should be. He's lower on the
food-chain, for now." She knew that'd change as soon as they swapped L-words and
started slumber parties seulement aux deux. Haden could then start calling the
shots, so, counter to common sense and being kind to him so that he'd return the
favor later, Zel hazed him good-naturedly, if quite persistently, about
anything. A half-tucked shirt, unkempt hair, manners, shoes, the sky, elbow
macaroni. "He's a nice boy. I don't see him as your type, but that's probably
why it'll work out." Zel sighed moodily, a thought just occurring to her. "It's
the similar ones that don't work. They always do at the beginning, but..." Her
face fell for a moment, but she quickly banished it behind a game-face grin.
"It's not about the end, it's about the jourrrrney," she joked. Hell of a trip
it was shaping up to be, too. High mileage, at least.

Boy. That's how Marc tended to think of him, too. Funny... or maybe not. They
both appeared to be deviating from type, if Diego's visit were any indication.
It was odd, shaky ground. After a little eye-roll at Zel's jokingly-uttered
platitude, he said, "Did you know that Haden and I are the same age?" He was
choosing to ignore the "working out" comment for now. Thinking beyond tonight
was more than he was capable of at the moment. "Just a few month's of
difference."

Zel's forehead actually creased and her neat brows neared one another. "No? I
didn't. He seems so much younger, but now that you mention it, that *would* put
him in jailbait years. Not to imply you're old, but he just seems so..." she
frowned, glancing skyward for a moment. "He's one of those guys who, no matter
how old they get, will always be Baby-Boy to me. Does that make sense? Then
again, any male I adopt becomes one of my boys," she shrugged, not bothering to
hitch up the cami strap that'd started to slip.

"He should feel lucky." Marc didn't know all the rules, what he should say out
loud and what he should keep to himself, but Zel had the demurity (?!) to lower
her eyes a bit bashfully. It would've surprised Zel to know that Haden was more
open than Marc, at least about some things. If nothing else, Marc thought, the
other man's lack of parents gave him something in common with the two of them.
Another wary step, this time into Zel's personal life. "And your friend, he has
been adopted?"

There was a moment's hesitation on that. "Not sure. We fit together..." the
silly grin reappeared, "too well, physically. So far, so good on everything
else. We get each other, and I like him, but just because you like a pair of
shoes doesn't mean that they won't hurt you later, or totally not match the rest
of your wardrobe. Never pick something just because it's pretty and you feel
good when you try it on. Think about how it's going to last, if it's something
you're comfortable in for various situations," she trailed off, continuing to
pick at the tabletop. What if she liked him more than he liked her? It was
another real, if fifth-grade, scenario she didn't voice, but probably didn't
have to. Marc had been around the block as much, if not more, than she had. He
wasn't stupid, for being so pretty. One of the reasons he was one of her boys.

In fact, he was nodding. "I do not remember a time when I was as naïve as Haden
can be. I must have been, yes?" His hands were as busy as Zel's, thumbing the
loose corner of the label on his water bottle. "I have to wonder what that would
be like to see things like that." He also had to wonder whether being with him
for any length of time would sour Haden's world view. That would be a shame. He
had also considered the possible scenario that once the novelty of their
situation was gone, Haden would be, too.

"Being that naïve can be dangerous. He's very lucky to have come as far as he
has, all things considered, and still be good," Zel remarked, studying her
nails. She wanted a smoke, but she'd left her cigarettes upstairs. She'd already
had four today, she'd have to wait until later, or A Moment arose. That was how
she was 'dieting' from the habit that was one neither Marc nor Danny shared with
her, let alone most of the other people she knew besides Diego. "I'm glad he
hasn't been spoiled," she mused, "speaking of."

"Jumping a thousand-pound animal over a six-foot fence is dangerous, yet people
encourage their children to do it every day," Marc mused. Did knowing what they
did keep him and Zel safe? He doubted it. Shaking out of his reverie, he added,
"It is time for me to shower, yes?"

"Sure," Zel stood, smoothing her shirt, sliding up the errant, drooping strap,
and flipping her braids (why not? when in Rome- or Hicksville, at least...) back
over her shoulders.  The reply was automatic, the typical response when 'Too
Far' had been delicately toed. It was a lot shorter, easier-to-remember
safe-word than "Magnolia" or *other* words uttered from a mouthful of pillow and
sweaty hair.

"Gotta get my smokes," she murmured, followed by the mental 'Fuck!' True, the
abrupt nature of their conversational adjournments might have shocked most
people, but it was a lot easier to simply fall back instead of hanging around
over The Line. For Zel, at least, bondAge was easier than bondIng, at least with
Marc.

What was she thinking, she chided herself. Stick to hips and feet and arms and
shoulders in relation to headweight and relevance to the spine, not... bonding,
or counseling, or things real people dealt with. The things she and Marc had
started dabbling in... strange how separate they could be, yet... not.

Marc opened the door, let Zel go first, then followed her up the stairs a few
steps behind. "Have a good time this evening," he said, pausing in the door to
his room long enough to speak.

"You, too," she murmured, skulking guiltily into her bedroom in search of the
pack of Ultra Lights she'd tossed, in the hopes of *not* finding them. Ah,
bitch. It sucked to be hooked on anything.

> When: Saturday, July 21, 2007
> Where: Cafe Bardot
> Who: Ellis/Devon

     "Talk about your small world," Ellis said, more than her fair share of
surprised at the fact that she wasn't the only person with some sort of
connection to Australia. Different parts of the country, but still it was
actually somewhat nice to know she wasn't the sole representative in town, even
if it was unexpected, "My grandfather had me do the boarding school routine. I
think he was worried I'd end up liking the fact that we lived in the middle of
nowhere and talking to cows instead of humans. Though, mine was an all girls
boarding school, and I was probably a few years ahead of your son, anyway."

      Ellis shook her head, taking the glass back, as she walked toward the
fridge, again, "Not at all. It's on the house."
      She filled the glass back up, before she turned around and handed it to the
other woman, "So, moved here, fresh start? I would imagine you're looking for
work, too, right?"

        (tag: Devon)

> "Ah..." Devon nodded. "I was in New South Wales when I was pregnant with
Wilson." The older female confessed. "We left for the states when Wilson was
about four then I sent him back there for most of his high school years.
Boarding school." Devon continued.
>
> She looked down and found that her glass was drained. She grinned sheepishly
at Ellis and put up the glass to her. "Mind filling this again?"
>
> tag: Ellis
>

Wednesday July 4, 2007
Place: Trace's Mother's Neighborhood, Emilee's Apartment
Tags: Trace and Emilee

"Trace!" 
The little cheer of triumph that had erupted from Emilee's lips with
her most recent roll was cut short and the brunette jumped upright,
sending her chair sprawling.  A group had started to cluster around
him, alarmed and concerned at the stream of crimson beneath his hands. 
When someone else stepped away for ice, a towel, the brunette moved
forward, posing the instinctive question, "Are you all right?"  She
touched his arm, one hand lightly covering one of his as she craned her
neck to get a better look at his nose.

He held up a hand, palm
out, in a "hang on" type gesture. Unfortunately, his fingers had blood
on them, so it didn't look as casual as it was intended. There was also
a mumbled, "I'll live," but he didn't stand up just yet. Yeah, it
figured. "Don't get it on your dress," he warned.

Emilee knelt
beside him now in the grass, brows marked with concern.  Someone
extended a cool damp towel, and she held it, waiting until he was ready
to take it before doing anything with it.  "It will wash," she answered
without a hitch, dismissing -- though touched -- by his words of
caution.

"Not my first bloody nose," he said, sitting down on
the ground and tilting his head back with the towel in place. Might be
his first broken one, though, judging by the feel.

"Careful,"
she murmured, instinctively touching his arm to help him settle on the
ground even though he probably had it covered.  The desire to be needed
was kicking into full gear.  "Do you think it could be broken?"  Emilee
bit her lip.  "I can take you in..."  Thought of the ER made her
stomach give a sudden lurch, not to mention the up close look at blood.
"Maybe we should get it checked?"  *We?*

Trace was about to
protest -- the ER was no friend to the uninsured -- but his mother was
already chiming in, "You go on. It would be a shame to risk that
handsome face."

Mother... girlfriend... he knew better than to protest, especially with the
Greek chorus
of his mother's friends chiming in now. Tilting a little to one side,
he reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys, holding them out to
Emilee. "Okay, you drive."

Her first instinct was to take and
stick them in her back pocket -- but given the dress, there was no
pocket, back or otherwise -- so she looped one finger through the ring
and closed the keys in her palm before positioning herself to help him
get to his feet.  A couple of others stepped forward to assist, and
someone brought her purse, and in a matter of minutes they were buckled
in his Jeep and headed to the hospital, only after promising to call as
soon as they knew anything.

The ER wasn't too crowded, mostly
barbecue-fireworks-related injuries, but it still took some time to get
from check-in to check-out, between the x-rays and other poking and
prodding. Trace's eye was already turning a deep purple beside the
pristine white tape across his nose. The inside was packed with gauze,
making his voice oddly hollow-sounding. A couple samples and a
prescription for more painkillers were in his pocket, and one was
already starting to hit his bloodstream. Walking out through the
sliding doors into the late afternoon sunshine he squinted, which made
him grimace, and then groan as all of it moved his face in an
uncomfortable way. Well... any way was pretty much uncomfortable at
this point.

"I'm sorry," he told Emilee. "I was planning on taking you to the fireworks
later."

"It's
all right.  There's always next year," she answered without thought,
gently touching his arm as they stepped down from the sidewalk.  "Just
come clean next time if you want to get out of it; I promise you won't
need to break your nose again."  Emilee's smile was affectionate
thought still concerned, and, more serious then, she offered, "I can
bring the car, then you won't have to maneuver the parking lot."

He
wanted to laugh, but he was suddenly too tired. And, as much as he
hated to do it, Trace gave her the nod to go get the car. She'd gotten
about halfway there before he realized what she'd said: next year.
Later, when he could think more clearly, it might shake him up a bit.
Right now it just sounded good. So did the Jeep. And a nap. He could
see her dark head and red dress moving. There was a bench by the door;
he sat down on it, leaning back.

Emilee found his Jeep in the
parking lot and pulled around to pick him up a couple of minutes later.
She slid from the driver's seat and walked around, smoothing her skirt
against the bit of warm breeze that moved across the cement. "I was
going to take you with me," she said, "unless you'd like your own
bed?"  In that case, she would just watch him there, as she did not
plan on leaving him alone for a while.

"Uhm... your place is
fine." Yep, the drugs were definitely kicking in. He felt like
everything was about a half-second slow, which was strange. Trace
wasn't anxious to be alone, and it wasn't like he hadn't slept over at
Emilee's plenty of times. Just sleeping, pretty much. No, not good to
think about that now. "Maybe run through the Walgreens drive through."
He patted his pocket. "While we're still out and all that."

His
suggestion was met with a nod of agreement and the brunette headed
slowly toward the exit, pulling out carefully onto the main road. 
Emilee attempted to make the ride as smooth as possible, although he
seemed to be a little more groggy every time she glanced over at him --
though with good reason, of course. She had gotten her wisdom pulled
during her junior year in high school and the pain meds had worked so
well that there were pockets of time still that she did not remember
from it.

There was a Walgreens not far from her apartment (they
were pretty much everywhere, like Starbucks coffee stores had once
been), so she stopped  and picked up his prescription before heading on
to her place.  "How's the nose?" the brunette asked once pulling out
from the drugstore, though more in relation to how the medicine he'd
gotten at the hospital was working.

"I have a nose?" he asked,
then laughed, trailing off into a "mmmm..." His head rolled against the
headrest so that he was looking at her. "You do. I really like it."

"You
do, as a matter of fact."  Emilee grimaced at the thought of it then
glanced over at him, laughing suddenly at his expression.  "Thank you. 
It's blushing."

Trace laughed again, his head going back the
other way toward the window. It wasn't exactly a giggle, but it wasn't
his typical sound, either. "Well, all of you is really, really nice, so
why wouldn't your nose be, right?" He said it with a hint of 'duh' at
his own apparent failure to recognize the obvious. "Mmm, yeah, nose..."

Her
level of discomfort level probably would have gone drastically high in
a short amount of time had it not been Trace who was carrying on.  The
attention, the some of the words were too close to...  But his almost
perplexed expressions, tone, and the way he rolled his head back and
forth made her chuckle just a little in response.  Guess those
painkillers were successfully working their magic.

Humoring him,
Emilee gave a small nod now and resisted the urge to laugh as she
turned the corner toward her apartment building.  "Right."  A couple of
moments later, they were parked and the brunette climbed down,
prescription in hand, and moved around to his side of the Jeep. "Here,
let me help you."  Last thing they needed was for him to get dizzy and
slip and bust his head open...

When he got out of the Jeep,
Trace took Emilee's hand and pulled her up against him, leaning back
against the side of the vehicle to support them both. "My mom likes you
a lot," he said, looking down into her face with wide, dark pupils, his
grin a little lopsided.

Emilee had been prepared to step back
when he tugged her forward, and she almost lost her balance against
him.  Another bit of a laugh surface, but at his words, her brown eyes
rose to his face.  "Really?"  Vulnerability momentarily touched her
countenance.  "I like her a lot too."

"S'good," he said. At a
point like this, his usual reflex would have been to bump his nose
across hers, then go in for a kiss. Even on the meds, some inborn sense
of self-preservation kept him from using his abused nose that way. Not
that he didn't want to kiss her. That was a given, all the time. "You
look so pretty today. I was watching you when I should have been
watching the ball... not saying it's your fault," he amended quickly.
"Just, the way your skirt does that thing--" he twirled one finger
around a little circle, "all around your legs.. I really like those,
too."

The brunette relaxed against him, her expression
empathetic.  "Watching me?  Poor thing."  Just the thought of his poor
nose made her shudder, although his next words made her laugh a
little.  "I'm glad you like it. I was kind of hoping you would.  And
the legs, too, um, thank you."  Though right about now there were
probably few things he didn't really like.  "You have some pretty nice
ones yourself."

It took Trace a second to absorb and process. Then, "Watching me?" he echoed.

Emilee tipped her head upward, a smile hovering across her lips.  "Mmm, guilty
as charged."

The
next thing that came across her lips were Trace's, pressing lightly at
first. "I like it. I like you," he said against her mouth. "Days like
today, I want you so very much."

Dark lashes sinking to rest
against her cheekbones, Emilee's free hand instinctively wove its way
around the side of his waist, fingers still curled around his
prescription.  She liked him, too.  A lot.  Maybe even more than a lot,
if she was brutally honest with herself.  "Today?" she murmured, unable
to quite define the ambiguous surge of adrenaline that warmed her veins.

"Every
day," he said, very quietly, half-tempted to ask if he been prescribed
painkillers or truth serum. Not that Trace was ever really untruthful
with her, but there were definitely things he didn't say, things he
thought might pressure her or make her feel bad. But, at the moment,
his mouth definitely had a mind of its own -- not that he was thinking
clearly enough to actually recognize that. "You're beautiful, and
everybody likes you." His hands came up, palms and fingers framing her
face and curving around her head, threading into her hair. "I think
about you all the time. I love the way you smell and all the ways you
make me feel. Today, everybody saw what I do, and that felt good. I'm
sorry it had to end." He took a deep breath, brushing another kiss onto
her mouth. "I... wish I knew how to make you feel better."

That
sounded so lame, but Trace didn't know any other way to put it.. He
wanted to be able to touch her without the wall coming up between them,
that phantom he didn't even completely understand. At the same time,
that wasn't all he was after, and he wanted her to know.

Emilee
tried to convince herself that it was just the medicine; he was
obviously not quite himself considering the way he had been swaying and
giggling since leaving the ER.  But all of it had to come from
somewhere, didn't it?  The warm spread of his palms and the touch of
his kisses dissuaded any rational effort to process and his name was
lost before it even reached her lips.  Could he really feel that way? 
Proud (for lack of a better word) and unashamed of her?  Something
inside of her responded, something of pleasure and longing and panic. 
Would this mess with safe place they had settled into?  Not that she
had not thought about this growing into more -- because she had -- but
closer, deeper meant that other things would happen, other things would
come out, and she was not really sure she was prepared for that...even
though it would come out eventually regardless.  But what if the rest
of it was too much for him?  What if it pushed Trace
  too far?
  Everyone had a breaking point.

Her
dark eyes flooded with a rush of hot tears even amidst an instinctive
response to his kiss.  It had been a semi-emotional afternoon, and
everything was brimming over the surface now.  "You have," she
whispered, a soft, almost tearfully vulnerable edge to her tone.  "More
than -- more you can know."  Was it enough, though?

Trace smiled
and gave a soft laugh, not at her, but rather because the feelings
inside him needed a place to go. If the ache in his face (drugs or no
drugs) hadn't been more than the ache he felt elsewhere, he might have
pushed his way farther into the opening she'd let show. He kissed her
again, taking his time, being careful as he explored her mouth and held
her against him. Then he chuckled again. "You probably better put me to
bed before I fall over right here."

Emilee snapped back to
reality with that and tipped her head down, catching her bottom lip
subconsciously against the growing swell of emotion.  "Yeah," she
agreed at length with a nod, giving a brief smile, "I'm not sure I
could carry you if you passed out on me."  Carefully but quickly
disentangling herself from the up close and personal arrangement she
had allowed herself to sink into, the brunette looked up at him..  "Can
you make it all right?"  But, answering her own question, she slipped
an arm around his waist to help support him.  The combination of pain
and medication had him walking -- and maybe even talking -- like a
seasick pirate who'd lost his sea legs.

"Man, I've turned into
a serious puss--," Trace started to say as they were walking (or was it
stumbling) through the front door of her apartment, seizing his tongue
just in time to prevent the rest of the semi-expletive from slipping
out. "I just meant I've been drunker than this before. Lots." He nodded
to confirm his own statement, then regretted it when it made his nose
throb and his vision swim. "Oh..."

"Careful," the dark eyed
brunette cautioned in a soft voice, second hand coming up reflexively
to support him as they cleared the thin woven rug spread across her
entrance.  "It makes me wonder a little if inebriated you was anything
like drugged you...and, if so, what juicy stories you came out with." 
Emilee smiled a bit and immediately guided him toward the bedroom. 
"For now though I think you better concentrate on getting some
sleep...for your nose and your personal safety in general."

He
looked down at her, his smile fuzzy but genuine. "Maybe..." Then his
face sobered as he pulled her close again. "I'll tell you anything you
want to know. I just don't think you'd *want* to know some of it."

For
whatever reason, her first instinct was to nudge him away -- but she
didn't quite follow through with it.  It was hard to resist his warm
and smile, regardless of the shape his smile was in.  But the weight of
her own secrets -- ones he probably would not desire to know but
deserved to -- made her glance down.  "I'm not sure I really deserve
you," Emilee answered at length, shaking her head lightly as her teeth
found her lip.  Sentimental emotion crept through her again, and she
resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her own stereotypical expression.

"There's
time for that later," the brunette answered, reaching to press a soft
kiss to his cheek; then, in a lightly teasing tone of voice, added,
"You should get some rest, and I don't want to take advantage of you in
your present state."

And there they were, at that same place
again. Trace wished she wouldn't talk about herself like that. His own
past, he'd done those things to himself. That wasn't true for her. But
he didn't argue. He managed to find the bathroom and brush his teeth,
then pull off his shirt and shoes. "Mmmkay," he murmured, eyes already
half-closed.

Pillows mussed and covers neatly pulled back upon
his return, Emilee reached reflexively now and set aside Trace's shoes
and polo for him. "Think you're set," she softly encouraged, cupping
the side of his face gently with one hand while pressing a kiss to the
other. His skin was warm and smooth and begging to be touched -- but
she curled her fingers against the temptation.  He needed sleep.   

Trace
made a little 'mmm' noise, his thoughts not all that different from
hers. He slid into the bed, settling flat on his back, one hand on the
pillow beside his head, palm up and fingers slightly curled. His eyes
were already closed when Emilee covered him up, and he took a couple
deeps breaths that almost sounded like sleep. Then he shifted a little,
a drowsy half-smile shifting his bruised face as he relaxed, body heavy
with narcotics and fatigue. "Love you," he murmured, the last syllable
turning into a slurry sigh as he gave up the last threads of
consciousness.

Emilee froze, the palm of one hand resting
lightly against the door frame. Her dark eyes rose to the opposite
wall, and she glanced back, gaze fixed on the rumpled figure in her
bed.  Loved her?  The words made her breath catch and bittersweet
longing rose in her midsection.  Her jaded sense of reality argued that
it was the medicine putting words in his mouth...and even if it was
not, how long would it last when he knew the rest?  But as much as she
tried to rationalize against it, the more she clung to it.

"Me too," she whispered. 

{-end-}

Monday, July 23, 2007
Place: Lori's Place
Tags: BJ / Lori

"Did I do something wrong, Baby? I'm sorry," she turned partly onto her side,
careful not to shift too far, or the cooling mess BJ had spilled onto her
stomach would also be on the bedclothes.

No. Maybe. If she hadn't pushed him, it would have been okay. None of 'em were
happy with what they got. "Get us a drink, huh?" he said. It had the bare shade
of a request to it.

She just knew it... she'd done something bad, made him upset. He didn't tell her
othewise. Reluctantly, she rose, not bothering to put her clothes on, and headed
to the bathroom. The sound of running water and rustling could be heard as she
washed herself off and gave her teeth a quick swipe, then hunted some body-spray
up. She finger-combed her hair back a little before going for the kitchen. She
only had iced tea and a couple Mike's Hard Lemonades, so she poured him an iced
plastic glass of tea and brought it back. She set it on the nightstand, then
perched on the edge of the bed, trying to get her thoughts to settle, like
fragments of glitter in a cheap truck-stop snow-globe.

"Was I okay? Did I screw something up?" she prodded gently, eyeing the man
anxiously. "Gimme a chance to do it again, I can do you better... you know I
can..." her voice had the faintest edge of pleading to it.

BJ had pushed himself upright so he could chug a good half of the glass of tea.
He knew she'd brushed her teeth, so he leaned in and kissed her. "I know you
can, Babydoll." He mustered up a small smile that somehow managed to alter his
whole face, and she relaxed in relief. "You're my good girl..." Slowly his smile
faded a little, a new shadow crossing his features. "Work sucks. Everybody's
riding my ass." His hand brushed her face, thumb tracing slowly over her lower
lip. Then it slid down to cup a breast, the motion repeating itself on her
nipple. "You understand that, don't you?"

Lori nodded, closing her eyes a moment. "Make 'em back off. It ain't right, them
treatin' you the way they do," she whispered. She'd seen his shirt torn, sweat
darkening even the faded denim of his jeans, scratches or bruises on his arms,
the way he stiffly rose and sat, all repercussions of working his fingers to the
bone at the hands of an idiot taskmaster who knew nothing about that into which
he'd invested his money. BJ and his coworkers had to take up the slack and pay
the price- bearing the brunt of scared, untrained horses, dangerous work
conditions, long hours... and going home to ungrateful bitches like Bobby-John's
wife and her squalling brat.

There was a sense of relief in BJ, too. She did understand. He'd known she
would. He didn't have to worry about this one mouthing off or getting out of
place. She was sweet and attentive... and totally trainable. Leaning over and to
the side, he hooked the waistband of his pants with his fingers and dragged them
up onto his lap as Lori crooked her head to watch curiously. Then, flipping them
over, he dug down in the pocket, pulling out his cupped hand once he'd found
what he was looking for. It was chance he'd shoved the thing in there tonight.
Lucky break. "I got you something."

The 'oh?' Lori's eyebrows formed didn't make it to verbalization as her eyes
fell on the faintest hint of what lay in his closed hand, peeking out with a
mellow gold twinkle. She gasped softly. "What is it? For real?" Her glance
flicked from his hand to his eyes like a pony who knew where the peppermints
were hidden, but knew better than to help itself.

The med-length chain in BJ's hand ended in a small cursive L studded with small
red stones. He held it out to her so it dangled freely. "So, yeah. Thought you
might like it."

Slowly, Lori's hand closed around the chain, then her fingertips brushed the L
as she bit her bottom lip. "Aw, Baby, I love it. It's so pretty," she breathed.
"Thank you," she smiled, and lowered her head to fasten it around her neck. "I'm
not takin' this off," she grinned shyly, then fingered the pendant again before
reaching for BJ's hand. "I'll do whatever you want, you know that, don't you?"
Her eyes searched his, the biting, shoving, pounding of just moments ago
forgotten, much less the "I'll kill you". She wore the L proudly, like a puppy
wore its new tags.

BJ smiled and nodded, content that things were right. He turned and drank down
the rest of his tea, then faced to Lori again. His lips and tongue were cold
when he kissed her, bearing her easily back down on the bed beneath him, moving
from mouth to nipples when she was on her back. He was more relaxed, his mood
improved... and his libido in high gear. "Mmm, turn over for me, Babydoll," he
murmured against her breasts...

This time Lori was ready, the tension and outright fear of earlier forgotten in
the unexpected rush his new attentions and the tangible evidence that he
actually thought about her at some point outside the four walls of the small
trailer. A half hour later or so, BJ rolled from a panting, prone posture into a
sitting position on the edge of the bed, pausing for a moment against the
head-rush he felt.

"Back in a minute," he mumbled, pushing up and walking on rubbery legs toward
the bathroom. At first he was just going to wash up some, but he decided 'what
the fuck' and hopped in the shower instead. The pressure was feeble, but the
water was warm enough to do the job. The cracked plastic tub and traces of
mildew in the seams didn't bother him either -- he'd lived with that kind of
thing all his life. The important thing at the moment was that there was no one
yelling beyond the crooked, hollow-core door.

When he got back into the bedroom, hair hanging towel-damp to his shoulders, he
dropped onto the bed and stretched out, lean and naked. "I gotta be up by
six-thirty," he said groggily.

Lori hadn't moved, and was almost asleep, face-down on her damp pillow, hair
tangled over much of her face. "I can set the alarm if you want, make us some
breakfast," she offered slurrily. She'd at least drawn the top coverlet over the
lower part of her body. She also knew it wasn't likely that he would stay- he
never did- but she could always offer.

"Mmm, yeah," he agreed sleepily, turning on his side.

Lori reached out, fumbled for her cellphone instead of the alarm, so he wouldn't
be jarred up from the bed by a buzz, set it, and then put it under her pillow.
After that, she sidled closer to BJ without actually touching him, then closed
her eyes and let sleep take her. At first he was still. However, as he settled
in and dropped off, one of his arms flopped heavily over her and his larger body
came to rest against hers, almost as if it belonged there...

{end}

Monday, July 23, 2007
Place: Lori's Place
Tags: BJ / Lori

With each hard stab into her, Lori's breath left audibly, even interjected with
an "Ow" or two until finally, biology took over and she began to acclimate, if
not immediately enjoy. Much like sex during her teenage years, she moved the way
she thought he liked, made the sounds that seemed to spur him onward, when she
remembered to. Suddenly, Lori was seeing the same exquisite flash of crazy
behind his eyes that everyone else had for what it really was. It wasn't though,
was it? They were playing. He liked to play... she did, too... but sometimes it
got so rough she was sore for days afterwards, and it hurt when her own urine
stung her raw flesh.  Was that how it would end today? Him humping and slamming
into her until he jerked and stiffened and spewed into her, leaving her barely
aroused? That one time had been an accident, wouldn't happen again, he'd assured
her. The next time, he *had* been gentler, a little. He'd still bitten her
shoulder and spanked her ass until the belt-stripes were pink and hot long after
he'd left. She'd been a little more ready then, though, and she'd had her hands
so she could help herself some. No such luck today...

He did slow, though. BJ felt the tide rising entirely too quickly, and that
wasn't what he was after. Jekyl turned back into Hyde, for the moment. His hands
slid from Lori's wrists, his wiry arms moving to prop his upper body above her,
shoulders flexed, wavy brown hair spilling around his handsome, deeply tanned
face. "Mmm, Babydoll." His eyes fixed on hers, wordlessly demanding that she do
the same, his rhythm now slow and deliberate, though every bit as deep. "That's
what you need, isn't it?" The change softened both BJ's voice and Lori's body.
She nodded, although she didn't move her hands yet. With the next thrust he
leaned closer to her ear, his tone icily piercing again. "You could take two,
couldn't you?"

Two *what*?! Lori wondered, one hypothesis driving her apprehension level
higher. Then her gaze shot back to Bobby-John's flinty one. "N-no, just yours."
Was that what he wanted to hear? It was tough to tell. Whatever he thought of
the answer, he was keeping it to himself. At best, his expression as he looked
down at her was... speculative? Definitely intense. The thought of going at it
slowly, teasing and toying, then sliding into it, all *that* appealed to Lori.
But, if it was anything like right now, she definitely wanted a rain-check and
some Benzocaine first. When Bobby-John was good, he was *very* good... but when
he was bad, he flat-out scared the hell out of her. This limbo he was in at the
moment was getting her both aroused and apprehensive, which was the strangest
combination ever. Perhaps that's why all her warning signals were suddenly very
conspicuous- and she was actually thinking of heeding them.

"Doesn't look that way, Babydoll" he said. His next thrust went in deep, his
hips rocking so that they ground against her, each move deliberate. The
stretching, crowding invasion wasn't really painful, but it was very close to
being unbearable when coupled with his words. "Doesn't sound that way," he
added, as he slid out of her, using one hand to drag the swollen tip of his cock
back and forth along the wet divide between her widely-parted legs. "Just your
cock, it feels so good," he imitated her. "Better than those toys you keep in
the drawer?"

The scarlet heat that blossomed on her skin wasn't from arousal at all. It was
shame at hearing her own words, her own voice antagonistically parodied and
mimicked right back at her. That humiliated her much more than his physical
consumption and overruling her during such a physically intimate act.
"Bobby-John, you know I haven't been with anybody else but you," she pleaded
silently, her hips rocking upward to try to elicit a reaction of pleasure from
him, anything to distract him from what he *could* have been using his hands
for. If he started choking her again, she knew she'd panic and flail... and that
was like bleeding from a paper cut in shark-infested waters. They'd just grow
ravenous, circle, and stop at nothing until their prey stopped moving.

His hand did come up, but even as she flinched and tensed it descended slowly,
curving to cup her face and brush the tangled hair away from it. BJ was in her
again, curled around her, his fingers twined up in her hair. "It just makes me
crazy, thinking about you fucking someone else. I couldn't stand that again,
Babydoll. I need you. Tell me it feels good. Don't lie to me..."

"Baby, when I can't have you, I use those," she blurted, her eyes wet and
red-ringed as she closed them tight, focused on- surrendered to- his
penetration. It *did* feel good. She relaxed around him and a new rush of wet
made it easier for him to move inside her. "Oh," she gasped. That felt better.
"I wish I could fuck you all the time. I miss you when you leave. I just wish
they were you, that's all... that's all," she breathed, her voice cracking under
the weight of arousal and the emotional games he enjoyed playing with her. No,
he wouldn't do that on purpose. She was just stupid if she thought that, she
knew. If he wanted to, he could have done it any time before- when she washed up
in the bathroom afterward, while she made coffee or cooked him a quick bite
before he went home.

Wait- when had he been in her drawer and seen those?

"Oh, fuck, Babydoll..." he moaned into her neck. "Oh, fuck, you're so wet..." He
was thrusting with a steady rhythm, each solid drive burying him fully inside
her -- but not too hard. She could feel the firm, smooth shape of him inside
her, moving with purpose now instead of utter, heedless abandonment. Once he
found the rhythm he didn't stop. "Come on, Babydoll. Show me how good it feels.
Come on my cock."

"Fuck," Lori echoed, her voice a strained whimper and her shiny forehead
wrinkling as she felt the hard tug inside her stomach begin to unravel. She
rocked back, her head hitting the mattress as she pushed herself up against him,
smacking into him just as hard as he'd hit her with his bony hips. "Harder,
Baby," she gasped. He obliged, levering his upper body higher, curling his lower
half with more force. Her breath was coming in ragged pants now that the
immediate threat of pain had ceased. Pain felt good when it was meant to, Lori
reasoned. She wouldn't mind at all if he'd just... but the thought was lost as
she focused, her muscles burning under the layer of fat, flexing and straining
to give BJ what they both wanted.

Lori shrieked when orgasm suddenly crumpled her around BJ like a fist, then
released her sprawling and stiffened, twitching beneath his sweaty bulk on the
cheap mattress as her whimpered breaths slowed, but didn't entirely regain
steadiness. Above her, BJ's cry was part victory and part frustration. With a
sudden jerk from his hips and another yelp from Lori, he pulled himself out of
her, a wet stickiness covering her belly as he unwillingly released, far sooner
than he'd wanted to. He barked out sharp, growling curse, the heel of one hand
smacking hard into the mattress beside Lori's head before he dropped onto his
back, panting and rubbery-legged. She'd instinctively brought her forearm up and
twisted away, but when the blow didn't come, she lay on her back, panting up at
the ceiling.

{tbc}

Monday, July 23, 2007
Place: Lori's Place
Tags: BJ / Lori

By the time Lori discarded her t-shirt and dropped to her knees to begin the
only-semi-pretend crawl of shame down the hall, she wasn't even wearing a little
smile. She knew BJ's eyes were glued to her every movement, watching the bend
and flex of her ass and the sway of her breasts. She peered apprehensively out
from under the curtain of highlighted-brunette waves, glancing back over her
shoulder at him, relaxing a little when the corners of his mouth flickered up,
then began the trudge on all fours. Just like a dog, Lori would do just about
anything to get a pat on the head and a kind word from someone, and the whole
town knew it. Some pitied her. Some were repulsed by her. Others crowed
vehemently that if she Just Believed In GOD, her problems would be made null.
Those were the ones who cold-shouldered her out of church when they found out
about some of her dirty little secrets with a couple of the fellas on the
volunteer fire department's roster. Jesus may forgiven her all her sins... but a
lot of wives and girlfriends hadn't. Never mind that men like Bobby John were
given a free pass. He might be sitting in a pew come Sunday, but for now he was
aroused and satisfied by what she offered him.

Objectively, Lori didn't have a lot going for her. She couldn't read or write
for shit. She was a little too dumpy for most men her age. There were a few who
remembered her from high-school and, having already been there, tapped that,
moved on. Sure, she could fry chicken and make green bean casserole, and she was
an excellent listener, absorbing every rant, diatribe, complaint, and malady her
drinking buddy for the night had, letting it all bleed out into her as she
soaked it up like a sponge. By then, it didn't really matter that she wasn't so
great in bed, either. They dumped their problems on her, then it was time to get
what else they came for, and they were gone. Women always looked prettier at
closing time, and even the worst lay in the world was still a lay.

In his sock-feet, BJ made almost no noise as he followed Lori down the hall in a
slow amble. The look back at him through her hair, the slow sway as she traveled
the worn brown carpet, shorts pulled tight... *he* was smiling. "That's it,
Babydoll," he all but purred at her as he worked the large buckle on his belt,
letting the ends hang loose for the moment.

Speaking of gone... if Lori'd had any dignity left to her at this stage of her
life, it would have been, too, by the time she reached her bedroom. She made to
rise briefly to turn on the light, hesitating a split-second to see if BJ would
object to the move, ignoring the smudged nail-polish on her fingernails. Never
mind what her toenails would look like by now. Didn't matter. Women who had
their nails done every week down at the local salon didn't get it as often as
she did, lately.

BJ's belt made a soft, slithery sound that made Lori shiver as he pulled out out
of loops on his pants. It was a supple brown leather, flexible with wear and
age. When his arm hung down, the end trailed to the floor and curled against it.
Lori was back on her knees now, her face cast partly in shadow from the bedside
light. His hand came out, gently pushing aside a long lock of her hair before
his fingers slid hard into it, grasping a tangled fistful to tilt her head back.
Her open-mouthed gasp, the small flicker of fear in her eyes, sent a jolt into
his belly and groin.

"Go on," he told her. On the surface it was a soft prod, and invitation even,
rather than an order, though the hard undercurrent in his voice carried another
message.

Like the first time Lori had fallen from horseback, she realized now as she
gazed questioningly up at BJ just how small people were when on the ground, how
much bigger everything looked when looking up. Or, rather, being looked down
upon. Quickly, her clumsy fingers went to his fly, the button giving a soft pop,
the zipper slipping down over the long ridge of his hard cock straining against
the cotton confines, a deep moan sliding from his throat.

Sometimes, Bobby-John went commando, Lori'd noted, today being such an occasion.
Her smudged, "Berry Crush"-tipped fingers worked his hard-on free from his pants
and barely had enough time to position it before it was crammed straight into
her mouth. Her eyes opened wide, then scrunching shut as she took what breath
she could along with the smooth, hard intruder pushing its insistent way toward
the back of her throat.

"Mmmf," she murmured from around a mouthful of him, her pursed lips vibrating
the base of his shaft as she glanced up at him through her mussed bangs. He
loved that submissive look. The fist in her hair drew her mouth up and down
along his sweat-salty, slick cock, making wet slurping sounds as ropes of spit
began to lubricate it, lest the gagging, muffled protests turn into something
less-arousing. Up close, her nostrils were filled with his musky scent, plus the
smell of smoke, horse, leather, and work, all a bit sour and vaguely
bar-scented. Like she had any room to talk: strawberry lip gloss, Sand n' Sable,
knock-off raspberry body wash... those were hardly signature fragrances of the
stars.

His moans were deep and load as he pushed into her (or more aptly pulled her
onto him). "Watch the teeth, baby," he groaned when she wasn't quite careful
enough, but then his head fell back again when she adjusted and compensated.

"Mmm-ngmm," came her garbled acquiescence, not bothering to look up or nod, lest
her concentration on not gagging or suffocating, one or the other, cause her an
embarrassing outburst sans words.

"Don't make me come yet," he said through gritted teeth, sliding out rather
abruptly, to her surprise. For a moment he just looked down at her, then
released her hair so that she dropped back, delicately thumbing spit and
pre-come from the corners of her mouth and chin. He tossed his belt on the bed
so that he had both hands free to strip his jeans all the way off his thin but
well-muscled legs and pull his t-shirt over his head. She watched the sinewy,
feral fluidity with which his abs moved, stretching and flexing as his arms
peeled the shirt off, then how his biceps flexed when he slid the faded old
jeans off to reveal his pale, but muscular legs and backside.

She had enough sense to ditch the dirty-talk, but for just a brief moment, her
fingers ran low across the outside of the seam of her shorts, brushing a heat
she could feel through the fabric. Lori knew she was already wet, too, but if he
didn't want to come so quickly, she knew she probably better back off of it,
too- otherwise, he'd get upset and leave... she didn't want that. Ever, even
when she knew he *had* to go back to the imagined torture of some wicked
harridan in a fairy-tale-esque tower or dungeon. It depended on which novel she
was stumbling through at the time.

BJ pulled her up by the forearm, turning her around with a brief stumble so that
her back was to him. Warily, her head turned so that she could at least try to
see him in her periphery, but that didn't work so well. His hands came up and
clasped her breasts, drawing a gasp from her- it was going to hurt... she knew
it... yet she still wanted him to touch her. "You're a horny little bitch,
aren't you? Can't get enough cock in you." One hand moved up around the base of
her neck again as she drew a deep breath, holding it. His voice was oily-smooth
in her ear. "Who are you fucking when I'm not around, babydoll? Whose cock is
dipping between those thighs and into that sweet little ass when I'm not
looking?"

Damn. Had to exhale to talk. "N-" she cleared her throat. "Nobody, Baby. Just
yours," she murmured, swallowing the hard knot that'd formed. "Just your cock,
it feels so good. You'll give it to me, right, Baby?" she almost pleaded a
little, even as he murmured a soft "mmm-hmm" in her ear. She could feel it
against one tensed butt-cheek. Did he mean it? He was really going to again? If
she could get over the initial sting, it would be kind of fun. At least that's
how it worked when she was by herself, she'd reasoned. Of course, right at the
moment, reason didn't seem to be a requisite.

"Take off your pants," he said, giving her a sharp smack on the ass and a little
push toward the bed.

Lori quickly slithered out of the shorts, almost tripping in her haste to step
out of them, then turned to face BJ as she edged toward the bed, not aware of
how close it was to her in her current state of mind.

His hands grabbed her waist and he half-pushed, half-tossed her back on the bed
with a bounce, the springs groaning beneath her as she landed heavily. His hands
around her wrists forced her arms over her head once more as he used one knee to
separate hers, pushing her thighs wide with both of his. Ignoring her whimpered
"Wait--", a single sharp shove buried him to the hilt. He groaned at the slick,
wet heat against his bare skin. Lori's eyes popped wide open and a squeak of
surprise at the force of his entry left her throat before she could stop it. It
wasn't that she wasn't ready, but the push of his sudden jutting inward caused
her to drag along his length painfully as her body instinctively contracted
around the intruder. His lean body stretched out over hers as he thrust again
fiercely, his eyes on her face.

"If you're lying to me, I'll kill you," he growled, each drive punctuated with a
wet smack of flesh on flesh, bone on bone. For some reason, of all the things
Lori didn't *want* to believe about him, that one resonated within, convinced
her he wasn't screwing around.

{tbc}

Monday, July 23, 2007
Place: Lori's Place
Tags: BJ / Lori

Bobby-John was pissed off. It had been a bad day out at the ranch. While it was
technically true that Ed Doyle was "boss" of Black Saddle by virtue of his
family owning the place, he knew fuck-all about buying, raising, or selling
horses. His ridiculous "polo pony" was still the running joke among the trainers
and hands. Today, fucking Ed-hole had decided to come down and stick his
ignorant nose into operations, second-guessing the lead trainer and barking out
a whole list of orders that were going to make a mess for days, maybe even
weeks, to come. Ignorant rich boy. Horses weren't like his damned cars, but no
amount of talking could get that through his head when he got a wild hair, or a
new piece of ass he wanted to impress with "his" operation.

Things in general hadn't been going well for BJ lately, though until today work
had been better than home. Horses learned to mind when you used the right hand
with 'em. That seemed not to be true with most of the women in his life. What
had set him off today, on top of the day he'd had at work, had been seeing
Kellie and that asshole all smoochy-kissy in front of her house on the way to
the grocery store for diapers. Running out to the store, after nine long hours
on his feet, sweating and working hard. He should have his feet up with a beer.
What the fuck had Heather been doing all day? Probably sittin' on her fat ass
complaining to all her bitch friends (on the phone he paid for) about how he was
"so darn mean" and she didn't get to do anything fun any more. Yeah, like he'd
take her anywhere looking like she did now. He'd gone out all right, but left
the truck running when he'd come back to toss the package in the front door,
then turned back down the road, headed to the only place he felt like he got any
peace and satisfaction any more.

Lori's day hadn't been as irritating, but she'd almost come to blows with Zel
over that greasy little skeeve she'd brought in a week or so ago. Diego had
moved things around, complained loudly about everything, and then made fun of
Lori's stutter (it *only* came out when she met new people or was upset... this
case being *both*). Lori'd given Zel an ultimatum: find another place for her
students, or she was going to up the rent every time her "partner" walked
through the door. Zel had stormed out to her "smoking deck" and, after bits and
pieces of an over-heard phone conversation, came back through the center with a
splotchy face and Wintour sunglasses on to hide what they could. A bitter "it's
taken care of" was all she'd mumbled before leaving. A bitter "fuck you too,
bitch" had been tossed over her shoulder for good measure before Lori heard the
door squeak shut, and the Bug's door open and slam.

Now, Lori had just finished painting her toenails- they weren't quite dry when
she heard the thump of BJ's truck. She'd resolved to *not* mope about
falling-out with Zel if he *did* come over, though she hadn't really expected
him to.

Hopping up the sagging steps two at a time, boot-heels thudding, BJ knocked on
the trailer's door with a couple quick knuckle-taps. He reflexively glanced back
over his shoulder while he waited. The wash of passing headlights, large and
round, briefly lit him in a bluish-white glare. He squinted against it, throwing
up one hand, red dots floating against the black when it suddenly got dark
again. BJ dismissed the small silver car. It wasn't anyone who mattered.

"Come-on-come-on," he muttered under his breath.

When the door opened, Lori stepped aside to let him in. "Hey, hon, sorry I
didn't start any din-"

Normally there was some preamble, a polite little tap-dance of conversation or
food that led into the sweaty groping and thrusting of bodies, but not tonight.
BJ's mouth found Lori's in a greedy, hard kiss as soon as he stepped over the
threshold, killing the "ner" in her throat, which was replaced by an "mmm" of
interest . One hand pushed her back against the nearest wall, their bodies
making a soft thud against the cheap paneling. Strong, calloused fingers slid up
to circle the base of her neck, firmly but not tightly, caressing and
controlling at the same time. Her eyes opened wide as she felt them there, snug
and ambiguous in their purpose, her breath and pulse fluttering beneath his
fingertips as her flushed face silently questioned him.

"I been thinking about your sweet little ass all damn day," BJ breathed into
Lori's ear when his mouth broke from hers.

A half-smile stretched and curled one side of Lori's heart-shaped face as her
hands wrapped around his narrow, toned waist, toenail polish utterly forgotten.
"Come get it, then," she murmured, biting her bottom lip and studying BJ's eyes,
feverish with intent, desire, and something else she couldn't ever quite read.
The unspoken 'danger, danger' in them that made any other woman shy away as her
red flags came up were lost on Lori. She was too distracted by the fact that
guys BJ could be anywhere they wanted, but he'd chosen to come here to her.

Now his hands were off her neck, replaced by his mouth as his fingers slid up
under her t-shirt, finding and playing with her heavy breasts beneath the thin,
wash-worn fabric. Like skinny-dipping in an unknown creek, there was a little
thrill about what she couldn't see in Bobby-John that made her pulse quicken. So
what if it was wrong? His kind of hurt felt good when he rolled off and kissed
her before pulling on his jeans and leaving... or when he took one nipple
between his teeth, like he did now, his mouth hot on her flesh.

With a quick motion, BJ pulled Lori's shirt up and over her head. When she
raised her arms to let him finish, he trapped her wrists in the twisted fabric,
one hand holding them above her head. She gace a muted squeak of surprise and
wriggled momentarily before she caught on. He looked down at her, a little
half-smile on his own handsome face. She never said no to him, which made up for
a lot in the looks department -- not that Lori didn't have a certain tired
prettiness about her. Thankfully, at home she didn't usually sport her typical
Barfly Chic: blue eyeshadow, too much eyeliner, and dollar-store sparkly
lip-gloss to go with her sometimes-brassy hair, too-tight jeans, and
barely-there camisole. He even liked the extra ten or twenty pounds she was
carrying, since it padded her out in the places he enjoyed most. Now he traced
the curve of one breast, drawing a gasp from her, then pinched the nipple
between his thumb and forefinger, watching her face momentarily reflect the
fleeting shock and pain as he did it. As hard as he already was inside his worn
jeans, he didn't feel the need to rush now that she'd submitted. He could take
his time, enjoy the little things.

"I want you to crawl down the hallway for me, Babydoll, nice and slow, so I can
see it in the air," BJ said, pinching harder. This time he got that quivery yip
from her, but there was no complaint. He moved the hand around and down into the
waistband of her shorts to give the area in question a firm grab-and-squeeze,
tugging her against his groin. The hard seizure of her round bottom in his hand
caused her to almost yelp again, but the crush of his hard-on against her
stomach reduced it to a breathy groan. She bumped against him for just a moment,
his hips grinding against her before he pulled away, stepping back to kick off
his boots, leaving her clothing askew.

{tbc}

When: Saturday, July 21, 2007
Where: Cafe Bardot
Who: Ellis/Devon

"Ah..." Devon nodded. "I was in New South Wales when I was pregnant with
Wilson." The older female confessed. "We left for the states when Wilson was
about four then I sent him back there for most of his high school years.
Boarding school." Devon continued.

She looked down and found that her glass was drained. She grinned sheepishly at
Ellis and put up the glass to her. "Mind filling this again?"

tag: Ellis

> When: Saturday, July 21, 2007
> Where: Cafe Bardot
> Who: Ellis/Devon

      "Not at all," Ellis said, after a brief, but light laugh, as she
straightened up, "I'm actually from nearby a little town in South Australia
that's a few hours out of Adelaide. Lived on a cattle station my grandfather
owned, that my cousin and I, now, own. Silent partner. I traded up for my own
cafe from herding sheep and cattle on horseback."
      She paused for a second, before picking up her own glass from behind the
counter, "However, despite the accent and upbringing, I'm actually an American.
I moved there when I was little, but I was born in the states. Long story."

          (tag: Devon)


> Devon listened attentively to Ellis, nodding. She then finally realised that
Ellis had an accent. "Mind my asking...but which city were you from?" She asked,
taking another long sip of her iced tea.

When: Saturday, July 21, 2007
Where: Cafe Bardot
Who: Ellis/Devon

Devon listened attentively to Ellis, nodding. She then finally realised that
Ellis had an accent. "Mind my asking...but which city were you from?" She asked,
taking another long sip of her iced tea.

tag: Ellis

Saturday, July 21, 2007
Late-Night Telephone Conversation
Danny/Zel

James was driving first tomorrow, so Danny had given him the bed. Stretched out
on the couch in the dark, he stared up at the white popcorn ceiling and tried to
relax. After a couple hours he'd made no progress at all. Reaching out with a
quick, frustrated gesture, he grabbed his phone off the coffee table (most of
the furniture was staying with his roommate, so it was still where it had always
been) and flipped it open. The bright little screen lit up his face as he
thumbed the Contacts list. For a minute he bounced between a couple of options.
Considering the time of night and his mood, he scrolled down to the Z's. He
probably ought to put Zel on speed dial, he supposed, but he'd never bothered to
set any of those up in the first place.

Rolling up to his feet, Danny crossed over to the sliding glass door and stepped
outside into the humid night, figuring no one would notice (or care) that he was
barefoot and in his boxer-briefs. Besides, the balcony was recessed and it faced
an empty courtyard -- all the windows across the way were dark. His bare back
stuck to the plastic patio chair when he sat down. Maybe a t-shirt would have
been a good idea after all. Oh well. He pressed the Send button and held the
phone up to his ear, listening impatiently to the ringing. His heel tapped the
wooden deck, fingers keeping time on the arm of the chair.

It was always with a mixture of reluctance and pleasure that Zel made a trip
home after an early dismissal from work by Marc. He'd assured her repeatedly
that things would be fine, and he probably believed that was true, but everyone
else overlooked so many things that she didn't. She'd just have to go over
everything tomorrow if she allowed herself to bail tonight, she'd reasoned over
the wheel of the Bug.  Now, though, she was rather pleased with the way the
evening had turned out. She had the run of the house to herself, but she'd taken
the time to do some girly preening, then change into her favorite old shorts and
tank to sleep in and curled up around a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch mixed with
Golden Grahams, her fat GED-prep study book sprawled across her lap. She'd just
gotten to the next chapter when her phone had sounded off, causing her to lurch.
The book slammed shut, and it was all she could do not to spew Big G and soy
milk all over her satin comforter.

A quick glimpse of the ID indicated she definitely wanted to take the call, so
she did. "Hey," she greeted Danny. "Need a dirty bedtime story?" Simply asking
how he was holding up wasn't really their style, although they'd Talked some
about some Things when he'd admitted to her the job wasn't waiting on his
return. It'd been an awkward night: liquor, resting of hands on shoulder or
back, grumbling, and quite a lot of dishing about things she'd otherwise never
have told a live person or heard *from* another person. For whatever reason,
both their mouths had run overtime with the storytelling and TMI-personal stuff,
though of course the night had ended in a much more typical fashion for them, in
mind-losing carnal abandon at the local No-Tell. Danny had let her push him
pretty far; asked her to, if not in words. Since then they hadn't gone quite
that far in any respect, though he clearly hadn't been scared away by it.

"Is it too hard, too soft, or juuust right?" Danny replied, his voice a low
half-whisper. He tried to slide down in the chair, grimacing when it stuck and
pulled his skin. Reconsidering the options, he peeled away and readjusted,
letting his head fall back a little. "Or is this the one about how the little
girl gets eaten by a big, bad wolf?"

Low laughter escaped as Zel set book and bowl on bedside table. "You know it's
both A and C," she replied silkily, squirming lower on her pillows. "Although
getting ravaged by a big, mean predator can be fun, too, if I recall. Is there
anything I can huff, puff, and blow for you?" she prompted, falling into role
with a grin.

He chuckled, always amazed at how fast she could pick up something he said and
turn it right around on him. Anyone who mistook her for some vapid slut was
making a grave error. "As much as I like to think my, uh... talents... are on
the high end of average, even I don't think it'll reach back four hundred
miles." A little hrrm purred out between his lips. "Doesn't mean you can't tell
me what you've got on right now."

Yep. She might be smart, but the brains were packaged up with a nice pair of
tits and lips that were good for a lot more than talking, even if he did like
both things equally well (surprising but true).

"I don't know about that, you have quite a reach," she countered, a grin audible
even in her voice. It made Danny smile in return, for a few seconds at least.
"I'd like to tell you I'm wearing something skimpy and hot, but I'm really
wearing a pink tank top with a pair of black shorts. The top *does* crawl up
when I lie down and I don't sleep in underwear, if that helps," she offered. For
just a moment she'd been tempted to lie, to cook up something stereotypically
steamy, but she'd never known anyone to actually sleep in some of the crap
Frederick's or La Perla cooked up and hung on mannequins. "It's not fer usin',
it's fer lookin' through," she thought.

Danny had once been impressed by what she could do with just one of his t-shirts
(she had to slip into *something* for a mad dash down the hall for ice). It had
stretched in interestingly different ways on her body than his, so he wasn't
disappointed by the picture she painted for him now. In fact, he had to shift in
his seat a bit to resettle things. "I don't think I've ever seen you sleep in
anything."

Of course not. They barely slept together when they slept together. Passing out
in a sweaty, exhausted tumble wasn't quite the same thing as settling down for a
solid eight hours. That was a thought, though: getting into bed with Zel for
literal sleep and nothing else. That train of thought didn't last long when Zel
started talking again.

"So what are *you* wearing? Anything I'd like to get my hands into? Has to have
been a long day. I'd like to rub you down. Get my hands all over that body of
yours." She meant it, too, one way or the other. They hadn't hung out much
with*out* sex, but the brief interludes where it'd happened had been just as
amicable. Well, with the obvious exception of when talk turned towards his work,
but that was a given. She would have kept it level then, too, but they often
used entendre and sex as a convenient smoke-screen to guard against what they
really wanted to say. For example, "I wish we could go get a beer together" or
"Hope you're doing okay because I like you and don't want to see you down,"
things like that.

He nodded, realized that was stupid, and then said, "Yeah. Drive was okay. We
went by the shop first to get all my personal tools and sign some papers..." No
one had quite known what to say to him. Goodbye? Good luck? Gee you're a dumb
fuck? A couple guys had tried the "that asshole deserved a punch and more"
tactic, but it was stilted and half-hearted. A round of stiff handshakes later
and he was back on the street, literally and figuratively. "My roommate's gone
at a race, so we have the place to ourselves. Gonna hit the road early tomorrow.
James has work Monday."

"Maybe it's best to make a clean getaway? I would. Hmf. I *have*, or tried to at
least," she mused aloud. But then he knew that. The cruise-ship. The
not-so-clean issue of Diego and the tentative sort of hang-time he'd left her in
when he'd cut out early one morning with a cryptic note stating he was heading
back to Jersey because four was a crowd. "You know, the offer for bouncer... I
could talk to Marc," she began, then hesitated. Yeah, and how great was some
chick blowing into his life and trying to pull strings for him when he might not
even want to stick around, much less take a step down in career? She'd only
thought about helping, but still... pride was a bitch, and she knew a little
somethin' somethin' about that. It should have kept her from trying to fuss and
worry over him. Best to cut him some space, even on the phone.

"That probably came out wrong," she offered. "I'm better when I use my mouth for
other things," she tried to joke, suddenly feeling quite... sad? Forlorn. When
had she ever had a conversation not involving flight schedules and competition
dates, or practice times or shoe sizes, with a man on the other end of the phone
connection? "I'm really not so great at the supportive chick-friend thing,
you'll have to bear with me!" she admitted with a self-deprecating chuckle, just
as she had the other night from the other side of a sizable bottle of Patron.

Dammit to hell, she really missed that blond SOB with the panty-melting dimples
and the look-at-me-when-you-come... hither... blue eyes.

No. No she didn't, her mind argued. It was hormones- yeah, that was it-
ovulation. Being off work early with nothing to do. Aha! It was Marc's fault.
When in doubt, blame the gays. It worked for the government and snake-handling
bible-thumpers, didn't it?

There was a little throat-clearing sound before Danny said, "Might be good, at
least part time. Being the live-in cock-block at Kellie's isn't that much better
than staying with the parents, even if it moves my up the food chain a little."
Being a loser who lived with his parents at his age? That was just not
happening. "I want to find an apartment, but I need first and last rent, all
that." He was more or less losing his deposit here, even though he'd found a
subletter. Taking a deep breath, he wished he'd picked up a six-pack or a bottle
on the way back from dinner. "Family business or not, working at the shop feels
a little like charity, you know? Plus I can change oil and swap out a tranny on
rich lady's Beemer in my sleep. Doesn't exactly blow my whistle, you know?" It
was a strange admission to make, and he wasn't sure he would have said it to
anyone but Zel.

Of course, Kellie also had a new little protege who was taking up some of her
time, and he'd found himself strangely jealous of that. True, she'd pushed him
about expanding, trying to draw in some of the local dirt-track racing market
(four-wheeled, not four-legged, of course), but his heart just wasn't in that...
speaking of a step down in career, though maybe he should have been considering
that it was a step up from his current non-career status. "You sure you're not
just looking for a chance to boss me around in front of other people?" he tried
to joke.

Bomb. That's what Zel felt, but he was being decent about it, so she kept her
game-voice on. "Aw, admit you get a little thrill when you can make your sister
squirm," she teased. "And I promise I wouldn't boss you in front of everyone if
you worked. You wouldn't be working for me, anyways. Marc's a far gentler
taskmaster than I am, though not quite the same *way* I am... to you at least."

"Me and Mickey Mantle, both one-team guys," Danny answered. He didn't have
anything against gays in principle -- hell, it was hard enough to find someone
-- but he definitely wasn't into it himself. Not even a little. When Zel had
told him about Diego, he'd been a little creeped out. Guys who liked guys were
one thing, but a guy who went both ways was just plain wrong in his mind.
Seriously, if you liked girls at all, then why would you bother with dick? Never
mind that girls with other girls worked by a whole different set of rules in
Danny-land. But, back to the matter at hand. Beggars didn't get to be choosers.
"Seriously, if you think that'd work out okay for you, I could definitely do
weekends."

"Sure," Zel agreed. "I'll talk to him when he gets in tonight." That'd been a
weird admission: she lived with her boss. But then, she'd also taken him past
the 'old homestead' at the trailer park, the result of some inexplicable
compulsion to be honest with him. She'd driven Marc and Diego by there earlier
to get one last thing with their help, and Diego had made it a point to laugh
quite loudly and point, then rib her about being a Clampett for the rest of the
day when Marc was around. "Poor Professor Higgins," he'd crowed with great glee
while Marc shot deathly eye-flames at him and Zel fell silent, continuing to
chop vegetables for their dinner even though she hadn't been hungry after that.
It was true. Appearance defined a person. It was why she'd never let herself get
caught looking like some of the locals. Had nightmares about it. Didn't matter
what she could do or what she knew, if she had extra baggage or a crooked tooth,
it was all gone in many men's eyes, the same men, even, who'd profess to like
the inside more than the outside. No... while they were inside, they could look
at the outside. That's how *that* worked.

"So you want to do something when you get back? Not right then, you'll be tired,
I know," she corrected herself, hoping not to sound too eager. "Just, ah... no
more Patron for a while, 'kay? Makes me crabby the day after," she chuckled.

Danny laughed, getting a brief flashback of his own Day After. Oh, *so* not
good. He hadn't heaved, but that was the only positive point he could think of.
"Giant iced tea and something carbolicious from a drive-through?" he asked. "We
can go when I get back. I gotta eat, and if I don't make myself scarce I'll just
end up being a third wheel at the Happy Horny Reunion." He'd rather be having
one of his own, if that was the case.

Although Zel reflexively cringed (and Danny knew it) at the word 'carbolicious',
she agreed wholeheartedly with the escape after the escape. "Sure, sounds like a
plan. You can help me pick out good junk food from wherever we end up, lead me
astray and all," she encouraged -- as if he needed to be told twice. "Just give
me enough time to get hot, and we'll go from there, huh?" she added, the
conversation drawing to a close. It had been good to hear his voice, even if it
sounded a little frayed, deflated even. Then again, she wasn't feeling so hot,
either. She'd worked her ass off, still gained two pounds, and broke three nails
letting a case of Bud Lite bottles go onto her foot when Haden hadn't come in
yet. It wasn't her dime though, so she didn't tell Danny all that.

"You can have time for anything you want," he told her, running out of things to
say and yet not quite ready to break the connection just yet, even if it was
just digital waves (were they waves? he didn't know for sure) flying through the
humid night air between them. "Belle Reve... it isn't so bad, right?"

There was a pause as Zel tried to configure what she wanted to say, hoping it
didn't tumble out cheesy. "It's definitely made recent improvements, and I'm not
just talking about the new Walgreens," she offered. On the other end of the
line, Danny dutifully chuckled. Then, another silence. "You'll land on your
feet," she encouraged quietly. "Before, I thought I was taking a huge step down
and I wouldn't find anything to make me happy the way I was," she mused aloud.
"I found a different kind of happy, I guess," she shrugged uselessly.

"Different kind of happy... is that like when my uncle says something's better
than a whack in the face by a two-by-four or a poke in the neck with a sharp
stick?" he replied.

"Well, both whacking *and* poking can be fun, but isn't poking around with
someone a little more fun than whacking alone?" she returned innocently. Well,
innocently for Zel, that was. Danny smiled in spite of himself. "Whacking or
poking though- any way I can help your happy, let me know. If you're good, I
just might give you a play by play of my solo activities sometime," she
encouraged slyly.

"If I'm good? That's hopeless, then, isn't it?" He made a musing kind of 'mmm'
noise, shifting again in his sticky plastic seat as certain things started to
take notice of the change in conversation. He was tempted to ask why a girl like
her would need to go solo in the first place, but he bit it back. The mental
image of it was WOW. "Pink tank top, you said?"

"Okay, if you're as good as you usually are," she laughed, raising one leg to
scratch a toe idly against the other shin. "And yes, boring old little pink tank
top. Well, it's *really* really soft, and even the little bit of lace in between
my boobs is soft. It doesn't scratch... or bite... any. My nipples are really
easy to see though it, if the air's on, or I'm thinking about what you like to
do to them," she replied. He was certainly thinking that, too."Ooh," she giggled
as she glanced down and brushed a fingertip over a smooth, even spot, watching
it stir vaguely, raise up just a little. "It's pretty sensitive, too," she
informed him, before 'innocently' changing the subject, or trying to, again.
"But that's just boring girly stuff, right? So how far a drive is it again?"

"Four. Hundred. Miles." The length of the Coca-Cola 400, which took place only a
few miles from where he was now, he thought not-so-idly. After a quick check for
prying eyes, Danny ran a hand over the hard ridge in his lap. It was going to be
a hell of a long night at this rate. "Nice to know there's something nice and
soft there to take care of 'em if I can't... though if you wanted to invite
another girl for a sleepover, just to keep you company, that'd be okay."

"Aww, that's so *far*." Her voice was soft, but there was a bit of a pout to it.
"If I were to have another girlfriend over, though, I'd really rather *you* be
here to check in on us once in awhile, you know... so you could help out if we
got too loud or rowdy, or if we stayed up too late playing around," she replied,
getting a bit of a thrill imagining just what she and one of her old friends
could be getting up to, to surprise an unsuspecting Danny.

Torture, but the best kind. His hand slipped up and down again, his head falling
back against the arched back of the chair. "I could definitely check for
monsters under the bed, tuck you in all nice and tight. And you're right, I'd
definitely have to spank you both if you stayed up past curfew. You know, for
your own good."

Spanking. Ooh. Zel's fingers curled on her own skin. Hmm... if he'd join in...
"You know, girls *are* nice and soft. I happen to have a few friends that'd fit
that description if you'd ever like to take your pick, then maybe tell them just
how to take care of me in your absence... or maybe under your direction?" Her
fingertip skimmed the bare swath of brown skin below her navel, then idly
twisted the steel stud around a little bit, fingering the turquoise-colored
jewel at the end of it.

"Or, hey. I'd share. I know sometimes it's hard to get enough of it," she
grinned, her hand inching into the waistband of her shorts, just to rest there
for a minute.

Danny made a soft sound. Zel wore him out all by herself. "It's hard all right,"
he agreed, especially since he was about ninety-five percent confident that she
wasn't joking.

"Is it? I wish I could see," Zel bit her bottom lip as she flexed her hips, her
hand sliding farther down her flat stomach to the lean strip of dark hair
pointing the rest of the way out. See, feel, taste... she could actually picture
it perfectly. "I like to make things hard for you, but you know I'll always kiss
it and make it better. Give it a good, solid tongue-lashing if it sasses me,
though. I think I like that better, don't you?" she breathed.

"Mmm-hmm..." he agreed. "You *are* a stern task-mistress. For your friend, I
think hands-on instruction is the best. You know, tell her what to do, let her
give it a try, lend a hand if she needs it." The tingle had turned to an ache
now, hot and insistent.

"I know you like to get your hands into all sorts of things. You'd be welcome to
get 'em dirty helping me and a friend out, kind of a show-and-tell crossed with
a petting zoo kind of experience? I know where I like your hands the best. In
fact- oooh," she shuddered as her fingertips brushed the closed, warm folds of
smooth skin in a slow circle, "I kind of like my own there right now. You could
coach me, just in case I'm all lonely by myself, and can only *think* about
things like that, y'know?"

"I dunno, something tells me you don't need my help there at all," Danny
answered honestly. "But you could, if you wanted, take off your shirt for me and
run your hands over your gorgeous tits. I'd love to see your friend's mouth
there. Maybe her on one side, me on the other."

The top was soft, yes, but stretchy, also. She didn't even have to drop the
phone to slide down first one strap, then another, bunching it up around her
waist. "I love your mouth on my tits. You get my nipples so hard I'm scared
they'll cut your tongue," she informed him, the pad of one thumb brushing over
an already-hard nipple, sending a little shiver radiating out from that point.
His soft moan into the phone added to the sensation. Didn't take much to imagine
it against her skin, lost in her mouth when they kissed.

"Wouldn't you like to see two pairs though? Touch them? Taste them?" she pushed,
her voice soft and encouraging. "Just... go back and forth between them, while
we did the same to each other *and* you?" She'd always mocked the 'Night Calls
with Ginger Lynn' radio-voice, so she didn't bother to use it, but it had
dropped lower, gotten husky with her own excitement.

"I would," he agreed. "You have a great mouth." He loved to watch it on himself,
and on another woman... oh, man. It was WIN that Zel *liked* pretty much all
aspects of that, too. Indulged him, even. She used it as willingly on him,
tasting his smooth, hot skin as he slid in and out of her mouth. Her nipples
were rigid and sensitive, but the rest of the smooth, brown skin surrounding
them was, too, something she enjoyed touching, either on herself *or* someone
else. A little nip there made him moan almost as much as elsewhere.

"I'd rip your shirt off and run my hands all over your sexy chest. We'd probably
have to scuffle over kissing you, but can you imagine two pairs of hands sliding
all over your skin?" It had been a while since she'd had a three-way and she was
rusty. It was even longer than that since she'd played around on the phone with
anyone. Never in actual earnest. Not to the 'end', at least.

Through the thin cotton of his underwear, Danny's hand moved slowly along his
rock-hard length. "I can imagine her going down on you," he said. Zel's hips
bucked hard right before she came, random and jerky, and she made this one
particular noise...

"Oh," she breathed, sliding her hand back down her stomach one more time. This
time it stayed, lingering over the hot-spot beneath her shorts again. "That'd
feel so good, spreading me wide and making me even wetter by licking me up and
down- and while she did, I'd take you right out of your pants and suck your
cock. I love it when you're still a little soft, and it's my mouth and my tongue
that gets you hard."

"Too late for that this time. Swat could use it to batter down a door," he said.
Then he listened, hearing her slide and squirm around, sheets rustling as she
adjusted herself to get comfortable so she could wheedle the shorts down over
her thighs beneath the covers, then to her knees. She stopped there, spreading
her legs as far as they'd go to run a fingertip up the smooth little slit that
was already slick to smear her wetness over the hard bundle starting to jut from
its hiding place at the top of the folds of skin she'd love to feel a hot, wet,
tongue on. He could hear her breathing become a little more erratic. "I slid my
shorts down. There's a wet-spot in them already, and I'm running my fingertips
over my skin now- I haven't even dipped them in yet, and they're so wet. Wish
you were here to see me, then help me out with my imagination," she mused.

A lot of people didn't bother self-gratification if they were getting the real
thing, but getting some usually made Zel do it more frequently, from having her
hormones revved up regularly. It had been different in the little trailer by the
tracks- nobody coming (heh, besides her) and going. Here, she'd been discreet
about it- obviously- but it'd taken awhile to get used to Marc's routine before
she felt comfortable enough to steal a few moments regularly for herself.  When
the house was empty, though, and her mind was on Danny, it was open season- and
legs.

"You're so soft down there," Danny said. He'd talked dirty to Zel plenty of
times, but not quite like this, and definitely not on the phone from so many
hundred miles away. "When I slide my fingers in, you're so hot and smooth and
slick. I don't think there's anything in the world that compares to it. I think
about taking you bareback, feeling that on my cock, nothing against me and on me
but you." His hand was inside his underwear now, but it felt so far away from
what was in his head now that it was almost a joke. "I hit that one little spot
in there and you get so tight, like you're gonna squeeze 'em right off... then
your face goes all soft. You're so gorgeous. All the time, but especially then."

It wasn't only his words, but the timbre of his voice and the obvious enjoyment
in what he said that made her sweat and twist around, the pace of her fingertips
quickening on her own skin from lazy circles to small, fast, tight ones now
between the smooth folds, right on the nub. She'd never had anybody describe
what she looked like *to* them besides "pretty" or something to that effect, and
his words carrying more than just a physical description momentarily surprised
her. That she was that bare made her feel a bit wary- if he could see it, then
he could *her*, or what lay beneath the smooth, pulverized and colored mineral
façade, behind the dark eyes and their long, thick, glued-on lashes.

Hearing Danny breathing on the other side, waiting for her to speak, Zel didn't
know *what* to say. Her body was responding to every word he uttered, felt every
descriptive by-proxy sensation carried through digital encryption from his
kissable lips to her ears. She felt as if a bluff had been called, a big secret
let out of the bag, a lie uncovered. Sometimes he was so sweetly earnest, the
jaded parts falling away to show the honest little country boy underneath. What
she was hearing now was something even beyond that.

"When you come, I like to watch your eyes. They go wide in surprise sometimes,
like you didn't think you could ever feel like that, even though it's the same
every time, but sometimes when they're closed tight, it's like you don't want to
believe it'll always be that way," she murmured, her fingers stilling on herself
for a moment, then picking up that slow stroking again. She'd gotten too close
to coming, but now she was getting dangerously closer to doing something else
besides just being honest and horny at the same time.

"Can I hear you come? Imagine me beneath you right now, and your hands are
tangled in my hair." There was a small moan on the other end of the line, deep
and almost pained. She went on. "I want to feel your whole body on mine, your
cock moving in and out, faster, until it loses its rhythm and just... hits me.
You'd feel so good inside me right now... I really need you, Danny. I miss you,
and when you get back here, I'm going to make it worth your while," she
encouraged, her voice never losing its hungry, genuine purr of desire, even if
her body'd felt a different sort of rush and excitement at his words.

Danny closed his eyes, picturing everything she'd said. "Baby, I'm so hard for
you it hurts." Being with Zel, it was like the rest of the world and all its
bullshit just fell away, leaving only the two of them. She didn't play games
with him, except the kind they both liked.  Now the only pain wasn't the one in
his groin. Hearing her, his chest felt wrapped in steel. "I always feel good
inside you," he gasped. The hand holding the phone was sweaty, and his skin had
a faint sheen that wasn't entirely from the heat and humidity. "I want that,
Baby, I do." His breaths were coming more quickly, utterly wrapped up in the
image of her. "Take it, please. Oh--"

Whatever else he'd been trying to say was lost in his climax. He felt a hot
burst hit his stomach, then moved his hand to catch the rest of it, his jaw
clenched and face in a tight grimace, trying to keep from groaning too loudly.
His phone picked up the low growls, then the shuddering gasp as he pulled air
back into his pained lungs.

The hard ball low in her stomach gave a shudder, began to burn and writhe, and
when she heard his climax, knew that he'd milked himself dry because she'd
encouraged him to, she came. Her fingers hammered furiously at her slit, two
inside, the heel of her hand grinding against the hot, scarlet pearl that pulsed
with each movement she made, her toes curling into the sheets. The phone slipped
from her shoulder-cheek-hold as she moaned, gripping the sheets with her free
hand.

It was a few seconds before her breathing slowed and her mind stopped spinning
enough for her to realize the bluish glow on her skin was from the phone beside
her.

"Oh, god, Sweetie," she panted, picking it up and putting it to her ear with her
dry hand. "I'm sorry I dropped you," she laughed breathlessly. "You're my first
phonegasm," she informed him, the amusement and delight evident in her voice.

"Glad to oblige," Danny told her, also laughing. He flicked his hand off to one
side, then wiped the palm on his underwear, knowing he'd have to change anyway.
His eyes were half-closed. Now that the tension gone from his muscles, he felt
fatigue creeping up over him. Then he added a bit more soberly, "I'm glad you
picked up, Baby. It was kind-of a rough day."

Zel smiled, but didn't say anything for a second or two as she wiped her fingers
on her thigh. "Any time," she replied finally. "I'm sorry you're going through
this. I wish I could help you."  There was nothing like that first cold draft of
desertion one felt when they A- had been screwed over, and B- had been left to
hang *alone*. She'd felt it, and didn't wish it on most people, especially not
Danny.

"You already have..." And he wasn't talking about the phone sex. That was just a
bonus. "So, uh... I'll see you tomorrow?"

She didn't want to answer too eagerly, so she shimmied back to sitting up again,
then replied. "Yep, just give me a call when you're ready, I'll come," she
chuckled, as did he. She wanted to say 'I miss you', but it didn't come out. "Be
careful coming back." The word 'home' didn't sound right, either, but the caveat
was for deer, sleepy truckers, and anything else that might have impeded his
safe return.

"Better let you go so we can clean up," she teased. "I think I'm sitting on a
wet spot now, thanks to you!"

"Yeah, well, let's hope James is a heavy sleeper. We've managed to keep eyes off
each other so far, wouldn't want to break the streak now." There was a pause and
an inhale, as if more words were coming. Eventually they did, but not the ones
Danny was tempted to say. "Goodnight, Zel."

Zel laughed quietly, but didn't say much. She'd only seen James once or twice at
the club, and each time he looked at her (not often, he preferred white meat,
she supposed) she felt like going to brush her teeth or shower in Lysol. Not
saying *he* was the perv, but he made her feel like she was somehow dirty,
diseased. Was it her color or her reputation that repelled him, or was she just
imagining things? "I get the feeling he thinks I'm... I dunno- well, not
important," she chuckled it off.

"Well, can't say as I'm too bummed about my sister's boyfriend not checking out
other chicks," Danny commented. He knew what Zel meant, though. "Saves me from
punchingout another guy, right?" he tried to joke. "So, later."

"Thanks for the ah, inspiration- be safe," she shifted the subject. "G'night,
Danny," she said, then pressed 'end' on her phone.

When she laid it aside, she reached down to pull her shorts back on, then pulled
the covers up to try to sleep. Each time her eyes closed, though, she thought of
what he'd said. She hadn't had unprotected sex in years, fearing pregnancy more
than anything. Now that she was back on birth control, it wouldn't be an issue.
Surely Danny knew she wasn't so dumb as to not have backup, right? She'd never
brought it up to him though, because she didn't want to hear him tactfully
intimate that babies weren't the worries he had about being with her sans
raincoat. Somehow, the potential act of barebacking after all they'd done meant
more to her than anything they'd done or said to one another thus far. Bearing
that close to somebody meant dancing a little nearer to the edge of something
she didn't think she had the resources for, but it didn't stop her from thinking
about it with a silly smile on her face as she drifted off to sleep.

Four hundred miles away, Danny also settled in with a semi-stupid grin and a
much more relaxed posture. For better or worse, Belle Reve was his immediate
future. Beyond that, he had no idea...

When: Saturday, July 21, 2007
Where: Eden's Place
Who: Marc/Eden

Just the sweet sound of Marc's voice made her smile, "In here!" she called out
to him, heaving the heavy seat of stitched leather up to take out to her horse.
It pulled slightly on her side and she winced, but quickly pushed it aside and
ignored it, like the rest of the pain.

"Here, let me," Marc said, spying the vet (once again!) doing something more
than she should be. He hooked both hands around the leather saddle and took it
from her. Before she could protest too loudly, he added, "You may bring Enzo out
for me, if you wish. It will be an even trade, yes?"

He knew she'd object. She knew he'd have his way anyway. That was part of their
own particular game, since they didn't have sexual tension to keep them
occupied. Sooner rather than later their mounts were ready to go. Marc was
pleased by how much weight Enzo had gained, and the fact that he no longer
looked like the latest victim of Edward Scissorhands. True, the horse would
never again be what Marc imagined he once was, but he could be healthy. In fact,
it was probably time for him to seriously think about taking Enzo off Eden's
hands.

"So, you are no going to the open house at PineCroft tomorrow?" Marc asked as he
swung up into the saddle. "I understand that it is going to be very large."
Indeed, everyone who was anyone was supposed to be there. When he'd mentioned
changing the day for their ride, Eden hadn't mentioned an invitation of her own.
Were vets perhaps not considered the same tier over here? He knew that some
considered Eden to be a "country doctor," bringing in others from the University
of Kentucky instead to tend their pricey horseflesh. Their loss.

{tag}

OOC: For those keeping score, this post happens the day before the
Marc/Silvia/Drew "Open House, Open Season" post. Think of it like the flashbacks
on Lost ;)

> When: Saturday, July 21, 2007
> Where: Cafe Bardot
> Who: Ellis/Devon

       Ellis nodded, slowly, as she leaned against the counter, resting her hands
on top, "Yeah, I'd thought so. I'm just new enough here, myself. So, I sort of
recognized the signs. It's a nice town. People I've met, so far, have been very
welcoming."
       Okay, kind of an understatement, and she didn't go into details about just
how welcoming one in particular had been. She smiled, "I'm sort of used to the
whole small town thing, but I know how nice it can be after a big city, too. Of
course, it's easier to feel like you're making headway in getting to know people
when you have work to through yourself into."

      (tag: Devon)

> Accepting the drink and the offered hand, Devon shook the hand and placed the
drink in front of her.
>
> "I am." Devon said as she fished out a ten dollar bill from her pocket and
handed the money to Ellis. "My son and I just moved here a couple weeks back.
Still adjusting to this quiet life after being in the city for so long." Devon
smiled as she took a sip from the glass. She sighed as the cool liquid made its
way into her mouth, soothing her parched throat.
>
> "Ah...feels good." She said with a big grin.

The other man didn't bother to reply... or at least not with words. There was
deliberate single-mindedness in each move coupled with a certain reckless
abandon, the desire to indeed make Haden forget his name, or anything else
beyond than the moment they were in now. He teased him, drew him out, glanced up
once or twice to see the look on his face even as he felt the trembling tension
building in his legs and heard the pitch of his voice change. Somewhere,
somehow, this had become important to him, and not simply for the physical
gratification.

Haden couldn't stand it anymore as Marc teased him, making him want to release
himself yet backing off just as he was about to. The bartender almost slipped a
few times because he thought he was reaching his climax but Marc slowed and
Haden was back to square one. When he finally couldn't stop himself, his voice
strained in his throat and, with one final hard push in, he unloaded himself in
Marc's warm mouth. The tension from before suddenly lifted from his shoulders,
making him feel light as air. He pulled himself out and slid down to the floor
in front of Marc. Breathing heavily, Haden pulled Marc close, his hands raking
the back of Marc's head. "Oh Marc..."

The other man's body was heavy against his and they were both warm and breathing
hard. Marc made a little 'mmm' noise, wrapping his arms around Haden. Neither
spoke for a while. It wasn't really necessary. Though aroused, Marc didn't feel
the need for a 'return favor' at the moment. He could wait. "It is very late,"
he finally said.

Marc's words rang in his head but Haden seemed to not register them. He was in
such a pleasurable haze that he felt as though he could stay there for a very
long time. It wasn't until he finally realised that Marc had a long day ahead of
him tomorrow that he pushed Marc gently away from him and cupped his cheeks. "It
is...very late. You need to go home but you don't... want me to do anything for
you?" Haden asked, running his thumb over Marc's bottom lip, which was flushed
and slightly puffy. He smiled dopily as he wiped away a tiny bit of his seed
from Marc's chin. "I spilled a little something there..." Haden ran his fingers
through Marc's soft hair, looking up into his eyes dreamily. He really was a
beautiful man.

"Tomorrow," Marc answered. After another moment he stood up, holding out a hand
and pulling Haden up, too. "Somewhere more comfortable, yes?"

Haden nodded, grabbing Marc's hand and pulling himself up. Once standing, Haden
straightened his pants and shirt before running his fingers through his hair to
make it look less dishevelled. Silently, he slipped his hand into Marc's and
brought them out of the club once everything was switched off and properly
closed. As they stood outside in the slightly cool night air, Haden released
Marc's hand and let him go to his car. "I'll see you tomorrow." Haden smiled as
Marc drove away. With a little spring in his step, Haden walked back home,
anticipating greatly of what could transpire tomorrow.

Giving another low moan, Haden's hand trembled as it joined with Marc's under
his shirt, guiding it downwards, surprising the other man. He didn't know where
all this bravery was coming from but right then, he couldn't have cared less.
Marc's hands on him were like fire. Haden continued his assault on Marc's neck,
moving his lips down to the other man's collarbone, teasing it with his teeth
and tongue. He wondered how much they could get away in the bar...

Given that one of them was the owner, the answer was "a lot." Marc let his hand
trail down over the front of Haden's pants, curving around him, feeling the
now-familiar length and hardness. A hard jolt of desire ran through his belly
and down between his own legs at the faint scrape of teeth and the warm play of
tongue, liking where it was, but also imagining it elsewhere. "You are very
naughty tonight," he teased, voice thick and throaty.

Haden closed his eyes and smiled as he continued to explore Marc's neck, not
leaving a single inch untouched. The hitch in his breath was caused by Marc's
hand cupping his bulge, gently squeezing it, making Haden's nerves jump. It was
enough to make Haden move his lips away from the Frenchmen's neck to gather his
breath. "Marc..." Haden croaked out, gripping Marc's shoulders for support.

"Don't tell me to stop," Marc encouraged, his mouth against Haden's neck now. He
pictured several things at once: mouth and hands on the sensitive, rigid flesh
that lay behind the thin black material and brass zipper; pushing Haden against
the edge of the bar and sliding into him as his white-knuckled hands grasped the
polished wood; the same done to him in return, hard and heavy. Now that Haden
had opened up to the phsyical part of their relationship (okay, it *had* to be
called that), it was difficult to keep his hands to himself. "Tell me what you
want."

His mind and body were far from asking Marc to stop, in fact if he could string
coherent words to form a sentence, the first thing he would do was ask Marc to
do more. Whimpering softly, Haden pushed himself in Marc's hand, squeezing his
eyes at the tingling sensation starting to form in his belly at the friction.
"I, I w-want..." Haden tried to control his breath as he grounded his forehead
on Marc's shoulder. He could blow up at any time, especially since Marc had
asked him to say what he wanted. He wanted a lot of things. Hundreds of
possibilities filled his mind - the counter, the store room, the booths, the
stools, the floor, the walls, Marc's office...the possibilities were endless.

Haden lifted his head up to look at Marc with eyes full of lust. "Touch me.
M-make me...forget my name." His request didn't make sense the moment he said it
but he had hope that Marc would understand that all he wanted was to release
himself. Why he couldn't just say that was beyond him. He also wanted Marc deep
inside him even though they haven't done it yet. He wanted Marc to feel pleasure
at the same time as he was, that's all he knew.

"Just don't forget mine," Marc said. It had been years, literally, since he'd
gone to his knees for anyone. He'd paid his dues, in a sense. But he did it now,
without a second thought, slipping from the stool onto the floor. Then Haden was
in his mouth. The newness was gone, but there was a different sort of thrill in
knowing what the other man liked, the things that made him moan or gasp, that
set his hips to moving of their own volition. He knew when Haden was close to
the edge, and how to hold back just enough to draw it out.

"I could nev...oh." Haden's hands gripped the counter behind him tightly as he
felt his knees buckle. The talented Frenchmen knew exactly what he was doing and
Haden couldn't have been more pleased. He wished he was strong enough to stand
on his own, but as it were, all he could do was try not to hyperventilate, keep
himself upright and enjoy Marc's hot mouth around his pulsating length. Yet, no
sooner had Marc taken him in than Haden started to move against his lips,
bucking slowly in and out of his lover's mouth. His hand managed to move down to
Marc's head, burying his fingers in the other man's thick hair, massaging his
scalp slightly. "Oh... Marc, that feels...amazing." Haden managed to croak, his
voice laced with lust, his breath hitching slightly.

tbc

Shivering and smiling at the touch, Haden practically melted into Marc's arms.
"I can just imagine you in a suit, making small talk," he teased. "Me? Cooling
myself off from the sun. Maybe soak in ice cold water in the bathtub. I dunno."
Thinking about you a lot, that's for sure. Haden kept that to himself. He wasn't
about to share that intimate response. Not yet anyway.

The idea of leaving was moving farther and farther from Marc's mind. It was
remarkable how quiet the club was after hours, almost like it was holding its
breath in anticipation of the next night. They were pressed together, bodies
assuming their increasingly-familiar places in and around each other's contours.
Fingers tangled in hair or stroked bare bits of skin as they let themselves be
carried away by taste and smell and feeling. Neither was really leading or
following; they were simply together for the moment.

Haden moved a bit so he was leaning against the counter top as he craned his
neck a little to kiss the Frenchmen deeper, earning an enthusiastic response.
The hand previously on Marc's shoulder dropped first to his chest, sliding
downwards until it settled on Marc's tapered hip. His hand could go either to
the back or to the front and at that moment. Haden wanted to do one or the
other, he just wasn't sure which one and he definitely wasn't sure how Marc
would react (probably good, but just in case...), so he just let his hand gently
rest where it was, occasionally rubbing with his thumb.

Meanwhile, the hand on Marc's neck seemed to pull him even closer. The kiss grew
a bit desperate on Haden's side. He wanted more of what he knew Marc could
offer. Slowly, Haden raised turned them until Marc legs were against the high
stool they kept behind the bar for the rare slow times, gently pushing the other
man onto it so they were more level in height. Marc was a little surprised, yet
definitely pleased that Haden was taking the lead, at least a little. His lips
moved to Marc's cheeks and then down to his jaw until they came into contact
with the side of the club owner's neck. Marc groaned as he gently, tentatively
he started to graze his teeth, licking a little at the throbbing vein before
sucking softly. A low moan came from Haden's throat as his hand moved from
Marc's neck down to his back, making its way to just above Marc's belt loop.

Marc parted his knees slightly and tugged Haden's lean body toward him, head
tilted back and slightly to the side to allow the other man to do what he willed
to his neck. Somehow, Haden managed to be innocent and aggressive at the same
time. That was insanely arousing. His hands tugged the front of Haden's shirt
from his dark dress pants and then slid inside, fingers spreading out over tight
abs and wandering up smooth chest, though he was more than a little tempted to
go down. He had imagined doing it, more than once, while watching him work.

tbc