suicidemission | (no subject)

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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.

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"Mhmm." She's sure he can hear her self-satisfied smile in her voice, even if all she did was hum her response.

Chuck is surprisingly comfortable, and even if her butt is going a little numb from sitting on the hard steel plating beneath them, the rest of her is comfortable enough, so she's happy.

"You smell good."

Time to push at his boundaries a little.

He's not sure what to do with hands, so instead he just keeps them behind him and propping himself up so that he can support her weight.

"Do I?" Cologne - thank God it hadn't turned - leather, oil and metal, he always smells a little bit like metal and ozone because of the time he spends in and with Striker Eureka, and he's so used to it now that he doesn't even register it anymore.

"I make an attempt at hygiene, you know."

Either by the grace of god or some other miracle — or some memory he got from his father about moderation — the cologne Chuck is wearing hasn't been slathered on, it's just heavy enough to settle into his scent but light enough not to overwhelm it. He smells nice. Solid. Real.

"I never said you didn't," she murmurs, huffing out a little laugh against his collar.

"I like it."

Probably a memory from his dad, one of those little tidbits that he's retained over the years; one of those life lessons that you just really shouldn't ignore, so Chuck didn't.

He might've pretended to ignore his dad, but he heard and saw everything.

Everything.

"Good." He shifts a little so that he can wrap one arm around her, hand coming to a rest lightly on her arm, fingers tracing a light path over the material. "I'd hate to be offensive."

Part tease, because he is such a prick to everyone else, but part sincere, because he likes her.

She smiles when she feels his arm settle around her. That's the spirit.

That makes her laugh again, and she swats him lightly on the back. "Please, you love being offensive." She knows what he means, though, because she rather likes him too. More than she was probably supposed to. "I love it too."

He can feel his mouth tugging into a little smirk.

"Maybe I do. A little bit." He shifts and drags her closer, taking a chance and burying his nose into her neck. "Next time," he growls playfully, "I'll swim in it. Then I'll really rattle your cage, won't I?"

She shrieks out a surprised laugh, squirming when he tucks his cold nose against her neck. "Oh, yeah. You should totally do that." She struggles playfully in his arms, not trying very hard at all to get away from him. "See how close I'll let you get then."

He slings his other arm around her and leans forward, effectively pinning her there in his grasp, chuckling a little as he happily presses that freezing nose of his against warm skin.

His hands are cold, too, and those are hunting for bare skin, just to see if he can get that laugh out of her again because he loves it. He loves it and he wants her to do it again and again and again. He wants to make her smile, make her laugh, make her his.

"Oh, I dunno, I might have a bit of luck." He grins crookedly. "You never know."

She's still giggling as she beats on his chest with her open palms, her face a little flushed from the chilly air, her lips stretched wide in a bright red smile.

"Yeah, that's what you think." She can feel his hands slide down her spine and she spares a brief moment to be thankful that she put on a camisole under her sweater, one extra little layer of protection for her skin, something she tucked into the band of her leggings so that there was no hope her skin would show even if she bent over. She doesn't want to ruin the moment by talking about why her skin feels like that.

"Maybe you should convince me ahead of time," she murmurs instead of trying to stop his hands, her face close to his. Maybe this will distract him.

Chuck is adequately distracted. His hands pause in their trek and he locks in on her face, eyes fixing to hers.

"Yeah? And how does one convince a pretty girl like you?"

"Well." Her lips curl in a little smirk and she makes a show of thinking before she continues. "A kiss would be a good start."

"I think I can handle that."

He doesn't wait nearly so long or make as much of a show about it; he leans right in once he's got permission and kisses her gently.

He's nervous as fuck; the butterflies that have been lingering in his stomach turn into airplanes that are doing barrel rolls and loop-de-loops and his hands might tremble, just a little, when the lift to cup her face.

He doesn't need to be nervous; his welcome here is assured. Rhoda's fingers curl in the neck of his shirt as her eyes flutter closed, the press of his lips to hers making warmth spread through her right to her fingertips.

It's still tentative, like he's not sure if he's doing it right but he's trying anyway because this is amazing, it's fantastic and he feels a little bit like he's dreaming.

Hell, maybe he is. Or maybe he's died and gone to heaven. All viable options.

She shifts a little in his arms, her legs pressing against his, and slides her hands up along his shoulders, under the fuzzy collar of his jacket.

It's Rhoda who pushes the kiss to be something a little more, parting her lips against his and letting her tongue dart out to lick at the seam of his lips, coaxing him to let her in as her fingers curl against his shoulder.

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.