forthsofar | there's no controlling the unrolling of your fate, my friend

Entry tags:

nick

there's no controlling the unrolling of your fate, my friend

Just like last year, the return of Movies in the Park was one of the main topics of chatter that day at school: groups of people making plans or shouting lines back and forth at one another in the hallway; gossip about who was going with whom (or who might say they were going and forgo the movie for other, more private entertainments); a few intensely enthusiastic people from the AV club discussing going in costume as one character or another. Strange though it was, as Darrow traditions went it seemed, at least, fairly innocuous. Especially after the summer that’s just passed, things like that seemed more and more of a rarity the longer she stayed in the city.

For a moment, Rosie considers attending herself, but when she hears that Charlie and Sabrina had already made plans to go--and that the movie scheduled for tonight was one of the blood-soaked horror films Sabrina loved so much--it’s all too easy for her to drop the idea entirely. Her offer to spend the evening at Nick’s is met with a lack of resistance, especially from Sabrina, that she might have thought suspicious under any other circumstance. Relieved as she is at having avoided a night of watching wholesale cinematic slaughter, though, she barely pauses to question it.

Hardly notices, too, the slight spark in Sabrina’s eye and the quiet look of planning both her best friends exchange as they turn away at the end of the lunch period.

When she gets to Chelsea that night, it’s just in time to say a quick hello in the lobby to Sabrina and Charlie on their way out. They’d done things like this on numerous occasions over the last two weeks, briefly checking in or updating one another on how Nick was feeling; this time, at least, it’s for a slightly lighter and easier reason. Rosie waves them happily out the front door of the building, then takes the familiar elevator ride up to the top floor and lets herself in to Nick’s apartment.

“Shift change,” she calls out to him, laughing a little. “Let me just put my bag down, and then I’ll be…” She trails off, noticing the neat pile of things on the coffee table: takeout menus, DVD cases with cover art that looks nearly as lurid and gory as that of the movie playing in the park, even a set of disposable cups and plates and a folded picnic blanket. And, prominently displayed, a note in Sabrina’s familiar handwriting exhorting them both to Have fun tonight!

“Oh, good grief.”

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Though she tries to think of him as little as possible, now that she knows what David had really thought of her--had always thought, something that still hurt in a way that she wonders if she'll ever get over--for just a moment Rosie recalls a similar conversation to the one it seems she and Nick are having now. Though he'd said many of the same things, made her feel like it was her choice, there'd been an impatience to it, something frustrated and pushing.

There's nothing like that now. When Nick speaks, gentle and caring, all she can hear in his voice is honesty.

"Exactly," she says. "I'll...I'll let you know, when I am."

Nick nods at that, eating his pizza quietly for a moment, taking a swallow of his beer.

"This doesn't quite feel really yet," he admits, huffing a soft laugh.

"No, it doesn't," she agrees, echoing his laugh with one of her own. "It feels a bit like...I'm just here, spending time with you, like I always have been before. But then there's also something more to it now. Something good, of course, always good. But different."

There's something rambling in the explanation, the way it comes out less clearly than it had sounded in her head, and Rosie frowns, sighing gently as she lets the brief dip in her mood pass.

"But it is real," she continues, her tone a little brighter as she leans her head against him. "And thank goodness for that."

"Does this count as a date, do you think, or does that start the first time I take you out?" he says. She frowns, and he presses a kiss against her temple. It can be whatever we want it to be, I suppose."

Rosie lets out another, happier sigh as he kisses her temple. Though he'd done things like that before tonight--little, tactile touches; his arm around her while they sat; that brush of his lips in her hair at Kagura, the one she'd thought was accidental for so long--she doubts she'll ever get tired of it. Especially not now.

"I think the first time you take me out will be our first proper date, one where we know from the start that's what it is," she says. "This--" Laughing, she waves a hand at the things scattered on and around the coffee table, the menu screen for the movie still bright on Nick's television. "This is Sabrina having a clever plan and the two of us walking into it. In the most wonderful way."

"We very much walked into it, didn't we?" says Nick, laughing at that, shaking his head a little. "I should have known this kind of thing was coming when she talked to me about you, shouldn't I?"

"Oh, probably," she teases. Again, there's that reminder that some kind of permission has been granted for the two of them, to see where their feelings run now that she and Nick both know they're reciprocated. If it had come from anyone else, it might have rankled--but it's Sabrina, not anyone else, and all Rosie can do is love her for it.

"Just like I should have suspected something was up today at lunch, when Sabrina didn't even try arguing after I said I'd be happy to come over here rather than go with them to the park." She grins. "So many clues, and we missed all of them. Hopeless, both of us."

She leans forward, setting her empty plate and beer bottle on the table. "But whether we count this as a proper date or something else, whatever we want it to be, we're here, and..." Rosie pauses, oddly shy and uncertain now that the shape of things had altered between them. "What would you want to do, the rest of the night?"

"I just...didn't think if it as a possibility," he admits, combing his fingers through her hair again, twisting the curls around his fingers. "What I want to do and what I'm able to do are two different things," he says, glancing up at her, smiling. "But..." He bites his lip for a moment and then leans in, taking a kiss, his fingers in her hair holding her to it for a moment.

There's a playful, prim retort on the tip of her tongue, something like I only wondered if you wanted to start the movie again or not, Nicholas, but then he's biting his lip and leaning forward and it's everything she hoped for. She kisses him back, sweet and gentle and all too happy to be doing so.

The twist of his fingers--accidental or intentional, Rosie's not sure right now that it matters--pulls her hair a little as he keeps her where she is. She gasps against his mouth before she even knows she's doing it, pushing forward and deepening the kiss for a long, dizzying few minutes.

"We have to..." she sighs, breaking the kiss but staying close to him, letting him leave his hand tangled in her dark hair. "We should be careful, and it's--it's too early yet, and..." She meets his dark eyes with her own and smiles, delighted and helpless. "But goodness, that was wonderful."

He notes the way that Rosie reacts to the slight tug to her hair, files it away for later, something to test, something to play with. He leans into the kiss a little, then leans back, pulling her with him against him as they kiss.

"There are plenty of things we can do, Rosie," he murmurs. Swallows. "If you wanted to."

Though she's careful about it, not wanting to put pressure on the bandages around his torso or hurt him without meaning to, when he moves she goes with him easily. As they kiss, one of her arms curves around his neck, the tips of her fingers brushing at the nape. Then running, just for a minute, a bit beneath the collar of his t-shirt.

Her cheeks flush pink again at the low sound of his voice, feeling that pull of want once more at the base of her stomach. It's too early for everything; the both of them know that. But it feels like just the right time for this.

"I..." she starts, then nods, biting her lip as she looks at him. "I want to, Nick. Just...you're still on the mend and I don't want to hurt you, so..."

It's ridiculous, her being this hesitant. It's not like she hadn't done things like this before, not like she hadn't wanted to every time, even if the other person involved hadn't been worth a minute of it. Maybe it's just that now, she's with someone who is worth it. Maybe that makes all the difference. Rosie kisses him again, lingering in it for a moment.

"Just tell me what I should do."

"You don't have to do anything," says Nick, feeling a stab of loathing towards David again. He leans in, tugging Rosie closer for another kiss.

"Lets just see where we end up." He's virtually certain that he won't be able to do much more than kiss, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to.

He's just so good, the way he's treating her already--has always done, even before this added layer of meaning over their connection with each other--that Rosie can't help but smile against his mouth as he kisses her.

"Okay," she says, the word coming out in a breathless little sigh. "That much, I can absolutely do." When she kisses him again, it's a little more; still sweet, still gentle, but with an edge of heat even so.

He's trying to maintain a respectful distance, trying to be mindful of his stitches, he really is, but how close she is is just too tempting. He leans in closer, presses in a little, his hand skimming along the curve of Rosie's waist under her blouse as they kiss.

She's dizzy with it already, all the kissing they've done, the way their hands have started to wander. Hers, more hesitantly so, and not just because of the bandages she knows lie just beneath the cotton of his shirt--light runs of her fingers along his back and arms, or mussing his hair. Nick moves with more assurance, and it's so, so easy to just sink into it, to let whatever might happen get closer and closer with each passing moment.

When his hand dips beneath the hem of her blouse, the touch of skin on skin with nothing in the way, she lets out a quiet, shuddering breath.

He touches her bare skin, hears the way her breath shivers out. He doesn't move his hand, but he also doesn't push his luck any further.

"Sorry," he says. "Hell, Rosie, you're so damn warm."

"You don't have to be sorry." You don't have to stop is what she wants to say, in all its forward and desperate wantonness. They both know they need to, with Nick still healing and this new stage in their relationship with each other only an hour or so old. There'll be time for all of it later; anything they ever might want to do with one another.

She smiles at the easy, continued weight of his hand on her side, squirming a little into it before she can rethink the choice. "And of course I'm warm," she teases. "I've been blushing so much I probably look like a tomato."

"Yeah, maybe," he says, his palm still pressed against her skin. He can hold himself back from doing anything else right now, but he can't stop himself from wanting to touch her, not now that he's allowed to act on the impulse that's been there for months, now. "But you're a very pretty tomato, Rosie Wilson."

"Thank goodness you think so, Nicholas Scratch." Though it's the oddest sort of compliment she's ever heard, and nothing like the kind of praise or flattery she'd thought she'd even want, Rosie still finds herself smiling up at him.

She moves slightly, not enough to dislodge his hand from where it's resting--that's the last thing she wants to do--but just enough to make it a little easier to kiss him again.

"Did you just full name me, Rosalind?" he asks, but he's smiling when he says it, leaning in to take another kiss, the tips of his fingers just grazing against her rib cage.

“I did,” she says, coy and laughing and just a little shameless. Goodness, she could get used to this—and she can, now. However things develop from here, they’ve always had this light and easy way with one another, and Rosie doesn’t ever want that to stop.

The brush of his fingertips sends another delightful shiver down her spine, and she returns his kiss happily.

He likes when she shivers like that, he realises, and he keeps up the slow, teasing touch of his fingers against her bare side as they kiss. He desperately wants to press closer, knows he shouldn't, knows he needs to be careful of the stitches in his side.

She ought to stop this, ought to be ashamed, ought to be an awful lot of things that don’t seem very important right now. Rosie can tell how much he’s trying to hold back, can feel it in the way his hand ranges and roams along her skin. If he thought she was warm before, she’s rapidly growing more so the longer Nick keeps touching her, with her cheeks still flushed and a pooling heat growing between her legs.

Once, his hand strays up a little further, almost to the lace edge of her bra, and she lets out a small, needy little sound. Not quite a moan, but close.

"Oh, that's a good noise, Wilson?" he says, leaning his forehead against hers, face flushed, breathing a little harder, his fingers just brushing the lace band around her ribcage.

“Yes,” she says, the word more a shaky exhalation of breath than anything else. She pulls back just enough to look at him, and for all that Rosie’s always thought Nick was handsome, like this—flushed and breathless and rumpled as he is—he’s devastating. She stays like that, her eyes wide and dark, watching his face as his fingers continue their slow, teasing path along and up her side.

“This is all...” She trembles again as his finger traces another gentle loop along the band of her bra. “A-all of this is very good, Nick.”

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject