latino_menace: (Sigh/Goddamnit/Thinking)
[personal profile] latino_menace


The evening had proved to be as fun as the day. The new boat was amazing, especially after he remembered how you're supposed to drive one. They'd gone for a long ride and then stopped off for dinner and drinks before heading home. Idyllic, really.

Except there was...something. Lots of somethings, really. All evening - and then all night - he kept being assailed by conversations he never knew he'd had before. He vividly remembers Teja putting him in the cells after he stabbed him...except if you'd asked him about it an hour before, he would have sworn that it never happened at all. And yet there it is, in his head. It's not clear, parts seem to have faded but it seemed so real.

It had got worse in the night. He'd dreamt that he was in bed with Mary Anne, only to wake up and find Fi. When he tried to shake the dream off, it wouldn't go. The next time, it was Saffron. Then he was in the Milliways cells, doing endless pushups to pass the time. Ramon's not the type that dreams much but what worries him - not that he'll admit it out loud - is that its happening when he's awake. Last night it had got to the point where he couldn't work out what was real or not, what the time was, who he was with or whether he was sleeping.

It was a restless night. Which is why dawn finds him sitting out on the balcony, smoking and drinking coffee, wearing just a robe and trying to work this out. Last time something similar happened, he nearly lost his mind and then his life. He'd really rather that didn't happen again.

Date: 2010-02-15 11:14 pm (UTC)
justcallmefee: (confused)
From: [personal profile] justcallmefee
Her brow furrows, shocked that he would even have to ask the question.

"Yeah of course I did."

"What do you mean by this could change everything?"

She knows it's bizarre for him, but she can't help the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Date: 2010-02-15 11:28 pm (UTC)
justcallmefee: (two and two)
From: [personal profile] justcallmefee
"Why?" She reaches up to touch his cheek, a feather light caress, needing him to see her, really see her right now.

"Because he's not you, that's why."

Date: 2010-02-15 11:49 pm (UTC)
justcallmefee: (two and two)
From: [personal profile] justcallmefee
Her expression shifts. "He may be from your past, but he's not the man you are today."

"He's not the man who kissed me in that median. He's not the man who held my bloody hand in the stables and who backed me up against the wall and -- kissed me. He's not the man who -- who bought me Evita's diamonds."

She's scared. He can hear it in her voice.

"Listen, he's right behind that door. Do you want me to go get him? Bring him here?"

Date: 2010-02-15 11:58 pm (UTC)
justcallmefee: (adamant)
From: [personal profile] justcallmefee
"You want me to go kick his ass back through his door?"

She's shifted from scared to angry, but he's seen the truth of it.

Date: 2010-02-16 12:06 am (UTC)
justcallmefee: (not my happy face)
From: [personal profile] justcallmefee
"Oh nothing," she says, looking down to where her hands rest on his chest. He's warm and solid beneath her, his voice is the right timbre in her ears, years of cigar smoke and tequila having filed off all the bright edges. Her fingertips dig into his skin, just a little, feeling the soft layer of padding over his muscles. It's her Ramon, not some young punk who called her puta.

"You just as much asked me why I didn't cheat on you. With your nineteen year old self. Excuse me if I'm a little -- taken aback by that."

Date: 2010-02-16 12:19 am (UTC)
justcallmefee: (close to you)
From: [personal profile] justcallmefee
If she wanted a machine in bed, she'd stock up on D-cell batteries.

She leans into that kiss, and he feels the tension bleed out of her slowly. She rests her forehead against his, her hands plucking fretfully at the front of his shirt.

"He wasn't anywhere near as smooth as you are, caro. He insulted me."

She hasn't ruled it out yet. But she suspects it'd be more trouble than it was worth. No, she knows it would be.

"No, I want you," she breathes against his mouth.

Date: 2010-02-16 12:32 am (UTC)
justcallmefee: (close to you)
From: [personal profile] justcallmefee
Her breath quickens as his hands slip beneath her shirt, and she lets her hunger for him slip a little, deepening the kiss. (This is what she wants. This taste, this feel of him against her lips, to wash away the other not-quite-right memory.)

When she pulls away again, there's a tiny smile on her lips and her hands tug at his shirt.

"You were quite the punk. A young bull," she whispers in Portuguese. "Said I could never wear you out."

Date: 2010-02-16 12:49 am (UTC)
justcallmefee: (don't try me)
From: [personal profile] justcallmefee
A shiver courses through her, electric and sharp. Her fingers undo the buttons of his shirt, slipping beneath so she can trail her nails across his chest.

"I can't ever get enough of you now," she purrs, mirroring the smirk back to him.

She steals another kiss, slow and deep, arching her body into his touch, her hips rocking against him, completely unconscious. And abruptly she pulls back to look at him.

"You do not have permission to fuck younger me if you ever see me in the bar, do you understand?"
Edited Date: 2010-02-16 12:49 am (UTC)

Date: 2010-02-16 12:53 am (UTC)
justcallmefee: (flames)
From: [personal profile] justcallmefee
"No, just -- no."

There's a little roar on her lips and she kisses him again, fierce, possessive. Hungry.

Date: 2010-02-16 05:13 am (UTC)
justcallmefee: (close to you)
From: [personal profile] justcallmefee
In some distant part of her mind, she knows he belongs to someone else, that he could walk away from her at a moment's notice and never look back. She knows this. But that doesn't stop her heart and her body from believing, from feeling like he is hers. She can't conceive of sharing him, not even with herself.

She hears that growl and feels the need of his touch, and something flares behind her breast bone. She lets him lifts her arms over her head, stripping off her shirt, before wrapping around his neck and recapturing his mouth, claiming him all over again. Her knees grip his hips almost to the point of pain.

She wants him present in the moment, wants him to feel only her.

Date: 2010-02-16 06:06 pm (UTC)
justcallmefee: (close to you)
From: [personal profile] justcallmefee
She remembers the graze of his hand against hers, and the heat of his breath against her throat as the whisky bottle spun on the floor. She remembers the way he held her down in the sand, his fist closed around her throat. She remembers the feel of his hand fisted in her hair as he licked cocaine dust off the small of her back. She remembers the feel of his hands on her hips as she swayed to the music, cooking dinner in that crappy little kitchen. She remembers the sound of his voice as he strained against the restraints, watching her get off for him.

She pours the heat of every memory into her touch, into her kiss, slow and hungry. He won't hear the words. He is a creature of sensation, a creature of passion. She is too. She knows that now. He scares her because he is so much like her. He represents the past road she didn't take, the future she doesn't have.

She rises on her knee, never breaking that kiss, letting him shift her jeans down over her hips. She stands to kick them off, never more than a heartbeat between mouthfuls. His thumbs find the hollows of her hips, his strong hands curling around her hipbones, and she moans against his lips, settling back across his thighs.

Date: 2010-02-16 07:08 pm (UTC)
justcallmefee: (close to you)
From: [personal profile] justcallmefee
Her hands fist in his shirt again, her knuckles gone white. Her breath shudders against his lips, her silken wetness sliding down the hard length of him. Her whole body undulates against him, vibrating.

She wants to scream and rage at him, You, I love you. But she doesn't dare give that sentiment any air at all. She doesn't want him to think her weak and pathetic. (Oh but the sound of his voice makes her weak, and she doesn't care.)

The tension of her weight shifts and she hears the fabric of his shirt tearing under her hands. The linen rips across the back and she keeps pulling until it falls off his shoulders, frantic hands pushing the tatters away, sharp nails fixing in his skin.

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Ramon Salazar

September 2010

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