"I was thinking that might be a good plan." Not that he's all that big on advance planning, but if they leave here and go through the market area and pick up a few things, go back to their room and change clothes -- he's got nothing against her very skimpy bathing suit or his rolled-up shirt and khakis -- but these outfits probably won't get them into the casino if it's anything like the ones in their galaxy.
It's a special night, and he'd like to treat her with as much grace and intention as he can muster. After all, it's been... two and a half years for him and even longer for Faye since a night out on the town actually meant a real night out on the town. The confines of the bar are... confines. A bigger, more pleasant prison of sorts but that's really not a fair assessment. It's where they live: no more, no less.
Or where they stay. No: live. He's stubborn enough to refuse to give up on that particular dream.
Watching with guarded amusement as she unwraps one of the nut candies, he follows its path from the bag to her mouth with more than a little envy: he knows what it's like for those supple, strong, fine fingers of hers to take hold of something. Whether or not she knows it, Faye has a musician's fingers. She moves them with such grace. The first time he noticed that was when he was pouring her a drink at his apartment in Blue Crow and the second time was when she was firing a gun at him. The third time was when he stopped to consider those hands of hers cuffed behind her back as he left her on his bed.
He could have taken advantage of her but... women weren't his style, or so he said. And he's glad he didn't; he knows what that's like only too well and would never inflict it on anyone under any circumstances.
A gentle breeze kicks up now, rolling right off the water. The smell of salt wafts over to them; he breathes in deeply then turns his attention back to Faye and the chocolate disappearing between her lips. He'd like to chase it with a kiss, a caress, a hug, some macho statement of ownership.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-04-24 05:03 am (UTC)It's a special night, and he'd like to treat her with as much grace and intention as he can muster. After all, it's been... two and a half years for him and even longer for Faye since a night out on the town actually meant a real night out on the town. The confines of the bar are... confines. A bigger, more pleasant prison of sorts but that's really not a fair assessment. It's where they live: no more, no less.
Or where they stay. No: live. He's stubborn enough to refuse to give up on that particular dream.
Watching with guarded amusement as she unwraps one of the nut candies, he follows its path from the bag to her mouth with more than a little envy: he knows what it's like for those supple, strong, fine fingers of hers to take hold of something. Whether or not she knows it, Faye has a musician's fingers. She moves them with such grace. The first time he noticed that was when he was pouring her a drink at his apartment in Blue Crow and the second time was when she was firing a gun at him. The third time was when he stopped to consider those hands of hers cuffed behind her back as he left her on his bed.
He could have taken advantage of her but... women weren't his style, or so he said. And he's glad he didn't; he knows what that's like only too well and would never inflict it on anyone under any circumstances.
A gentle breeze kicks up now, rolling right off the water. The smell of salt wafts over to them; he breathes in deeply then turns his attention back to Faye and the chocolate disappearing between her lips. He'd like to chase it with a kiss, a caress, a hug, some macho statement of ownership.
He'll save that for later. They have time.