She taps out a cigarette and then holds it between her lips while she digs around in her purse, presumably for a lighter. Raphael stares at her lips, curled around the cigarette, and he imagines the filter will come out stained in that berry color she always wears.
Seeing her leaning against the balcony railing, cigarette dangling from her lips as she fumbles around for a light, Raphael is fifteen years old again, back in a tiny flat in France as he studies another long haired woman with a sullen expression and a sharp tongue of her own. There's even the deadly combination of miniskirts and long, long boots.
She feels his eyes on her and she looks up, still feeling around in the satiny insides of her purse. She pulls out the lighter, sets her purse aside, then holds the cigarette between two fingers to speak. "Do you want one?"
He's still fifteen, but several months younger, sitting on a scratchy couch that's in desperate need of a deep cleaning. A man ten years older than him regards him with dark eyes, and he asks him the same question. Raphael's throat burns and he coughs after each inhale, but he doesn't complain. The man laughs. "Good boy."
Raphael shakes his head. These are the first words she's said to him since he's taken her back to his hotel room, except for when she asked they step out on the balcony. But the conversation wasn't why she'd suggested he take her to his room, was it? At least he didn't think so.
Their first conversation since their duel, and she'd dragged him to a bar and had downed a shot of tequila, mumbling about what a total bastard he was for what he'd done. He wasn't sure if this was in reference to their duel or to all of Doma in general, but he wasn't going to argue.
"Why are you here, Mai?" he finally asks. He still doesn't believe it.
"In Domino?" she asks, flicking the lighter on. "Or…?" she gestures to the immediate area around them, then lights the end of her cigarette.
Raphael stares at the burning end of her cigarette, its brightness contrasting with the gray dusk of outside. He then looks at her and raises an eyebrow. It should be obvious enough what he means.
Mai takes a drag, then says, exhaling cigarette smoke, "Well, why'd you bring me here?"
Raphael remains silent. It's not a hard question to answer. Maybe he wanted a little company and didn't want to go to the trouble of finding some stranger in a bar. Maybe, despite their troubled history, he was glad to have someone around that he already knew. And maybe, maybe he thinks Mai is one of the most attractive people he's ever met, and now he doesn't have any of that sanctimoniousness he had during Doma getting in his way.
"Probably for the same reasons why you came," he admits.
Mai makes a sound to acknowledge him, then drops her cigarette on the ground, putting it out with the toe of her boot. She doesn't say anything else. They understand each other, a first in the time they've known each other. She sighs quietly and turns around, leaning forward on the railing, resting her arms on it. Her blonde hair falls past her shoulders.
Raphael finds himself wanting to pull it back. It's a romantic image, but really he just likes long, soft hair. Still, he does nothing, because he doesn't want her getting any wrong ideas. Instead he joins her, leaving enough distance between them, but he doesn't bend down like she does. The railing isn't tall enough for that.
"It's quiet," she comments.
"I picked a place that's out of the way."
She cups her face in her hand. She looks slightly troubled, but he doesn't pry. And maybe that's why she's here. He doesn't ask too many questions.
"How long are you staying?" she asks.
"I haven't decided."
"Hm." It's a sympathetic sound, like she understands the feeling. Mai closes her eyes for a few moments, inhaling slowly. Her eyes flit open and she stands up. "Do you have a condom?"
She doesn't look at him, and he doesn't look at her as he turns and opens the sliding door. She follows.
He sits up to exit the bed, ready to move to the bathroom and take a shower. It should give her enough time to get dressed. But he stops when he feels her fingertips on his back, tracing lines down his skin. His back probably looks like a mess of red.
"I did that," she murmurs, more to herself than to him.
He looks at her and smirks. "Yes," he says. "You did."
He gets up and walks off to the bathroom.
Author's Note: So this is an export from my old roleplay blog. It has more parts, but the story is meandering and I was having trouble continuing it, so it would feel incomplete if I put the rest up here. It'll probably stay a oneshot unless someone's interested enough to see the rest.