Rollin', rockin' and rollin'. Thanks for reaching out mysterious Guest – I'm glad you're enjoying the style. I had quite a bit of fun writing the text exchanges from last chapter.
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize below, I don't own. Literature is my playground here. Also, there's my attempt at Russian below courtesy of my research. I do hope it's semi accurate – my aim is not to offend.
Rating T: Language, sexually suggestive situations
Chapter 5: Water Books
2.5 months later
"Blech." She grimaced through the kiss, her nose wrinkling in distaste. "You positively reek of cigarettes. Everywhere." His clothes. His lips. His breath.
"Trust me, I feel pretty scuzzy at the moment." She glared incredulously at him as she turned back around after closing the door.
"And you let me kiss you anyway? So kind of you." She shook her head, watching him toe off his shoes and slide out of his coat, reaching for the coat closet door. "No, no," she quickly scolded, stepping forward, "I'll take that. And you go for a shower, right now. Before you touch anything else." She edged in front of him to fish out a spare hanger from the coat closet, feeling him step up behind her, her back loose against his chest.
"So demanding tonight," he nosed along her neck, invading her senses with more of the offensive smell, "I like where this is going."
"Ilch, not until you're clean." She stepped away from him, her lips lifting in amused annoyance to see a hunger simmering in his gaze. "Go on." She huffed a laugh as he reluctantly turned from her, heading down the hallway. "Where were you anyway, to come here smelling like this?"
"Seedy strip clubs." She gaped is sheer surprise, looking up after him only to find that he had already disappeared into her bedroom. Was he trying to be funny? He did have a pretty dry and oddly-serious sense of humor, but that….surely, that wasn't a joke.
She looked to his coat still in her hand, scrunching her face in disgust at the smell. It was only a few short steps to the back door to leave his coat hanging from a plant hook to air out in the cool night air. Now to run damage control on his clothes in the bathroom. A week or so ago, she had repeated the offer and he accepted to leave some spare clothes and necessities at her place. It made her heart flutter at the budding seriousness of it all. This was real. This was something they were actually doing.
She grabbed a spare rubbish bag from the kitchen on her way to the bathroom, hearing the water running. Steam was already starting to fog up the edges of the mirror as she reached for his abandoned pile of smoke ridden clothes.
"You owe me a story when you're done." She called out over the water and ventilation fan. "You don't just get to hang out in seedy strip clubs in defense of the crown without one."
"Trust me," he called back, obscured by the shower curtain, "it's not as glamorous as you might think. Low level grunts bide their time in places like the ones I scouted today. The higher end places don't leave such a lasting impression. There's nothing James Bond about it at all." She shook her head tying off the bag for him to take with him in the morning.
"I'm not sure that helps your case…knowing the differences between low end and high end places. One might think you frequent these places on your own."
"Only when defense of the crown requires it. I wouldn't gamble with something so good, otherwise." A flattered smile twitched her lips as she reached for the bathroom door to head back to the living room.
"Flattery won't get you everywhere, but it'll get you close. I'll see you when you're finished." She pulled the door, padding back to the couch and the book she'd been in the middle of before his arrival. The Crucible. She'd heard a lot about it over the years. American colonists and witchcraft in a placed called Salem, Massachusetts. She was only twenty or so pages from the end and she just had to know how it ended – what with both Proctor and Goody Proctor arrested on suspicions of witchcraft. Their tale was so sad. The guilt of the husband who cheated. The guilt of the wife who blamed herself for her husband cheating. And now with child. Celia just had to finish the last pages before he arrived.
But no such luck. Not enough time had passed when she felt the couch cushions dip as he sat beside her, bringing the pleasant smell of soap with him.
"What are you reading?" His voice was soft, almost respectful, and carried a newfound minty freshness.
"The Crucible. I've never read it before. Heard about it – I've seen it advertised on marquees for an upcoming show. Thought I'd give it a go." She turned to look at him – his skin flushed a little pink from the heat of the shower, his ebony hair glistening with moisture and his eyes, so blue and clear. How was he so effortlessly handsome?
"And how are you finding it?" He asked, his intense eyes focused on her.
"I'm really enjoying it – almost finished with it. I'd hoped I could knock it out before you finished up."
"How much do you have left?"
"Only…erm, 10 pages." She flipped through the last few pages to demonstrate. "Would you find it terribly rude if I ignored you for a few more minutes?" He chuckled, low and soft, scooting around on the couch to gather up the couple of throw pillows, stacking them on one end.
"Yes, terribly." He moved to recline with his back against the pile of pillows, holding a hand out for her to join him. A smile lit her face as she joined him in shuffling around, coming to rest in the crook of his legs, her back against his chest. "This way, we can both read."
"You've read it?"
"A couple of times, actually." His chest rumbled with the low spoken words, sending shivers down her spine. It was a delicious feeling. "And since it's a play, there're parts for us to each read aloud." She sighed contentedly, immediately agreeable.
Proctor: The child?
Elizabeth: It grows
Proctor: There is no word of the boys?
Elizabeth: They're well. Rebecca's Samuel keeps them.
Proctor: You have not seen them?
Elizabeth: I have not.
Proctor: You are a – marvel, Elizabeth
…
Hale: Woman, plead with him! Woman! It is pride, it is vanity. Be his helper! What profit him to bleed? Shall the dust praise him? Shall the worms declare his truth? Go to him, take his shame away!
Elizabeth: He have his goodness now. God forbid I take it from him!
"How utterly tragic. And beautiful. And perfect." She leaned back against him as she spoke, closing the book with an almost wistful sigh. "She loved him, but she understood and wouldn't stop him. And him…he knew the price of his choices, and made the sacrifice to save his name, to save his soul." He bowed his head, running his nose along the column of her throat, his breath ghosting across her skin.
"To be, or not to be- that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them." The words rolled so naturally off his tongue, she could drown in his soft, melodic voice. Heart sparked in her blood, coursing through her. She didn't even know she had a literature kink.
"Mmm, not entirely similar, I'd say – Hamlet was talking about suicide."
"Each man had to make a decision that he could reconcile with but they both faced the same moral paralysis. Hamlet just talks about it more than Proctor does." She leaned into his nuzzling, snuggling further into his embrace, the heat of his body.
"You're missing the complete presence of Elizabeth in Proctor's decision," she started again, "in the guilt and love present there."
"Love seeketh not itself to please.
Nor for itself hath any care;
But for another gives its ease.
And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair." She squirmed against him, losing herself further to the sound of his voice.
"Yes…," she near moaned the word with a languorous smile, choosing not to comment on his love of Blake, "love is indeed powerful."
"Then the truth for Proctor is this," his arms wrapped around her torso, holding her close, "above all, don't lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. И, не имея никакого уважения, он перестает любить." A gentle moan left her as he finished in Russian, his voice a deep rumble.
"Mmm, what was the last part? And I know you didn't just come up with that. Who'd you steal it from?" She asked, her breath catching as he mouthed at her skin with featherlight touches.
"Dostoevsky." She hummed her approval, a smile twitching his lips, inhaling her scent. "I'm not sure I should translate. Я думаю тебе это нравится больше." He nipped lightly, feeling her arch into him with a sigh.
"It's fucking sexy as hell to hear you talk like that," he rewarded her with another teasing nibble, feeling her hips rock against his. He widened the position of his legs to better let her settle against him, fueling his growing arousal. "But I still want to know how it ends. And then…no more English."
"And having no respect he ceases to love. Подходящая истина для Проктора." He nuzzled along her jawline, leaving a trail of delicate touches to mouth at her earlobe. "Ты такая красивая. Мне так хорошо с тобою." Her right hand raised to curl around the back of his neck and he allowed her to pull him forward and down, lips slotting effortlessly together.
Sure enough, he didn't speak English for the next several hours.
xxx
3.75 months later
What a fucking disaster. Everything had been going so smoothly, so she supposed she should have been more prepared for the bottom to drop out. But god dammit, this was too much.
And Lucas, bless him, had still let her come over with Chinese takeout in tow.
"Those incompetent fucks," she fumed, wielding her chopsticks with quick, jerky movements, "they've had the specifications for months – well over a year, actually. We've discussed the country of origin requirements for the pipe material countless times. And still….still! They manage to get it wrong." She shook her head around a bite of lo mein as Lucas continued to silently listen. "It's cost the project a 10-week delay minimum, straight up. Everyone is seeing red over this."
"Is there talk of firing the contractor this time? Or too far committed?" Talking about her work was always a safer topic for them.
"My vice president has been ready to sack them for months, but the plant operations manager reminds him that we're already in too deep to cut ties." She took another bite. "I say to hell with them. Cut the bastards loose because this kind of shit in the eleventh hour is beyond ridiculous."
"Just sweet talk him," he suggested, a mischievous twinkle in his sharp eyes, "I'm sure it'll work." She guffawed a weak laugh.
"And should I wear a low-cut blouse on that day, also? A miniskirt, too perhaps? Sadly, I think that might actually work. Management can be such a boy's club sometimes. Finished?" She motioned to the empty carton in front of him with her chopsticks as she finished up her last bite.
"Yes, though I was going to get up for a drink."
"Capital idea. A double for me, maybe a triple depending what's on the menu." He laughed softly as she gathered up the empty cartons and they both rose from the couch. She liked coming over to his place. It didn't happen often, but the fuss-free, industrial style suited him – and the skylight over his bed was quite inviting.
"Do you have a preference on drink?" He asked.
"No, just make it strong." She dropped the cartons in the rubbish bin, moving for the cabinet of cups and walking to the sink.
"A dangerous prospect for a worknight?" He neared the ice dispensing fridge with two highballs in hand.
"Not at all – need something to block the horrid events of today for another ten hours." She sighed, taking another drink. "Maybe you could arrange something to take them out. Something small to frame them, discredit them." She topped off her glass before turning back towards him, the whirring of the ice dispenser between them.
"It doesn't work like that." He sent a loosely scolding glance her way as he finished filling the last glass.
"Oh, but couldn't it just this once?" She pleaded teasingly, taking a few more steps towards him.
"How about never?" He tilted his head, looking down at his nose at her. A smirk lurked on his lips but his eyes clearly warned her to stop pushing. She sighed in frustrated defeat.
"You're no fun." She dipped her fingers into her glass of water, collecting a scoopful and teasingly flinging it at his face.
All at once, he froze and she remembered too late. His steps stuttered, eyes blinking in rapid succession as he drew a panicked, gasping breath. The highball in his right hand fell from a slackened grip, shattering as ice and glass shards spread all over the floor.
"Oh, shit." The curse left her instantly as he staggered against the counter, managing to set the other glass down. He was shaking his head in rapid, jerky movements as if trying to physically shake the memories, the flashbacks from his mind. "Shit, I'm so sorry…I wasn't thinking….." Guilt overwhelmed her as she reached for a dish towel, hearing him draw shallow, short breaths. He was still braced against the counter, eyes screwed shut as he anxiously wiped at his face. He had told her he had issues with water, particularly water on his face, but she had never seen him react before. They had always been so careful in the shower and at the bathroom sink.
"Lucas. Lucas, you're alright. You're safe." He hadn't divulged the details of what exactly happened to cause his issues, but she guessed it had something to do with him time in prison. Worry gnawed at her as he continued not to speak, so she did the only thing she could think to do. She crouched down, taking a knee amongst the shattered glass, looking at up him, submissive, non-threatening and continued to speak in soft, soothing tones. "Lucas…you're safe. You're with Celia…you're safe."
At length, his eyes opened, blinking in rapid movements as he took in his surroundings. His breathing started to even out as he ran a hand over his face in a more controlled movement. She didn't dare say anything or move just yet. She had royally fucked up and didn't want to risk anything further. Unbidden tears welled in her eyes as she watched him continue to come back to himself. What had she just done?
"Lucas…." She looked at him, a broken question in her wet eyes. He focused on her at last, wrenching a hard sallow.
"It's…," he huffed a breath laced with anger, frustration – maybe disappointment. She couldn't be sure. "I'm alright." He pushed off the counter, keeping a hand braced as he took a few tentative steps.
"No, you're not."
"You're right. But for the purposes of this discussion, I'm fine." He bit the words out, his voice tight and tense. She wanted to reach out to him, to do something, anything. The hard line of his shoulders told her that any sort of physical touch would most likely be unwelcome. Instead, she looked to the glass shards on the floor, starting to gather them into the towel to take the edge off her guilt-ridden anxiety.
"I'm so very sorry…the last thing I wanted to do was cause you such pain just because I was frustrated. You didn't deserve that." She blinked a tear that fell to the floor as she continued to pick up errant shards, sniffling quietly. She didn't want him to know that she was crying. Selfishly crying because she did a selfishly stupid thing. What a horrible way to treat someone she cared about so much.
"Leave the glass. For now. Please." She couldn't bring herself to look at him, his voice inscrutable as she stopped. Was this it? Was he going to ask her to leave and just not come back? Part of her couldn't say she blamed him. But had they really come so far just for it to end like this? With another quiet sniffle, she gathered the edges of the towel together as she rose to stand. With a nervous swallow, she set the towel full of glass on the counter, looking over to him at last.
He was leaning against the back of the couch now, hands braced as he perched, his eyes stormy and face impassive. Her heart broke to look at him, another tear rolling unbidden down her cheek. She raised a hand, quickly brushing it away as she rounded the corner of the counter towards him in the living room.
"I can get my things." She walked past him to where her coat and purse were draped over a kitchen chair. If this was really the end, she could come back for the rest of her things another time.
"Why would you do that?" Hope sparked in her chest on his words, soft and unsure. She turned back to him, equally unsure.
"How could you possibly want me to stay after what I just did?" She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. "I've never unintentionally done something so cruel, so thoughtless..." He drew a deep breath, releasing it in an almost annoyed sigh as he pushed off from the back of the couch. Disbelief clouded her face as he approached, arms opening to wrap around her in a solid hug. She clung to him in return, burying her face in his shoulder.
"I won't lie," he rumbled, his voice drained, "this is not ok - probably the farthest thing from it. But we'll make it." He sighed, his body starting to uncoil in her embrace. "We'll make it." She nodded weakly against him, tears of relief, guilt and love soaking into his shirt as they held each other.
If he let her, she would spend the rest of her life trying to make tonight up to him.
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Translations:
И, не имея никакого уважения, он перестает любить: And having no respect he ceases to love
Я думаю тебе это нравится больше: I think you like this better
Подходящая истина для Проктора: A fitting truth for Proctor
Ты такая красивая: You are so beautiful
Мне так хорошо с тобою: I feel so good when I'm with you