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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A few moments more and he's moving, still in her, bracing himself on the edge of the jacuzzi so he can lean forward and press a kiss to her shoulder.

'You alright? Not hurt?'

"Mmmno, fine," she breathes, resting her head against her arms. Her hips still move, just a bit, a decadent slow circling, the last of the heat bleeding away. Another long moment, until she can finally breathe properly.

She pulls away, hissing softly, turning in his embrace. Her hands slip around his shoulders, and she pulls him back down into the water, nuzzling under his jaw.

"M'gonna be dead by the time we reach the snow," she smiles.

'Oh, I think you'll manage,' he smirks, running his handd down her back.

Submerging under the bubbles bring its own kind of pleasure, warm bubbles mxing with the afterglow, steam relaxing the tension away. He coud stay here all night.

'You might be dead after, though.'

"Gonna die happy," she murmurs, her voice thick and drowsy. "S'long as you're with me."

She trails slow, sensuous kisses along his shoulder, before shifting to recapture his mouth. If she could form a thought right now, she'd tell him his kiss is better than sex. But language is so not on the agenda right now.

He'd never believe her. He doesn't think anything is better than sex. But kissing is very nice too and he returns it in kind, slow and full of feeling as he pulls her properly into his lap.

'Can't fall asleep in here,' he reminds her gently, though it doesn't seem like a bad idea.

She twines herself around him, fingers combing gently through his wet hair.

"In a minute," she murmurs. "Not done yet."

He chuckles and lays his head back, enjoying the quiet intimacy. His hands don't stop rubbing lazy circles over her back and sides.

'Was there anything you wanted to do in Switzerland that doesn't have to do with sex?'

Just askin'. He's fine if the answer is 'no'.

She hums, thinking, drifting on the endorphin high.

"I hear they do good chocolate." He can feel her grin against his jaw.
"Maybe someone could bring us some?"

He laughs again. He is indifferent to chocolate but it has its uses.

'We can get you some chocolate. And some mousse or something, so I can eat it off your body.'

She laughs quietly under her breath, nestling closer.

"You better be careful, Mr. Salazar. I'm going to get the impression you like me or something."

'Oh dear. Can't have that. I'll have to go back to just fucking you rough then.'

She knows he likes her. At least, he thinks she should have figured it out by now.

She's just teasing. She knows.

"I could go back to tying you up, too, y'know," she grins.

'I'm fine with that.'

Really, really fine.

'So long as I can do it to you as well.'

Beat.

'And if you think you can handle it.'

A shiver runs through her. She rests her forehead against his cheek.

"I trust you," she says, realising two things simultaneously.

It's probably not the wisest thing she's ever believed and it's true.

'That's not what I meant.'

His eyes glint with amusement.

'I'm told there's a limit to how many times a woman can come and still have it be nice - let me tie you up and do what I want to you, you might find out what that's like.'

Another beat.

'That aside, you don't trust me. You're in denial, remember?'

He hasn't forgotten the moment with the newspaper back in Portugal.

She pushes away from him, a huge grin on her face. "You go right on believing that, sugar lips."

She's going to keep it light. It's Christmas, when the world looks like that perfect still interior of one of her snow globes. (Belfast has no power here.)

"And with chocolate mousse and handcuffs, how can we go wrong?"

He grins back, pushing the things that need to be said away. They can wait. It's Christmas.

'And toys. And a blindfold. There's no chance of going wrong.'

She slits her eyes at him, still grinning. Idly, she reaches for the taps and the flexible shower head, wanting to rinse off before she gets out.

"Toys?"

'Oh yeah.'

He likes toys.

'I asked you once if you had a vibrator, didn't I?'

"You did. And I used to." Her eyes play down his body and back up again. "Haven't really needed it since you've been around."

'I'm glad to hear it.'

It would be insulting otherwise. And his eyes run over her body too because when does he ever not enjoy looking at her?

'But that doesn't mean we can't have some fun with it.'

Her cheeks colour at his look. Still, after all this time, he gets to her.

"I'm not into serious pain, but y'know -- testing the limits is good, too."

It's something they've never really discussed. And something she's a bit trepidatious about. The last time they talked fantasies, he got his nose bent out of shape, and she's still not quite sure how that happened.

'Really?'

His eyebrows raise and he stretches a hand out to run a finger down her throat.

'What sort of pain?'

He can easily imagine giving her a spank and the idea is almost enough to get him going again right now.

She lifts her chin, her lids drooping, blinking slowly.

"Still haven't scrapped, you and I."

Well, not for fun anyway.

He growls quietly and yanks her towards him, lips finding her neck immediately.

'We'll have to.'

Fuck yes, they'll have to.

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