honey i laugh when it sinks in
a pillar, i am upright
scarcely can speak for my thinking what
you'd do to me tonight
Hozier, "Dinner and Diatribes"

July 14
When he woke that morning she was, of course, already up, but on her pillow was a plate containing one of yesterday's croissants, a pat of butter, and a generous dollop of (seedless, at his request) raspberry jam. He went to the bathroom, then came back to lounge against the pillows and savor the flaky, buttery pastry.

As much as he enjoyed the fruits of it, he hoped yesterday's baking frenzy wouldn't carry over into today. She didn't want to talk about what had happened the other night, and he was okay with that, but rather than just letting him tell her so, she moved like a whirling dervish and didn't give him a chance to say anything at all.

He was, as he'd told her, a patient man, so he let her whirl and clean and bake, and he waited. He thought maybe she'd left the croissant as a sort of peace offering, her way of saying talks were open, so once he finished eating he gathered his plate and went to find her.

The kitchen was empty. He hoped she hadn't gone after raspberries again, or if she had, she'd dressed better. He looked out the back windows and saw the umbrella open at the end of the dock.

Swimming. Oh. So she was avoiding him still.

He glowered at his own reflection in the glass. He wasn't afraid of the water just because he didn't know how to swim. And if he somehow fell in, surely she would come get him. She wasn't mad; just scared, and not of him.

He didn't know how long she'd been out there, but maybe she'd come in soon. She was always relaxed after a swim, and it might be a good time to talk to her. He knew he was being a coward about it, but he ignored the voice in his head and wandered toward the bathroom.

In front of the mirror he scrubbed a hand over his beard and back through his hair.

All of this might go better, he thought, if he didn't look like quite such a ne'er-do-well. He found a pair of scissors in the drawer and stood contemplating for a moment. Then he began to snip.

Kai had begun to consider getting the fuck over it and going back inside when the glint of light off the door's glass as it opened and closed caught her eye. She saw him cross the deck, then lost sight of him where the yard dipped down. He reappeared again where the path ended at the dock, and she thought he might stop there. She knew the free-floating dock made him nervous, but to her surprise he kept walking toward her. His stride was long and determined, the set of his shoulders purposeful.

He paused at the edge of her towel, his tall body throwing her into deeper shadow than the umbrella alone, and she squinted up at him. He was hallowed by the bright sun, a silhouette against the blinding sky, but still she could see…

"You trimmed your beard," she signed. Her eyes followed as he knelt in front of her. "And your hair."

He nodded. "It was getting out of control." He ran a hand through it, that familiar, endearing twist-and-tug gesture. "Not too short, is it?"

"No," she said with a brief smile. "It looks great." She meant it, too: he was pretty enough that the beard added to rather than took away from his face, but it had gotten a little overwhelming.

"Good." He frowned and looked out over the water. Now that he was here he wasn't sure what to say. He let his gaze wander from the lake to her, and he didn't bother to hide his interest.

She sat cross-legged watching him study her, her hair wet-but-not-dripping and slicked back from her forehead. Her skin was dry, but her two piece bathing suit—turquoise with red polka dots, and a little red ruffle at each hip—was still damp. She hadn't been out of the water long, and he knew if he leaned closer he would smell it on her skin.

She lifted a brow. "Well?"

His head tilted in a question.

"Did you come out here just to stare at me?"

He lifted his hands in a shrug. "Maybe I did. I like looking at you."

Her mouth quirked. "Okay then."

He settled back onto his ass and drew his knees up to rest his forearms on them. He hooked his hands loosely together and for a long time they just looked at each other. Silently, appraisingly, each thinking the things that were so hard for them to say.

Finally he stirred. "Can I see your tattoo?"

Her expression changed, a subtle tightening around the eyes, but at last she nodded. "Yes. But don't—" She broke off with a frown.

"Don't…?"

"Nothing," she said. "Yes, you can see it."

She started to get up, but he stopped her with a finger on her knee. Instead he pushed to his feet and walked around to kneel behind her. She bent a little, to give him a better view, and he could see the tension in the lines of her back. Why was she so nervous?

The tattoo was a circle between her shoulder blades, just above the bathing suit's strap. It was a wave caught at its crest. The top of it broke the circle, and so did the water at the bottom. It was watercolor, and the chop of the ocean surrounding the wave looked almost liquid. She shifted a little, and something about it caught the light differently. He frowned and leaned closer.

Every instinct screamed for her to stop him, but she didn't. He'd asked her to trust him, and she'd said she did, so now she needed to start acting like it. She closed her eyes and let out a long breath as his fingertips brushed her skin.

He ran his fingers along the curl of the wave, and back down to the water. The ink was masterfully applied to cover a series of round scars, each about the diameter of…

He tapped her shoulder so that she twisted to look at him. "Are these scars what I think they are?"

"As long as you think they're cigarette burns, then yes. It's how he used to wake me up, the nights he came into my room. He always kept it so fucking hot in that house, never let me run the AC, and you know I'm a hot sleeper."

He nodded. Many nights he'd fallen asleep with her curled up against him, both of them under the covers, then woken to find her sprawled on her side of the bed, as far away from him as she could get, with the blankets balled at her feet or shoved in a pile between them.

"I always slept in a tank top and panties, but then he started doing that. So I switched to PJs and lost like ten pounds of water weight. Which he approved of, because he loved to call me fat."

He made a face. "You should've killed him twice."

"Yeah," she said. "Maybe so." She smiled a little and turned away again, and so she was surprised when she felt the soft, warm brush of his mouth against her skin. He kissed each little round scar with a gentle tenderness that made her tremble. Before she could gather herself to look at him again, he scooted around so that he was in front of her.

His eyes stayed steady on her face as he took her hand in his and kissed the scar that ran from base of her thumb down to her wrist, where she'd cut herself trying to carve a pumpkin for pie. He cupped her face and pressed his lips to the scar on her forehead she'd had since she was two. He kissed down the scratch on her cheek from the raspberries. He paused and tapped a finger against the pale line along her chin that stretched nearly to her lower lip.

"I was fourteen," she said. "During Katrina. The wind blew out a window and the glass cut my face. We were on the way to the hospital. That's how my parents drowned."

His brows drew together. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "I don't mind it. I'd never forget them anyway, but somehow it's still a reminder. They loved me that much. They took that risk for me."

He kissed that one even more softly than the others, like a gentle whisper, then moved to a teardrop shaped scar on her shoulder.

"Chicken pox," she said. "Sixth grade."

He skimmed his lips along the scratch on her chest. One on her arm. He moved slowly, deliberately, giving her plenty of time to stop him if she needed to. Each kiss was a worshipful communiqué that rested on her skin like a spark, and she hoped he never stopped.

He ran his hands down her thighs and she stretched her legs out on either side of him. His thumb brushed an old scar on her knee, and he bent her leg to study it.

"We went to the beach when I was in fourth or fifth grade," she said. "I was playing on some rocks and slipped."

He grimaced in sympathy and kissed it like he had all the others. His eye caught on one on her abdomen, and his head tilted in a question.

Her mouth quirked. "Gallbladder removal when I was twenty-two. Laparoscopically." She had to sign it with lasers because she didn't know the sign and didn't know how to spell it. "The other scars pretty much faded, but I used to sleep on my stomach, so that one took longer to heal."

His eye met hers again, a careful appraisal, before he gently pushed her back onto the towel. Her heart pounded and every part of her felt electrified as he moved up from between her knees to kiss the small mark. He lingered a moment. Kissed it again, and brushed over it with his tongue. She let out a breath that he felt leave her, and he looked up with that lazy, knowing half-smile.

He started to move higher, clearly intent on her mouth, but she stopped him. "You missed one," she said.

He lifted a brow, and she dropped her hand to rest on her right side, just above her pubic bone. The area was covered by her bathing suit. "Appendix. Second grade."

"Do you have any extraneous organs left?"

"Nope, tonsils are gone too. I'm streamlined."

He grinned and dipped his head to kiss a line down her belly to the edge of her bathing suit. He tugged it down just far enough to expose the scar, then dropped three soft kisses from end to end. He looked up at her with a questioning expression.

"I think that's got it. Now please come up here and kiss me before I lose my mind."

He grinned again, wider this time, and moved up so that his lips hovered over hers. Their noses brushed. She ran her fingers up his neck to tangle in his hair. His pulse pounded against the heel of her hand. They could each feel the other's breath on their skin, against their lips, as their gasps grew desperate and uneven in the rising anticipation. The heat between them sizzled like a lit fuse.

Her stormy eyes were nearly all pupil, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted in an invitation just for him. He wanted her so much he ached, but he couldn't fuck this up. If he did she might not give him another chance, and now that he spent so much time touching her, now that he'd tasted her, he didn't think he could go back to when he didn't, or act like he hadn't.

She moved a little beneath him, an impatient wiggle, and his mouth curved in a teasing smile just before their lips met. He felt her laugh against him and it was like everything fell into place, a series of dominoes toppling in perfect, choreographed order: this was exactly where they were meant to be, here, together, this moment.

He lifted his head to look at her, and she was smiling at him. But at his expression her brows drew together in a question. "Is something wrong?" she signed with one hand.

He shook his head. "No, I just—" He dipped his chin to kiss her chest, the curve of her shoulder. "I don't want to fuck this up."

"Oh." She pushed his shoulder a little so that he rolled away. She turned onto her side and pulled him back so that they were face to face. "I wouldn't worry about that. Your instincts have been pretty spot-on so far."

He grinned. "Yeah?"

She ran her hand up his chest and captured his chin. Held him still while she studied him. His face was so familiar, even after such a short time. Familiar and dear, and while she often found herself confused and adrift in this strange new world, it was always Nick who called her back. Kept her steady. She brushed a curl off his forehead.

"Yeah, Nicky. I trust you. I always have. Maybe I haven't shown it as well as I could have, but it's true."

She kissed him, easy at first, but then deeper. His hand slid over the curve of her hip around to her back and he pulled her even closer. She moved her leg against his, and he slotted his thigh between hers. She tugged at his undershirt and he pulled it over his head and tossed it away, heedless of the water that surrounded them. Her fingers traced the crescent scar above his left nipple, and with a little frown she kissed it, just as he'd done to hers.

After that it seemed like hands were everywhere. He touched every inch of skin he could, and she ran her fingers from the waist of his trousers to his collarbone in a teasing caress. He peeled the strap of her bathing suit down to kiss her shoulder, suck gently at the silky skin, then reached around to undo the clasp. She flipped onto her back to shrug out of it and for a moment he was frozen.

She grinned and ran her finger down the long line of his nose. Tapped the end of it. "Surely you've seen tits before, Mr. Andros."

"One or two," he said, tilting his head back and forth. He knelt between her thighs and stroked a big hand from her bellybutton up, to rest between them. "I guess it's about time I admitted I think you're ridiculously hot."

Her head fell back on a laugh. "Ridiculously?"

He shrugged. "Insanely."

"Wild that two such amazingly hot people ended up apocalypse buddies," she said as she pulled him closer.

He paused, a surprised grin brightening his face. "You think I'm hot?"

"Nick!" Something in his expression told her he was serious, at least in part, so she kissed him softly, each cheek, his nose, and finally his mouth. "Yes," she said. "You're gorgeous, sweetheart. I'll never get tired of looking at you."

He'd had no idea something so sweet and gentle could touch him so deeply, but his breath left in a shaky rush and he wrapped his arms around her to pull her close. Her skin was warm, and she stroked through his hair and down his back. He felt her little gasp as he turned his head to kiss her neck, and her fingers tightened on his shoulders as he worked his way down.

He spent what felt like forever on her breasts, kissing and licking and sucking. He rolled one nipple between his fingers while he worked the other one with his mouth, and then switched, back and forth over and over until they were sensitive and swollen and she was reduced to mindless little whimpers and moans that he could feel in her chest and see whenever he cut his eye up to her face.

He moved up to kiss her, then back down, his hands leading the way as he kissed and nipped a blazing trail to the waistband of her bathing suit. He took a few moments to lavish attention on the soft swell of her belly and generous curve of her hip before he hooked his fingers in the suit and glanced at her.

She gave a drunken nod, her eyes dark with need, and he smirked as he pulled the scrap of cloth over her thighs, past her knees, so that she could kick it away. She was naked now, beautifully, gloriously, perfectly naked, and he couldn't stop touching her smooth skin with lips and hands and tongue.

He lingered at her inner thigh. Teased her with easy kisses and quick little nips. Swirled his tongue against the sensitive skin and sucked a mark that he soothed with more kisses.

Finally he looked up at her, lips curved in that lazy half-smile. "Do you remember when you asked me what I'm into?"

She lifted a brow. "You wouldn't answer me."

"I like to pick my moment." He moved up to kiss her. As their lips met he pressed his hand between her thighs, and she gasped into his mouth. He smirked and lifted the hand to tweak her nipple, tap a finger against her lips. "I'm into making you come, pretty girl. Over. And over. And over."

He kissed her between each over, and by the last one she grabbed double handfuls of his hair to hold him there while her tongue flicked and curled against his, a sensuous tease that had him panting. She released his hair and tapped his shoulder so that he'd turn his head to look as she said, "I love the way you think. It's brilliant. You're brilliant. And we'll for sure do that later. But for now, if you don't fuck me, and fuck me hard, I will throw you in this lake. Understood?"

His breath left in a whoosh, like she'd punched him in the gut, and his forehead dropped to rest against hers. He kissed her a few times, rough and quick. "Are you sure? Before you said—"

"I know what I said. And I'm sure. There are exceptions to every rule." She slid a hand down his chest and undid the button on his trousers. Carefully lowered the zipper and teased him through his boxer briefs, first with just her fingertips, then with the heel of her hand in a long, torturous stroke. He arched into it, his head falling back to expose his long neck to her sucking kisses and swirling tongue.

"Fuck!" he mouthed on a silent breath.

Now it was her turn to smirk. "That's the idea, sweet boy." She squeezed and he squirmed.

"But I really want to taste your pussy," he signed, and his good eye was big and dark and pleading.

"Do you?" She bit her lip. Took his hand and guided it back between her thighs, this time dipping his fingers between her lips. They both shuddered, him from how hot and wet she was, her from how good even that light caress felt, and then moved them back again to her mouth. She sucked one of them clean before offering him the other. He stared at her, wide-eyed and hypnotized, then licked the sweet and smoky taste of her off his fingers.

Her brows lifted in a question, and he nodded like a drunkard. She shoved his trousers and shorts down and left them when they caught on his thighs. He gripped her thighs, his hands rough for the first time, and as his cock pressed against her she gave an eager nod and lifted her hips to match his first thrust.

The dock made an alarming dip and he froze, startled. She touched his face to get his attention. "It's like fucking on a waterbed, babe. Just go with it."

He tried to understand what she was saying, but to him it just seemed like he'd buried himself in her and the world had gone all tilted, which made a weird sort of sense. Dock, he thought. Floating. Waterbed. Oh…

His mouth curved in a wicked grin and he started to move, slowly at first, until he got a handle on how it moved. She mouthed his name, and when he ran his thumb across her swollen lips she caught it between her teeth and smirked at him.

She gave a dismayed gasp when he pulled out completely, but he held up a hand urging patience. He knelt between her legs and pulled her closer, so that her hips were on his thighs and her ankles on his shoulders. He turned his head to kiss her inner ankle and then slid into her slow and easy.

She closed her eyes at the new sensation, the pressure on her g-spot, so fucking good. Her eyes flew open in surprise at the feel of his hand pressed against her clit, the heel of his palm grinding into her so that the delicious heat went deep, as deep as his thick cock inside of her, and she moaned his name in a mindless, drugged litany.

He wanted to make her come more than he'd wanted nearly anything in his life, to feel her go tight around him and watch her face as it happened. He gripped her hip with his free hand and rocked into her. When she closed her eyes again he touched her face so that she looked at him, and after that neither of them looked away.

She was close, so close, and watching his face as he fucked her, the intense concentration on it, the way he caught his lower lip between his teeth and furrowed his brow, stoked the fire higher and hotter. "That's so good," she signed. "So good don't stop you feel so good!"

He smirked, just a little, and began to move the hand against her clit in a slow circle. "Yes!" she cried aloud, and his grin widened. "Gonna come!" she gasped. "Nick, Nicky, fuck!" Her hips bucked and she tightened around him like a velvet vise. He didn't let up and the exquisite, electric sensations rolled over and through her again and again.

She finally started to come down from it, and she looked up at him with a wicked grin. Crooked her finger at him. "Come here."

He stretched out on top of her again and hooked an arm under one of her legs to pull it higher and push himself deeper. She moaned and rocked against him; he kissed down the line of her throat and licked droplets of sweat from her glowing skin.

"Come for me," she breathed. "I want to feel you."

He shuddered: watching her kiss-swollen-and-reddened lips shape those words almost sent him over the edge right then, but he managed to hold on.

"I came sooo hard for you, Nicky. Now it's your turn to come for me."

"Fuck!" he mouthed. His forehead dropped to her shoulder and he thrust once, twice, a third time, hard and fast. She squeezed around him and dug her short nails into his shoulders and that was it. He raised his face so he could watch her as he came, watch her beautiful, brilliant eyes and her familiar, beloved face, and his orgasm hit so hard it left him breathless and weak and he thought it might never end.

Finally his arms gave out and he tumbled against her. She caught him, wrapped her arms around him, and ran her fingers through his hair. Kissed his sweaty temple over and over. They could feel each other's hearts pounding in their chests and they both gasped for air. As minimal brain power began to return, he kissed any bit of her he could reach and stroked his hands up and down her sides.

He rolled away; not because he wanted to, but because they were outside and it was probably 95 degrees and they both needed to cool off a bit before they got heat stroke.

She waved toward the cooler. "Water," she signed. "Have some and share."

He cracked the bottle open with a grateful sigh and chugged a long gulp. He glanced at her, evil glinting in his good eye, and as she reached for it he swerved and poured icy water across her naked body.

She let out a shriek he was glad he couldn't hear, but she was also laughing. She dove at him, cussing a blue streak, but he held the bottle just out of reach. He grinned and lifted a finger. She glared at him. He pointed at her lips, then his. She rolled her eyes in pretend outrage, kissed him, and gestured for the water.

He tilted his head thoughtfully, but at her murderous expression he gave a silent laugh and handed it over.

"You are not as cute as you think you are, Nick Andros," she signed one-handed as she drank.

"Yeah I am. You said so." He stretched out next to her and linked his fingers behind his head and crossed his legs at the ankle, a picture of summertime insouciance, in the nude.

She screwed the cap back on the bottle and set it in the middle of his abdomen, just above his bellybutton, and he hissed at the cold. She looked at him with big, innocent eyes. "Oops," she said.

He knocked the bottle away and grabbed her arm to drag her down so that her body was half draped over his. She gave a yelp of surprise, but he cut it off with a kiss, and felt her little mmm of pleasure against his lips.

"We should go in," she said once the kiss broke. "It's hot out here."

"Not sure my legs work yet," he said with a lazy grin.

Her mouth quirked. "Not sure mine do either, to be honest." She tapped a finger against his sternum. "You might have changed my mind about penetrative sex."

He sketched out a bow from his prone position. "All to serve you, my witchy queen."

"Not a witch. And…" She frowned, and he grimaced as he remembered Flagg's offer.

"I'm sorry. Wasn't thinking. I just meant—I didn't mean—"

She grabbed his hand and kissed the back of his fingers. "It's okay, really. I know you didn't mean—that. But regardless, I'm still not a witch."

He stroked her jaw. "I don't know. Pretty sure you put a spell on me with those eyes and"—he gripped her ass with both hands—"your cutting wit."

She laughed, gave him a light swat on the chest with the back of her hand, and rolled away, onto her back. He slid an arm under her head and she shifted so that she rested on his shoulder. "Nick, you know—we still need to talk about the other night. About—what I told you."

He frowned and turned over to face her. Tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Do we?"

She lifted a brow. "Don't we?"

"You can talk to me about anything, Kai. I'm always here to listen or be a sounding board, whatever you need. So if you need to talk about it, we will. But—I'm good. I meant what I said. And after seeing—" He broke off. A spasm of anger crossed his face. "After seeing your back, combined with everything else you've told me—I am not mourning your father. And I'm not going anywhere. At least not without you."

Her smile was tremulous but hopeful. "That's not just post-orgasmic glow talking, is it?"

He smirked. "No, you goofy idiot. It's me, talking to you. And I say you're stuck with me. So get used to it."

Her face scrunched as she pretended to think it over. "I mean I gueeesss…"

"I just made you come your brains out, and I changed your mind about penetrative sex. Gimme a break here!"

She flashed a mischievous grin. "Maybe changed my mind."

"Ohh, maybe! Well I guess I'll just have to keep trying. See? Stuck with me." He tilted her chin up and leaned in like he was going to kiss her, but at the last minute he veered to the side and blew a raspberry on her shoulder.

She laughed and shoved him away, then pulled him back for a kiss. Her expression sobered as the kiss broke. He ran his thumb over the line between her brows. "We can't stay here much longer," she said.

He sighed, his own face turning grave. "I know."

"The last couple of weeks have been…" She trailed off with a shrug as words failed her.

"I know," he said again. "I don't want to go either."

"But we have to," she said.

He nodded. "The dreams have gotten more urgent."

"I think—" Her eyes focused on some point beyond him. They narrowed thoughtfully. "I think others are on their way. But for some reason she's waiting on us, specifically."

"I get that impression too." He hauled in a breath and wrapped his arms around her a moment. Rested his chin on her head and just held her. Then, "A few more days?"

"A few more. Then we have to move on." She disentangled herself from him and stood. Slipped her feet into her shoes and cast him a long look over her shoulder. "I'm going inside," she said. "Care to join me?"

He sat up, undeniably interested. Especially since she was still naked. "Got any plans once you get in there?"

"I don't know. Shower, maybe? I got all sweaty, and my hair smells like lake water." She bit her lip. "Feel free to join me, if your legs start working again." With that and a wicked little smile she turned and sauntered away.

well it's about goddamn time.