suicidemission | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

He’d told her nine and abruptly left, fleeing the situation like it was a hive of bees chasing after him. He’d promptly gone back to his room where he’d taken a cold shower, drank a gallon of water to free himself of the warm, lingering buzz that he’d obtained from either the alcohol or her presence (he couldn’t be sure what was truly the cause), then sat on his bed and vented at Max for several hours – Max, who very patiently sat there and listened to all of it.

He didn’t have a lot of input, though.

When Chuck had at least some of his sense back, he takes a proper shower and puts on clean clothes and finds an ancient bottle of cologne stuffed in the bottom drawer of his dresser that, on further inspection, expired about three years ago but still smells okay, and shoves what he’d had on and his previous, soaking wet set into the laundry chute.

He kills more time by walking Max through the ‘Dome and ignores most people that talk to him, allowing only Miss Mori to pet his dogs head before he swings by his old mans room, pawns the animal off on him with barely a word (save for insistent pestering as to her name - Rhoda, it suited her), then doubles back to her room where he raps on the metal twice and waits, hands behind his back, face affixed with the usual, surly look he was so often seen with.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He immediately lets her in, lips parting to allow her tongue to slide in and against his. He's pretty sure he's died at this point, because nothing this good ever happens to him. Heat pools in his stomach then spreads out through his limbs and he shivers, but it's not because of the chilly air.

His arms go around her and he keeps her in close, one hand going to the back of her head to just gently cradle her as he explores her mouth with newfound eagerness.

Rhoda has no idea how much real experience Chuck has with this sort of thing — despite what the tabloids speculate, she doesn't really believe he's left a slew of broken hearts in his wake, he doesn't seem nearly comfortable enough around her for that to be true — but she's got enough to know when something's good, and this is real good.

His arms circle around her, pulling her closer to him, and she sighs against his lips, a little puff of sound as she slides her tongue against his and traces the hard edge of his teeth.

He's grinning a little against her mouth, eyes opening just a little bit so that he can see her expression and drink in her presence. She's so damn gorgeous he can hardly believe his luck.

"Christ," he mutters, fingers tangling a little in her hair. "You taste fantastic."

She can feel his smile against her lips and it makes her smile in return, another little puff of air against his lips as she laughs quietly, her hands shifting to slide around the back of his neck.

"You're very good for my ego, Ranger," she teases, stealing another little kiss. "I think you've convinced me to keep you around."

He is thoroughly enjoying her stealing those little kisses from him; she tastes delicious and she makes his cock twitch and thankfully that's easily hidden for the time being.

"Yeah? Consider myself right fortunate, then..." It's his turn to steal a kiss as a hand smooths down her arm. "Otherwise, I might have to chase you around. It'd be terrible for my reputation."

"Oh?" His hands are broad and warm and feel really good stroking down her arm. "I thought a man like you enjoyed the chase."

Also, yes. She would very much like to have Chuck Hansen chase her around. It might damage his reputation, but it would do wonders for hers. And Rhoda is shallow enough to really enjoy that prospect.

"Fu--"

He laughs a little as he catches himself, continuing the gentle massage of her shoulder and arm.

"I've created a bloody monster, haven't I?"

"Honey, please."

She laughs, lifting her eyebrows, a wicked smirk curling her lips.

"I was a monster long before I met you."

He hooks that arm around her and drags her in for another kiss that's more heated and with a lot more passion behind it.

"Going to make me chase, aren't you?"

"Oh, yes.

And she's going to enjoy every second of it. This is going to be the best few weeks of her life.

Chuck groans and drags her in against him, flopping back carefully until he's on his back and she's atop him and in his arms.

"Don't do this to me, doll."

She settles easily enough on his chest, reaching up to tuck some of her hair behind her ears so she can see him.

"Don't do what?"

She shifts again, getting more comfortable, bracing her forearms against his chest as she looks down at him. "Charles, I live in a world where pretty girls are commodities, prizes, things to enjoy and then things to discard the instant they stop being diverting or useful. Men view me as a toy to play with when they're bored or horny, but rarely am I viewed as an equal who deserves the same rights and respect as they do."

She traces the edge of his dogtags under his shirt, her gaze unflinching as she stares at him. He needs to realize how serious she is.

"How can you respect me if I didn't make you earn me?"

There she goes, calling him Charles again.

But, you know, he really can see her point and ugh - fine, he'll chase her all over the goddamn Shatterdome and Hong Kong if he has to.

"Alright. I will." Simple enough.

"You're not a prize," he points out anyway, "and no matter what I do I don't want to earn you." He sniffs a little and settles his hands at her hips. "Want you t'want me because you do. Not because I fuckin' -- sorry -- because I think I deserve it." He's probably saying this wrong. Hopefully she gets what he's trying to say, and doesn't get offended again. He's not sure he can top stargazing.

On the contrary, she doesn't look offended, she looks pleased, like he's passed some sort of test he didn't know she was giving him.

She reaches in and taps the tip of her nose with her finger, smiling at him. "And that's why I want you." Because he seems to understand what she's getting at, and even though he clearly would rather avoid the whole song-and-dance routine, he's willing to do it. For her.

"So you do want me," he crows, expression lighting up though he sobers quickly enough.

"Meet me for dinner. Tomorrow. Bring a blanket."

"You think I'd be here with you if I didn't?" She chuckles and shakes her head a little. "I may be good at getting my own way, but I'm not that good of an actress."

He continues and her eyes light up, her brows lifting. "Is that all the hints I'm going to get?"

"That's all you get." Yup. Sorry. No more hints. He looks pretty fucking smug about that, too.

"No heels."

She heaves a put-upon sigh, shaking her head sadly like he's asking a huge favor.

"No heels?"

"No heels," he says firmly, grinning at her, mischief in his eyes.

How terrible, no heels.

She sighs again, rolling her eyes. "Well, alright. If you insist."

"I insist. Tomorrow, at seven."

He gives her hips a squeeze.

"I'll come get you, yeah?"

"Okay."

Hell, it's easy enough for her to agree, and it's not like he's asking that much from her.

Shifting again, she slides off his chest so that she's lying beside him, using his shoulder as a pillow so she can look up at the stars.

He easily allows this and he keeps an arm curled around her just...holding her close as he stares up.

He's hit the jackpot lottery and he hadn't even been playing.

This is pretty unexpected for her too, if she's being honest. She certainly hadn't planned for this posting to include fooling around with the youngest current and, arguably, most famous pilot in the whole fleet.

But she's not complaining.

It's a nice night and he managed not to fuck it up somehow. He walks her back to her room and kisses her in front of anyone standing there, long, slow and deep, then saunters back to his room, feeling invincible.

The next day passed slow, but eventually seven rolls around and he shows up outside of her door and taps, a huge basket over one arm.