latino_menace | OOM: Christmas

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OOM: Christmas

It had taken three attempts to get Bar to open the door to where he wanted to go. Three times he looked out on a truly scummy bar filled with sweaty, running men and the sounds of choppers bearing down in the distance; Hell on the edge of a jungle.

Not where he wants to be right now.

On the fourth attempt - it's warm. Not hot, but pleasantly mild and the view is of a comfortably lived-in sitting room, with child's toys in a corner and overstuffed sofas and armchairs dotted around. The first thing his eyes rest upon is a glass still half full of Scotch; the second a stone block on the table, a sculpture with a woman's face looking out of one side. He pauses for a moment (so long since all that), then wanders in and puts his bag down, goes to the French windows to look over the garden that ends in beach and then, nothing but sea. Three thousand miles of sea standing between him and home.

But it's alright. It's nice to see the place again. He'd had mixed feelings the night before, wondering if it would be unpleasantly strange to have Fiona here. But it's not. He wants her to see it. For some reason, letting her see the places he lives is like letting her see himself. It's not even about showing off, this time. The house is not small but still modest by his standards. And it was a real home, for a while. Maybe he wants her to know that he can live normally, sometimes.

'Want a tour or do you want to head straight off? I just need to make a couple of calls before we go.'

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She lingers for a long time in that kiss, lingers in the strength and the heat of him. When she finally breaks the kiss, it is with some reluctance.

"Come on, let's get on the road."

He's more than reluctant but they do have a long trip in front of them. He releases her slowly (giving her ass a squeeze first, obviously).

'Alright.'

He picks their bags up and heads to the garage, averting his eyes from the Z4 and dumping the bags in the trunk. The dent in the front gets a rueful smile and he says,

'You ever end up having kids, pay someone else to teach them to drive.'

If you know someone long enough, well enough, you learn where their gaze will travel. And when their gaze shifts abruptly, you notice. Her eyes glance to where he's pointedly not looking. Not his style, she thinks. Someone else's, then.

Let it go.

"Not something I ever have to worry about," she says. "And it's just a dent. Hell, I've driven worse. It's not like it's being held together with bailing wire and spit, now, is it?"

She lets her accent grow thick, smiles at him.

Lighten the mood.

It's motherfucking Christmas, right?

If it helps, he's certainly not trying to bring her down on purpose.

And his only reply to her comment about kids is a quiet snort - it could be amusement or scepticism in equal part.

'Yeah, I know it's not so bad. I just can't afford to get pulled over for it.'

He pulls out of the garage and heads for the coast road. When they stop to put air in the tyres, she'll see what he means - his face is plastered over most of the front pages.

She sees it even before they get out.

"Stay in the car," she says, her tone not brooking any discussion. "I can get this." And she does, with a certain mechanical efficiency.

When she gets back in, she's picked up some bottled water for the trip.

She cocks an impressed eyebrow at him. "Someone's all kinds of popular, I see. Maybe we should have called for a driver?"

'Yes, ma'am,' he murmurs, wondering if it's wrong to be vaguely aroused by her tone.

As he watches her work he concludes that if it's wrong, he doesn't want to be right.

'Aren't I always popular? he asks, in an entirely fake innocent tone when she slips back into the passenger side and he sets off again.

'I'm offended by the notion that I'm not.'

She leans over and gives him a nip on the ear, kissing his cheek before she sits back.

"Well, there's the right kind of popular, and then there's this."

She pulls out the newspaper she tucked in her back pocket, and starts reading.

He smiles at the kiss but his hands tighten somewhat on the steering wheel and his face falls as soon as she looks away. This was the stuff she didn't want to read before - or, at least, that he assumed she didn't want to read so he kept it away from her in the bar. Time has, after all, not moved here - somwhere in Panama right at this minute, some magic is stopping events unfolding but that doesn't mean that yesterday's jail break isn't still going to be hot news.

He's sure it'll be fine. The papers in America had suppressed the facts about the virus due to the panic it might cause so maybe they will in Europe too? (He knows it's unlikely, publishing is far freer here). But there will, at the least, be his career bullet points in there, right next to words like 'notorious', 'dangerous' and possibly 'psychotic' (his personal favourite).

Probably nothing she hasn't already figured out. Though he can't imagine she'll be impressed if they found that Mexican guy's body already.

'Anything interesting?'

He might be commenting on the weather, his tone is so light.

Lucky for him, she's only skimming the high lights. There really isn't anything here she didn't already surmise. Bored, she pitches the paper into the back seat.

"Nope," she drawls, kicking off her shoes and putting her feet up on the dash, sprawling in the seat.

She looks across at him, smirking. "Nothing I need to know, anyway."

He laughs and rests his hand on her leg as he swings on to the motorway.

'In denial, huh?'

He's kidding though he's also sure its true.

'Why don't you think about what you want to do first when we get there.'

In denial. In love. Doesn't matter which, really.

(She'll read it later. Her curiosity won't let her do anything less. And when she does, she'll save it. And if it finds its way into Michael's hands at some point, the narration wouldn't be terribly surprised.)

"Mmm," she purrs, smiling, the paper completely forgotten for the moment. "Hot tub, I think. Kind of -- traditional for us, don't you think?"

She reaches up to run her fingers through his hair, her eyes full of her heart.

He laughs again, delighted with the idea.

'I thought you were going to say skiing or shopping or something.'

Sex is by far the better option. And really, he's not at all surprised. If he has his way, they'll barely get out of bed, let alone the chalet.

She wrinkles her nose at him, playful.

"Did you want to go skiing? Or shopping or something?"

'No,' he says, decisive, rubbing over her thigh.

'I want to get into you and stay there for the next week.'

He is nothing if not honest.

She hums, low and hungry, at the idea. Her eyes close and her head tips back, resting against his shoulder.

"Yeah," she agrees, clearly already envisioning it behind her eyes. Her knees press together tight for a moment and then she sighs.

He grins and hits the gas harder.

'We could stop early.'

Just a suggestion.

'We'll still get there tomorrow.'

She doesn't even open her eyes, but her smile definitely widens.

"Mmm, means we'd have to get out of bed and keep driving," she drawls.

One hand snakes into his lap, caressing along the inside of his thigh.

'We have to stop some place anyway,' he points out, looking down at her hand on his leg.

Never mind that they haven't even made it to Lisbon yet.

"True."

She looks up at him, fingertips still teasing. Her tongue swipes over her lower lip as she pulls it between her teeth.

"I want you aching for me by the time we get there, baby."

'I usually am.'

It's a particular skill she has, making him want. He takes a breath though and focuses on the road. Switzerland seems like a really long way away right now.

'Madrid. We'll stop in Madrid.'

He thinks he can make it that far. Hopefully.

She watches him focus on the road, watches that want play over his face, watches it move in his body.

"Madrid sounds good," she purrs. She's hungry for him all the time. It's only fair she shares the sentiment.

She sits back up a little, and fumbles with the seat control, tipping it back a little.

"Maybe I should nap a little? So I can spell you later?"

He looks over. Seeing her laying back like that...not helping.

'Go ahead. I should be alright though, as long as you let me get some sleep tonight.'

But he wont complain if she doesn't.

'I'll wake you up when we get there.'

She keeps a hand on him the whole way to Madrid, even in her sleep. It's something he's noticed. If he's close enough to touch, she's touching him.

She yawns and stretches when he wakes her up, looking up at the hills.

"Man, I always forget how much this looks like Los Angeles."

And most of the time, he enjoys it. Like now. (It's entirely probable that he's been touching her as well. What? It's a long drive.)

'Los Angeles is a shithole. Spain is beautiful.'

So there.

'There's nothing Americans can't ruin.

Sleep well?'

"Yeah," she gives him a sleepy smile, stretching her arms over her head.

"How far's the hotel?"

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