ATLAS garrison base" Whitehorse "
07400 hours
" Hey...isn't that my shirt you've got on ? "
" Yeah..it is . You took my shirt That's my jersey...! "
To be perfectly honest, Mitchell wasn't actually angry about the situation, though outright surprise did show through as he spoke. And how could it not: Someone had taken one of his shirts, and was now wearing it !
Right in front of him, as well. Like they were straight up daring him to do something about it, or at least confront them head on with determined intent of asserting his ownership of it. One or the other, if not both...
Well, to be perfectly honest...it wasn't so much that the shirt had been taken by someone else at all, but who specifically had taken it.
" Yes. Because its mine now. Until I finally decide to give it back."
Delivered with her usual Russian version of the " so cool I don't flinch " attitude, Ilona was nonchalantly standing at their kitchenette's counter, getting a mug of non-packaged coffee ready for personal enjoyment, all while dressed in Mitchell's shirt. Not one of hers.
And most of all , it was one of his personal favorites.
That Seattle Sounders jersey !
A real one, of course, personally given to him by a member of the Sounders themselves during a pre-game meet and greet, years and years ago. It was suitably long and large , enough to go past one's waist, but not so much that it'd get in the way down by your knees. Most noteworthy of all, though,was the exceptionally vibrant shades of the green, white, and blue of the Sounder's team logo emblazoned across the front, as well as the burnt orange " 21 " numerals that decorated the back. It wasn't even made of cotton, but rather of that strangely metallic-yet-still-comfortable polyester fibers that were used to craft soccer uniforms the world over. A silky smooth, slightly cooled, but plushy soft on its inside, the jersey was nice enough to your skin that you didn't need to wear anything underneath it, and it would capably wick away sweat to boot.
And, as a final plus, it was mightily resistant to stains- whether from juice, coffee, buffalo chicken wings ( a strong possibility, as said wings were a virtual requirement at any event that you'd tend to wear a jersey at ), etc, etc. Most of them would fail to stick, and the ones that did barely had a chance to stay there after a through scrubbing and drying session, thus ensuring you wouldn't be left committing fashion sins at any football game ever again.
It was a flawless example of Americana...
...but it was currently being worn, by someone who was very much not American at all. Which, in of itself wasn't a problem. Actually, it wasn't a problem at all...just very unexpected.
Not in a bad way, though. Just unexpected, in of itself.
Also, rather adorable as well.
"...I see. I'd remember you wearing any of my clothes if it'd happened before. First time I actually do, and you're saying you straight up stole them. "
" Was I supposed to ask first ? ", came the perfectly on-point response, with its strong Slavic lit warping the ' Was ' into a slight vas. " You should know better than to expect me to do that. ".
Unapologetic and straightforward as ever, and with a slight ( but very unmissable smirk ), Ilona didn't miss a beat as she continued right on preparing her filled mug of coffee- mostly black, but with a single shot of whole fat milk, which she was in the process of deftly stirring in with perfectly circular motions- not whipping into a froth, but not dragging the stylus through the searing java either.
A very normal act to perform, and one that Mitchell had seen her do dozens of times. Just, not while wearing one of his jerseys...
" ...Well, you wouldn't, yeah. I know that. But, the thing is..". The Marine trailed off mid-explanation, having not taken his eyes off the sight of her dressed in that particular garment, right here and now.
It wasn't easy to, frankly.
After all, though he certainly hadn't expected said jersey to end up on anybody except himself, it'd finally and actually happened. As it was an attractive female who was responsible, and one that he deeply cared for to boot, the act of sizing up how she looked in them didn't feel wrong whatsoever- and he'd had no choice but to do it, regardless of how much say he'd had in her taking it to begin with. It was already on, so he could only appraise..
...and had quickly come to a conclusion.
"...you..well, you look good in that. ", he decisively stated. " Real good. It fits you, in more ways than one. "
It was an apt assessment , whether he would have said so personally or not, on both counts. Neither of them were up for debate: the jersey was long enough to successfully go all the way past Ilona's waist, and fully cover her ass, though even if it hadn't been, the digital-cam pattern Rhodesian shorts she had on were ample cover on their own. It was also wide enough to not too snugly hug her plus-sized frame, despite how there was still a telltale swell on the upper portion of her torso on the front..
So, yeah. It wasn't the wrong size, needless to say. If the size tag on the jersey had been an S, rather than at least an XL, it'd have come off looking more like a tube top on the Russian paratrooper, or something skimpy like that.
Proper fitting aside..the jersey looked good on her. Not everyone was suited for wearing something so casual- some were too studious in appearance, or scrawny, or so on. Jerseys were fun items of clothing, designed to be worn by someone who had some actual passion for living, for any reason that meant a lot to them- preferably soccer, as that was the intended activity to be doing/ cheering on while you had it, but the end result was ultimately the same: enjoy the ultimate in wearable comfort, while not doing anything that was " on the clock ", so to speak.
And Russians were more fun than you might think, in their outlandishly Slavic way. Certainly more so than the English were given to be exuberant; Gideon was proof of that. Or rather, one of the exceptions.
" Way ahead of you: if it looks slutty or won't fit, I don't wear it. I always think of everything when it comes to fashion . "
" Someone's full of themselves. "
" ..All I want to be full of is my espresso. A girl needs to meet the morning with some energy..."
The VDV member then made a point to glance Mitchell's way, and her smirk expanded into a full on smile. Not a wide, Hollywood one, but a real and meaningful stretch of the lips.
"..and to look her best for her man. That's you, obviously. "
Having completed prepping the steam-emitting mix contained within the mug, and confirmed Mitchell's inner thoughts ( something he'd always found strangely cute, actually ), Ilona tapped the stylus dry against the mug's rim, set it down, then lifted the cup right up to where she could easily inhale the scent of the freshly ground and brewed Sumatran coffee, still piping hot and nearly to where it could scald you...but not quite. It was still drinkable...still optimal.
The perfect beginning to any morning...
...well, one of the components to one, at least.
Because, as Mitchell continued observing from where he stood, he found himself getting embraced by a familiarly pleasant sensation. It was a deeply warm one, like wrapping yourself in a linen sheet just removed from the dryer after it'd finished a high intensity cycle. It was one that seemed to bloom from within him outwards, like a flower's petals unfurling..
He didn't need to question it. He didn't need to wonder..
Not for a second.
Not for a moment. It wasn't a new feeling, or a one he needed to sort out, contemplate, , or analyze.
A smile of his own began to manifest, completely free of his own control, as he found that he was already beginning to walk toward her...
...just as she took a long, worthwhile swig. Carefully, so as not to jostle her, Mitchell embraced the Slav, drawing her up against him so that they were pressed well and tightly together. He was just tall enough so that, if he tilted his face down, it would be buried within the woman's tightly brushed and done brunette hair, coiled and gathered into a flawlessly loose, low bun.
A style only fit for women, and even so...only when it was done right. But it was, here. A few strands had come loose, but that was alright. It was well cared for, with a healthy luster to it, and carrying the hint of the scent of that conditioner she always used as well. It was one Mitchell had thought was some kind of oversized eyeliner container upon first noticing...
Still can't read all their labels. Doing my best, Russia, but you're Cyrillic is just Sanskrit to me.
Even so...the end result is what counts. Its doing wonders for her...
It really was..
" Jack ! ". Ilona laughed out loud as the Marine enveloped her with both arms. A light laugh, just above a chuckle, but it was even better than a more boisterous one. More real, somehow.
He leaned down, and gave her a kiss. On the lips, subtly cupping the back of her head with one hand to deepen it. It lasted...7 seconds ? 9 ? Either or...but long enough so that it wasn't a quick peck.
Those kisses didn't count. This one did, when you're spine was tingling and your chest was buzzing.
" Morskoy, get your own coffee ! ", the Slav exlaimed, still laughing, as soon as the lip lock was at last at an end. " But if its a kiss you want, just tell me so ! "
" Trust me: Coffee's not what I want ". Mitchell gently squeezed her closer, well aware he couldn't hurt her even if he wanted to. She was too well built for that...and he loved her too much for it as well.
" Can't a man show his lady some love first thing in the day ? "
Though he was still gazing through her hair, Mitchell knew her cheeks had taken on the slightest pinkest hue.
"...And that you called me one already means you're more of a man then Joker is. I swear, I will hurt him one day. Yobany Urod...( f****king moron ). "
The Marine hummed with agreement. " Yeah...I have no doubt on that, medovyy. You're the one who hefts more than your own body weight like its nothing- 95kg ( 209 pounds ), if I may go a bit European on you. "
" Oh, that's not quite accurate- I've made it up to 100 kg (220 ). "
220...?
My Lord. I'm...218 ? I think.
Always knew she was a beast.
Deeply proud, he kissed the top of her head. " Amazing. You keep pushing that limit. Its not like you're lagging near the bottom of the leaderboard on the Corporate crossfit "
"... Ah, so its true, then ? You like big girls. "
Now it was Mitchell's turn to laugh- the huffing exhale of air through the lips, and a tugging smirk. " ..You thought I was into the ones who looked like Victoria's Secret models ? "
"
" Nope. No, I know what my kind is. Its you. You're like a taller Kara Saunders...if I haven't already told you. Or even if I did. "
" I hardly suspected ", calmly stated the Slav, as she turned to one side, and slipped her free arm around the Marine. The former action allowed her steely abs to come into contact, while the latter reminded Mitchell that her biceps were a threat all on their own.
" This kind of big. "
" That's the stuff. "
" Not the other kind. "
" Nada. "
" Should I eat more butter ? Cancel my exercise sessions, have ice cream and pizza for every meal ? That kind of thing..."
Mitchell blinked, having been moderately caught off guard by that query.
It wasn't exactly in keeping with Ilona's normal self to imply that she should begin tipping the scales in any other way than a tad more mass around the legs ( to name but one area ). Indeed, she'd always been a bit of a fitness fanatic-running every day, lifting weights every day , in displays of perfectly firm, flexing muscle that Mitchell found mesmerizing to watch...and which probably made the redneck known as Joker nervous, hence why he always seemed to put someone else between him and the Slav whenever the squad hit the gym together .
Yes, it was true. Mitchell was fond of muscle-y girls...long as they weren't those ones who looked 'roided up and beefy to a point of resembling a man. God, no. He had limits, and he and he had standards.
She knows that...
I am sure of it.
But, to answer her-
Yeah, he had to. It was still kind of..random, though. Like finding her in his jersey to begin with. But, a fair question was a fair question, odd or not.
A very prickly thing, though...talking about a woman this way. One had to be very careful, or risk bringing down all manner of extreme trouble down upon yourself.
" ...Honestly ? ...The way you treat your body says a lot about yourself. Packing on pounds like you don't care says you don't, but keeping things trim, or straight up getting some muscle ? You wouldn't do that if you didn't care. .."
He adjusted his position then, arranging his stance so that he could actually now gaze at at her eyes. The set of jade ones he knew very well...
They looked amused. Relaxed...but there was a tinge of something else.
Just a tinge...which frustratingly not enough for Mitchell to get a real read on what else she might be thinking. Women were hard to read, no matter how much you thought you were good at it.
If she had more she wanted to coney, though, it wouldn't come from being blunt. That would get the Marine nowhere, and he knew it..
" I'd say you do care. I'd say you do. "
Mutual trust appeared in those eyes as well, as she minutely increased the tightness with which her arm was draped around him.
" This might well be the most cultured conversation we've ever had...", she confided, in an almost school girlish voice.
" I didn't bring up the subject of a woman's weight. That's a surefire way to get the tar kicked out of you. "
Ilona nodded, gently letting the coffee slosh. " Its why Joker has not received compound fractures in all his limbs yet..."
" Give it a while. I think he'll get there. "
" Heh...da. "
Discussing a mutually favorite subject ( one of many, of course ), however briefly, was always enjoyable, and a familiar course to go on. It was something they could always revisit to have a laugh, or to remind each other of how much they had in common. In of itself, that was a cornerstone of any relationship that had any chance of lasting .
Like their was doing. All this while, and still going strong.
After all...she'd stolen a shirt from him. That was borderline domestic.
Also, though..made a somewhat out of left field comment about extra unwanted kilos. That was curious...
That could wait. For a while, anyway...
" ...Soooo...did you ever enjoy eating butter ? "
WTF ?!
You dumbass..!
Sometimes, a guy could do that. Sometimes, he could just let his mouth gain autonomy from the mind, and do its own thing because said mind hadn't restrained its own curiosity. When it should've, to be certain.
Sometime , like now.
" ...ahem ! ". The Marine executed a " conversational cockup " cough, mentally wondering how he could recover some dignity after a misstep like that.
So dumb.
As it turned out, though...that wasn't actually what he needed to be concerned about.
" ...Its ok, Jack.."
Reaching over, Ilona set the mug- which was still warm- down on the counter. With both hands free, she set them on the Marine's sides, and placed both of them so that they were facing each other head on.
" Its ok ", she told him again. " Really. I kind of have these...strange thoughts, when I wear something that's a size above normal. "
" Normal..? Medovyy, you're normal the way you are. In a good way. The way you like...and me "
" I know...I know you're right. But the thing is, Jack-"
With that, the Slav looked down...just a flicker of her eyes, along with a puff of an exhale. All signs, that she was on the verge of revealing something...something she was very choosy about who she unveiled it to.
What, though ? It borderline seemed like...
Jack couldn't guess.
" You got me right here, Ilo. Right here-"
" I used to be the opposite, Jack ", the love of his life blurted.
" The opposite of...how I look now. Or, maybe you could say much different. "
The Marine wasn't expecting that, to say the least.
It wasn't a floor-dropper, exactly, but it was sure a real curve-ball. The kind of thing he wouldn't have put at the top of the list.
His eyebrows went up.
" ...So..wait. "
" Are you saying that...?"
With another sigh, Ilona nodded.
" Yeah.. yeah,I am. I was the other kind of big..."
" I used to be chubby. "