Strictly Business [Closed] - Printable Version
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RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 10-27-2016
“Don’t lose it.” Was Owen’s snappy reply to her approval of the card. He only said it because giving to her felt like a gift for some reason. Like he had gone out of his way to gift her something pretty. And he had in a way, which made him angry with himself. He made up for it with a three word gruff lecture.“Good.” She knew how to lock up, no need to remain in her presence which grated on his nerves at present. Owen brushed past Drusilla to leave the kitchen. The entire encounter had wrung him out somehow. His mind lingered on the feeling of her curves in his hands. A perfect fit. And her sly little smiles and secretive demeanor when he’d interrogated her color choices. Why did he let her fuck with him?
He shoved the door open to his office with more force than was necessary, leaving it wide open as he traversed the space to his desk where his phone was. “Lieutenant Colonel Hart. Get me Kendrick.” He demanded of the switchboard operator when he dialed into headquarters.
And now he was about to lay into some cheeky private in defense of Miss Haven’s honor. Why? He told himself it was because he could and because he needed to show this young enlistee that he couldn’t harass the females under his employ. He reassured himself that it was about his authority. Even though it really was to satisfy the inexplicable urge he had to protect his assistant.
“Kendrick.” His voice was gruff and obviously displeased. “It has recently come to my attention that you’ve taken to harassing certain female members of my staff. Am I understanding this correctly?” Though he asked the question, Owen didn’t wait for a response. The man on the other line was faltering and a string of questioning ‘sirs’ came out. “You should know that my personal staff are an extension of myself. They act under my authority. They are essentially me, in my absence. Therefore, I’m left with the conclusion that you want to fuck me, Kendrick.” ‘Fuck me’ was punctuated sharply like darts hitting cork. He paused for a moment listening to whatever was said on the other line.
“I understand you’ve applied for officer candidacy.” Seemingly a change of subject, Owen’s voice was some what milder. “I’ve decided to deny your application And you will be taken off all co-ed assignments for the next 6 months. Report to Major Forsyth and tell her I sent you. She’ll have further instructions for what you are to do with your time.” His voice rose in volume as he brought the hammer down on the lewd cadet. “Congratulations, you just got fucked by the Lieutenant Colonel. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.” He hung up with a bang of receiver.
That was Owen’s last executive action as Lieutenant Colonel for the day before he left for his briefing at the base. He left without saying anything to Drusilla, ghosting quietly from the house.
____
Owen returned from his assignment much later than expected. His car pulled urgently into the driveway with a squeal of tires which was inconsiderate of his neighbors at the late hour. Owen essentially crashed through his front door, leaving soiled equipment in the foyer. He moved through the darkened house, holding a bloodied rag against his side, with a long scoped rifle still strapped to his back. Blood matted the hair around his forehead and threatened to drip into his eyes.
Owen didn’t bother flipping on lights, he knew the way to the liquor cabinet. Selecting a bottle of Scotch, Owen opened it and drank deeply. He stopped to breathe, cringing as the liquid burned his throat. He gingerly took his hand away from his side where his uniform had ripped. He gasped, sucking his breath through gritted teeth, when the fabric from the bloodied rag pulled at the wound where blood had clotted. A deep slice to the abdomen was leaking dark red blood down his side. It hadn’t stopped bleeding yet. The area surrounding the wound was darkening nicely into deep bruises which would be evident when the blood was wiped away.
The soaked rag was tossed to the counter and Owen went back to gulping Scotch.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 10-27-2016
Owen’s sudden change in attitude didn’t seem to have any affect on her. “Yes, sir,” was her tight reply to his demand that she not lose the card. When he seemed satisfied with her answers, she let her expression fall into something like confusion to his retreating back before she went about cleaning up with kitchen from lunch. A few moments later she could hear him tearing into Private Kendrick. She had no idea why that made her smile a little bit. Thankfully, he wasn’t around. Since was normally only so expressive in his absence anyway. She tried not to think that he was defending her honor a little bit.
She didn’t know he had left until she’d gone into his office to retrieve a file. “Okay, bye,” she said sarcastically to the empty room. Drusilla was fully aware that he didn’t owe her anything, especially in the form of greetings and farewells, so she moved to the filing cabinet without giving much thought as to why she was bothered by his silent exit.
Drusilla worked on finishing what he’d asked of her well into the night. She checked her watch and frowned. He should have been home by now. Assuming he’d followed the itinerary and everything had gone according to plan. She told herself not to worry. He’d probably just gotten hung up back on the base or had gone out for a drink or something. She didn’t have to wait for him.
But she did. She told herself that she would only stay an extra hour. Planted on the couch she’d taken to reading to pass the time. The first hour passed too quickly, and she decided to stay one more. Those two hours turned into several, and it was well past midnight by the time he came crashing into the house.
She was alerted to his arrival by the sounds of his car, ears swiveled as she pushed herself from the couch and moved to meet him halfway. Owen made a straight line towards the liquor cabinet and he seemed unaware of her presence in the dark. She could seem him perfectly. The slow pace he made, hand clutching his side. Fear and worry instantly and inexplicably bubbled up inside her.
Drusilla turned on the light Owen had neglected just in time to watch him take a second series of swallows from the bottle. She froze. She couldn't help it. She stared, wide-eyed, but otherwise expressionless at her blood-coated boss. She tried not to think about the last time she had seen so much blood. The sight of him didn't compare in the long run, but she had gone out of her way for some time to not see very much blood at all. Swallowing past the rising panic attack, “oh my god," was the only think she could think to say as her eyes dropped to the wound in his side. She moved towards him, rolling up her sleeves in the process.
“Take that off,” she demanded of the rifle, forcing herself into a more manageable work mode. She didn't know if this was part of her job, but she was going to do it anyway.
"Sit down," she pushed him away from the counter and towards a chair in the dining room before he’d really had a chance to register her presence. “What happened?” She sounded like she was interrogating him. “Where else are you injured?” Her fingers already worked to unbutton his uniform and push it off his shoulders. She left the rest of the work to him, not wanting to fight past the bottle and also because she was walking away to retrieve a First Aid kit.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 10-28-2016
Owen did a double take mid-swig of Scotch when the lights were flipped on and Drusilla addressed him. His brows pulled together in a frown, but he didn’t stop his gulp. When he pulled the bottle away, Owen wiped his mouth of stinging alcohol on the forearm of his sleeve - his hands were covered in layers of dried and fresh blood. “What are you doing here?” He asked breathless from the drink and pain. His voice was nonetheless marked by obvious suspicion of her intentions.What was her objective for lingering late at his house? His mind was still in work mode.
He flinched in response to her initial touch. Heart rate rose and his arm lifted to guard his face in automatic self-defense as fight or flight kicked back in. The movement sent a searing pain through his side where he suspected he’d cracked a rib or two and elicited another gasp from him. Embarrassed by his reactionary state, Owen let his arm fall again to his side and he numbly moved to the seat she pushed him towards.
When he eased into the chair Owen unfastened the rifle from his body and set it on the floor by his feet. He shrugged the rest of the way out of his uniform top at the insistence of Drusilla’s hands.
“They jammed our com frequencies. I set up okay but my location had been blown. Intercepted intelligence maybe. These two guys jumped me. Rookies I think.” His eyes had glazed over while he rewinded the events of the night in his mind. “I took out the first guy. Eyepatch.” He waved his hand over the left side of his face signifying the eyepatch and then moved his finger over his throat as if slicing. “The other.” He blinked, he couldn’t remember what he’d done with the other one. Vaguely remembered also killing the guy with his combat knife. “I couldn’t go out back out the entrance - there was a truck blockading - so I set up to rappel down the side from the fifth floor. Eyepatch got up and cut the line. Guess I should have checked the pulse. I fell - oh - eight - eight and a half feet and rolled down the embankment on the side of the building. The grass was pretty spongy but it hurt to fuck all. Knocked the wind out of me. Fucker tried to shoot me too. Raining rounds down on me like confetti. The damn fuck can’t aim for shit with one eye. And bleeding from the neck besides.” He chuckled darkly and winced at the pain it produced in his ribs. "What a fucking mess."
Owen described the events of the night in a detached sort of way. Like he was speaking from outside himself while his mind was busy re-living the events. Rehearsing through the mistakes of the night. He didn’t even stop his description when Drusilla moved to fetch medical supplies.. Instead of answering the question as to his injuries, he probed curiously at the oozing wound on his side as if it weren’t even his own flesh.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 10-29-2016
"I was waiting for you,” she muttered, hoping he wouldn't ask her further questions about her presence. She didn't know if she could answer them. Drusilla didn't know why she had waited for him. She eyed the rifle nervously, before she leaned over him as he spoke. Listening to his recollection of events, she pushed hair away from his forehead, locating the bleeding gash on the side of his head. She tsked when he casually mentioned falling a considerable distance. She checked the dilation of his his pupils and he was mostly passive under her touch. Used to the routine and lost in his story.
Drusilla did not share his chuckle, but she nudged his knees apart with one of her own, and lowered herself into the space she had made. Kneeling on the ground between his thighs she pushed his hands away from the wound. “Stop,” she snapped, even though her own hands replaced his. Her fingers were gentler, her mind reeled through the triage procedure she had memorized.
“You need stitches,” she informed him, leaning over his leg to reach for the first aid kit. She would let find what she needed to suture him together in the kit, but she could clean it up some. “Why didn't you go to the infirmary?” She doused a gauze pad with alcohol, the sharp smell cut through the scent of scotch and blood. She pressed it against the laceration in his side without warning. “You have broken ribs,” she observed as the finger of her free hand gently palpated his side.
She would have to review the reports and assets that were apart of the mission. Owen was right, it was a mess and Drusilla was determined to find the cause. He had mentioned jammed frequencies and intercepted intelligence and her teeth ground together. It didn't not occur to her that her reaction to his bloody return was excessive and overprotective. It did not occur to her that this dreadful feeling was a testament of her own growing attachment to him.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 10-29-2016
“That’s not in your job description.” He informed her unemotionally. Technically speaking, it wasn’t not in her job description as her duties were fairly fluid and expansive. She was hired for the office work as much as she was for the essentially ‘caregiver’ role. He was a yielding patient used to the prodding, pushing, pressing, and pricking of medicinal business. He tilted his head back letting her lift his eyelids to peer into his pupils and examine his head. His hand was easily replaced by hers at abdominal wound site. When she pressed rubbing alcohol against the broken flesh suddenly, he didn’t pull away from her. He merely threw his head back and gasped a series of ‘ah hah has’ at the ceiling similar to the painful laughter of someone who’d stubbed a toe or knocked their funny bone.
Acclimated to the stinging pain, Owen let his head fall back and watched her hands at his wound. Seemingly unfazed by his own injuries and more curious than anything. He rolled his eyes at the suggestion that he needed professional medical treatment. “Eh, I’ve had worse. A little superglue and some Roxis go along way.” No doubt that was exactly how Owen had intended to treat himself. He traded the alcohol for a bottle of pills in the medical kit. After shaking the bottle around to hear the pills clatter against each other and plastic, Owen tossed a couple of pale pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry.
If he had gone to see the medics, he would have been admitted to the military hospital on head injury precautions. Blood tests would have come back positive for cocaine exposing him of the substance he’d indulged in before and during the assignment. Not something Owen wanted on his record as a decorated officer with career potential. Also not something he felt the need to share with his assistant.
“Besides, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Enjoying watching a Hart bleed. Something he assumed was a pastime of hers. A brush with death had left Owen in a dark mood indeed.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 10-29-2016
“I don't have a job description.”The hand close enough to stop him from grabbing at the pills was occupied with gauze, so she made an impertinent noise as if it would do anything to stop him. “I will stitch it for you.” She seemed to be describing something she was going to do with or without his permission, as opposed to asking for his permission. Frowning all the while as he knocked back a few pills.
Scotch and roxicodone, dinner of champions. Or in this case dinner for disheartened assassins dealing with a very recent brush with failure.
She dropped the gauze away from the wound, and used forefinger and thumb to pinch the serrated edges of the wound together, mulling over what kind of needle and suture to use. Without moving from the workspace between his knees her hand disappeared into a shadow at his feet. Her eyes darted up to see if he was at all paying attention to what she was doing. It wasn't a power she'd been intending to reveal at present, so maybe with the booze and the blood loss it would go unnoticed.
Drusilla retrieved nylon suture with the appropriate needle and a hemostat clamp from her brother’s hospital in Macrilan. She'd apologize to him for it later.
Owen’s dining room wasn't exactly the most sterile of environments, and she couldn't work with gloves on, so she'd resigned herself to knowing she'd be hyper-vigilant in tending to this wound in the upcoming days. She gently lifted his harm to prop it up on the back of the chair so she could easily access the wound. Clamping the needle with the hemostat she leaned her elbows on his thigh to steady herself as she worked.
His question came as she was tying off the last few sutures and her ears fell. “Why would I be enjoying this?” She asked tightly, tugging a knot into the nylon string and clipping the needle off with scissors she found in the first aid kid. She doused the wound in another layer of alcohol while she waited for his answer. Gathering everything in a pile, she braced hands on his knees to pull herself to standing to begin tending to his head wound.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 10-30-2016
Owen didn’t press Drusilla further on the matter of her stay after hours. He had come to the conclusion that perhaps she’d known the job would go south and had planned to revel in the fallout. Paranoid ideations were a feature of his mind after failure. His theory was somehow confirmed when he watched her pull medical supplies from a shadow. His mind was sent flashing back to the last time he’d saw it. She had given him a map free of charge then took his mother away. A lopsided transaction he had yet to settle squarely. His lips curled into a sadistic half-smile at the display but he didn’t say anything about it. Merely watched her work with that knowing partial grin on his face.
Go ahead and stitch me up so you can enjoy the show when I get ripped open again.
He wasn’t a particularly compliant patient while she stitched as he moved to take more drinks of Scotch which forced her to wait until he was still again before she could continue.
“Well you wanted to see what a fucked up person I am, right? That’s why you’re working for me in the first place. To watch a little blonde boy’s inevitable self-destruction.” This was the first more direct commentary on their past that Owen had ever let slip. Between the alcohol and the starting effects of the opioids his disciplined silence on the matter was failing.
“If that’s your end game, I respect it. I don’t blame you. Well played. But, I can get my own sick satisfaction out of this too.” His voice changed from caustic to wistful in just a moment. She stood and he tilted his head somewhat to look her in the eyes. A hand stained with dried blood reached up to touch a lock of her hair, fingering the straightened strands. He didn’t know what he was doing. “All the best war stories have some pretty girl patching up her soldier boy.”
She could watch him implode and he’d let her because she was beautiful and he was weak. The perverse smile was gone and replaced by something more contemplative. Owen let his hand fall back to his thigh and he looked away to stare at the medical kit. Anywhere but at her. Under the influence, the wall he’d erected around himself suddenly came tumbling down leaving him feeling exposed. Clearly he wasn’t so hard as he claimed.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 10-30-2016
“I'm working for you because you hired me,” she replied as if it were really so simple. It wasn't. If she were honest with herself she had accepted the position because she was drawn to him. She wanted to help him, to take care of him, to be near him and she didn't have a clue why. Drusilla was rarely honest with herself. So she continued to pretend that she stayed around him because she wanted him to kill her. He deserved the revenge he sought. She tilted his head down with hands on either side so she could clean the wound there. Little dabs of a cotton swab revealed the superficial cut that peeked from between blonde strands. “I don't have an endgame,” she murmured, deciding that the gash didn't need stitches.
Drusilla’s gaze snapped down to his when he touched her hair. Her usually hardened features softened, but retained their unreadable neutrality. He was hurt and he was drunk and very likely the pills were taking a hold on him. He dropped his hand and looked away. “Is that what you want? To be another good war story? I'd imagined you with a bit more ambition.” She sighed, a sharp passing of air from her nose.
With a hand on the back of his head, Drusilla drew him into half-hug before she could police the action. She pressed his head against her chest and loosely draped her other arm around his shoulders. “I'm glad you're alright, Ow- Lieutenant Colonel.” Physically anyway. The rest was subject for debate. She pet his hair once before releasing him, moving to pick up the mess she'd made tending to him.
“Take a shower,” she half-ordered. “I'll finish dressing your injuries and wrap your ribs when you're done.”
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 11-01-2016
Owen felt somewhat inclined to believe that Drusilla harbored no ill-will towards him. Perhaps it was the substances that had left him impressionable. Certainly vulnerable.The feeling of her gentle hands at his wounds, on his face, near his hair. He could pretend that she was stroking his hair even though she hair merely pushed it away from the wound.
That’s what he wanted. He wanted her to be stroking his hair.
Owen’s fingers picked at the label of the Scotch bottle while he avoided her gaze. “I don’t have anything else in my life -” he almost said ‘Julianna.’ Almost said her name. The real one. “-just the military. So if I end up being just some war story, well, I guess it's better than where I was heading a decade ago.”
Which would have been juvenile detention if the Covenant school hadn’t pulled him out early and gave him the ultimatum to join the force or continue on his delinquent path at another institution of learning.
Owen was pulled against Drusilla suddenly. The smell of alcohol was replaced by the scent of her skin. Something heady. More intoxicating than the liquor he’d wanted so badly. She hugged him loosely. He pressed his hand firmly in the middle of her back and sighed heavily against her shirt as her fingers moved over his hair the way he had wanted. He wouldn’t have let go but she was moving away and telling him to bathe. The moment over no sooner than he’d realized it was happening. He felt as if he were moving in slow motion. One step behind her.
With ginger movements that guarded the injured side, Owen pushed himself up from the chair. Wordless and numb he mounted the stairs and followed her instructions to clean himself. Red mixed with foamy soap in his drain. He washed himself mechanically determined not to think of the feeling of her hands on him. He scrubbed the stains from his hands and body leaving pink, black, and blue skin behind.
Owen pulled on plain black boxer briefs and exited the bathroom. In a better state, he would have taken care to dress himself further for her benefit. Ultimately, he wasn’t embarrassed by his bare body and felt she had no reason to be either.
He called for Drusilla and sat on the edge of the bed waiting for her to finish tending him so he could sleep.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 11-01-2016
Drusilla didn’t know what to say to him; she didn’t know if he wanted her to say anything. She had yet to learn how to deal with this side of him. So, she let him talk and drink as he needed to because that’s what he had already decided to do. When he was picking more than drinking she pulled the bottle from his hands and set it on the table. The hug had come as a surprise to the both of them, and her breath fell out in a sigh when he didn’t pull away. She was shocked when he sort of hugged her back, but she pulled away nonetheless, before she could get distracted by the feel of him; before she get caught up in just how happy she was the he was okay.
She watched him limp away at her instruction, and didn’t start cleaning up until she heard the shower turn on. Listening for any sounds of distress she went about picking up the mess, and checking the floor and table for blood. He’d left some tracks on the tile, but she would take care of those in the morning. She dumped everything in the kitchen trash and then took that trash to the curb.
When she returned she no longer heard the sound of running water, but she did hear her name. Grabbing the rest of the first aid kit she mounted the stairs and knocked lightly on the door, before pushing it open. “Much better,” she noted. Clean, but still battered and bruised. She moved across the room, the sound of her heels drowned out by plush carpeting. She stood in front of him, much like she had before and she was pleased that the smell of his soap had replaced the smell of blood and grass.
She set the kit down on the bed. “Arms up,” she instructed, tapping his bicep gently. Fingertips barely grazing his skin. She taped gauze over the neat row of stitches. “You’ll have to be careful about your head wound,” she advised, pulling an ace bandage from the supplies. She leaned to wrap the stretchy cloth around his ribs. She worked in silence, her face close to the side of his, hair brushing his shoulder as she reached around his middle to continue securing the cloth. Clipping the bandage to itself she pulled away again.
“There, you should be all set to get some sleep,” she told him, shoving everything back into the kit.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 11-02-2016
Owen didn’t answer when she knocked on the door. He didn’t turn to her as she crossed the room. The warm water from the shower had seemed to escalate his sense of impairment from the substances he’d mixed. Sounds like rushing water filled his ears, making his head feel foggy and full, and he felt vaguely acquiescent and mostly peaceful. Tranquil even considering the trauma of the evening.Lifting his arms as instructed, Owen laced his fingers behind his head like a prisoner submitting to a pat down. “I will be fine.” He promised in answer to her warning about his head. “I didn’t lose consciousness. I wasn’t dazed or disoriented. Doubtful I have a concussion.” His voice was quiet and distant as he rattled of these words as if they were produced from muscle memory. Just as he’d done time and again to medics who had evaluated him in the past.
His shoulder shrugged involuntarily at the feeling of her hair feathering over his skin. Electric tingles shot through his cloudy mind. “That tickles.” He admitted unthinkingly, a smile had been coerced out of him by the sensation. He didn’t seem to mind.
When she was finished, Owen scooted back onto his bed and lifted the blankets over his body. He pushed himself up on an elbow and caught her forearm. “You have to cuddle me now.” A sly grin dominated his face. Perhaps some deeply rooted desires were coming out. Perhaps Drusilla was simply a warm body he needed comfort from while his judgment was impaired. “Or I won’t be able to sleep. I have terrible insomnia.” If a cute smile wouldn't work maybe a guilt trip. In his drugged up state, sleep would have come easily, if truth be told.
He moved farther into the bed opening a space for her next to him. His hand trailed from her forearm down to her hand as he got farther away but he didn’t release her.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 11-02-2016
“Well, there goes the rest of my questions,” she murmured, after he’d finished characterizing the aftereffects of his fall. She assumed he would know himself well enough that she could take his word for it. Quite a lot of deadly drops in his work she figured. Ears twitched as he shrugged his shoulder against his hair. Gaze sliding to the side she caught sight of his smile out of her periphery. Her own small smile was hidden by the dim lighting and the curtain of her hair that separated them. It was useless for her to know that the Lieutenant Colonel was ticklish, but it was amusing. Drusilla was moving to leave the room when he caught her arm, she pivoted around to face him at the sudden contact. Brows shot upwards. “I have to,” she repeated, skeptical. Eyes scanned his face, the parts of him hidden in darkness were still perfectly clear to her. Cast in black and white in her night vision so the parts of him still in the light made an interesting and colorful contrast. His grin wasn’t helping convince her of his legitimate need for company.
She made motions to leave again, but his hand trailed down her arm until his fingers gripped her own and she paused again. She shifted back and forth on her feet, before stepping just far enough to place the first aid kit on the nightstand. He did not let go of her hand. “I will stay until you fall asleep,” she said, like a compromise. She finally removed her hand from his, so fingers could slip beneath the hem of her sweater to lift it over her head. The sleeves had been stained with blood and she didn’t intend to bring it with her and onto his clean sheets. She’d worn a plain white camisole underneath, and once again she was reliant on the cover of darkness. This time to hide her scars and the trail of spots like birthmarks that trailed down her arm.
“But you will keep your hands to yourself.” She kicked off her shoes next and arranged them neatly at the side of the bed before crossing the room to turn off the bathroom light. She climbed into the bed with him but remained on top of the sheets and blankets. She propped herself up on extra pillows, so she was mostly half sitting, legs clothed in black denim stretched out in front of her. He had chosen a side of the bed so she was mostly in the middle of it, waiting for him to arrange himself to his comfort.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 11-02-2016
“Yes you have to.” He ordered softly. He pulled at her hand expressing his insistence physically. Owen smiled and let go of her hand when she took it away. “Fine.” He agreed to her terms and watched her pull her sweater over her head admiring her figure as she did so. Her torso elongating with the motion and falling back to its normal length when her arms returned to her side. The dim lighting covered the features of her skin she had hoped to hide from him. Owen waited patiently until Drusilla arranged herself.
When she was still, he moved back towards the middle of his bed. He grabbed Drusilla around the hips from the side to drag her towards him the last couple of inches. He pulled a pillow out from underneath her and tossed it away to the floor. He wanted her spine at a more comfortable position for him. More laying down than sitting up. Lifting her arm up to make space for him, Owen moved in to settle his cheek against her chest. He lined his long torso with hers and pushed his arm across her middle without wasting the opportunity to drag his open palm across her stomach until his fingers closed over the curve of her hip. Half of his upper body lay over hers engulfing her frame with just part of his. Normally he preferred to cuddle a woman from behind, but this could easily become his new favorite. Making last few minor adjustments to not put pressure on any bruises, Owen finally stilled and exhaled deeply.
She felt better than he’d imagined.
Well he hadn’t imagined how she felt. He had felt her. Earlier that day. He thought about how his hands filled her waist and how easily he’d plucked her from that chair. Her reaction of surprise as she gazed up at him when he put her on the floor.
To satisfy the sudden need to confirm the feeling he remembered, his hand moved upwards to her waist and grabbed her there as he had earlier. It fit just as nicely.
“You feel good.” He admitted - a confession he might regret later. For the moment, he let himself savor the cuddling. When he spoke, his lips brushed against the swell the swell that the top of her breasts made when she was laying down. His hand remained with a firm on her side seemingly content to hold her. He was almost clinging to her. A raft in the darkness that threatened to swallow him.
He wasn’t aware when he fell asleep. He had marked the rhythm of her heart and trained his breath with hers. A slow relaxation of his muscles and Owen’s consciousness slipped away.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 11-02-2016
The softness of his voice and the way he tugged on her hand had undone her. Owen had kept his hands to himself for all of thirty seconds. "Hey," she muttered, though not enthusiastically as he started rearranging her. Her protests went ignored as they always did and she ended up laying flat with almost the entirety of his body across hers. She was at his mercy for the most part, limp to his adjustments, though there was a twitch to her skin when his hand passed over stomach. A surprised and involuntary inhale through her teeth. When he seemed to settle, so did she. One arm curled around his shoulders, and her other hand settled on the arm over her middle.
She listened to the sound of his breathing, but she was too keyed up to relax in a similar fashion. She may not have had a job description, but Drusilla was pretty sure that cuddling her drugged boss would not be part of it. His hand slid higher, skin on skin as he inadvertently pushed up her camisole with the movement, causing goosebumps that he hopefully wouldn't notice.
“Thank...you,” she replied awkwardly. She inhaled deeply making a face at how stupid she sounded. Blatantly unaware of the proper response, if there even was one. The hand on his back smoothed higher to curl around the back of his neck, fingertips barely brushing the hair there.
It was obvious when he fell asleep, his breathing slower and his body heavier on hers. Only then did she press her cheek to the top of his head. She sighed, closing her eyes as her hands made timed movements across his hair, continually pushing one unruly lock behind his ear.
Drusilla stayed for an hour after he’d fallen asleep. Staring at the opposite wall and stroking his hair. She hadn’t wanted to disturb him by moving too soon. When she was sure she could get away with it, she gently worked her way out from underneath him and climbed out of the bed. She covered him with the blanket, before picking up her sweater and her shoes. A shadow cast by moonlight was her way home.
A quick transition and she fell face first into her own bed. A timid glance at the clock revealed how late it was. If she was lucky she could get a few hours sleep before she had to be back at work in the morning. Even if she would have to get up earlier to shower.
Drusilla fell asleep still thinking about the way he fit against her.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 11-03-2016
It was pushing noon by the time Owen woke. The feeling of her body and the smell of her skin was on his mind first thing. He ran his hand over his face and groaned out loud to himself as he remembered his behavior towards Drusilla the previous evening. Vague accusations followed by gentle cuddling. What a mess. The scabbed cut along his forehead felt bumpy and rough under his fingertips. Just reaching upward sent a twinge of pain through his side. His whole body felt sore just laying there. Which said nothing of the gaping hole in his heart that he'd laid bare for Drusilla the evening before. What a fucking mess.
He was the only occupant in his bed because she had left. Of course she would leave. It was sort of disappointing. It was very disappointing. Owen wondered how long she had stayed. Had she rolled her eyes in the dark at him to later slink away just as he'd fallen asleep? Indulgent of his demands yet eager to leave.
The house was quiet. He couldn’t blame Drusilla for making the executive decision to sleep in and come in late after that evening.
But would she be back?
The thought that she wasn’t there, that she wouldn’t come back, sent a jolt of panic through his heart. It helped him muster the willpower to push himself up. Owen gingerly rose from the bed, continuing to guard his left side which had turned many shades of black and blue along his torso. The round portion of his shoulder was bruised as was his left hip and thigh. All of the impact points where he’d fallen were marked.
Just in case Drusilla was there, he made the decision to cover himself for her benefit with drawstring sweats and a faded CAF t-shirt. Scrubbing fingers through messy gold locks, Owen carefully descended the stairs. His rifle was just where he left it on the floor in the dining room next to the chair she’d put him in. The chair was pushed back in its place and no evidence of blood or medical supplies could be seen.
“You here?” He asked to the empty room. If Drusilla was around she would find him.
He picked the weapon up knowing it was still loaded and worked to empty the gun of the rounds. How irresponsible of him to have left a loaded weapon around for her to stumble over. He should have known better. The scenario of her handling his weapon and accidentally firing it made his stomach turn flips. One failure after another. He couldn't do a job right and he couldn't protect his assistant from his negligent ways. His fingers covered the ejection cartridge so the rounds didn’t rain on to the floor when he released them. He removed them each one at a time and lined the gleaming rocket-shaped rounds neatly on the edge of the table until the weapon was empty.
He closed one eye and stared into the hollow chamber where the rounds had been and stuck his pinky finger in to be sure it was fully unloaded.
“I’m moving kind of slow today,” He explained as if he needed to explain why he’d slept so late. The empty rifle was set on the table where it would stay until he put it up.