Disclaimer: Warehouse 13, the world and the characters that inhabit it do not belong to me in any way, though sometimes I lie away at night wishing that they did and what I'd do with them if they did. And then I write those thoughts down.
A/N: Made the mistake of going to .com and hitting the 'random post' button. I got"Imagine your OTP going on a date to a drive-in movie theater and, halfway through the movie, climbing in the back seat to make out." and then this happened. Not beta'd (yet, I'm lazy), so all mistakes are mine.
"And this is something the youths of today partake in often, is it?" Helena let her head loll slightly to the side and gave Myka a sidelong glance as she climbed back into the driver's seat, balancing a faded red plastic tray littered with numerous products that Helena supposed she was expected to believe was edible food. Setting the tray against her lap, Myka pulled the door closed and jerked her head to swing the curls from her face. She flashed the inventor a grin.
"Kind of." She wrinkled her nose, grin turning sheepish, and Helena quirked an eyebrow. Myka rolled her eyes and turned her attention to the food on the tray, dropping the drinks into the holders into the console. "They did about half a century ago?" She did her best to ignore the airy chuckle rising from her right, though her 'best' didn't exactly have a lot of effort behind it, and she handed H.G. the small cardboard box she'd procured from the food van. Dark eyes took in the contents with more than a little mistrust and Myka released a chuckle of her own as the inventor regarded what she would come to know as 'nachos and cheese' as though it were a volatile baby koala that might snap and lunge at her face at any given moment.
"And they..." Slender fingers pinched the corner of a potato chip and pried it free of the thick, yellow substance she deduced was supposed to be the cheese. "Ate similar princely offerings?" Her tone dripped playful distaste but Myka could hear the edge of truth in it. She let out a breath as she flopped back against the seat and let her head roll to the side. She raised her eyebrows, bringing Helena's attention up from the apparently offending substance that had been set before her, and let her lips curve into the smirk that was tugging at them.
"Got a hot dog, if you'd rather." Helena visible baulked at the suggestion. She brought her hand to her mouth and sucked the tip, licking away the faux-cheese that had attached itself to it.
"Darling," she began after releasing her finger with a pointed and purposeful stare, "while there are many things I am yet to fully understand about this century, I have fortunately been thoroughly educated on exactly what goes into those," she dropped her gaze to the bread-cushioned item in question, laying in a plastic basket upon the tray, "things, and there is not a single chance that one shall ever pass my lips lingering in any of the nine circles of hell." Myka shook her head with a chuckle.
"That's a no, then?" The inventor sniffed, somewhat derisively, glancing back down towards the nachos in her lap.
"Indeed it is." Not in the least bit phased by the other woman's attitude, Myka balanced the tray – still largely covered by a number of different 'drive-in delicacies' - atop the dashboard, wedging it against the side of the steering wheel to hold it in place. Helena blinked, glancing back and forth between it and the woman beside her.
"Are you not eating?" A burst of laughter slipped past Myka's lips before she could catch and swallow it.
"No." She elongated the vowel at the end of the word, drawing it out and confirming H.G.'s earlier suspicions as to the true edibility of the food.
"Then why on earth did you bring so much?" Helena asked incredulously, breaking off a corner of one chip and dipping it into the sauce before popping it into her mouth.
"Well I didn't know what you'd want." Myka explained with a shrug, tucking wayward curls behind an ear. She licked her lips, suddenly looking nervous as she momentarily avoided making eye contact and gestured with her hands as she spoke. "And I wanted your first drive-in experience to be perfect, and for that you need typical drive-in food."
"So, you panicked and purchased every item on the menu?" Her drawl was teasing, but Myka felt her cheeks begin to redden regardless. She sputtered for a few seconds, fumbling over various vowel sounds, and then closed her mouth with an audible click as Helena began laughing at her. A gentle kind of airy laughter, but laughter all the same.
"Yeah, well." She retorted and then found herself lamely repeating her earlier argument. "I didn't know what you'd want." H.G. leaned forward to place her cardboard box back onto the tray and Myka watched from her periphery as the inventor shifted to face her.
"What I want," Helena reached across the centre console and took hold of Myka's hand, tugging both it and a green-eyed gaze toward her. "Is to spend an evening with the woman I love, away from the distractions of the Warehouse and the interruptions of dearly beloved friends who may very well have the best of intentions, but also possess perhaps the worst timing in the history of mankind." And then Myka did blush, a real blood-red, rosy-cheeked blush. Because it was hard for a person to control where their blood flowed to when H.G. Wells said things like that. And it didn't exactly always end up surging towards her face, either. "So you see," especially when her voice took on that familiar husky purr that Myka knew so well, "your fretting is for naught." And she lifted Myka's hand to place a lingering kiss against her knuckles, dark eyes never leaving flushed face. "I've all I desire sat right beside me."
It was hard to argue with something like that. It was hard to say anything at all to it. And so Myka settled for allowing her lips to curve into the, assuredly goofy, smile that was tugging at them and simply said nothing at all.
The pale light filtering in from the huge screen stretched before the rows of vehicles faded out, darkening the interior of the car and signalling the beginning of the movie. Myka had only told Helena the very basics of what they were going to be watching; a science-fiction film from the nineteen-sixties. It had been enough to pique the inventor's interest, as she knew it would be, and she let out a please chuckle as the titles rolled and H.G.'s attention was almost violently jerked away from her.
"Planet of the Apes." She mused, quietly. "How delightfully intriguing."
And it was. They watched almost the entire first half of the movie in companionable silence, the only words to pass between them belonging to H.G.'s questions. And Myka suspected they would have continued the rest of the movie in the same fashion, had the inventor's hand not started to wander.
It was innocent at first. Helena's hand slipped from Myka's to trace patterns across the top of it and over the bumps of her knuckles. But then it slipped down, dancing across the line where Myka's arm met her thigh and then drifting away from it. Over the expanse of denim until deft fingers swept pleasantly along the inside of her thigh. Caressing a trail of fire right through the material and inching upward until the breath Myka hadn't realised she'd been holding came out in a rush.
"Helena." Green eyes darted to their corners, but H.G.'s didn't move from the screen as she hummed in response. "What are you doing?" She watched the inventor's lips artfully curve into a smile that simply wasn't innocent enough to cover the smirk hiding underneath, despite her effort.
"Watching the film, darling." But her movements belied her answer and Myka exhaled loudly through her nose as Helena's fingertips skirted across the seam of her jeans.
"You are not." She argued, though it lacked any air of true confrontation. No, she was rather enjoying the pleasant burn of Helena's ministrations.
"No?"
"No." Myka's hand shot out, wrapping around a thin wrist and forcing it to remain immobile between her legs. Helena finally turned her head to look at her, smirk now full having thrown off the blanket of pretence. "You're doing what teenagers actually did when they came to drive-ins." Helena arched an eyebrow, amused by the revelation.
"Is that so?" The inventor wrestled her hand free, with ease, and slipped it beneath the material of Myka's shirt. The touch elicited a quiet gasp, the still relatively new thrill of skin on skin, and if she were being completely honest with herself, 'by the book' Myka Bering had already lost the game Helena was playing with her. She'd been losing since they first laid eyes on one another.
And they'd been playing this particular game for such a very long time.
Helena's thumb brushed across her ribcage, wandering with feigned idleness around to burn a trail of fire along Myka's side. And even though it seemed to happen with increasing frequency, whenever H.G. looked at her like that – like she'd already undressed her with her eyes are was currently working out the best way to devour her – every last molecule of air in her immediate vicinity just vanished. Every single time.
"Well Agent Bering, how accurate do you want the evening's events to be?"
The really was only one answer to the question, and it pulled at a spot low in Myka's gut. It teased her lips into a coy smile and pushed her muscles into motion.
Startled by Myka's sudden movement, Helena drew her hand back and watched with wide, curious eyes as the other woman clambered over the centre console and twisted to land spread out against the rear seats of the car. White teeth glinted from between parted lips as her smile grew, flourishing into a grin that brought with it laughter bubbling up from her chest. She kind of felt like a silly, hormonal teenager. One who knew the potential repercussions of what she were about to do, but couldn't really muster enough effort to care.
And it all sort of felt a little bit wonderful.
"Are you going to join me," she asked, cocking her head to the side and giving a slow, purposeful lick of her lips, "Agent Wells?"
Helena's response was decidedly non-verbal. She all but launched herself into the back seat, void of her usual level of artfully composed grace, and their bodies came together with the kind of perfect awkwardness that Myka might have expected, had she known to expect it at all.
Briefly, she wondered what Helena's teenager trysts had consisted of. Had she ever canoodled with anyone in the back of a carriage? Myka made a mental note to ask her later, milliseconds before she felt the brush of Helena's tongue and all other thoughts were expertly swept away.
She was pretty sure Pete owned 'Planet of the Apes' anyway.