Yesterday was a mistake.
He shouldn't have tried to kiss her.
Eva is anxious now, tip toeing around the house, so quiet he's lucky to even find her and dashing away whenever he does. He feels like a monster. He was so certain she'd respond, so caught up in his own spark of infatuation that he projected it onto her. Now she's frightened, either of his aggression or her own perceived manipulation of him.
She said she didn't order him to kiss her as if he wasn't incredibly aware of the fact.
An order left unfulfilled this long would be killing him, pure agony that would most likely push him into a blind violent fervor. This is something else entirely. It's a lingering desire, bitter with longing but sweet in the very fact that it's his own. It's spinning around his head, leaving him dizzy even as he tries to find a way to right the situation.
That moment, so incredibly brief, has rattled him. He can't stop thinking about it, as if letting his mind go there, letting himself picture touching her has flipped a switch. Images keep flickering through his mind, the pale freckles scattered over her shoulders, soft skin over muscles knotted from a day's trek, too white teeth biting a too pale lip. He can see them after a day together, dusty and sore, tangled up by the fire. There's fingers knotted in dark brown hair, nails raking down his back, cracked desperate kisses pressing to her sweat salt skin. It's new and delicious and entirely too easy to imagine.
He's attached to her, he's at least realized that much and damn, friendship isn't something he understands, isn't something he knows how to handle. If he adds attraction to this already confusing mess, what chance does he have to sort any of it out?
Not a chance in Hell.
…
It's two days of evading questions and dodging conversation before he manages to corner Eva. He catches her on the stairs when it's too late for either of them to still be awake. She freezes when she sees him, a package of chips and a slightly overripe mutfruit clutched tight in her hands. It's clearly a quick dinner, snuck back to her room so she won't risk bumping into him and the fact drops into the pit of his stomach, heavy. He needs to address this, can't spend time with his head lost in dirty fantasies while she's still so unhappy. He waits at the top of the stairs, arms crossed.
Right now, he is Charon, guarding the gates to Hell, demanding payment.
Eva's face has gone bright red, flushing down to her chest and she stutters out something incoherent as she tries to scoot past him, back to the wall. It's almost tempting to just drop it, hope that the feelings stirring inside him fade before they ever become something with a name but he's upset her and he doesn't like it, can't have it.
"Eva, wait." He reaches for her hand and she nearly flinches, taking one quick step back down before he can make contact. Charon lets his hand drop. She waits on the second stair, watching him nervously. He sighs.
What a disaster for an almost kiss.
"I'm sorry I scared you." Communication is a skill he's had little practice in but he pushes for the right words. He steps back as he talks, letting her join him in the tight space between their rooms.
"I won't try to do that again." It was a stupid, impulsive decision and if he could take it back, he would. Standing in this small hallway would be significantly easier if he didn't know what she felt like pressed against him, couldn't just barely pick up the scent of her skin. He's feeling guilty and lecherous, something nightmarish looming over the heroine of an old-world flick and the little pang of need her proximity keeps igniting in him stands out in a dizzying juxtaposition.
"You didn't scare me!" Eva blurts out, dropping her food as she raises her hands in denial. The mutfruit bounces, thumps down the stairs and rolls towards the couch. Neither of them watch it go.
"I didn't, um," She's red again, staring at his collar bone instead of meeting his eyes.
"You didn't do anything wrong. It was just a little too easy to let you get that close." She breathes out the confession and oh, how that affects him. He's thrilled and confused at the same time but he takes a tentative step towards her.
"Do you want me that close?" His voice is low, an implication crackling under his ghoulish vocal cords that he knows she must hear.
All he can think is please.
Please, let her say yes.
He's not going to analyze this, can't even fit the idea of this level of affection in his world view but when he looks at her, he sees Eva. A startled Eva who seems to have forgotten how to breath but Eva all the same. He sees hands that have checked him for bullets twisting and pulling the fabric of her shirt in that familiar gesture of nerves, scars he knows the stories behind, eyes that look at him like he matters to her.
He sees a hint of sunburn and a bright purple bruise blooming across her knuckles. He sees fear and loneliness and a quiet hope she can make a difference in this irradiated, burned out shell of a world. Standing in front of him is a ghost of a woman, pale and alarming, long dead in her own expectations of herself but still standing, fighting her way back to the living.
Right now, he can't love her, can't put the thought into words. It's been too many lifetimes of slavery, pulling out of his own mind until the rage is empty and cold and the blood on his hands didn't matter. He can't make his way back enough for that.
He can't love her but for a moment, staring down at this complex, lost, horribly honest creature, for a moment he can adore her.
Eva didn't back away when he came closer, she held her ground almost stiffly, and now she's forced to crane her head up to look at him.
"Do I want…" Her voice is breathless, barely a whisper.
"Yes. No! Fuck." She throws her head back in frustration, tugging at her hair helplessly.
"I don't know! Can I say that? I don't know how this works." Her eyes are starting to shine, brimming with tears that seem to be more of frustration then sadness. She takes one step back, thumbing against the wall and groaning, miserable.
"Charon, I don't know how to answer that." She looks helplessly up at him.
He can't think of what to say, can't find the words so he does the only thing that comes to mind.
He kisses her.
There's no answer to reassure her, no special response that can erase his contract, no words to overwrite the faded ink that traps him, but there's this. Maybe he can show her that he wants this, needs this desperately.
He has to stoop to reach her, propping his arm on the wall for support as he leans down and catches her lips in a carefully chaste kiss. His other hand finds its way to her cheek and it's difficult to ignore the variance in texture. She's so soft it hurts.
There is a beat of aching suspense and then she responds, tipping her head up higher and pressing back. They're barely touching, just his hand on her cheek and the burning heat of her lips and then she makes this sound in the back of her throat, this soft high glorious noise that tips everything over.
Suddenly he needs to be touching all of her, arms wrapping around her back as he deepens the kiss, crushing what's left of his lips to hers desperately as he presses her into the wall. He swipes his tongue over a velvet soft lip, fresh and whole and not chipped away like his and the taste of her is maddening. She tastes like she smells, wet skin and this impossibly addictive something that must just be her, and he wants more of it, glides a greedy tongue over her hesitant one, bites the tender flesh of her lower lip. Eva returns the favor, softer at first and then hard enough that it nearly hurts. He groans into her mouth, refusing to break away even as he scoops her up to kiss her more thoroughly.
She's in her sleepwear and it's just loose enough that he can push the fabric up, stroke up the backs of her upper thighs as he pulls her higher. She's too short right now and that means too far away. He needs her closer.
Eva catches on, wrapping her legs around his waist as she wraps her arms around his neck, holding tight even though he has her pressed to the wall, finally level with him, close enough to crush his body to hers. He breaks away just long enough to press eager, biting kisses to her shoulder, her neck. She gasps and he's never wanted something more than a repeat of that beautiful sound.
He doesn't know if he's done this before, can't remember anything even remotely similar, so he doubts he's particularly skilled at it. There's an urgency, a desperation that's crushing her lips against his and making him suck and nip where he meant to leave lighter kisses. He needs this, wants to be even closer, wants to kick down one of these fucking doors and find the closest bed, a soft place where he can explore every inch of this burning form crushed against his own.
He breaks another kiss to bite her earlobe, worrying the soft flesh between his teeth and then dipping back down to a neck already peppered with faint bruises, her skin reddening wherever he sucks. Deep down he knows this is wrong, that Eva isn't just Eva, she's the woman who owns his contract, the one who bought him and this will never be okay but right now she's in his arms and pressing sharp kisses to his shoulder and all he can think of is her.
Then she kisses him again, hard and passionate, and he can't think at all.
…
When Eva finally pulls away, all swollen lips and flushed cheeks, she looks startled, as if she can't quite believe what just happened.
"That was…" She can't get the words out so Charon leans in, nuzzling the soft crook between her neck and her shoulder, drunkenly wondering if another kiss would help her find the phrase she's looking for.
"Thanks." She laughs a little breathlessly and he takes the chance to run a hand over her thigh, up her hip. It's hard to focus.
She's very distracting.
Eva shivers at the light touch, arching up as he continues the stroke up her spine, down her waist, over her soft stomach and up. This might be the only time he can do this. She's looking at him like she knows it won't work as well. The scrap of paper between them, forgotten words that have faded from everything but his mind, is already reasserting itself. By the time she speaks, he already knows what's coming.
"I really shouldn't have done that, huh?" She pulls away and he misses the heat of her, didn't realize how cold it was before he pulled her close.
"I'm sorry if my answer in some way pushed you to do ... any of that." She stumbles at the end and he's pleased despite himself. She sounds like she's been ravished, still a little breathless and dazed. It feels good to affect her like that even if she's already regretting giving in.
"Don't ever touch me if you don't want to." Eva glances back towards him, quick, like she can barely look him in the eye. It was a deliberate order and she looks ashamed. Eva doesn't do it often, these past few months it's been less and less frequent, so the all too familiar prickle of a command taking hold hits harder than usual.
"Eva, I'll tell you if you go past a boundary, okay? Don't go quiet on me." Charon leans towards her, wanting to stroke her arm but settling for placing a hand on her shoulder. The moment is beginning to fade for him as well, all the consequences and land minds of a relationship with Eva crowding over the idealistic images of the two of them together. If he can't have this, then he at least wants her back to normal.
She nods at his words, staring down the stairs at the mutfruit on the floor. Already deformed, the thick skin now looks battered from its rough journey. Some of the juice has begun to ooze onto the ground, staining the floor a dark purple.
"You don't know how bad I want to, Charon. I promise." She's still watching the fruit bleed out and the raw need in her voice is a sharp contrast to the carefully steeled expression on her face.
"But you and I both know it's a bad idea."
Yes, he does. He knows it all too well.
He knows Eva's right but when he sees her the next morning, acting like he hadn't just had her in his arms, like the kiss had never happened, it doesn't stop him from wanting it anyway.