His flat is spartan with odds and ends scattered about, and only a few choice pieces of furniture. He must not really call it home. Tossing his worn Aegis jacket on a chair, he offers as he heads to the tiny kitchenette, "Hungry?"
"Maybe." She does the same with her jean jacket and follows.
"We'll get you some food, so in the morning that mead doesn't make you wish you'd never met me. Fire honey masks a strong alcohol content." Rummaging through his fridge and pulling out a few ingredients - eggs, onion and peppers, he inquires, "Like omelets?"
Nodding a yes, she verbally ribs him a bit, "So you thought you'd get me drunk?"
The accusation doesn't phase him, and he doesn't bother denying it. "Then I'd 've dropped you off at your ship, and been on my way."
"Instead, I was troublesome..." she won't give up on the teasing.
"You could say that," he says in that curt manner, but this time it hints at a little friendliness.
"You could have just said 'no'." She counters as she pulls dishes off the shelf, clears a spot and sets the table, but keeps an eye on him for his answer. His last answer was so subtle.
Warily he replies, "I tried," while keeping his focus on the task at hand.
"Wasn't direct enough for the likes of me. Anything I can help with?" she asks and places her hands on his shoulders as she stands on tip toes to peek at his cooking in the tiny workspace.
"It'll just take a moment. Sit."
Instead of taking his suggestion, she starts rubbing his shoulders, "I've not met anyone as guarded or as tense as you."
"Keeps me alive. You'd do well to develop some caution yourself," he warns as he shifts under her touch. Though after a bit of kneading, he relents and allows his shoulders to relax as she works the kinks out of his muscles. "You do this for a living?"
"Yep. Would you like me to work your back over tonight?" She gently pokes a section between his shoulder blades. "That spot gives you trouble, doesn't it?"
He folds the omelet in half while confessing, "A tad."
"The alignment is wrong there. The muscles around there are extra tight, trying to compensate. It affects how you stand too." She draws with her finger on his back to emphasize her point.
"You're saying I'm a gimpy old man?" there's a note of dark sarcasm in his voice.
"No, silly. I'm saying your back hurts. It happens to everyone - kids on up."
"Food's ready." He cuts the omelet in half and puts it on their plates. "Eat up."
Scarfing it down, she admits, "I didn't realize how hungry I was. And this is delicious. Thank you."
The abbreviated tilt of his head is all he'll acknowledge as he takes his time on his half of the omelet. While she waits for him to finish, she washes her dishes and clears his when he's done.
He moves his chair to watch her, like he's waiting for the bomb to drop - for her to tell him that she really is here to turn him over to Titus, or that she's just messing with his head. What could she see in him anyway?
"Stinger, you're not used to much kindness, are you?"
"Humans always expect something from my kind," he responds resentfully, meeting her gaze in almost a dare.
It stops her in her tracks, and she almost drops the dish she's drying. "You're absolutely serious... Dear god. I don't think I should ask what my kind has done to you. I'm afraid to find out." When her shock wears off, she puts the dish away, then goes to crouch before him and hold his hands. "Let me pour some goodness and kindness into you."
He squeezes her hands, but a wariness remains on his face.
"May I start by working on that trouble spot in your back? It'll work best if you take off your shirt and lie down." She stands up, still grasping his hands and gives a small tug to see if he'll follow. "Ok?"
He allows her to help him stand. But pulling his hands from hers, he shows his stubbornness. Before removing his shirt, he gives his chair a one eighty to sit astride it - instead of following her recommendation.
She gasps as she sees the plethora of scars, the stunning metallic tattoo that covers three fourths of his right arm, and his iridescent bio neural synaptic bee wings that unfurl from the implants in his shoulder blades. He's got that farm boy physique instead of the stereotyped body builder - strong, solid arms, core, and back that have seen real work.
"Stinger..." she traces the old injuries, it takes her a tick to find the words for what she wants to say, "Your wings - they're incredible - I would have never guessed you had them tucked under that shirt." Resisting the urge to ask to touch them and focusing on his back as promised, she realizes just how much trust she's been given. "They're why you weren't comfortable with me rubbing your shoulders earlier, aren't they?"
He nods and leans forward resting his arms on the chair back.
Evaluating his reaction, she adds with a touch of amusement as she massages the back of his neck and down to his shoulders, "And you had to do things your own way. To have some control over the situation." Despite the lack of response, she knows she's spot on. "Any meaning to your tatt?"
"Legion rank and honors." He tries to sound as if it's really nothing.
"Someday, you'll have to tell me what it all means. I really would like to hear it. But for now, just relax."
It's tricky to work the muscles deeply in that particular spot. Carefully she works around his wings and guides him to move them out of the way so she can get his whole back. Then she returns to working on his neck and scalp. The tension melts from him, and his forehead sinks to his arms. Within a few moments she hears soft snoring, and she smiles to herself that she could do something for him.
Skimming her fingers down the back of his neck and whispering in his ear, she nudges him, "Hey Stinger..."
"W... what..." he shudders and blinks at the bright light in the room.
"You fell asleep - let's get you moved to where you can lay down and I'll work on your arms."
Groggily he argues, "Wasn't sleeping."
She giggles and prods him, "I suppose you just snore while you're awake because you like the sound."
Now he's down right testy, "I wasn't snoring, woman."
"Sure you weren't."
He grumbles more to himself, and she doesn't want to push her luck. "Lay down, so you can go back to blissfully absorbing the attention. When I work on your arms, you'll feel more like a spineless jellyfish and be even less willing to move."
"Spineless?" he glares at the one word that seemed to register.
"Boy you're grumpy when you wake up. I'm talking about the feeling after a massage - the blissful, floaty, you don't want to move because you're relaxed kind of feeling. Please just humor me on this, OK? I know what I'm talking about."
He harrumphs, but complies and crawls then collapses onto his stomach - diagonally onto the bed.
"You're not leaving me any room to crawl in later? Scoot," she orders crisply.
His swearing is muffled into the mattress, but he rousts and removes his hip holster - placing the pistol on the nightstand before folding his wings down and laying on his back. Still taking up about two thirds of the bed, he's entrenched. 'Oh well.' she shrugs to herself.
While she finishes the massage, he regards her as she intently works on his arms then his hands. His brain is still trying to process her motives, but his thoughts are pretty fuzzy from the massage and alcohol. "I thought you wanted..."
She finishes the sentence for him, "Sex? Yeah, I'd still like that - though if it doesn't happen that's OK too. I want to show you that someone genuinely considers caring for you worth the effort - even when you're cantankerous. If you let me, I'd like to be your lover instead of just a fuck."
Disbelief is evident in his raised eyebrow and narrowed eyes flashing from blue to yellow-green. "Damn you're blunt."
She smiles as she finishes massaging his hand. With her free hand she curls his fingers around her own hand and she kisses each of the rough knuckles.
"Come here, then... " His voice has a deeper raw tone. He pulls his hand holding hers down toward his face and she follows it. She lays next to him, while he turns to face her. Guarded, he lightly traces her mouth with his free hand and strokes the back of his fingers over her jawline to see if she's serious.
She leans into his touch before kissing him and nibbling on his bottom lip. Fervently returning the affection, he digs his fingers into her hair and pulls her deeper into the kiss. As she drags her leg up to rest on the outside of his thigh, he greedily runs his hand down her leg from her knee around to caress her bum and press her hips against him. She trails down his neck alternating between kissing and soft nips and she hears his happy growl of "Too many clothes..."
Unfortunately that's when a thought occurs to her. One that she just can't shove aside, despite being here with him - just exactly like she wanted. The thought haunts her so much, she reluctantly pulls back, and gulps nervously "Uhm..."
Annoyance flitters on his face, "Having second thoughts now?"
She shakes her head vehemently. "It's just that something occurred to me and I have to ask. But it's well... incredibly awkward."
"Girl, just spit it out... " he huffs and lets go of her, absolutely sure this will be the end of what would have been a great evening. She must be a zooie after all.
"Well... you're a bee splice."
His eyes narrow.
"From what little I know of bees, drones die afterward. I... I just don't want anything dreadful to happen to you..." It mortifies her to have to put this stupid fear into words and she can't even put it in complete sentences. The picture in her head is too graphic. But she won't be able to give herself over to her desire if there's even a chance of him being harmed.
His throws his head back in a hearty chuckle. He pulls her back to him and kisses her forehead. "Not at all, Love. Not at all." Still laughing to himself he confides, "That one's a first."
Hearing his response and use of an affectionate moniker, she's visibly calmer. She nuzzles her head into the crook of his neck in the security of being next to him and breathes a sigh of relief. "Good."
Shifting so she can move her hands, she starts undoing his pants. "Because I want you … badly."