So, I'd ruined the day the Kinney way and got a pain in the … arm for my trouble. (Arm was much safer to say than heart.) A part which, if it's to be believed, I ain't got.
All I know is that there was as big a sting in my chest as there was in my shoulder. I tried to wonder what the feeling may've been but soon got annoyed by my own lack of sarcasm and stopped wondering.
Regardless it was in there, all un-sarcastic and stingy.
At least I had Alleghany General's finely designed (Read: ugly as my uncle's sister) sling to hold my arm to my chest. I hoped it would keep the feeling from leaking out.
It was slightly slippy and somewhat straining to drive Justin to the train station one handed. The swishing of the wipers whipped worry with the wind and water on the windshield.
At the Warehouse , Carl's boys had hit pay dirt in the evidence department. As well you know, Hobbs had had a collection of ridiculously clichéd 'Bad guy stuff'. The paper clippings, journal entries, weapons, prints ( I'd learned, matched those from both the motel and Cody's place),of course their wallets and other items of Justin's .
His guilt was as ready for the taking as every twink that ever twinkled my eye. Yet he wasn't where he was supposed to be. He was supposed to have been sent to his cell without supper, to think about what he had done.
I had apologized to Justin and also housed regret (Quick, someone note the rarity of this occasion) that I hadn't listened. That I'd went off on my own like the bratty child I often am.
Taylor however hadn't blamed me. He was just relieved I was okay. I wasn't okay.
Although he'd only spent one night in lock up, Hobbs was on the lam. Justin was in danger in the Pitts. The place where I was.
He was soon to be heading on a track to nowhere I was allowed to know.
A safe house.
Where he'd be safe.
I'd dicked around and I'd gotten Justin taken away. I didn't deserve to play with him.
The silence was a thing I was grateful for. I hated it too.
I knew this was one of the last times I could talk to the blond. I was nowhere near prepared to think it would be my last ever. I started and stopped whatever word my mouth was going to say (it hadn't filled me in) as often as the indecisive downpour.
By the time I'd parked on the side of the station it had found us again; that annoying cloud that always seemed to know right where I was.
We sat for a moment inside the lines of a quiet that needed colored in.
I turned off the Jeepster leaving the next move up to him. He unbuckled his seatbelt and sighed a breath. I inhaled to catch it as it went.
Justin's eyes held a smirk they didn't share with his lips. Instinctively, I dropped my eyes to those lips and he licked 'em.
Those lips picked up the smirk his eyes had dropped . I could tell they could tell I was thinking naughty things about 'em.
I wanted to kiss every lip on his face.
What happened next was his own fault really, looking all kissable.
His perfectly pouty pout pleading me to please it, with pleasure.
He tried to peek in my windows again. I let the gaze linger as long as I could. Until it looked too much like the future that I had to close my eyes. I blinked and focused somewhere near his knees. There'd be no more looks like thank you very much.
My peripheral eye-line caught his movement.
His breath.
My breath.
Soon too close to tell the difference. A feather light dusting of his air on mine.
His bottom lip fell slack awaiting mine to catch it. Though I'm more of a pitcher I'd caught it with ease.
His lips were so soft that they sent my own tingling about. He licked my tongue, my teeth. You know, all the tingly spots. My tongue tried to taste his tingles too.
I felt a surge of heat that could've just as easily been cold. It reminded my nerves of frostbite submerged in warmth. The juxtaposition went straight to my pants, where there was only hotly heated hotness.
I hated he was leaving. Was sorry too. I tried to tell him as much with that kiss. And If I'm recalling correctly, with his deepening plunder and rough tug to my hair, he'd heard me.
"See me off Detective?" He whispered into my mouth before pulling back. It tempted my taste buds and trickled down my throat.
I sadly simmered my steamy stuff and heard the word 'see' he'd spoken; not the 'get' I'd been hoping for.
He leaned over me as far as he could and I may have whimpered a bit with him pressed against me. He unclicked my seatbelt and I both cursed and thanked my restricted arm. I knew with a certainty only I could, that if given the freedom, I'd have touched his body and he'd miss his train. I scrambled from the car.
To my relief the stubborn cloud hadn't spilled me drenched. It held it's ammunition. I glanced to Justin who was closing the passenger door; maybe Sunshine chased the rain away.
Taylor was off the hook but Hobbs still dangled on it. I'd asked Carl if I could bring him to the train but then I had to pass the buck to one of his men.
I'd waited outside that morning as he said goodbye to Daphne. She too couldn't know where he was dusting out to. A part of me had stayed behind to give them privacy. Another, self-preserving part wasn't keen to face her face. I was the reason her friend was running. I didn't particularly want to buy the farm just yet. I'd look terrible in overalls.
I led him up the stairs to the rattler by the small of his back. To touch him just a touch.
Ticket in hand he turned to me. I think he was going to speak but no words made it out. A small, quizzical smile smiled at me and he pulled me into a hug. A hug we both needed. Again I was grateful for my out of commission limb. If not for the sling I'd have held him there too long. We stood like that, three hugging arms and two silent tongues.
The boarding call was an incessant thing. An unexpected emptiness had me itching to board a blond. To grab him and have him right then and there. It's always better to come before you go.
But apparently there are some legitimate laws and a general rule that you don't have sex in a train station. More specifically frowned upon, in front of several members of law enforcement and an audience of the general public. I wanted to send a glare to the people and a letter to the editor because seriously, who writes this shit?
Christ what was wrong with me? It was just a goodbye. I'd see him again, perhaps.
Or perhaps, as time goes by he'll find someone new to treasure his smile and share his view from the picturesque window I've never been able to see.
Except now…I wanted to. Wanted to sip coffee from those stupid porcelain cups and stare at fruit too pretty to eat. Wanted to read the newspaper across from him and discuss laundry detergent and fucking Tupperware. Godammit.
So what if his eyes were to die for and his smile was infectious. Who the hell wants to die of an infection anyway?
It was only time. It wasn't gonna hurt.
Only it did. Like a motherfucker.
A moment ago he was there then he wasn't. Now I will only admit this once. As I watched him go, I slipped my good hand into my pocket…to stop from reaching out.
Pass the buck- Hand off blame
Dusting out- Leaving
Buy the Farm- Die
Rattler- Train
"…kiss every lip on her face."-Dead men don't wear plaid (1982)