Remember when I legitimately thought I could have all the smut done in one chapter? Pepperidge Farm remembers. So now this is going to be even longer than originally intended! Hopefully that's not too much of a problem?

Oh, and Oppenheimer in IMAX 70MM was so good, I'm seeing it yet again this weekend! With Barbie, of course.

Please enjoy the new chapter and rating change! And let me know how it is, since it's been quite some time since I've written smut like this.

"Think I Wanna Twist the Plot This Time"

"I'll spin life to a fantasy like no one's home, so I play God."

—"Maradona" The Chainsmokers

At coat check, Oppenheimer lets go of Barbie's hand so he can tip the clerk when he comes back with their coats, his hat, and her gloves. She's fully prepared to pay herself, but with the way the clerk's face lights up at the sight of multiple bills, maybe she doesn't have to.

"Thank you, sir," says the clerk with a grateful nod. "You're too kind."

"It's not a problem." Oppenheimer is gentlemanly enough to place Barbie's pink coat around her shoulders as she puts her gloves back on and pockets her wallet. Her phone is still settled in the right pocket, thankfully. He dons his hat and carries his own coat over his elbow, then starts to lead Barbie out with an assuring hand on her lower back. "You have a good evening, now."

"Have a good evening!" Barbie repeats cheerfully as they step out the door into the crisp, cool air. She takes a deep breath, both to calm her nerves and to breathe something in that doesn't smell like stale cigarettes. The Palace Hotel literally sits next door to the club, yet the walk feels languid and careless, like time slows as she takes in the dim street lighting, how basically no one occupies the road now at this late hour. She falls in line with Oppenheimer's long strides, again enjoying the familiar click of their heels hitting the pavement.

"That was a really generous tip you left our coat check clerk," she points out, still smiling.

"Did the same with the bartender, too," he replies, using his hand on her back to draw her in closer. "I'm sure you don't find it very fair that they're allowed to work and entertain in this club, but are not allowed to be entertained themselves. And I'm sure their wages don't reflect that work."

"You're right, I don't find it fair." Barbie frowns, remembering the sign at the front of the club. "I think everyone should be compensated well for their work, and that it should be enough to live comfortably. And obviously anyone should be allowed where they please, if they live here. If people like to boast that America is 'the land of the free,' shouldn't the country actually reflect that?"

So, there are at least a few people here who have some common sense. Barbie can't believe how narrow-minded some of the customs are here, and while 82 years seems like lifetimes away, it may as well be yesterday when considering the entire history of humankind. Leave it to luck that she actually found a partner for the night who's sharing some of these beliefs.

The Palace Hotel boasts nothing too special on the outside; it looks like a nice, art deco style, rectangular building at eight stories, and plenty of windows with a great number of rooms. But as Oppenheimer leads Barbie inside, her jaw drops at the lobby, the large chandeliers sparkling above them, surrounded by marble Grecian pillars and archways holding everything up. The lighting gives everything a warm glow as the ceiling bathes them in what looks like false daylight, instantly welcoming Barbie inside. Whoever he was trying to impress with booking this hotel is a lucky gal, indeed. When she visited San Francisco with the family last year, she and Sasha switched off between sleeping on the couch and the other bed in their standard Hilton room. This place looks like it's only inhabited by royals, politicians, and celebrities.

Even the elevator is nice—clean and standard with fancy numbers for each floor. Oppenheimer presses eight, and they stand in anxious silence. His hand drops from Barbie's back as he reaches into his pocket to produce a key, and she's clasping her hands together for dear life, because it's a way to focus on something else other than the loud, quick pounding of her heart in her ears. Seconds pass like hours as they slowly ascend. Is she even going to know what to do once they get to his room? Are they even going to start right then and there? What if he sees right through her and that becomes a turn off? What if he's reading her expression now and realizes something isn't quite right?

Barbie purses her lips, looking out of the corner of her eye to observe his subtle moves. He's running his thumb over the ridges of the key; his eyes stare straight ahead. Instead of being glazed over, however, they're keenly focused on the elevator doors, waiting for them to open. Maybe he's a little nervous, too?

When the doors open, Oppenheimer allows Barbie out first, and she patiently waits for him to lead her back to his room. Again, she falls in step with him, fidgeting with her hands so much that she just takes off her gloves and stuffs them in her coat. They're getting a little sweaty, anyway.

Room 805. He fidgets slightly with the key, fumbling it open. Barbie can't see past the doorway in the darkness, but she steps inside, taking slow, deliberate breaths. Once the door is closed, he switches the light on, and Barbie takes in her residence for the night.

"It's a standard room, but it should suffice," he sighs, putting his coat and hat on the rack next to the door. He places his warm, sure hands on her shoulders, gently removing her coat, too, to hang up next to his.

"Thank you," she utters, still enthralled by this low, golden lighting. The view from the window isn't much, just of the street right outside, but at night it's crisp and calm. It doesn't look sterile in white sheets and fluorescent lighting like most modern rooms, with the air being too cold from the AC being turned way too low. Each side of the bed holds a wooden and marble nightstand with desk lamps. Barbie wants to run her fingers over the designs on the wood headboard, and relax on one of the two armchairs on the foot end of the bed. It even has one of those modesty foldout walls for changing. And she's guessing the only other door in here leads to the bathroom, which is probably just as nice. Just in front of her lays a marble coffee table, its only decoration a cup filled with a bouquet of flowers, mostly roses and lilies. "For a standard room, this is pretty luxurious."

He smiles, reaching over to cup her jaw and leads her into another kiss. She melts into it, into him as her hands instinctually move up to his shoulders. Barbie always wanted to pop her foot during a kiss and this time she actually does it, quickly and quietly to keep committed to memory.

"Lights on or off?" he asks when he pulls away, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Hm…" Her forehead presses to his, contemplating. Really, she has nothing to hide that she's ashamed of, absolutely confident in the way she holds herself. But there's something about the temptation of the dark, the shadows hiding any imperfection of action she might perform. She wants to be illuminated only by the streetlights outside and wants him to remember her with at least a slight aura of mystique. "Off."

"Okay." And then he's switching the lights off, and before she knows it, he's literally sweeping her off her feet, bridal style. And Barbie laughs as he picks her up, mostly because it's completely unexpected and she's still so, so nervous—but it's light and happy, and she wraps her arms around him and kicks her heels to the floor with a couple of clunks.

She slaps a hand over her mouth as if that covers up the sound of her shoes. "Oh, shoot—am I being too loud?" she whispers in between chuckles.

"You do realize it's probably only going to get louder?" Barbie can hear the smile in his voice, and God, is she already messing this up?

It's okay to be awkward, she reminds herself of Dr. Cohen's words. You're allowed to be awkward.

Oppenheimer deposits her on the bed rather gently, and Barbie sighs, tilting her head back against the soft blankets and pillows. Oh, if she were tired, she'd fall asleep immediately. Instead, she leans up on her elbows, eyes adjusting to the dark as she watches his outline toe his shoes off and toss his jacket aside before kneeling onto the bed. Barbie reaches for him, grazing his cheek—no, not that, she needs to go lower—and when she finds his tie, she wraps her hand around it and pulls him in for another kiss, a little more forceful than the last one. He opens her to it and she feels a groan from the back of her throat. He tastes like faint bourbon and cigarettes, two things she normally can't stand, yet she's feeling that pulse in her gut as she moves into him.

His hand moves to push the edge of her skirt past her knees so he can kneel between them once her legs spread a little wider. Should she undress him? Does she even know how to undo a tie? Luckily she doesn't have to think about it as his hands replace hers on the knot, loosening it enough to throw it across the room.

They breathe together heavily for a moment, and now her eyes have started to adjust. Enough to look right at that piercing gaze, falling into him. Even in the dark, they're so wonderfully blue and perfect. Barbie nods, giving him her trust.

Her hands fall to Oppenheimer's shoulders, pushing his suspenders down. She leans in and dares to kiss his neck and she feels him hum from his throat. Gosh, that's nice, enough to where she kisses him a few more times and tests the ways she can drive him mad with desire. Then they both reach for the buttons on his shirt. One thing that she hates about elongated nails like this is how much she's fumbling to unbutton each one, fighting that urge to just rip them off. He's skinnier than even she imagined with each inch of skin exposed, but he's taut and warm and sure and with the way Barbie keeps surging into him, she still wants him terribly.

He kisses her again after he shrugs off his shirt (finally), but his lips don't stay there for long as they start to move down her jaw, then her neck. Of course, those long fingers undo each pearl button of her blouse with effortless precision, and his mouth trails behind to taste every inch of her. First her neck, and Barbie tilts her head back to give him more access, and he starts to move her shirt off her shoulders. As he works down her chest, she finally looks down and holds back a chuckle—of course her bullet bra is pink, too, and this is the first time she's seeing it.

After shrugging her blouse off the bed, his fingers are on her back, deftly unhooking her bra which immediately tells Barbie that he really knows what he's doing. She's never been so exposed before—so vulnerable with another person. She shakily exhales as he gently moves the silk off her body, trying to calm herself. There's nothing to really be embarrassed about, and though his reaction doesn't change, his lips immediately descend from her collarbone, eager to move down.

Barbie arches into that mouth, closing her eyes as she lets herself focus on the way he's touching her. He's gentle—almost too gentle, like he knows he's handling someone with such little experience. That starts to change when he moves his hands from her waist up to her breasts, finally starting to play with them. And oh—oh, it's so much better when it's someone else. Those fingers pinch and gently flick her nipples into stiff peaks, his mouth soon following after. Whatever she said about noise goes completely out the door as she forgets everything around her except the pleasure she's receiving. Her hands instinctively know to brush through his hair, which is very soft even though it's short, encouraging him on.

He's even added the graze of teeth to the mix, and there's that pulse in her core, her hips canting in desperate search for contact. Barbie tugs at his hair as she moans louder, barely even registering she's so vocal in the first place. It sounds like a distant echo, like it's not even her.

Oppenheimer sighs into her skin, kissing back up to her neck. "And what was that again about being too loud?" he teases. While his mouth goes higher, his hands push lower, undoing her belt.

Laughing, Barbie moves her hands to cup his jaw, bringing him up from her neck to her lips for yet another kiss. "Well, you're very good at that, Oppie," she assures, stroking her thumbs over those impossibly sharp cheekbones. "Don't you want to keep track of whether or not I like what you're doing?"

"I certainly do." He hums, gently lifting her hips up to reach the buttons of her skirt, undoing them just as easily as her blouse. She helps him shimmy it down her legs, along with her slip. And now Barbie's just in her garter belt, knickers, and stockings—all pink, of course. Just a few more layers and they're both just skin, and she can touch and feel him, breathe him in and have him.

Barbie sits up and pulls Oppenheimer in by the straps of his suspenders, still clipped to his pants. "You have too much on," she decides, daring to finally touch him lower than his shoulders. Not like she's ever touched a man like this before, but she's still so curious. She gently palms him in between his legs, feels his breath hitch against her face as he tilts his forehead against hers. There's something powerful about it, about knowing she's the one affecting him by her words, her actions. Even his moans have that deliberate quality to them, his voice effortlessly low and calculated.

She again fumbles through undoing his pants, but he quickly kicks them aside and they're forgotten like the rest of the clothes they've stripped off. Oppenheimer sets her down against the pillows again, kissing her quickly before sitting up. When he lifts her left leg by the calf, Barbie wonders what he has in mind as he kisses her stocking-clad knee. But then he places another one a little bit higher. The next one, higher than that, against the inside of her thigh and she gasps quickly, twitching into it.

His eyes bore into hers through thick lashes, silently asking for permission for what he's about to do. Through parted lips she nods and mouths, "Yes," because she can't find her voice in this moment.

It's like he's moving slowly on purpose just to tease her further, or maybe time seems to be moving slower in calculated anticipation. He snaps off each clasp of the garter belt before adding it to the growing pile of clothes littering the floor, and finally tugs her knickers down her legs. Barbie lifts her hips, sighing in relief just to have them off. She's been pulsing and aching for some sort of contact; it's practically embarrassing how she's already gripping the sheets before he'e even done anything.

But he's not fazed by her desperation—Oppenheimer simply moves her leg over his shoulder and dives in without another thought, kissing her core as she shudders into him. Immediately Barbie moves one of her hands from the sheets to her mouth, biting a groan against her palm because at this rate, the whole building is going to hear her. How the heck does a physicist know how to please a woman like this, to lap at her folds like a man starved to drink her down? Isn't this part of that time period where people thought female pleasure was still a myth? She can only watch through half lidded eyes as his head bobs against her, completely engrossed in her heat, her scent. God, she's probably been aroused since before she even realized it was arousal, and with that in mind, she knows she's not going to last very long.

He pauses, and Barbie whines into her palm because no, no, she's definitely not there yet. Resting his chin on her thigh for a moment, he looks up at her through dilating eyes, and oh, those gorgeous lips are glistening with what Barbie can only assume is, well, her.

"Barbie, take your hand off of your mouth so I can hear you properly," he orders, but his tone is still rather gentle. And now he's content to wait until she does, letting the patient seconds draw out like minutes as those blue eyes continue to bore into her.

Maybe it's because Barbie never really lets herself be vocal when it's just her; she's too nervous about all these factors back home. But he's making it so easy to just let the world melt away until they're the only two that exist. Slowly she brings her hand down from her mouth so she can once again place it in Oppenheimer's hair, brushing her manicured fingers through those soft locks.

He smiles, shifting to kiss the inside of her thigh. "Good girl." And he's back on her in a moment, and her fingers start to tug, trying to find purchase. Barbie hates when men call her "girl" usually, but something about his tone, the sensuality of the praise… She lets a moan rip through her body, and her enthusiasm only seems to further encourage him.

She wants to trap him here with her thighs and thrust into him until she has nothing left, wants to push his head against her. Her toes start to curl as she tightens up; each spark of pleasure he gives pulses through her whole body and she's heady and hazy and can't feel her voice as she loses herself. She can only ball the sheets up in her free fist and close her eyes, letting him take her over. If only she could watch him, but everything running through her is so intense and white hot, and she finally gives into the feeling with a drawn out moan that probably overtakes the entire room.

Now that's better than all her best days in Barbie Land combined.

He laps at her a few more times, languidly, then moves up to kiss her stomach, and slowly back up her heaving chest as Barbie catches her breath. Oppenheimer pauses, though, before kissing her, realizing he's not sure if she's okay with it after where his mouth has just been. She laughs, brushing his hair back when she realizes she never let her hand down from there in the first place, and pulls him in for that kiss. She tastes better on his tongue, she decides, smiling into it.

"You're still wearing too much," she says, hurriedly trying to push his underwear off. If he's just given her a taste, she's completely ready for more. He helps the rest of the way, of course, but now there's nothing between them. Nothing to hide. She rolls her stockings off.

With a curious, slightly shaky hand, Barbie finds him in the darkness, feels the weight of him. God, he's warm. So human, just like her now. With all these wants and feelings and complications and messes, and now she's far more excited than nervous. She likes the way he dips his head down against her neck, breathes heavily against her.

Barbie lets go, brings his face level to hers, then nods. It's odd—she's been able to find the right words to say so far tonight, but she just can't find an organic way to really get across that she's ready. Hopefully this glance is enough.

Seems to be, because he only breaks eye contact to start to guide himself to her. Honestly, as long as she can look into those blue eyes, she can just focus on him to get over that initial discomfort. Their breaths hitch together when he starts to enter, and luckily he's going slow, letting himself get a feel for her, too.

His brows furrow slightly as Barbie brings her hands to his back, pressing her fingertips into his skin a little too tight. She breathes shakily, trying to focus on that, focus on Oppenheimer's eyes taking in her every expression to see if anything's off.

"Ow," she utters at one point, but it's through a chuckle. Barbie doesn't really know why she finds it amusing; she just can't help it.

He pauses immediately; he's almost completely inside her at this point but that one word stalls him. "We can stop," he assures, reaching a hand over to brush her bangs away from her cheek.

Barbie shakes her head, almost a little too vigorously. "No, it's—it's not that," she says through the discomfort and another laugh. "I think for the first time, I feel completely human."

He's not going to understand that in the slightest. But she feels everything in this moment: the warmth of a partner, and all the pain and overwhelming emotions like confusion and joy that come with it. It's euphoric, it's all too much—and not enough at the same time. "You can keep going, Robert." It feels right to use his name.

All he can do is nod, and she watches his lips part in a relieved sigh as he continues, pausing again once he's fully inside her. Barbie exhales shakily, committing to memory this initial sensation of finally being physically connected to another person. She finds his eyes again, blue and dilated and a little unsure, and brings her right hand from his back up to his cheek. Her hips shift, letting him know that she wants him to move, too.

His thrusts start slow, testing the waters. He even continues to kiss her through it, giving her something more to concentrate on as she further adjusts. It's… odd, just a bit. But so pleasant as they continue finding their footing, and Barbie reaches to the sheets to find his hand, entangling their fingers together. Oppenheimer seems to really like hearing her, so she moans when the pleasure starts to build a little more, arches into him to let him know that she's enjoying herself.

Barbie wraps her legs around him, draws him in as close as she can. She wants more, she wants everything, but she also wants it to last. His palm squeezes around hers as he starts to speed up, and what started as a bit of discomfort is quickly shifting to pure ecstasy, those familiar pulses surging through her from head to toe. She feels his moans melding with hers in between hurried, desperate kisses, her free hand moving from his cheek to his back so she can keep holding onto him.

The sound isn't something she's expecting to enjoy. Not just his voice with hers, but the way they're connecting, how rhythmic it's getting. Everything overwhelms her senses with absolute intensity, but Barbie grounds it all in his eyes as they keep watching her to make sure she likes everything he's doing.

Actually, if anything, that's what's going to send her over the edge.

So Barbie hones into that, on succumbing to the way her body tenses up again. She squeezes Oppenheimer's hand, digs her nails into his back without thinking. She meets his eyes and adores how he's losing himself in her just as much as she's focusing on him. It's harder to keep up that eye contact, with his head occasionally dropping down to her neck, and hers moving back against the pillows to let out yet another moan. She knows she's saying his name, but her voice still sounds like it's coming from somewhere else, somewhere outside of herself.

When he releases, his mouth is near her ear, and Barbie quickly commits to memory that sound of him losing control, when he's been so calculated this whole time. She gasps at the white-hot feeling inside her and that's what brings her back to climax, too, closing her eyes as she lets it all go.

He's shaking just a bit, and so is she, feeling like her soul is going to need some time to travel back into her body after being launched into the stratosphere. They stay like that a moment, panting together as they come down from the high. But his hand hasn't left hers, and Barbie still has her legs wrapped around his back.

Finally he relaxes, rolling over by her side. Barbie still stares forward, listening to her breathing, finding little patterns in the ceiling that start to ground her back in reality. Oppenheimer breathes nearly in tandem next to her, their shoulders now touching.

Once Barbie feels like she's at least a bit more in control of her actions, she slowly sits up. Her body adjusts to the slight soreness in her back, in her core, and she stretches her arms up, sighing contently. She leans over to kiss Oppenheimer's cheek. "I need to use the bathroom," she announces rather curtly, and swings her legs over the bedside. Gosh, she might need a minute, and she blesses the dark because he can't see her stumble her first few steps as she makes her way across the room.

Barbie turns the lights on once she's locked in the bathroom, but doesn't register much as her mind starts to focus on Dr. Cohen's medical advice: make sure to pee after penetrative sex to prevent UTIs. So she does, leaning her elbows on her knees as her mind reels with what just happened.

She just had sex for the first time with someone from the past. What an odd? Novel? Weird? Absolutely crazy?

What a concept.

And she thinks—knows—it's going to happen again, because once wasn't enough, not when he has those amazing eyes and those absolutely astounding lips. It's probably the most bonkers thing she's ever done in her life so far, right up there with choosing to become human. And yet, she feels like this was meant to be—after all, if life's an adventure, then this should be part of the journey, right? Unconventional as it is?

But when has a Barbie ever been conventional?

She flushes and washes her hands in the sink. The bathroom so retro, she thinks now that she can get a better look at it, and it kind of reminds her of the bathroom in Gloria's mom's house, which Gloria says was built back in the 50s. Mint green tile lines the walls, and the sink, toilet, and bathtub are all white porcelain. The floor beneath her feet looks and feels like linoleum, navy with a white border pattern. Above the sink are a few little ledges: one for what Barbie can only assume is Oppenheimer's toothbrush, one for a cup, and one for soap. The mirror is modest and rectangular, holding a medicine cabinet behind.

Barbie takes the cup and fills it with some water, then drinks it down, parched. Then she steps back so she can see as much of herself as she can in that small mirror.

Her hair fell in perfect waves before; now it's tangled and disheveled in the back from being ravished while lying down, and it's lost its curl. Her pink lipstick is faded on her lips, but smeared around her mouth, and her mascara is dotted under her eyes, starting to give her a bit of that raccoon effect. Purple marks absolutely litter her neck and torso from all those kisses, even all the way down to her hips.

She's never felt so beautiful in her entire existence.

Barbie holds her face in her hands, grinning and giddy like she just won a beauty pageant. She decides to wash off her already fading makeup, the cool water absolutely refreshing on her face as she dabs at her eyes and swipes at her mouth. After patting her face dry with the hand towel, she sighs contently. And now that she's fresh-faced, she can face the rest of the night.

He's waiting for her, and she's ready for more of him.

Barbie opens the door and turns off the light, practically floating back into the room.

If you're a little disappointed that these two didn't get to really talk too much this chapter, fear not! I have plenty of plans for conversation in between all the sexy times.

As always, reviews and favorites are greatly appreciated.