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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Skin to skin contact is about the most perfect thing in the world right now. He adjusts as best he can to let her get close, and then folds around her, kissing her neck and fondling her arse. He needs to distract himself a bit. Every stroke of her hand sends a flood of aching pleasure rolling under his skin, building slowly. If it didn't feel so good, it would almost be relaxing.

'I'll take care of you later. See if you w- shit, rub there - were tellin' the truth.'

Oh, yes, instructions are good, and she adjusts her grip to take advantage. Just there, under the head, the place where he seems to tense the most. He's thick in her hand, making her mouth water just thinking about it.

'Think you can, hmm?' She knows he can. She has no doubts whatsoever, but it wouldn't be them if there wasn't some push and pull.

She purrs, and her hips scribe gentle circles on his thigh, moving in time with her hand. Her grip tightens, pushing him a bit now, taking the whole length of him in long strokes.

His hard breaths start to turn into moans, quiet but undeniable. His eyes close, and his head falls back, making him feel like the pleasure is coming from further away.

'Yeah.'

His voice cracks, and the hand on her arse jerks, and moves to cover hers.

'Yeah, I think I can. Oh Christ, do it here...'

His fingers press hers tightly, making her index finger push right up under the crown. His thumb swipes across the swollen head, and he cries out softly. He's still, feeling the thrumming of his nerves and the way his balls have started to ache. But he can't stay like that. He has to move, and rocks into her grip, concentrating hard. His hand falls away, and curls around his swollen sac.

'Faster, sweet'eart.'

He's magnificent like this, the sun in his hair making him just as golden as he was before. She presses her forehead to his temple, her legs gripping his, locking their bodies together.

And her hand, all the care and attention she can focus, all of it goes into that place of connection. From the tip all the way to the root, switching so she can use both hands, trusting him to hold her close.

'Let me,' she begs, taking over from where he's gripping himself, exchanging it for a gentle, fondling grasp. Faster now, taking back control, her grip on his shaft firm and sure. Oh, but he's glorious, and she nuzzles his chin, kissing the corner of his mouth. Drinking in those soft cries like they're all the sustenance she'll ever need.

He opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a long moan, rising to something desperate by the end. His hips thrust forward, outside his control now, and he feels like all the tension in his muscles is melting down into one hot, hard core between his legs, like if she keeps stroking, she'll draw out everything that holds him together.

'Alex...'

It's a kind of warning, but he's holding off as best he can. Wants this to go on forever. His hand returns to her backside, kneading and gripping, and every breath rasps from his throat. He bloody loves his balls being played with. It's pushing him to the edge, and the sweetness in her touch - he can't cope.

'Soon.'

'Now,' she whispers, gradually increasing the pressure, her own thighs trembling as she holds onto him. She can't think about what this will be like when he's inside her, can't think about what it will feel like to share this with him. She can only think about him, about turning him inside out with pleasure, about burning away all the darkness, all the pain and sorrow. Only the heat and light have a place here now. Only the love in her hands, and in her kiss.

'Gene...'

His movement has grown as ragged as the noises from his mouth, spasms and jerks as he tries to keep control of something that refuses to be tethered. He wants to turn inward, against her, to hide the final vulnerability but it's too late, far, far too late. Her palm rolls, a finger catches and his head drops back like someone cut a string; he holds still, a slow spin on a razor-wire of light...

...and then it collapses and he's in freefall, snapping forward just in time to hear the straining groan, and the hot ribbons erupting all over his stomach. He can't do anything but watch, caught in the eye of it as it explodes through him. Until it's gone, and he slumps, panting against her shoulder.

He really, really needed that.

The water carries away all evidence, and her hand keeps hold of him as long as she can, still listening to him, learning when to back off. Her hands wind around his neck, and she cleaves to him, brushing his hair back from his face, smiling with shared relief.

She doesn't know if it feels like the beginning she was hoping for, but it's something powerful. He trusts her, and even if he hasn't found it in him to forgive her yet, she'll take it. She'll take it and hold onto it like her very life depends on it.

He turns his head and kisses her, a sated, unfocused kiss that's kind of the equivalent to the glazed look in his eye. He smiles though, and rubs a circle on her hip while his breathing returns to normal.

'Thanks.'

He doesn't know what else to say. They're still new at this. It doesn't seem right to try and articulate how good that felt. It just did. His whole body feels like lead, and it's not often that happens.

's'bloody good.'

She grins, meeting that kiss and taking his face in her hands, looking at him with nothing but adoration in her eyes.

'Sure looked like fun. Now, I can't wait for my turn,' she teases. The way she's still rubbing against his thigh might make him see she's not kidding.

'Come on. We forgot sunscreen, and you'll be a tetchy bastard if all you get to do is rub burn cream on my chest.'

'Oh, I dunno.'

His eyebrows go up.

'I think you underestimate how much I'll enjoy rubbing anything on your chest.'

He's not kidding. And his hand catches around her thigh, keeping it tight against his.

'You sure you don't want anythin' now?'

He's easy either way, but it's good to ask.

She takes the opportunity to steal another soft, lingering kiss, still caught up in being able to do that.

'I can wait,' she murmurs against his mouth, grinning like a fool. 'As beautiful as this water is, love, I'm afraid I'm turning into a bit of a prune.'

It takes an act of will to let him go, but she manages, kneeling up in the waves and offering him a hand.

He takes it and stands, suddenly conscious of being naked and in a very public place. It's different once the edge has been taken off.

'About now is when I'm wishing we brought a towel.'

Never mind. He leaves the pants discarded on the beach, and uses his shirt to rub off most of the excess water. It'll have to do. He's in rather a hurry to get back upstairs, as it turns out.

'Next time, yeah?'

Alex doesn't seem to mind much at all. It takes her a moment to find all her clothes, and her shoes, and she doesn't rush, taking the time to enjoy the last bit of sun on her skin as she air dries.

She also takes great pleasure in watching him, her gaze playing over his body while she brushes the sand off. Only then does she slip into her jeans.

'We'll bring a picnic basket and a shade umbrella. I could read a book. I haven't read a book in years.'

'No, you were too busy doing something useful.'

He pulls his jeans on, and buckles the belt. He's watching her too. She's so...female. Which, y'know, obviously. But it's something he hasn't had close to him in a long time, and he'd forgotten how it could be, watching a girl fiddle with clothes, and look at him like that.

He lights a cigarette.

'Thought we were comin' at night? I presumed you wanted moonlit walks on the beach, an' all that.'

She laughs a little, fiddling with her bra now. 'As romantic as that sounds, I've heard things about the full moon around here. But I'm willing to try if you are.'

The blouse gets a good shake before she slips it on, pulling her hair up from under the collar.

'I think I'm going to need another shower.'

''course. You're not gettin' sand in the bed.'

He does Not Like Sand. At least in places it's not supposed to be. For someone who prefers to be outside than in, there are a multitude of things about the outdoors he doesn't approve on. Anything that isn't a paved street, pretty much.

'But no, I'm not gettin' in with you. We'll never make it to bed if I do.'

He turns and starts walking. Slowly, so she can catch up when she's finished faffing with her hair.

'Gene?'

She doesn't even have her shoes on yet. And he's walking away, while talking about it like they're going back to jump straight into bed. She's more than a little confused.

'A little help please?'

'Hmm?'

He pauses, and turns.

'What?'

She lifts her eyebrows at him, hands on her hips.

'I'm not walking all the way back without my shoes on. I just want to lean on you while I brush the sand out from between my toes.'

Really. Grumpy or not, she's seen him with better manners.

'Oh.'

He always figures that if you've got sand in your shoes, you might as well just put up with it until you can find somewhere to get rid of it.

He walks back so she can lean away.

'Should've worn boots. Stuff just falls out of 'em.'

Item as proof: his own.

She grips his arm, and ends up with her shoulder against him, as it takes both hands to hold shoe and banish sand. Her hair is already starting to dry, the salt making it curl in soft waves around her face. It's a decidedly lighter shade than he's seen on her before.

'The day you get me into cowboy boots is the day hell freezes over.'

Besides, it's a nice excuse to get close to him again. Shoes taken care of, she ducks under his arm and wraps her arm around his waist.

'There. Much better.'

'Didn' specify cowboy.'

He considers that a moment.

'Though if you did wear them, we'd probably never get out of...whatever room you put them on in.'

Mmm. Yes.

He starts walking again, pulling deeply on his fag. Definitely a bit less tense now.

She matches his pace, and maybe her hand slips into his back pocket. Alex would never cop a sneaky feel, would she?

'Twenty-two year old libido, hmm?' There's a teasing lilt in her voice, and he might gather that she's a bit more relaxed, too. At least on the outside.

The thought that they might be spending their last few days together is still hovering somewhere beneath the surface.

'You know it,' he says, glibly. While being fully aware that sometimes, his body gets too tired for his libido to get a look in, never mind let out to play. But she doesn't need to know about that. The image is better the other way.

He rests an arm around her shoulders, and flicks his fag butt away.

'Orgasm factory?'

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