For UKReader
A/N: I was really struggling with this one. Since I'm juggling so many stories at the same time, I just couldn't come up with anything original for "stuck in an elevator with claustrophobic Wren" prompt. I went through a huge amount of scenarios in my head and none would just do it for me. I gave up. And decided since I have nothing fresh and exiting to come up with, then I'll just make it silly and fluffy. Don't judge me *really feeling insecure here*
She is fit. The small body, petite and perky, slightly lacking in curves to your taste, but the long sensual neck, a slightly haughty set of her head, and of course the flaming locks compensate. Every morning you stare at the crown of copper locks, sometimes in braids, sometimes in a complicated ponytail, very rarely running down her shoulders in soft waves. The shoulders and the collarbones cause most thrill in you. You have a fetish and you are fine with it. Her shoulders are exquisite. Slender, flexible, and all her posture is a promise.
Last thing you need is actually to talk to her. Because then your creepy voyeurism will definitely lose its charm. You are certain once she opens her mouth, the spell will be broken. After all she does work in a fashion magazine. And no, you didn't stalk her, the folder in her hands every morning clearly states Dale Confidential and you've seen the glossy colourful covers at the tills in grocery shops. There is always a photoshopped female celebrity on the cover and article titles like "26 new ways to seduce your boss". You really want to ask why anyone would listen to new promising solutions to the problem if the previously offered advice clearly didn't work and how many women are there who are in dire need to seduce their boss anyways?
Today she is wearing one of those narrow skirts that hug her glorious tiny bum and go below her knee, frilly semitransparent blouse with merry polkadots and her hair is in a complicated do, with a braid going around her head. She rushes into the lift in her usual hasty steps, heels clanking, sweet fresh perfume fills your nose, and she is immediately absorbed in something on her mobile.
You are sipping your coffee. You have twenty five floors to enjoy the view of the lines of her elegant neck and the tiny curls that escaped the braids, coiling at the hairline at the back of her head. Most people leave at the sixteenth, and you know that the last guy will rush out at the eighteenth. And then for six floors it's just you and her.
You pass the nineteenth floor, when the lift jolts and stops. That is the second time this week. Last time it happened when people were actually leaving their work. They were livid. They had to spend an hour in it, until the service people finally managed to get it going again. You reach for the phone on the wall and dial. "Yeah, hi, I'm in the lift in the E wing of the building, and I think we are stuck." You are listening to apologetic mumbling of the reception desk, and meanwhile you realize that the girl is not moving. You hum in agreement, and after receiving a promise that they will solve the issue ASAP you hang up.
"Miss?" She is still, only the delicate shoulders are rising a bit. You look at her face. She is very pale, and her eyes are closed. She is taking small spasmodic breaths and the knuckles on her tiny hands are white. She is clutching her folder and the mobile. "Miss, are you alright?"
"No," she breathes out and you realizes she is trying to take deeper breaths. "Are you claustrophobic?" Damn, is asking a claustrophobic person if they are indeed terrified of being stranded in closed space, such as the lift you are currently in, going to trigger even more anxiety for them? You put your coffee cup in the corner on the floor.
She nods and presses her belongings tighter to her chest. She is biting on her bottom lip. Her translucent, usually radiant skin has a greenish tint. Right, what are you supposed to do to manage a panic attack? Breath deeper and try to get distracted.
"Miss, what is your name?" "Wren," she gulps, "Wren Leary." "I'm John Thorington. Nice to meet you." You move a bit closer. Will standing near her make her more uncomfortable? She probably needs as much space as possible. "So, Wren, you just take deep breaths and we can just have a friendly chat. They will start the lift pretty soon." She is shaking her head.
"You don't want to chat?" More furious shaking. "You don't want to breath? I agree with you, it is quite boring." Two giant hazel eyes fly open, and she looks at you confused. So she does hear some things. "Where do you work, Wren?" The wide open eyes scan your face. They are colour of the single malt Glenfiddich, the lashes are thick and long, meticulous black liner on the upper lid. You should know, you photograph eye make up twice a month. This is called V-shaped eyeliner style. Because she is so much shorter, she looks exceptionally doe-eyed at the moment, staring at you from down there.
"You know exactly where I work. We have ridden this lift every morning for the past seven months," her tone is unexpectedly grouchy. "And you tend to stare a lot, so you probably know more about me that I do myself." Ouch. That was direct. "Can't help it, doll, you are an eyecandy!"
She inhales and her eyes flash. "Listen up, you perv," she takes a step ahead and points a tiny finger at your face, blush returning to her cheeks, "if you even think of pulling anything off..."
You smile and then plainly chuckle. "Feeling better?" She freezes and realizes then she moved and even spoke. "I apologize for staring though," you lift your hands in mock surrender. "I am a photographer in Erebor Incorporated on the twenty seventh, can't help it."
She steps back and shifts her weight between her feet. "Thank you," she suddenly smiles, and it is a magnificent smile. Open, sincere, making her look so much more… Just more. She peers around, and you see her tense again. "So Wren, what do you do in Dale Confidential?" "I write sex advice column." Wow, that was... wow. Really?
"Really?" She looks at you again, peevish expression back on her face. "Which part surprises you, that I do it or that I openly confess it?" "Neither, I have no judgment regarding it. Never read it. Just didn't think that this is what you do." "What did you think I do then?" To be honest, you didn't really care.
"An editor?" She lifts a brow and gives you a skeptical look. "Now you are just trying to weasel your way out of an uncomfortable conversation. I bet you didn't even think about it. You probably just appreciated the bum, or the breasts, or the curve of the shoulder. While others just ogle, you the artistic type tend to dissect and appreciate the parts." Yikes.
She looks better. The cheeks are gaining their colour back. At the expense of your dignity, but you guess it's alright. "I suppose you should know male preferences better than anybody." "My job is not about male preferences, it is about making intimacy more pleasurable for a woman. Be it with a man, with a woman or with a dildon." You don't even want to know.
"What is a dildon?" You try not to smile but the corners of your lips twitch. She puffs the air out. "Listen, John, I appreciate you trying to distract me but I'm not going to have a sex talk with you right now." She closes her eyes again and takes long conscientious breaths. "We can talk about something else. Puppies? Lollies? The new nuclear policy of Turkmenistan?"
She opens her eyes again. "Turkmenistan doesn't have nuclear weapons." Her tone is strict and didactic. She looks additionally hot, with the whole librarian slash teacher sternness around her. You chuckle. "I have no idea really, just sounded impressive." Suddenly her face is mischievous. "I have no idea either," she snickers, "You are just too easy, honestly." What?
The lift jolts again and she squeals. A second ago she was taking a piss out of you, and now she is pressed into you, surprisingly strong little hands grabbing your sweater. The folder and the mobile flop on the floor. You circle her with your arms and press her into yourself. She is shaking, and her eyes seem twice as big as a second ago.
Everything is quiet for a few seconds, and she slowly exhales. You feel her heart beating frantically, there is basically no space between your bodies. "Can I please stay here for a second?" Her voice is very high. "Sure thing." She wraps her arms around your middle and presses her face into your sternum. She is regulating her breath, you think you might have to as well.
She seems to be mumbling. "Sorry?" "Nothing, just trying to distract myself." "Mother Goose rhymes reciting?" She chuckles. It's shaky but it is definitely a chuckle. "Song lyrics." "Oh, what band?" Please, don't say Justin Bieber. "The Stones." What?
She presses her cheek into you harder. "There's a little yellow pill. She goes running for the shelter of her mother's little helper. And it helps her on her way, gets her through her busy day..." Her plump sexy lips covered with bright deep pink lipstick are moving, and you think you are in love.
She chuckles again. "Somehow imagining Mick makes me calmer." "Goodness, can't think how that actually works." She giggles. "Well, men think about footie to be distracted." Naughty, naughty girl!
She is not clinging desperately to you anymore but doesn't seem to move away either. "Tell me about your work, John." "I am a photographer for ads agency, what's there to tell? Lots of half naked women on bikes, and cars, recently a lot of coffee cups too." She hums. "What is wrong with people these days, what happened to a good old cuppa?" She nuzzles you. Bugger, that's distracting. "It'll pass, I'm sure," she sounds pensive, "Some day good old cuppa will be in fashion again. Especially after that Jag commercial."
"Are you a fan, Miss Leary?" "Of Jags?" The mischievous tone tells you she knows exactly what you are asking about. "Obviously. Why would you be a fan of the git in a checked suit?" "I am the fan of the said git. He is hot as hell and talented to no end. Do you think I'm interested in a supercharged 3.0 liter V-6 with 380 horsepower and 339 foot pound of torque?"
You push her away and look into her eyes. They are laughing. "I think I'm in love with you." She smirks. "Well, that's unfortunate. Because I find you endlessly repulsive." She grabs a handful of your sweater and pulls you down and towards her. Her lipstick tastes like black cherries. Neither of you notices that the lift starts moving.