And it seems like I'm back. There's gonna be a long AN, brace yourselves.
My Calzona Muse has abandoned me. Hence the incomplete fics, I don't know if I'll ever get around to it at all.
I changed my PenName, simply to go with Tumblr Username. Still the same person though :)
A Big Thank You to DistractedMoose for not only the prompt that resulted in this but also for being a Super-Awesome Beta-Reader. She took my word vomit and turned it into something beautiful. Thank You :)
And to Tantedrago, as always, for getting me started on writing again. And for dealing with my crazy mood swings and crazier demands and being a sweetheart about it all.
As soon as Helena's car rounds the corner she spots her. She stands under the lamppost outside Chung's, twirling her hair and flipping off a passing car. Helena frowns trying to read the number plate of the now speeding away blue sedan – it's already too far away and the street lights are much too dim anyway. She sits up straighter in her seat as she comes to a stop beside the woman in the little black dress and impossibly high heels.
A face framed by a mass of black curls appears at the passenger side window but Helena's head is turned away, surveying the area repeatedly to assure herself that she has not been followed.
Helena's peremptory, "Get in" cuts off whatever witty one-liner the woman had opened her mouth to say. She mumbles her protests under her breath but obliges nonetheless and Helena pulls away from the curb. It's only at the next traffic light that Helena turns her head to look at the woman beside her. Her eyes trail along the length of exposed thigh and she's almost tempted to lean over and touch her. Instead, she keeps her fingers tightly curled around the steering wheel.
"What is that building?" the woman's voice jolts Helena out of her musings and she finally lifts her eyes to meet curious, wakeful green ones.
Helena cranes her neck to look out of the window. "The Capitol," she answers looking back at the woman, "It's a hotel," she continues when the puzzled expression doesn't fade. And then she does lean over, her thumb wiping away a smudge of dark red lipstick on her companion's face before she's even aware of her actions. She hastily withdraws her hand. The young woman smirks and angles her body towards Helena even as the latter slams down hard on the gas pedal, accelerating the car forward with a jerk.
"You want to get started in the car?" she asks with a smirk and Helena's heart misses a beat at the equal parts of seductiveness and innocence ringing in those words.
Helena swallows thickly and shakes her head, "We're almost there."
Their hotel is decidedly not The Capitol – not even its distant cousin. But at the same time it's definitely not some dingy hotel in the shady part of town where rooms are only available by the hour. No, Helena respects the woman too much for that; she books a suite with a single large bed. The receptionist however, shows no such class and Helena can't help but express her thinly veiled annoyance and disdain at the way he so blatantly checks out her companion. Of course the woman is gorgeous, but the way he's looking at her can only be described as lecherous and Helena feels more than irritated by it. She snatches the key out of his sweaty hand, picks up her travel bag and takes the woman's hand in her own as she leads the way to their room.
She giggles and teases, accusing her of being a jealous lover before abruptly changing the topic of discussion to the cheap paintings hung on the walls. Helena contemplates, not for the first time, what this woman's life would have been like if the circumstances had been different – if she had had a proper education. Helena knows the young woman is bright and an extremely fast learner, otherwise she wouldn't have picked her. A fond, bittersweet half-smile graces Helena's face at the young woman's frivolous attempts to explain the complete lack of correlation between the actual night sky and the artist's interpretation of it. Helena shakes her head, conceding to the woman's superior knowledge of astronomy but also pushing away the melancholy thoughts that rush in with that acknowledgment.
Helena fumbles with the key, warm fingers wrap around hers to relieve her of the task. Her companion stoops over the lock, curls falling forward to hide her face while Helena leans against the wall, studying their profiles in the flickering lights of the hallway. Maybe in another lifetime, if things had gone well for this girl, Helena would never have met her. The thought saddens her.
"There," she opens the door with a flourish and the smile that graces Helena's lips is the most genuine one she's had all week. She steps inside and begins the awkward routine of divesting herself of her coat and shoes, all the time avoiding the gaze of the waiting woman on the bed.
"Are you hungry?" she asks, like she always does.
"Not yet," is the mirth-filled answer, "but maybe you can help me work up an appetite."
The words are almost crass and they fall jarringly on Helena's ears. She turns nonetheless and stares at the resplendently unconcealed beauty that is sprawled across the bed, waiting for her. She's tempted to take what is being so freely offered, but first she must steel herself with alcohol.
"So a drink then," Helena offers as she takes out a bottle of matured scotch from her bag and settles down on the edge of the bed. She takes a long draught straight from the bottle before offering it to the other woman. The woman declines, instead choosing to crawl towards her. There's a mischievous smile on her face that makes Helena's hands tremble. She pushes Helena against the headboard, straddling her. She removes the whisky from Helena's hand, placing it on the night-stand, leaving Helena's hands empty and craven for touch. So Helena grasps the woman's hips and pulls her a closer, searching for something, anything to ground herself. The young woman doesn't kiss her, not yet; cradling Helena's face in her palms as she waits for her to meet her eyes. She will let Helena make the first move – like she always does.
"Forget it. Forget everything." she says and it's only then that Helena kisses her. It's sloppy, it's rough but the woman accepts it all. She forgets everything except the scent of this woman, the feel of her calloused hands kneading her, soothing her pains. The sordid images conjured by overactive imaginations and a long life of terrible experiences tear away at the fragile cocoon of their carefully constructed contentment. Helena pushes these thoughts away as she brands the other woman's skin, leaving possessive red marks in her wake. They push, they pull, but they never break away, for this is a familiar dance and her partner knows all the motions. It scares her how easily she reveals herself. "Don't think so much," comes a whisper against her ear as sweat-stained foreheads rest momentarily against each other. She digs her fingers into soft flesh in reply and is rewarded by instant aching pleasure.
She rises higher and higher till all of it comes crashing down and Helena cries out, "Mykaaa." She falls limply into Myka's arms, held close to the warm body as she recovers.
It's only later, as the better part of the night comes to a close that they finally engage in the matters that brought them together in the first place. Helena, dressed with the exception of her coat, sits at the foot of the bed enjoying the view of Myka lazily sprawled amongst the sheets. The young woman leans over for a kiss but Helena pulls away. It's not a luxury she can afford herself. Myka huffs as she gets off the bed and, gloriously naked, bends to retrieve something from the floor. Helena is bemused when Myka returns with her one black heel in hand. She sits down next to Helena and offers it to her. Brows furrowed, she accepts it warily.
"Lift the sole," Myka whispers to her, slipping one hand between Helena's trouser-clad thighs. Helena complies and she snorts with laughter when she discovers the secret compartment. She pulls out a microchip and holds it to the light. Damn clichés!
"Is this all?" she asks, her voice is all business. Myka nods, looking more like a child with every passing second. "And he still suspects nothing?" Helena probes.
"He's always busy and so secretive too," Myka shrugs her shoulders. "He has no time for me or even his wife."
"So how did you get this?" Helena asks further, she's been trained to question the unusual. It's part of her self-discipline. It's what makes her so good at what she does.
"I have my ways," Myka smiles impishly at her and Helena inadvertently lets out a moan as Myka's nails draw inane patterns along her inner thighs. She is quick to grasp Myka's wrist so to still her movements, but it is not enough to stop the wanton desire from appearing on her face. Myka's face reflects her confusion and she settles back down. Helena turns to her and claims the now lipstick-less, kiss-chapped lips in a surge, their tongues battling for dominance. She presses Myka close against her body and steals her breath away quite literally till Myka is gently but urgently pushing her away. She appears flushed and panting heavily, the expression drawing a prideful chuckle from Helena.
"When, next?" is the question that wipes the smirk off Helena's face. Oh, the poor idiot! Helena doesn't answer right away but stands up and moves slowly across the room. She picks up her bag, repacks the nearly empty bottle of scotch, slips on her shoes, and checks the time on her watch again.
"I'll inform you. Just…" the words get caught in her throat. She cannot bring herself to look at Myka now, smiling, happy, sated, safe. "Just stay safe till then," she utters finally before making eye contact.
Five heartbeats later, exactly five because Helena has counted, she turns away. She flings her coat over her shoulder, unlocks the door and leaves.
"The money is in the top drawer," are her final words as she closes the door behind her.
Helena's steps are quick, hurried; they do not betray how exhausted the last few hours have made her. She slows down only when her feet hit the hard stone walkway. She pauses to light a cigarette. Helena watches the puff of smoke as it rises in ugly ringlets and refracts the street lights. She plays with a button on her coat as she leans against her car hood and draws a last few inhales of nicotine from the rapidly dwindling snub. Looking up at the sky, she sees it's a moonless night. She glances at her watch, in a few hours the sun will be up. That will erase out the inky darkness, or so Helena hopes as she slips into her car, revs the engine and drives away.
Myka watches her activity from the window, curtains slightly parted, taking note of every minute detail in Helena's actions. She notes too, how dark the sky is tonight. When the car finally leaves she lets the curtains fall limp. She rushes back to the bed and scrambles over the tussled sheets in search of her black dress. Running her hand along the seams, finding the right spot, she rips the cloth away to retrieve a small comm device. Inserting the small piece into her ear and holding the tiny button-sized microphone close to her mouth, she states calmly "The package is in play. I repeat. The package is in play."
After a brief pause the device crackles alive and a female voice replies, "Great work Mykes. The tracker is active. Steve is being sent her location now. And Pete will be there to pick you up early morning."
"With my clothes," Myka adds as she lay down her head on the pillow. She hears the young girl chuckle before killing the line. Myka sighs and buries her face in the pillow.
It probably isn't the best thing to do. It smells of Helena. So Myka rises from the bed, wrapping the bed sheet around her and settles down on the window ledge. Pressing her face against the window pane she begins the difficult task of counting the stars that are strewn across the pitch dark sky.
That's it. It stays a one-shot for now :)
Thank you for Reading, Reviews would be lovely and encouraging.
Loads of Love- G3 :)