April 10, 2008
Visiting.
She first stopped by to see him on a whim. The consummate host, he’d ushered her in and spent the evening talking to her, and he’d never once pushed her on the reason for her visit.
Which was good, because she had no reason to give him.
And she had no more of a reason the next time, or the time after that, until eventually the weight of all those evenings before became the reason.
She rather liked visiting him. She never had to think of something stylish to wear; he would not have batted an eye if she’d shown up naked. And for his part, he’d started leaving the door open for her, and asking after her if she didn’t stop by. She thought maybe he liked her visits, too.
So she swung by again almost on instinct; her feet often took her along the familiar path of their own accord. She knocked gently and opened the door. He raised his head as she slipped inside. “It’s me,” she said quietly, and he nodded, rising to usher her over to the fireplace.
She wondered what it felt like, for him, to touch a person who was not quite a person.
His hand trailed gently down her arm, and he raised her hand to his face, giving it a breathy not-quite-kiss before releasing her. He smiled faintly and sank back into his chair.
Oh.
Their conversation, like her feet earlier, headed down familiar paths. He asked about her day; she asked about his. Back-forth, back-forth, like a dance that both partners knew too well.
…Ah.
She tapped the table lightly, mildly surprised that she felt it today. He hmmmed to himself, head bowed over steepled fingers.
She wondered who would break the pattern first. They took turns bringing up unusual topics; she was fairly certain it was his turn this time.
The silence was broken only by the clock chiming ten.
Maybe it wasn’t his turn after all.
“It’s late,” he said.
“Yes,” she replied, rising and crossing to stand before him, touching his face softly before she could lose her nerve.
He caught her wrist and rose in one smooth movement, standing close enough that their bodies barely brushed.
“Despite all of our time spent getting to know each other, I never have figured out whether you prefer men or women,” he said, each word a teasing puff across her cheek.
There was only one answer she could give, really. “You pick,” she said, as emphatically as her distracted mind would let her.
His eyes burned green, and he went still and stared at her for a long moment.
She just looked back.
And then he nodded and pressed against her for a brief kiss before winding one of her long black curls around his finger and tugging her back into the bedroom.
A Conversation in Bed.
Josephine squirmed a little as she settled against her new lover’s chest. One of his hands reached up to toy with her hair.
“So, Dr. Cain…”
He sighed. “Josephine…”
She smiled. “Sorry, Ashmedai. Did you ever sleep with my cousin?”
Ashmedai’s hand stilled so suddenly that it was almost painful. “What?”
“I think it’s a straightforward enough question,” Josephine said innocently. “Francis does seem like your type. One of your types,” she amended as he spluttered.
“Well?” she asked, when he showed no signs of answering.
“…Yes,” Ashmedai muttered, as if he wanted her to miss it.
“Was he good?”
It was amusing, watching unflappable Dr. Cain blush.
Josephine began to play with the end of Ashmedai’s braid. “And which did he pick, anyway?”
“…Right. That conversation’s over.”
“Oh, so that’s how it was. You must have a great deal of stamina.”
Ashmedai seemed to be trying to swallow his tongue. They lapsed into silence.
“How about Professor O’Neill?”
“What brought this on?”
“You have a reputation, you know. Can’t blame a girl for being curious. The professor?”
“She’s asexual, Josephine.”
“Not that that stopped you from trying, hm?”
Ashmedai was blushing again.
“First time she threw her mug at you, then?”
He seemed fascinated by her hair. “No, actually. The phone book. I still think it was a hint.”
“And then there’s that ambassador.”
Ashmedai went pale. “Josephine…”
“So did you ever actually sleep with him, or did you stop at that rather public kiss? I don’t know that I’d've had the guts to kiss a man in front of his husband and the local gentry…”
“Josephine…”
“It was very sexy, though.”
“…Can we please drop this line of inquiry?”
Josephine was silent for a moment. “Into your sexual history, or into your sexual history with Nathan Thaziazhsta?” she asked, dark eyes sharp.
“Both?” Ashmedai suggested.
“He’s the one that got away, isn’t he?”
It was Ashmedai’s turn to be silent. Josephine gently rubbed his side.
“More like the one I never had.”
A wicked grin was all the warning Josephine had. Before she could do more than squeak, Ashmedai had her pinned to the bed. “Shall we talk about you now?” he inquired.
Well, if that’s the way he wanted to play it, fine by her. “Sure,” Josephine said, in as chipper a manner as she could.
Ashmedai blinked.
“Before you ask, I have never lusted after my cousin…”
