lady_bols | Room 6620, Morning of the Third Day

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Room 6620, Morning of the Third Day

She slept, and dreamt of fields of verdant green shrouded by the grey English sky. A bell tolled in the distance, and in the mist, she could see ranks of her fellow officers, solemn in their black dress uniforms. In their midst, six figures carried something heavy on their shoulders. She can see the line of the casket, but it takes a moment for her to register what it is.

There's a hole in the ground, clean edges, the mound of earth beside the grave covered with faux turf to hide the truth of it. She can smell lilies and her favourite, white roses. Evan has his arm around Mols shoulders, and her face looks so still. She's been crying, Alex can tell. But she's put a brave face on.

He's right, she knows. She's strong, and resourceful. She's going to be all right. She is.

(I'm happy, hope you're happy too.)

But it doesn't keep her from missing her daughter. And it hurts. Like nothing she's ever experienced. A part of her knows she should look away, but she can't. She watches as they lower the casket into the ground, listens as the pipes play, a haunting melody that puts voice to the ache in her heart. It feels like a final goodbye, and she struggles to stay there as long as she can.

But there's another reality she belongs to now, softly snoring in bed next to her. She opens her eyes, feeling the tears on her cheeks, and drinks in the sight of him. His hair is mussed, and when he's asleep, she can see the outlines of that young man's face beneath the surface. She thinks of Betty, and gently brushes a lock of his hair back from his face, tucking it behind his ear.

Betty knows what it's like to lose a child. Two of them, even. God, she hopes this place will afford her the chance to meet the woman again. Anything is possible, here, isn't it?

Aren't they both proof of that?

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'Wasn't,' he mutters, almost too quiet to be heard. Because he's tired of feeling like this, tired of being at the whim of a multitude of painful memories, tired of feeling tired. He'd give a lot to be able to lie in some proper sun, after a warm swim and...whatever else might happen.

It's not sensible, and he can't suggest it, after what he's said. But he just wants something to be different now, anything to pull towards something good.

It doesn't matter. He steps on to the sand, glad he's wearing boots so none of it will get in his toes. Maybe just a change of scenery will do it.

'Want to sit for a bit?'

The air here is significantly warmer, and the salt breeze feels good on her skin.

'No, I want to go for a swim.'

She's already haphazardly kicking off her shoes, and looking at him as her hands start to unbutton her blouse.

'You coming?'

'Er...'

Hahaha. OK. Um.

Sod it.

'...yeah.'

Though he may be already revising the 'skinny-dipping' to 'pants work as swimwear'.

He yanks off his rugby shirt, and refuses to think of anything. So what if someone else comes on the beach, so what if things move quicker than he'd wanted? Who cares?

'Good job I stuck shorts on this morning.'

'Oh, I see how you are,' she calls, throwing her blouse aside and turning her back on him. The bra soon follows, and then her jeans, complete with silky knickers. 'No, that's fine. I'll just skinny dip by myself!'

There is currently a bare-as-the-day-she-was-born Alex trotting down the sand, headed for the water.

...yeah OK, he's just going to stare at her a while.

Of all the times he's imagined first seeing Alex Drake naked, this wasn't anywhere near the top ten.

He's not complaining. He's yanking off boots, and socks and jeans and walking down to join her. He has no illusions. The shorts will be coming off. He's just going to maintain a shred of dignity a while longer, thanks.

Also, he averts his eyes a bit when he gets closer, so she has a chance to get in the water properly. In case she wasn't planning on giving him a full-frontal just yet, or gets embarrassed or something.

'It better not be cold,' he says, to the water just in front of him. 'A bloke's got some pride.'

He was right. She is a bloody minx.

Result.

There's a bit of splashing and then a laugh, bright and clear.

'Oh god, it's warm. The water is perfect.'

It's damn near bath temperature, and she keeps going, the water up to her waist now. She turns before she keeps going, looking at him standing there in his shorts. The waves push her around a bit, splashing up around her.

'What are you waiting for?!'

'Nothin'.'

He walks on in. She's right. It's practically hot, and the sun on his chest is doing its level best to raise his spirits. Not to mention the woman over there with her tits out, which he's sure are gorgeous but isn't going to look at until he's at least waist deep.

'Go on, I'll catch up.'

He's checking the length of the beach to see if anyone else is in view, or looks like they're approaching. Doesn't seem so. He keeps going until it's up to his arse, then dives forward into a wave.

Yeah. It's nice.

She laughs again, and falls back into the water, letting it wash over her head. The pins in her hair fall out and she doesn't care. It's warm and it feels like -- yeah, she'll go there. It feels like Heaven.

She lets herself go weightless, backstroking out into a bit deeper water, not too far from the shore. The sky is a colour blue she's only read about or seen in magazines. There are a few birds in the sky, and from here, she can see the tops of the palm trees, heads nodding in the breeze.

She doesn't have to struggle here. There's no white clown, no mad man and his roses, no shallow grave to find. The man whose ghost she helped is not far away from her; she can hear him splashing as he approaches. Molly is somewhere safe, with Evan no doubt. And it'll be hard for her, but she'll get through. She's strong, her Mols.

And she's strong, too. She may be dead, but that really doesn't seem to matter at this moment.

He emerges from under the water and stands up, looking for her. She would be bloody on her back - all he can see are her breasts, and he shuts his eyes and looks away. This was a bad idea. And a brilliant one.

She's not that far. He sighs, and swims over. He couldn't stay away for anything.

'Enjoyin' yourself?' he asks, coming up alongside her. He has to stay scrunched up to stay afloat just using his arms; it's not deep enough to put his feet down. If he did, he'd be standing over her.

There's a splash as she flips onto her stomach, startled by the sound of his voice so close.

'Yeah, yeah I am,' she says, grinning at him, trying to push her hair out of her face. 'How about you?'

'Not as much as I was a second ago.'

He raises his eyebrows and lets them fall.

'I'm uh, going to swim out a bit. You stayin' here?'

He's not the strongest swimmer in the world, but some exercise will do him good. He hasn't got the patience to laze around and play today. Not until he's worked some of the stress out, anyway.

She glances out across the water and then back at him, side-stroking around him in lazy circles.

'How far out are we going?'

The water is clear enough, but the distortion is such, she can't quite get the peek she's aiming for.

'Dunno. See how big the waves are, I suppose.'

He's trying very hard not to peek, though she doesn't make it easy, swimming around like that. He probably should have ditched the shorts once he was in, but sod it, he might let her take them off later if she wants to.

He sets off in an easy breaststroke, switching to crawl to get through the waves when they get higher, and then back. Not too far. He's lacking energy.

'You been to the Caribbean for real?'

'No. Been to France and Greece, but didn't get to go swimming.' She idles along beside him, alternating between sidestroke and backstroke, maybe deliberately teasing him with glimpses, maybe just enjoying the sun on her skin.

'I've always wanted to spend a week on a beach like this.'

She turns again, taking a deep breath before diving beneath him, coming up close along the other side, sputtering a bit.

'You're still wearing your shorts,' she singsongs at him, swimming out ahead a half length.

Figures that she'd be a fish in the water.

'Yeah, I know.'

He pauses to see if he can touch the bottom. Nope.

'If you want them off, you'll have to wait until I can stand up again.'

'It'll wait,' she says, turning again, trying to follow the sound of his voice. 'You know, I bet this place has all sorts of -- mermaids and sea monsters and whatnot.'

Because it's not paradise, she has to remind herself. Ace made it very clear, this place is dangerous. The distance between them seems less like a good idea, now that she thinks about it, and she closes it, doing her level best not to crowd him. It's hard enough not to imagine his wet skin under her palms, or what it might taste like to lick the salt water from just beneath his jaw.

Just keep swimming, Alex.

'...yeah, thanks for that.'

He stops, treads water, then turns around.

'I'm going back a bit.'

If she's listening, she might catch the barest hint of nerves in his voice. Stick Gene on a beach with a football, an inflatable lilo, some beer and a paper, he's happy as Larry. Sea monsters and big waves? Not so much. There aren't many beaches to swim in in central Manchester. Or London, come to that.

Plus, y'know. She's naked.

'Good idea,' she answers, following close behind. 'At least back to the shallows...'

She sets off in a crawl, and overtakes him. Someone may have given herself the willies, but she's not about to admit it to him.

The sea floor rises again, clear water revealing white sand under their feet, and she relaxes a bit, turning to look for him. When she catches his eye, she gives a little grin, and beckons him closer.

He eases up to her, and stands. The water is just below chest height on him, and he reckons if they were still for a minute, it'd be like looking through glass. The sun beats down on his back and shoulders, and it's just about silent, barring the waves and a breeze distantly brushing the palm trees.

He was going to make a glib remark, but it withers away when he looks her in the eye. For a moment, he just watches her face.

Then he leans in and kisses her, because he can and he wants to, and there hasn't been enough of it today.

Edited 2012-07-11 12:30 (UTC)

He makes a move towards her and she closes the distance without thought, wrapping her arms around his neck and returning that kiss with the tender hunger of a woman too long denied. Bare skin against wet bare skin, chest to chest, the sensation draws a quiet moan of appreciation from her throat.

She almost lost him, and the wonder of having him here, touching him, kissing him, isn't going anywhere anytime soon.

He only pulls back when a wave dislodges the sand under his feet, and then only long enough to take a breath. Gentle, hungry kisses, pulling at her lips before licking into her mouth, a quiet groan pulled from him as he tangles his tongue with hers.

He never thought he'd see her again. For all his reticence to look or touch so far, the wonder of it isn't lost on him either.

He deepens the kiss, and she responds in kind, content to let him lead the dance. She's exquisitely aware of where his hands are, wishing he would just fold her up in his arms, but not wanting to push the issue.

The waves push them together, and she falls into him, laughing softly under her breath, still intent on each new combination of lips and tongue. Each one is a little less tentative, a little more insistent, his hunger speaking to hers, making it impossible not to answer.

If she can't tell him how much she longs for him, longs to have him close, longs to soothe all the stress from his face and from his body, longs to reach down and soothe his heart, then she can show him, one kiss at a time.

He pulls back eventually, swallowing hard. And finally lets himself look down, and see what's pushing against his chest. His eyes close briefly - soft, warm tits against his skin, Christ - and then he bends, and brushes a kiss over the rise of one of them.

She tastes salty, of course, silk under his lips, wet and yielding to his mouth. He drags a deep breath in, aware of his heartbeat pulsing between his legs, and runs his hands down her sides.

'I think, Lady Bols, you're in danger of snapping my restraint.'

Edited 2012-07-11 13:41 (UTC)

Her hands comb through his wet hair, and she bites her lip when he bends, arching back to give him all the room he wants. His touch is so gentle, it draws a long, appreciative sigh from her.

'It would hardly be the first time,' she breathes, smiling, her voice warm with arousal.

That said, she cups his cheek in her palm and drags his gaze back up to meet her own.

'I'm happy, either way, love. Just tell me.'

'Not like this, though.'

His gaze rakes over her face as though the answer lives there, trying to think straight long enough to choose.

'Dunno,' he says, eventually.

'I mean, I do. But-'

He brings his hand up, fingertips over her stomach until he's cupping a breast in his palm and visibly struggling with want.

'-at this point, I think it might be me who wants to feel better. An' I know I'm not planning on going anywhere after. But I do have to leave eventually, an' maybe doing this'll make it worse. For you, I mean.'

For him, too, but he'll have distractions. He's not stuck here.

'I don' know if the Bar'll let me back, Alex.'

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