Emmie woke up incredibly hungover. Oh God, the light from the digital clock blinded her but cracking her gritty eyelids open, she read 4:00. Why was she up so early!? Emmie's foggy mind tried to process it. She needed to turn onto her back, her side was falling asleep, unlike her mind. When she tried to turn she realize that Deidara-that lump-was holding her in place. That realization galvanized her to try to escape his hold. In response, he tightened his grip and Emmie wriggled from his struggle cuddle until a wave of nausea stopped her cold. Giving up, she just laid there and let him hold her closer while waiting for the stars spinning in her vision to abate.
Sighing Emmie tried to go to sleep but her eyes shot open when she felt Deidara bury his face in the back of her neck. All of a sudden she could feel everything, the warmth of his body behind her, the slight hairs on his arms, the way their legs were scandalously entangled, and the day old scruff rubbing the back of her neck. Emmie tried one last time to wiggle to freedom but quit after another pounding wave of pain erupted behind her eyes.
What was she gonna do? Emmie looked down and examined his tanned arm wrapped around hers. He had nice hands, she'll give him that. He had long elegant fingers and slim shapely hands. A pianist's hands. Turning one of his hands over, the tattoo of a mouth smiled garishly at her. His hand twitched, making her start in surprise. Emmie paused, waiting for him to settle down before examining the rest of his tattoos. She didn't want Deidara accusing her of checking him out; he'll never leave her alone. Running her fingertips over the boldly colored roses and butterflies, she was surprised at his feminine taste in tattoos but he pulled them off admirably. They were hypnotic and beautifully rendered with exquisite detail. Traveling further up, the leaves blended into feathers and Emmie wanted to see more but she couldn't turn anymore.
Emmie kept examining Deidara's arm until her eyes closed again. It felt like only a few seconds later Emmie woke up again. What now? Suppressing a groan, she shut up when she heard Deidara muttering. Was he sleep talking? Emmie pretended that she was still sleeping and became aware that she was now on her front and Deidara was trailing his fingers on her upper back. "So soft and fucking perfect," he whispered and moved her hair gently off her back. Slipping a strap back onto her shoulder, he continued his gentle exploration.
A alert from a phone interrupted him and Deidara cursed. Emmie felt him scooch of the bed to check his phone. She heard him sigh and sit back down. Deidara put his hand on her back and rubbed her firmly, Emmie hauled herself up onto her elbows and looked at him sleepily. Deidara swallowed audibly, and said huskily, "Time to get up, we're gonna see McDougal in 2 hours."
30 minutes later with Deidara grumbling about her taking too long in the bathroom they were on their way. She only spent 15 minutes getting ready! She had on minimal makeup, distressed jeans and a vintage Tom Petty band shirt, Emmie was feeling casual. Going into Fine Scottish Haberdashery and Tailor, Emmie examined the fine tartan fabrics and kilts on display.
"What are we doing here?" She asked, fingering a scarf.
"McDougal, that bastard, has a dress code we have to follow. Well not you, just me." He mumbled displeased. "Ok? I'm just gonna sit here." Emmie went to a plush ottoman and plopped down. Pulling out her phone she tried to ignore Deidara arguing with a tall thin Scotsman. What was this new dynamic? It made her uncomfortable getting close to the guy who kidnapped her.
Three quarters of an hour passed and bored, Emmie was amusing herself trying on scarves and hats. "Back off man, I'm just borrowing this, I don't wanna keep it, it doesn't have to be perfect," Deidara emerged in a full traditional Scottish outfit. Emmie's eyes widened, "McDougal had a thing where Scottish men need to wear highland dress to meet him. It's whatever," he said defensively. "I think you look great," Emmie picked up and examined his sporran. "Don't touch my sporran," Deidara swiped it out of her hands and she laughed.
"Sir, please you must let me arrange your ghillie brogues, you did not tie them correctly," the man fussed and tried to sit Deidara down on the ottoman but Deidara brushed him off rudely, "Leave it, let's go Emmie."
"Wait, just let the man do his job," Emmie remarked catching the man's baleful glare. "I need to fix your hair anyway."
"What's wrong with my hair?" Deidara touched his hair reflexively.
"Just sit," Emmie pushed him down and pulled a tiny brush out of her small Gucci crossbody. Starting from the bottom and working upwards, she brushed his golden hair until it shone metallically. His hair was amazingly thick and glossy, Emmie would have been jealous if her hair wasn't superior.
In the mirror, she saw Deidara close his eyes as she brushed through his hair rhythmically. Encountering a knot, she used her fingers to untangle it gently then continued brushing. Clearing his throat the man eyed her meaningfully. Flushing, she realized that the man had been finished for a while. Emmie placed a hand onto Deidara's shoulder and he stood slowly.
The tall man froze, "Sir. You are wearing something under your kilt."
"No I'm not," Deidara aid quickly, "Emmie we're going NOW." He hustled her to the door but the Scotsman blocked the exit with his thin body. "Sir you can't wear anything under a kilt! Otherwise it is a skirt!"
Deidara moved the man bodily from the door, "Fuck you man!" The other man got a cane and flipped up Deidara's kilt revealing his black boxers underneath.