A/N: Now they get down to the meal. And I'm sure Dean would pay more attention to the introduction of the MacGuffin if he wasn't too busy looking down Lisa's cleavage...
The Pompatus Box (Chapter 9: Introductions) by frostygossamer
The starter is fish. Dean is right there to help Lisa when she gets a tiny bone stuck in her palate. Leaning her head back, she allows him to intrude a careful finger into her mouth. As he withdraws it she lets her tongue toy with his digit playfully.
"There you are."
She titters prettily. "Why, Dean, you have such a sensitive touch."
Oh, they are SO on for later. He can hardly wait until the dinner is over.
Then the main course is brought in, and Dean being Dean the foodie, his attention to the lady is deflected, ever so slightly. It's roast beef with all the trimmings. A presentation worthy of jolly old Henry VIII himself.
Chef really has pulled out all the stops tonight. It's not often that Dean gets to enjoy a haunch of meat of this size and quality on the cash he has left over from his special medical bills. Lisa, surprisingly not having espoused vegetarianism on her eastern travels, is also delighted and they both revel in the abundance of roast flesh.
Lisa helps herself to as sizeable a portion of beef as he does, and she tucks into it greedily, eyes sparkling and delicious meaty juice dripping from the corner of her pretty mouth. Dean finds the sight strangely arousing. She hums as he wipes away the beefy trickle with a corner of his napkin. Then she laughs and arches a sable brow.
"Thank you, Dean. Guess I should take more care exactly what I stuff in my mouth."
As intended, Dean's loins receive a jolt of anticipatory stimulation. Lisa knows what she's doing to him.
=O=
Walker has been observing these two flirting over their food with a tinge of envy. How is it that he never gets with the girl when that mannequin Dean is around? Can't she see that the guy is a gold-plated jerk? He grumbles to himself as Dean throws him a smirk of cheeky triumph over Lisa's shoulder.
After the dessert is cleared away, Captain Harvelle asks the passengers if they would like to tell the assemblage their purpose in visiting Eno. Miss Masters responds with a haughty huff, but Lisa is happy to oblige.
It seems she's on her way to Eno to take up a post as resident tantric yoga trainer and therapist, with a forward-thinking technology company based on the satellite. Reading between the lines, it's basically a perk to encourage their creative staff's inventive minds and discourage them from moving on to greener pastures.
Dean imagines it could almost be worth working for a company thoughtful enough to supply its employees with regular tantric diversion.
Entrepreneuse Miss Masters is a little more cagey about her intentions. All she will say is that she has delicate financial negotiations to oversee on Eno, something that she won't trust to a subordinate. With commercial interests on Terra, Luna and Eno, she's still a hands-on manager and prefers to see the whites of a man's eyes when doing business.
Dean can believe that. The spiky female looks like she takes no prisoners.
Mr Death is at first reluctant to speak, not out of an unwillingness to cooperate but more because, as a diplomat, discretion has become his second nature. This is especially true given the current climate of tension between Terra and her most technically advanced satellite.
He does at least agree to show them his diplomatic pouch, or rather bag in this case. His portmanteau has never left his side since he left Terra. It lies, even now, at his feet under the dining table.
He opens it up and takes out the single mysterious item it contains.
It's a small box about one foot long, eight inches wide and six inches in depth. Built of reclaimed coromandel wood, the box is held together with heavy brass hinges and closed with an ornate locking mechanism. On the front of the box is inlaid the strange word Pompatus, in fancy gold lettering.
"Pomp-, uh, Pompatus. Seriously? Horsefeathers! That's not even real Latin." Miss Masters' tone is derisive.
Death smiles. "Ma'am, you may be right. But I fancy it will mean something to the recipient of the gift."
"And who is that, can we ask?" inquires Lisa.
Death explains slowly and with a certain note of awe.
"I can only say it was sent from the desk of the President of Terra directly to the President of Eno, Miss Braeden, a very important consignment indeed. It's VERY important that it gets to him in one piece and UN-opened. Its significance, however, is unknown to me."
Walker cheekily voices the obvious question.
"So what is IN the box, friend? Gonna let us peek inside? 'Cause I-"
Miss Masters laughs, interrupting him.
"Please NO, Mr. Death. It would spoil the wonderful secret. Don't you go opening a present before the day. Where I come from we're still superstitious about that kind of thing."
Death nods in agreement. "As a Diplomatic Courier, Captain Walker, it's not my business to know what I deliver, merely to deliver it. Intact."
He carefully places the small box back in his bag unopened and firmly snaps it closed.
"I guess maybe the whole thing's some kinda symbolism anyways?" suggests the perceptive Turner.
Death nods again. "Possibly."
After brandy has been passed around and everyone has partaken who cares too, the party breaks up and moves to the captain's sitting room. Lisa discreetly separates Dean from the others and drags him in the direction of her cabin.
Dean is more than willing to go along.
=O=
Once inside her stateroom, Lisa closes the door firmly and pushes Dean up against it, tearing off her waistcoat and letting it drop. She loosens her raven-black hair, which falls in coils down her back like waves of tangible night. Her dark eyes promise depths of undiscovered pleasure.
"Finally, we're alone," she breathes.
She nips his earlobe between her teeth. She's frisky, and Dean loves it when they are frisky. She presses her body up against his and, as their lips meet, she can feel his heart beat fast against the stays of her corset. She begins to unbutton her blouse. He helps her out of it, kissing first one perfect shoulder then the other. When she pulls her slim but well-defined arms from the sleeves of the garment and lets it fall to the floor, she reveals a bodice crammed with ripe breasts, plump and alluring.
Dean leans forward, planting his face in those pink mounds, one arm tight around her body. The other hand tugs up the fabric of her skirt so he can get his hand under her petticoats. He lifts her to straddle his waist and carries her the two or three steps to the bed, where he drops her on her back and immediately kneels between her legs. She laughs lightly and pulls his face down to kiss her again, kicking off her shoes and winding her legs around him.
"I do believe you've done this before, Captain Dean," she jests, coyly.
He grins against her skin. "Whenever opportunity presents itself."
There's no need to undress completely. They both know what they want, and that is immediate gratification. Neither of them is here to give. They are here only to take what they need. Dean rips open his dress jacket, giving himself room to breathe, and begins to fumble open his pants. Lisa loosens and throws off her corset, then wriggles her sheer silk panties down to her ankles.
There follows a good deal of panting, and creaking from the bed springs, as the two come together with a ferocity born of hunger and the clandestine nature of their congress. Eventually Dean rolls on his back at Lisa's side spent, and they catch their breath together for a while.
Lisa's hand finds Dean's and she squeezes it, an unexpected token of empathy. He kind of likes it. A perceptive woman, she feels she can sense an unspoken sadness in him.
In actuality, Dean never shares with casual pick-ups. That's not what his womanizing is about. Wham, bam and all that... But then Lisa isn't just any chick. She's a budding therapist.
TBC
A/N: Bit of a brief encounter. But this is half a scene so look out for the next bit when I've had my tea. :)