sciencesaggressively | i dooooooooooooo cherish youuuuuuuuu lmfao no but really

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kate

i dooooooooooooo cherish youuuuuuuuu lmfao no but really

It's been a month. Well, give or take, but still at least a month since he and Kate had gone on their first date. It seems like so much longer, after everything that's happened--the casket, the car accident, meeting the surrogate parent, the nightmare--and yet, he's still got butterflies in his stomach as he waits for her on the roof, holding a bottle of champagne. It had taken him most of the day to prepare this date, and she's been working so he wants so badly for this to be relaxing and enjoyable and all those nice words that should be associated with a date.

He'd been very specific. Meet him at his place, no need to knock--not that either of them do anyway. Just beyond the door, he'd placed that little pink flamingo she'd told him about, the one that her friend had put in the casket with her, with a note reading Change of plans. Take the elevator. Inside the elevator, another note: To the roof. The door to the roof has a bouquet of daisies propped on it along with another note: No broken limbs this time. P.S. Don't laugh.

And he's here, on the other side, surrounded by more arrangements of every kind of flower he could get from the shop--carnations, lilies, roses, tulips. He'd had help, of course, especially with dragging the round glasstop table and wrought iron chairs he'd found at the pawn shop up here. Plus another lawn flamingo that he'd strategically placed next to what is now being designated as Kate's chair. He figures he can leave it all, let whoever happens to come up here take advantage of it, but for now there's a lit candelabra on the table along with an ice bucket, two champagne flutes, and two plates of roasted lemongrass chicken that are still steaming under their lids. A portable stereo is playing some soft rock radio, and he's going to be pretty damn broke until he secures a job but he wants this to be special. He wants it to be something she won't forget.

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When he starts talking about her friends and her dog, she feels strangely disappointed and she knows it's stupid of her to have built something up in her mind that clearly isn't on his mind just yet, but she's just been thinking about it a lot lately. Between the casket and the talk with Blaine, and Newt being hit by a car, she's been kind of teetering on the edge of telling him for awhile now, because what happens if she doesn't say it and then he's just gone the next day? Or what if something worse happens to one of them? Then he'll never know and she doesn't think she can deal with that, but at the same time, she's still been terrified to actually say the words. It makes everything a lot more real. It makes him into more than just some guy she's dating, which he's been since the beginning anyway, but she can't fool herself into thinking she's not completely in this anymore if she tells him.

But then he's looking at her and for a second she thinks maybe he's said something else. She has no idea what she thinks she might be hearing instead, but her brain still tries to convince her otherwise for just a moment, because he can't possibly be telling her he loves her. Her fork clatters against the plate briefly and she has to set it down; if she doesn't, she's sure she's going to drop it and when she stands up and braces her hand against the table, she nearly puts it down right in the middle of her plate. She's aware of just enough to avoid leaning straight over the candles, because the last thing they need now is for her to light herself on fire. They totally deserve this moment without any injuries or disasters, and when she kisses him, she's pretty sure it's actually kind of perfect.

"I'm in love with you," she says against his lips, after drawing in a shaking breath. "Not kind of, I'm completely in love with you." Saying it is scary and amazing all at once and she knows it's because she's been waiting to say it for ages now, convinced it was too much or too soon, but she doesn't care anymore.

Any needling worry that he might have had that she wouldn't say it back disappears the second her lips meet his and when she says it, when she actually says it, he experiences this weird moment of not being able to remember where they are, what they're doing, why they're doing it; he only knows that he loves her and she loves him, which is kind of amazing and he knows that there's a lot of happy couples out there and that's great but seriously, he's pretty sure he and Kate would blow the rest of them out of the water. "The fact that I can just say that whenever I want to," he tells her, rising to meet her height so that he can pull her closer, kiss her more deeply, "y'know, that I love you? That's pretty awesome. I hope you don't get sick of it because I don't have a lot of people to say it to so the novelty's not going to wear off anytime soon."

The food is left forgotten as he kisses her again because how can he not want to be as close to her as he can be when they've just told each other something to important? He wants all of her, wants to give her all of him, but it's like he can't get close enough. He kisses down the side of her neck, rests his hands on her hips and pulls so they're grinding. "You and I have a game to finish up," he murmurs, smiling against her jaw. "Sexy Chicken waits for no one."

Somehow they're beside the table suddenly and for several moments, pressed up against him like this, her eyes closed, Kate doesn't remember the food or the flowers or anything except him. He loves her and he keeps saying it like maybe he thinks she might forget between now and ten seconds ago and she kind of loves that, too. Sliding both her arms around him, she presses into his kisses happily, still grinning between them, unable to stop. "No," she manages to murmur, the fingers of one hand sliding through his hair as she pulls back just slightly, just enough to see him. "No, keep saying it. Say it all the time. Because I love you."

She thinks maybe it should be harder for her to say. It's been hard in the past, she's been reluctant and nervous, but this isn't hard at all. Maybe it's passing time or maybe it's him, but she finds she doesn't want anything else to compare it to. This is good, she thinks, she can stay here.

Then he pulls her right up against him and she can feel the breath catching in her throat as his mouth moves over her neck. "What about dinner?" she manages to ask, though, seriously, fuck dinner. She knows he put a lot of work into this, but she's pretty sure she'd be just as happy to eat leftovers a few hours from now and it's not like she's making any attempt to stop her own wandering hand, the one that's sliding down his back, fisting in his clothes to press herself harder against him.

He thinks he could probably cry. Okay, well, not really because that would make things really weird, just him randomly starting to leak tears right now. But honestly, he can't remember the last time he'd been this happy over something non-kaiju related which isn't even a sad thing because the kaiju had made him happy like, daily, but this is way different. This isn't monsters and aliens, this is stars in his eyes, heart beating faster, butterflies in his stomach; this is the kind of thing he'd never even considered would be in his near future, if even at all. She loves him. He shuts his eyes and opens them again, and she's still there, she still loves him. The feeling is unreal.

"Dinner?" he echoes, glancing over at the food. "Screw dinner, dinner can wait. I'll make you a new dinner tomorrow, it's a thing that happens every day. I only get to tell you I love you for the first time once."

She's kind of expecting that and her smile only grows at his words before she kisses him again, reaching blindly for the ice bucket at the same time, because if she's taking anything with them when they leave the roof, it's the champagne. She kind of wants all the flowers, too, because she wants to remember this night, this moment in particular, all the things he's done for her, the fact that he loves her. He loves her.

And it's that easy to distract herself from everything else. Her free hand falls on the edge of the ice bucket and she reaches up with her other hand, cupping his cheek. All that time thinking it was going to be so scary and it's not. Now that he's said it, now that she's said it, she just wants to keep saying it over and over again until he's annoyed with her.

"I'm bringing this," she tells him, tapping the champagne bottle with her fingertips before she leans in, pressing her lips to his cheek, then his jaw, then to the skin just in front of his ear. "Your bed is further away, but there are fewer people in your apartment." She knows Carla Jean doesn't mind when Newt is over, but Kate's pretty much intending on not sleeping for awhile and she doesn't want to be that roommate.

He glances down to see the champagne in her hand and nods because, totally fair, that's the good stuff. Spared no expense. Okay, spared a little expense, but it had clearly all been totally worth it. He's fairly pleased with himself, too, for having the foresight to do what he'd done to his bedroom. He'd briefly toyed with the idea of littering rosebeds over Kate's bedsheets, but he'd walked into her apartment only to walk right back out when he'd remembered Carla Jean would be there to see him do it and having to look her in the eye after a thing like that is something he never, ever wants to do.

"My bed works for me," he says through a kiss, finding it far more difficult than usual to pull himself away far enough to actually make clear conversation. He sidesteps, moving her along with him toward the door. The travel time to the elevator doesn't take very long, and he's got her pinned against the wall, one of her legs hooked around his waist and nibbles at her earlobe as he paws at the buttons until he hits the one for the fourth floor. When the bell dings and the doors open, he's just barely aware enough of their surroundings to be relieved that nobody's lingering in the hall to see them. There's no time for more words, not between the kisses and the quiet sighs and the soft gasps, not until they reach the door to his place and he's managed to open the door and they're in front of his room.

"Okay, this might be a little much," he tells her, blocking her view of the inside,"but it was like, in all the romance tips I found online, not that I was looking on line because clearly I'm the Doctor of Love just on my own." He steps aside, moving behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist as he waits for her reaction. The lights are dim and hey, it doesn't look half bad. "I want everything to be special for you. Everything."

It seems like it takes them forever to get from the roof to his bedroom door, even with his hands all over her, even pinned against the elevator wall and she's not even remotely surprised by her own impatience. She's been waiting for this since Halloween, even more since the day she caught him on the chair, and her heart is beating quicker in her chest as he pauses in front of his bedroom door. It's like being up on the roof all over again, she has no idea what to say, because he's done so much work and it's for her. All of it. He doesn't get anything out of it except her reactions -- and, okay, he'll get laid, but that was happening regardless -- and she's not used to anyone doing anything for selfless reasons. Certainly not anything for her.

But she's not quite as stunned as she was up on the roof and when she turns to him, pausing to set the champagne bottle down on a nearby tabletop, her mouth is pulled into a smile. "Good thing the roof went so well or this might've been awkward," she teases, her arms sliding around his shoulders. If he ever disappears or if they ever break up, she's pretty sure that's it. No one's ever going to be able to come close to him and she's pretty okay with that, because she might not have control over the disappearances, but she's completely sold on not breaking up. "Everything is special," she promises before kissing him again as she takes a step backwards into the bedroom, tugging him with her.

It would be special, she thinks, without the flowers and the champagne, without the rose petals, without any of it. All of that is amazing and she still can't quite get over that he's done these things for her, but if they'd been sitting on the couch watching TV and he'd turned to her and told her he loved her, that would have been enough, too. That would have made it special. She's only partly aware of kicking off her shoes, lost in kissing him and in the warmth of his skin under her hands when she slips them down to the hem of his shirt and pushes them under, fingers spread over his lower back.

He's glad she thinks so, that everything is as special as he wanted it to be, but it's kind of funny to him when he thinks about the fact that in about five seconds, those rose petals aren't even remotely going to matter anymore. Like, there will be absolutely no shits given about these rose petals by either of them because they'll be way too preoccupied with doing what they've wanted to do for months--that is the plural of month--now. To be fair, he's yet to find a moment with her that hasn't felt significant, that hasn't been just a little different from moments spent with anyone else, and he suspects that might be because he's been in love with her maybe for longer than he'd managed to clue himself in.

She has her hands on his back now and it sends shivers through him and maybe they could draw this out, drive each other even crazier, but they've been waiting for so goddamn long. He doesn't know if he could take it. He pulls his shirt off, a low whimper sounding from his throat when they have to break their kiss, and throws it aside, stepping out of his shoes as he gently nudges her toward the bed. "In case you forgot," he says, reaching around her to unhook her bra through her shirt, "I love you."

He's not the first person to have said it to her, but she doesn't remember it feeling this good until now and she smiles at him, bright and unguarded. "I'm just gonna pretend I've forgotten every day so that you'll keep saying it," she teases, running her hands down his chest, pausing just long enough to look at the tattoos and it's not like she hasn't seen them a bunch of times already, but she's never not going to think they're hot. When he unhooks her bra, a shiver races up her spine and she can feel goosebumps following as she drops both her hands to hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head. It gets caught on her hair for a moment and then she's dropping it on the floor, her bra following a second later and she's not nervous this time, not like she has been before. Maybe it's that they've already got the scary part out of the way and it turned out not to be quite so scary after all.

"I love you," she murmurs before she moves to sit down on the edge of his bed. There's a petal under her hand and she rubs her fingertips against it absently before reaching for him with her other hand, curling her fingers into the waist of his pants to pull him closer to her. She presses a kiss to his stomach, just above the line of his pants, and finds herself still smiling against his skin. "It turns out I could say that to you all day." She kinds of hopes she'll be busy saying other things in about twenty seconds, but she thinks she really could. She's never going to get tired of hearing it or saying it.

Edited 2013-12-04 21:21 (UTC)

His cheeks flush from the pleasure of hearing it--and from the way it feels to have her lips right there--and he's fully prepared to say that he'll never get sick of those words coming out of her mouth. He slides his hands down her chest, down her abdomen, and plays with the button on her pants. "I'm good with that," he murmurs as he gently pushes her so she's lying down on the bed. He follows, lying on his side and letting his eyes travel down her body. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to get over how gorgeous she is, how unbelievably lucky he is to have met her at the train station that day, how he's even luckier that she loves him back. "All day, every day, shout it from the mountaintops kind of thing, that's what this is."

He glides his hand down between her legs, letting it linger over the fabric before bringing it back up and undoing the button, taking care of the zipper, tugging at what's just another unacceptable layer between them. He's so fucking ready, it's not even funny, and knowing that there's nothing to get in the way this time makes his heart beat all the faster because all he wants right now is to know every inch of her. Once her pants are on the floor, he traces a finger down the inside of her thigh, along the line of her underwear. "Christ." He feels nearly breathless with want, with need. "You're amazing."

There's a response on the tip of her tongue just as he slides his hand between her legs and then all she manages is a soft gasp, her hips arching toward him. "God, so what did I give us last time?" she asks, already breathless even as he undoes her pants and slips them off. "The whole silver lining, anticipation thing, like, eight seconds? Because that's feeling about right." She figures there's plenty of time in the coming days for them to drag this out and take their time, but she doesn't think she can manage it now, not when she wants him so badly, not when she feels like they've been waiting for this for way too long.

When he says she's amazing, it's so easy to believe him, and she lifts her head, rolling toward him on the bed so she can press her mouth to his again. One hand moves down the expanse of his chest, then lower until she can find the button of his pants without having to break the kiss and it isn't easy to do without being able to see, but she manages to get both the button and zipper undone in seconds. She's impatient, but she tries not to rush, instead pushing his pants down with one hand, pressing closer to him at the same time, closer to his hand, to the warmth of him, as close as she can get. She's terrible at not rushing, though, and she has to break the kiss breathlessly to get his pants the rest of the way off, ditching them on the floor before she moves back toward him.

"Mmhmm," he answers, though he's distracted now because he's spotted something on her hip and yeah, that's another tattoo. He grazes his fingers over it, curious about it but not quite willing to ask her about it in the middle of all of this. "Eight seconds." When she kisses him again, he moves the hand on her hip up to her breast, teasing her nipple and gently biting down on her shoulder as he kicks his pants the rest of the way off, revealing more tattoos littered here and there over his legs, and uses his other hand to push his briefs down to join the pants so that he's completely bared to her. It takes a lot of self-control not to just rip her underwear off, he's that desperate to finally have nothing between them.

He pushes himself further down on the bed, kissing his way from her neck all the way back down to her thighs. He hooks his fingers through the band of her underwear and slowly pulls them down, his breath hitching as he finally gets them all the way off. This is what he's wanted for what feels like forever and already it's better than anything he could have imagined himself. He opens his mouth to say something but he finds himself pretty goddamn speechless. Instead, he hops off the bed and falls to his knees, grasping at her legs and letting them rest on his shoulders as he pulls her to the edge. The eight-second countdown continues but he needs this, wants so badly to taste her. He lowers his head, flicking his tongue at her clit before circling at her entrance.

What she wants suddenly and more than anything is to have him on top of her, his warmth and his weight on her, and when he moves down the bed, she lets out a soft whimper, though it's hard to be frustrated at the loss of him when his mouth is moving over her skin. Every bit of her feels especially sensitive and even just the brush of his mouth against her skin is causing her breath to quicken. She's impatient and she wants to do this for hours and she wants to see all of him, but then he's tugging her underwear off and pulling her toward the edge of the bed and all she manages is a short, surprised laugh as she's drawn toward him.

"Oh, fuck," she breathes at the first flick of his tongue and one of her fists clenches involuntarily in the sheets under her body. She can feel herself crushing rose petals between her fingers and she almost laughs again, but it comes out as more of a breathless gasp. Lifting herself on one elbow, she slips her other hand down, against the back of his neck first and then into his hair, holding onto him lightly as she watches. That seems like a bad idea, though, she's not even going to last the predicted eight seconds at the sight of him between her thighs and she makes a sound that could be his name before her head falls back against the bed, her eyes squeezed shut for just a moment. But only a moment, because she can't not look, she wants to see him so badly, and, already breathing hard, her teeth pressing into her lower lip, she tips her head to the side again, looking down at him.

The sounds she's making are nearly overwhelming to him, and he thinks this whole thing might end up being a bust before it can even really start if he doesn't act fast. He's aching to finally feel what it's like to be inside of her, it's driving him crazy, it's been driving him crazy. He gently pushes a finger into her as he keeps lapping with his tongue, moving it in and out, hooking it just so the deeper he goes. One finger becomes two, two becomes three, and she's bucking her hips and he's reaching a breaking point. He pulls back, smiling a little to himself when he hears a muted groan of protest and sliding his hands up her body as he stands. She looks so beautiful right now, naked underneath him with her legs still propped on his shoulders and her eyes just a little glazed over. He leans down, meeting her lips and swirling his tongue around hers as he reaches down with one hand and gives himself a few firm strokes.

He kisses up her jawline, swipes his tongue against the skin behind her earlobe. It's then that he pauses, cursing himself for not having been immediately prepared. "Condom," he mutters, and he has to lower her legs to reach over her so he can reach the drawer on the other side of the bed. Condom and then they can have their eight-second bliss. "I think we're actually going to have to downgrade to about 5 seconds because Christ, you're making me ridiculously hard right now," he tells her, grinning. It's not really a joke, he knows she can tell just by looking at him, but he's not trying to hide anything at this point anyway.

The things he's doing to her with his tongue and his fingers are so completely unfair and she knows it's been a good while since anyone's gone down on her, but she's pretty sure this is the best it's ever been and she can feel pleasure rippling through her. She's pressing herself down on his fingers, but then he's moving away and she groans a curse, draping one arm over her eyes briefly. When she pulls her arm back again, when he kisses her, she arches into it, reaching up to run her hands down his back, over warm, smooth skin and she grins a little when he mentions the condom, because it gives her a chance to sit up a little on the bed and reach down, taking him in her hand. He's reaching for the drawer and she strokes him a few times, just enjoying the weight of him in her hand, warm and heavy. She can't remember the last time she's been this into someone, if it's a thing that's ever happened before, but she loves him and he loves her and she doesn't know the last time she's wanted to fuck someone this badly.

And, okay, it's fair that he's stopped, because all she wants now is to have him inside her, but she shifts down the bed a little, ducking her head, dragging her tongue up the underside of his cock once, because if he can do it to her, she can more than repay that. "Ridiculously hard," she agrees in a teasing voice, her lips brushing against him as she speaks and god, she thinks she could probably just do this all night, even if neither of them are going to last very long the first time. "God, Newt, I want you so bad," she murmurs, tipping her head back again, trying to see if he's managed to get the condom or if she's interrupted and she'd be pretty content with either, except if all they're getting is five seconds, she wants to make them count and she kind of wants them now.

She obviously doesn't even want this to happen because she takes hold of him just as he plucks a condom out of the drawer and he nearly comes right then and there. She has to know what she's doing to him when she strokes him, and he can't even look at her because he's too busy trying not to collapse flat on his face. It's too much yet not enough and as regains control of himself, managing to at least tear open the package in his hands, he feels her tongue against it and goddamn it, this just won't do.

He shoots her a stern look, holding up the half-torn condom wrapper and shaking it. "If you want me to get this on, you're going to have to not do that. For now. You can do it all you want later, I promise I won't mind then." But right now he really just wants to fuck her. He pulls the condom out and tosses the wrapper aside, moving so that he's fully above her as he rolls the condom onto his cock. He brushes hair out of her face, smiling down at her before giving her a soft, sweet kiss as he aligns himself against her. "I love you," he tells her, "so much." He's lost track of how many times he's said it tonight but it doesn't matter because it's true, it's genuine. He laces the fingers of one hand through hers as he guides himself into her, dropping his head to her chest with a groan and taking a breast in his mouth as he shudders at how tight she feels around him.

When he gives her that look she starts to laugh, even though she's still breathless and still pressing toward him. It's a little funny, but mostly she's laughing because she's so delighted, so completely content in this moment that even the stern look he's giving her makes her feel good. She wants this to happen, so she smiles up at him and holds both hands up in gesture that clearly says she's giving up, because she does want this, she wants it more than anything and there's all the time in the world later for her to do everything she wants to him. He's given her permission and she plans on spending all the time she wants making him feel amazing.

But then he's on top of her and she reaches up again, running her hands over his shoulders and down his back, because she can't stop touching him. She needs to keep touching him, because even though they've already spent plenty of nights together, she feels like she has to convince herself that this is happening. That he's still here, that he loves her, and then he's kissing her and he's saying it again and that's all she needs to believe it's true. Her lips part and she draws in a sharp breath as he pushes inside of her and she wants to tell him she loves him, but it's like she suddenly can't speak and the only thing that comes out is a soft moan. Her hips lift to meet his as she squeezes his hand and her eyes flutter closed for a moment. "I love you," she breathes a second later, having found her voice, and she opens her eyes again, her hand cupping the back of his neck. "Oh, fuck..." She's so close to just begging him, although she doesn't know for what. Just more of everything, just more.

Newt is... overhwelmed. He's finding it hard to breathe and it only gets worse as he pushes further into her agonizingly slowly because any faster and he knows he'll be done for. When he bottoms out, he swallows a gasp and grips the sheets beside them tightly in his hands. His entire body is trembling with the sensation of being surrounded by her, his cock feels like it's pulsing inside of her, he's starting to see stars. He pulls back just as slowly until he's almost all the way out and lets go of the sheets to move his hand between them and rub little circles at her clit.

"Getting there," he murmurs, locking eyes with her as he shifts to take her legs and wrap them around his waist. He slides back in a little faster and his lips meet hers for a kiss at the sound of skin against skin. "I just want to feel you, Christ, you feel so good." He wants to stay like this forever, deep inside of her, feeling her warmth everywhere. He pulls back again and this time thrusts hard, pulling her hips up to meet him as he starts to pump into her again and again. It's been so long since he's been intimate with anyone, much less with someone he's been in love with, and he can't believe how amazing he feels right now. Even with the condom on, he can feel how wet she is, he slides so easily in and out of her. Her name leaves his lips in another moan and he changes his angle, hitching one leg over his shoulder as he continues to fuck her, harder and faster and with more urgency. "Shit." It comes out pretty much as a guttural snarl, deep in his throat, and he works at her clit again. "I'm close," he pants, "I'm so fucking close."

She doesn't even have to ask him, it's like he knows exactly what to do and when his hand slips between their bodies and she feels his fingers against her clit, she gasps, her hips jerking toward his touch. For a second, it's like she can't do anything else but ride the waves of pleasure rolling through her and then he kisses her, then he's wrapping her legs around his waist and she clutches at his shoulders, at his back, because she's pretty sure all she can do right now is just hang onto him. Her heart is hammering in her chest and she feels like she can't get enough air.

The sounds he's making are undoing her as much as his fingers, as much as every thrust of his hips and her fingers curl under against his back without thought, nails too short to do anything but press into his skin. Words are next to impossible, but she's glad they're here instead of in her apartment, because she knows damn well she wouldn't be able to stop the moans escaping her even if she wanted to.

"Oh, god," she manages when he shifts the angle, pushing her leg higher and almost the second he tells her he's close, she feels the muscles in her legs tightening, her entire body pulling taut as her lips part and her back arches. She can't remember the last time she felt like this, the last time anyone has made her come like this and she doesn't know what it is that's making her feel this way. It's everything, every bit, it's him, and she has to bite down hard on her lower lip just to keep herself from getting any louder than she already is.

When he feels her tighten around him, her nails digging into his back, it's over. He drags his hand down her chest, letting it come to rest on her abdomen as he manages to get in a few more thrusts, pushing as deeply as he can one last time before he falls onto his elbows, riding out his orgasm in time with hers. He's breathing hard, his heart is beating fast, and every part of him is still incredibly sensitive, but he doesn't want to move. He trails kisses down her neck and across her collarbone, tracing circles on her side and over her breast. "I think we got longer than even eight seconds in," he laughs breathily. "Be right back." He pushes himself back up so that he can pull out of her--and Christ, that's the opposite of what he wants to do. He gives her a kiss before hopping off the bed to get rid of the condom in the bathroom and comes back, smiling when he sees that she hasn't moved an inch.

He lies down next to her on his side, propped up on an elbow, and presses a kiss to her temple. "Does it ruin the moment if I say that was somehow even better than I imagined it would be?" he asks, plucking rose petals off her arm. "And also that I'm kind of stupidly excited to do it again?" The mere thought sends a jolt through his body and his cock twitches, still delicate from the pleasure that had been flooding through him just a minute ago. He smiles down at her, reveling again in the way she looks beneath him, naked and flushed and blissed out. "You don't mind taking up permanent residence in this bed, right?"

The first coherent thought she has is that she can feel his heart beating against her chest and she manages a faint grin at the sensation, her hands relaxing against his back, smoothing over his skin before he's moving away from her. She manages a faintly disgruntled whimper when she feels him pull out of her, because she'd kind of like him to stay exactly where he is for just a little while longer, but he's back within seconds and she tips her head to the side, smiling over at him. There are petals stuck to him, stuck to her, in her hair, plastered against her back, and she watches him pull one off her arm before she shakes her head.

"No, that was amazing," she says with a laugh. She's spent a lot of time imagining this over the past several weeks and whatever she'd been thinking, this has completely blown it away. "I'll live here, that's totally cool. At least for tonight and tomorrow." Suddenly she's extremely grateful she has the next day off and she wonders if she should call Carla Jean at some point just to let her know she's still alive and that she's not coming home. At least for a little while.

"So how much time did you spend imagining it?" she asks, turning toward him, her hand smoothing over his chest. "Like... just here and there or are we talking serious consideration? Because, I'll be totally honest, I thought about it all the goddamn time."

He covers her hand with one of his own, letting out a long exhale because he's still recovering, dealing with the familiar sensation of being both exhausted and full of energy at the same time--though he hadn't generally felt that way because of sex. It's better when it's because of sex, in his scientific opinion. He raises his eyebrows at the ceiling, giving her hand a quick squeeze and lets out a wheezy laugh. "How much time did I spend imagining it?" he repeats, running his free hand through his damp hair. "Oh, y'know. When I woke up, while I was eating, in the shower, walking down the street, drinking a coffee, breathing..." He turns his head to look at her, grinning. "So not that much."

He moves his arm so he can rest his head on it, still smiling at her, and brings her palm up to his lips. He likes this, too, the afterwards of being as free as they are together but in a slightly more vulnerable state. He likes that she makes him feels this way, happy for once to be still and calm and without a million thoughts racing through his brain--right now, it's just her, how much he loves her, how fucking crazy and amazing it is that he is sharing in a moment like this with her. "Your roomie will probably be happy that you're keeping me out of your place for awhile anyway," he teases. "She so adores me."

"So about the same 'not that much' that I was managing," she teases with a laugh, though now that he's mentioned himself in the shower she's thinking of that -- not for the first time either -- and she closes her eyes briefly, a gentle smile curving her lips. They have all the time in the world, but she kind of can't wait to do everything at the same time. Patience has never been her strong suit, especially not when it comes to something she likes. When she opens her eyes again, he's smiling at her and her own smile grows in response as she rolls onto her back again, looking up at the ceiling. It's not like she hasn't slept with anyone else, but she knows for certain there's never been a first time like this and she stretches her arms over her head, feeling content and comfortable and in love.

Turning over onto her stomach, she shifts over so she can drape her arm across his abdomen, resting her chin on his chest. "She does like you," she says and even though she's still smiling -- she's pretty sure she wouldn't be able to stop no matter what she tried -- she's entirely serious. If her friends didn't like him, it wouldn't have changed anything, but she's glad they do. It makes it a lot easier to have him over. Lifting her chin long enough to glance down the length of his body, she looks back up at him a second later. "But I don't want to talk about my roommate right now. I've totally spotted more tattoos."

He's more than happy to oblige with the no talking about roommates, even if he's glad to hear verbal confirmation that Carla Jean doesn't want to murder him. Tattoos, though, that's always a subject he can get on board with. "What, these?" he asks, lifting his head up a little to glance down at himself before plopping it back on the mattress. "They're mostly older. Y'know, whole rebellious I-don't-want-to-be-a-stereotypical-genius-scientist phase, the usual. Got some Godzilla, some Mothra going on." He points them out easily as he speaks, having long since memorized the position of all the art displayed on his body--and yeah, maybe they come off as a little dorky to a lot of people, they're still near and dear to him. Godzilla and Mothra, man, come on, the entire reason he fell in love with monster movies in the first place. It had only seemed right. Every single one had hurt like a bitch but every single one had also been worth the external expression of what has made him him for more than three decades.

He likes having her draped over him and he runs a hand through her hair, playing with the ends as he places a kiss at the top of her head. "Don't laugh at the dinosaurs, though, okay? You know how much I love them. Almost as much as I love you."

"Would I laugh?" she asks, which is probably a terrible question to ask, because she might laugh, but not at the tattoos. She really does like them, she likes that they're important to him instead of just random shit he's had tattooed on his body like both of hers. The one on her hip reminds her of her mom, but it's not like the symbols themselves mean anything to her. It's not like meaning is a requirement to get a tattoo, but she's sort of made herself a promise, that anything she gets from here on out has to mean something. "Come on, you know I like them." They're not the first thing she noticed about him -- that would have been the way he'd encouraged her enveloped related rage at the station -- but they're pretty close to the top of the list.

"The place where I got the one on my hip had like, four options," she tells him, rolling her eyes at herself. "My mom and I had been on our way to St. Louis Galleria and I convinced her to turn into some stupid hotel instead. It was supposed to be like, a weekend away for the two of us and I just totally ruined it by being a complete dick, so my mom transitioned into T, the teenaged alter, and nearly got the word slut tattooed on her hip in huge letters." And it would have been Kate's fault. "It was this totally seedy place and it was like, 'slut', a playboy bunny, a shamrock or some random symbols. Totally stupid that I don't even know what they mean, right? It probably just says slut in another language." But it still reminds Kate of her mom and that's pretty much what counts.

Edited 2013-12-09 13:16 (UTC)

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