[ she's pretty sure she remembers most of what they talked about last night... earlier this morning, and it doesn't merit the tone of his voice. talk about finding joy in the little things.
she hums warningly as he drags her up with him. Jess wobbles from the sensation of all the blood in her brain staying down about where her knees are. the heels of her feet are still numb; it doesn't help to feel like she's floating an inch off the ground, at the same time immobilized in quicksand. ]
Shit. [ sinking down, she finds the bathtub's edge with her hand and plants her ass on it. the water in her stomach jostles menacingly but the rest of her stabilizes well enough. she keeps a hold of Frank's side until she notices what she's doing, then lets her hand drop. ] Can you give me a minute in here?
[ he lets go so she can sit, having anticipated as much, though he's happy to stand here while she clutches to him and gets her bearings. it's almost melancholy when she pulls away. ] Just one? [ she looks like she needs a few, his face creasing with concern though he'd told himself not to feel sorry for her. and he still doesn't, not really, he just wants her to feel better instantly though they both know that isn't how this works. ]
What do you need? [ he finally asks out of desperation. if she doesn't answer he's going to start bringing her everything he can think of to combat a hangover so she better start talking. ]
[ she'd roll her eyes at his semantics, if it didn't hurt like hell. shaking her head is a no-go too, she assumes. nobody ever died of a hangover so it's not like he's going to come busting in, no matter how long she takes. ]
Bread. And peanut butter or something. [ whatever he's got to make it go down. she's wondering what happened to the rest of that bottle, too, but fuck, she has to eat even though she isn't hungry. Jess sags with her elbows on her thighs and lets her head hang, deflating with a massive, tired breath. she vaguely recalls that what he described cooking yesterday sounded good but she's going to stick to what she knows, where she can. ]
Jelly or just p-b? [ he asks brightly, like he's delighted just to have the chance to wait on her. all the sleep is shaken from his voice and what's left there instead is an unmistakable eagerness to do whatever she says right now.
frank walks out into the kitchen as he waits for her reply, the place is so small that even in her quiet voice now he'll hear her. he gives a look to the bottle still propped up against the wall. there's maybe a finger and a half in the bottom of it. he sighs and goes to make her sandwich and put on coffee. and then he's tearing through the fridge because he could have sworn he bought gatorade. ]
[ she can't have slept so deeply that he was able to get out from under her, set an alarm, and perfectly reposition himself without stirring her enough to wake her up, which means he's so used to this it can't be overly taxing to be chipper on top. the scant amount of rest she accrued is a slight in its wholeness: any more and she would have preferred not to sleep at all. what's the world record for most hours spent awake? she can beat it, easy. ]
Sure, jam, whatever. [ Jess says once she's stumbled her way to the sink and is closing the door with a bat of her hand. she twists the cold knob on the faucet all the way open and cups water in her hands, splashing her face and filling her mouth to rinse. she combs damp fingers back through her hair, wets her palms again and wipes her chin and throat, and then grabs the toothpaste from his medicine cabinet.twice, she does her best with her finger as a toothbrush, swishes, spits and rinses. as a test of her balance, she bends to grab the glass from the floor, empties the remaining third and fills it with fresh tap water.
it's almost as good as whiskey, not that she'd ever admit it.
Jess rolls her sleeves back a few times and then leaves the bathroom, declining the mirror's invitation to contemplate herself as critically as possible. wiping the corner of one eye, she scans the wall for the light switch and crosses to shut it off. ]
[ he doesn't turn on any lights, closing the blinds in the small space preemptively before making it across to fix them what passes for breakfast at this hour. by the time she makes it to the kitchen "nook," he's placing down a plate with a peanut butter and jelly, strawberry jam and smooth (sorry malcolm.) the sandwich is precisely cut on a diagnal and there's a bottle of orange gatorade on the table in lieu of any type of juice. and so she can at least pretend to hydrate before drinking again, if he can help it.
coffee is still brewing as he fixes his sandwich, not looking up from his task as she slips in. twelve long years of being a dad and eighteen of being a marine had taught him to sleep anywhere, anytime and be woken just as quickly. violently if you were frank jr. it's why it's no tax on his system at all to be a morning person, though just from the slight effort exerted here he's already deflating just a bit.
once the coffee is done, he pours some for her in a clean mug. one that declares her as the 'world's best grandma.' he rinses out his hoosiers mug and uses that again for himself, despite again the chip on the rim. frank sets everything on the table, their plates mismatched too, and sits down with her. it's hard not to draw comparisons to all the times they've sat here before, and what's different, but he's still doing his best to keep his mind quiet. ]
[ even the clinks coming from the kitchen are fucking chipper. Jess shuts her mouth on a sigh, pushing it out through her nose, and trudges slowly to the dining table. the spread is all the more appetizing for how small and simple it is, though she mistakes the gatorade for orange juice initially. ]
Anything you don't do better than me? [ Jess jokes, kinda, and hefts herself into her seat using the back of the chair. the aroma of coffee is strong, whipping up an uncertain rumble in her stomach that nonetheless begs for food. Just to be safe, she distances her mug by the length of her reach before staring the sandwich down again. half. half is all she has to manage. she can eat the rest later, if the disappearance of her hangover reveals an appropriate hunger. one of the reasons she practically lives on sandwiches. ]
Leap tall buildings in a single bound? [ he quips without missing a beat, taking a bite of his own sandwich and leaning back in his chair. the immediate glucose spike is welcome after that rollercoaster ride of a night. ]
[ she snorts, picking her sandwich up by a corner. ] I can land from a lot taller ones.
[ it's a bitch of a metaphor.
Jess takes the biggest bite she can, her muscles labouring through apathy with every chew of her teeth. Jess grabs the gatorade to wash it down, gulping until her mouth is clear save for the peanut butter stuck to her gums. looking at her food turns putting it away into even more of a chore. instead, she watches him eat and enjoy it, expecting a spark of envy that's superseded by a surge of appreciation for his stupid, brick shithouse charm. oh well. either one will distract her well enough through the slog that is breakfast. she should swerve automatically into the jealousy lane when he sips that coffee of his. should. ]
Noticed that too. [ it's soft, his gaze appreciating her in its own way in kind. what is it about women who don't realize how strong they are? far beyond the physical, that is. he takes another bite and washes it down with still scalding coffee, only cautious enough to not kill every tastebud in his mouth, only most. ]
Stalker. [ she says through her second mouthful and nudges his shin under the table with the toe of her boot. it isn't funny, it's that she's glad they're past that. she can't waste energy berating herself for continuing a relationship risen from such awful foundation. that would be opening the door for disappointment. she's never done the long haul with anyone and she's dubious of wanting to, given that that's usually a guarantee of the opposite outcome. individually they're built to last. together, they can see how far they make it.
with the help of orange sports juice, Jess makes her half-sandwich goal and slumps between her chair and the wall, resting her head for a moment. and her eyes. her brain too maybe. ]
[ he feels about the same about all of it, so really, there's no point in hashing it out. as far as he's concerned, they got as close as they could to a resolution last night. an impasse more than anything, but one he's content to grab with both hands. a grin pushes at his lips when she pokes him with her shoe, shaking his head. not anymore. even if the inclination is still there, tempting him everyday. as long as she doesn't shy away from his concern completely, he's much less likely to give in. ]
Feel any better? [ he asks after a beat of silence, only getting through half the sandwich himself before slowing down. ]
[ than this time yesterday? markedly. Jess can't remember what she was doing, or rather where she was drinking. but if he's asking about that, he's doing so specifically so she can misinterpret it, which he either does quite often, she's picked up on, or he really does like to keep things simple. she's finally coming around to trusting it to be the latter, and he seems to not care than in her case, it's always the former. ]
A little. [ the twitch of a wan smile, there and gone. ] Still tired. [ half-lidded, she gives in to looking at him again though he'll be too pleased with himself for pleasing her by any small amount. ] But thanks.
[ frank nods at the thanks, knowing she still needs rest but that if he had let her sleep she wouldn't have gotten it anyway. he takes a long sip of coffee, seeming to give up on his food a bite into the second half. he's tired, too. but he's always tired. her being here helps. ]
Do you want to take a shower? [ he asks after a long beat, not sure how she'll take it. in an ideal world, she'd offer him to accompany her, but it's far from that especially for them. he'd be content with taking turns as long as whatever it is helps in some marginal way. because she's right, he's thrilled that he helped her, even if it's tiny as far as impact goes and more ephemeral than that. he doesn't care, he knows how much of a difference even one second of happiness can make. ]
[ willfully misinterpreting that as a jab at her natural sweat-soaked, liquor-speckled aroma, Jess's eyebrows peak briefly. ] Subtle.
[ normally, she might like to chance it in there with him but she doesn't feel any cleaner than she probably smells. Jess leans off the wall, sitting up semi-straight and then pushing herself to her feet with the table's assist. encroaching is the paranoid warning that if she leaves the room, she'll return to find him dead and strung up bloody to teach her a lesson. Jess convinces herself not to listen to that voice, using the logic that she doesn't have that fear when he walks out (and then under that -- "but maybe you should"). en route to the bathroom, she glances towards the window and dredges slight reassurance from the white-out on the other side.
[ he snorts, shaking his head. frank doesn't bother correcting the record, enjoying when they cross wires almost as much as when they're in sync (which is so little of the time anyway it almost shouldn't be mentioned.) towels are in the closet so he's sure she'll find one, getting up to refill his mug for something to do while she's in there.
after a few minutes, he hears the water and he meanders out to the living room, knowing a tested way to pass the time. frank pulls down his guitar and sits on the couch, his coffee set in front of him on the table as he plucks away at a song. something that sounds remarkably similar to dream a little dream of me. ]
are you ready to take this to turbo cute because it's boyfriend shirt time
[ she's astounded it doesn't take longer for the water to heat up. peeled out of her clothes, Jess ducks into the spray and yanks the curtain shut. once her hair is damp to the roots, she tips her head back and lets the water beat against her face. the shower head's pressure is softer than hers at home; more forgiving by any degree. she could linger there if not for how fast she tires from standing.
Jess finds his soap and lathers it in her hands, scrubbing her palms over her skin and scalp. while she's rinsing bubbles from the small of her back, where she's collected the ends of her hair, the plunk of of guitar string filters through the drip drops of water; then the plinks, until a recognizable melody arranges itself through the wall and in her head.
almost done with the shower, she pauses and puts her shoulder to the tile wall, followed by her temple, and listens to the watery, broken song she ends up with. like this, it's bearable to hear him play, and he can't be too bad because he hasn't missed a note, as far as she can tell, but she's an idiot about these things, and proud of it too. whenever she last heard the song, and she must have, it might have been a happier time. as a kid. Jess stops trying to remember and listens to the present, hoping to etch it in her mind so firmly that absinthe won't erode it.
to stay in there too long would be telling or, worse, concerning, so Jess shuts off the water and towels off well before he can finish the tune. soaking the water from her hair and then tucking the damply splotched towel around her chest, she piles her clothes into her arms and pulls the door open. she can grab her boots later, after he's showered, or later, the nebulous version. Jess steps barefoot into the main room with a seemingly offhand comment locked and loaded ]
[ focusing on the song to say nothing of the actual noise of it keeps him from listening for every movement she makes. she's survived over thirty years without him listening to her shower, he thinks she can manage another twenty minutes. he turns himself off and gives into the music. he isn't thinking about teaching lisa to play or even micro's reaction the first time he played for him either. he's thinking of jessica jones, in all of her many iterations. the jessica who asked him how he slept, the jessica who told him to go home, the jessica who told him she wanted this. and finally, mercifully, the jessica who had laid in his arms miserable and hungover and told him to wake her up before the nightmares claimed them both.
he's so swept up, he doesn't register the sound of the door until she's there. he gives one last strum and thwaps the flat of his hand against the soundhole in finality. first john mayer, now jack johnson. well, as long as he's touring in all 50 states, right? ] I always thought I was more of an Axel Rose.
[ he shrugs, getting up to put the taylor away since she had all but forbidden him from serenading her last time. and he really does want that shower now, feeling the greasy morning settle over him in a film. he also wants to get outside at some point... but the weather isn't letting up yet so he'll have plenty of time for that later probably.
frank digs through his clothes for fresh jeans, underwear and a t-shirt before grabbing up his coffee and making his way through her. his gaze flits over her damp image, another one of those impossibly soft looks legible across his face. he ducks his head and smiles as he passes her, just barely resisting the urge to lean in for a kiss. he thinks if he starts kissing her, his shower might never happen.
he slips into the bathroom and toes the door closed, taking a long drink and throwing his stuff on the top of the toilet tank, not trusting the lid yet until he gets in here to clean. he turns the water to scalding and gets himself a towel, not hesitating to strip out of his clothes and climb under the spray with the temperature still rising. expedient as ever, frank runs the soap cursorily over his body and hair, hitting his face briefly with a razor before leaning in to just soak up some of the heat. as much as he might otherwise be tempted to linger, the thought of jessica in his apartment at large waiting for him is enough of a reason to be quick.
the whole thing takes barely fifteen minutes and then he's stumbling out to grab his towel, the water finally loosening up his joints from the way they'd been locked overnight. drying himself without much worry for accuracy he puts on his fresh clothes: bluer jeans over boxer briefs and a plain black t-shirt, giving himself a sigh in the steamed over mirror as he makes the effort to brush his teeth and wash his face with more than just bar soap. he hangs up his towel and throws his clothes in the tiny hamper by the closet before wobbling his way out into the much cooler apartment, steam following behind him like an effect, to find out with no shortage of curiosity where jess had ended up. ]
Edited (i literally just need to be banned from pronouns) 2018-01-17 06:41 (UTC)
[ Jess tosses her clothes to the couch and pulls the towel off, using it to squeeze the last drops of water from her hair and then laying it down near her stuff. the moderate temperature of the room has raised gooseflesh from shoulders to toes; Jess sorts through her shirt, turning it right side out, and then smells it and, yeesh, should've done that first. it stinks of sweat. that it could be significantly worse hardly talks her into putting it back on.
after putting on her underwear, she goes to rifle through his clothes instead. he has the same penchant for long-sleeve t-shirts with a Henley tag and it takes her no time to find his grey one and pull it on. at least two sizes too large, it skims the tops of her thighs, with the sleeves almost swallowing her thumbs. Jess takes a break in dressing, having a seat on his bed. her brain must be tricking her into thinking she's more comfortable than she can objectively be; not a full minute passes before she relents to crawling onto her side and setting her head down on the blanket. then, she might as well go all in, so she shuts her eyes and listens to the falling water on the other side of the wall. eventually, she reels her legs up from the floor.
there's no chance she'll fall asleep. he won't let her, for one, but it's the liquor bottle on the floor that's sustaining her internal motivation. in another second or two, she'll get up and go grab it. or three. four more. the water shuts off, okay, before he gets out, then. the door opens and his footfalls call the expiration of that deadline too. well, it's not going anywhere. ]
I'm not sleeping. [ just lazy, proven by not bothering to open her eyes or move a muscle. ]
[ he expects to see her on the couch or even slouched back on the floor next to the bottle he'd left by the front doorway, but when his eyes find her neither place his pulse begins to pick up. where is she? what if-- her voice breaks through the nonsense, and his gaze finally settles on her, palpable relief settling over him like a shield. frank makes his way to her in quick strides, just as astounded by her ability to relax into his space. grateful, too. she looks almost sweet, curled up on his blanket like a lazy cat. ...is that his shirt? frank crouches down next to the mattress, tracing her features with his eyes as if committing them to memory all over again. ]
Time for Nap 2? [ he suggests in a murmur, realizing his mistake almost instantly. hey sleepyhead... there's plenty of time now that you're home. frank swallows, trying to shake himself from the dream, but it's gripping him. it shouldn't have this power over him when he isn't even asleep. he feels hot blood splatter his face and he's reaching out, getting a grip on jessica's arm to prove to himself she's alive. his heart pounds like hoofbeats on pavement as he lays himself down next to her, leaning in until their foreheads press. he doesn't dare shut his eyes for what he'll see behind them. ]
[ she tracks him through the room with just her ears, listening to him step closer and kneel next to her with the soft grind of denim. then she can hear his breath, feel a wisp of it at the tip of her nose. she hears it change, too, and the effortlessness of staying still starts to seep from her. nonetheless, she remains there and he deprives her of the time needed to form any expectations or fret over a dearth thereof by slipping in a second later. ]
Did you even sleep? [ blindly, she reaches forward until she's touching him. his chest. with gentle probing from her fingertips along the crease of muscle at the centre, she hits upon his collar and then his skin, to which heat from the shower still clings. her lips relax into the bed of a smile. he missed her, obviously, so it's not as bad as it could be, admitting to herself that she missed him in kind: too strongly, unjustifiably, and in defiance of all precautions. ]
[ the second she's touching him, things right themselves, his hand running over the fabric of the sleeve of the shirt she stole from him, and leaning in to press their bodies even a little tighter together. her question is a loaded one, for so many reasons, but as ever the words slip out before he decides if he should soften them. ] Not really. [ he doesn't seem to mind much, especially as his other hand shifts to trace her side. ]
[ it helps put her back at ease, too, being accepted into his hands. his answer is what she knew it would be. ]
Guard dog. [ she teases him, stringing a smirk along both words. this can be the one exception to her rejection of his pro-bono protection services. the whole of her hand comes to lie against his throat, her thumb searching in small, sloppy circles for the vein carrying his pulse. when she finds it, she opens her eyes to mark the spot. she wants to kiss him there, when he wants her to. ]
Just this once. [ he lies smoothly, as if reading her thoughts. his breathing stutters when her thumb finds his pulse-point, anticipation building under his skin. frank's eyes flutter open too, long eyelashes kissing her face as he pulls back just far enough to read her expression. ]
[ tired. tired like she always is, lifting her gaze at pace with her hand, lazily pushing over his hair. she lets the tips of it tickle her fingers, looking into his eyes despite a dull thud of dread from behind her heart. he better be content that she doesn't know what to say because for once she doesn't know how far she wants this to go, just that the complete stop got less bearable by the day. to tell him would sound too much like an apology for staying away and Jess can't apologize for behaviour she's likely to repeat sooner or later. he can't promise to tolerate it forever, either. maybe one day, he'll smarten up. she never considers that she might change as anything other than a distant fantasy. normal shit.
Jess wants to kiss him, wherever it leads. he has signs of her intent and chances to stop her, as she lifts her head and reclaims the space between them, nudging his nose, and then brushing her lips across his. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
she hums warningly as he drags her up with him. Jess wobbles from the sensation of all the blood in her brain staying down about where her knees are. the heels of her feet are still numb; it doesn't help to feel like she's floating an inch off the ground, at the same time immobilized in quicksand. ]
Shit. [ sinking down, she finds the bathtub's edge with her hand and plants her ass on it. the water in her stomach jostles menacingly but the rest of her stabilizes well enough. she keeps a hold of Frank's side until she notices what she's doing, then lets her hand drop. ] Can you give me a minute in here?
no subject
What do you need? [ he finally asks out of desperation. if she doesn't answer he's going to start bringing her everything he can think of to combat a hangover so she better start talking. ]
no subject
Bread. And peanut butter or something. [ whatever he's got to make it go down. she's wondering what happened to the rest of that bottle, too, but fuck, she has to eat even though she isn't hungry. Jess sags with her elbows on her thighs and lets her head hang, deflating with a massive, tired breath. she vaguely recalls that what he described cooking yesterday sounded good but she's going to stick to what she knows, where she can. ]
no subject
frank walks out into the kitchen as he waits for her reply, the place is so small that even in her quiet voice now he'll hear her. he gives a look to the bottle still propped up against the wall. there's maybe a finger and a half in the bottom of it. he sighs and goes to make her sandwich and put on coffee. and then he's tearing through the fridge because he could have sworn he bought gatorade. ]
no subject
Sure, jam, whatever. [ Jess says once she's stumbled her way to the sink and is closing the door with a bat of her hand. she twists the cold knob on the faucet all the way open and cups water in her hands, splashing her face and filling her mouth to rinse. she combs damp fingers back through her hair, wets her palms again and wipes her chin and throat, and then grabs the toothpaste from his medicine cabinet.twice, she does her best with her finger as a toothbrush, swishes, spits and rinses. as a test of her balance, she bends to grab the glass from the floor, empties the remaining third and fills it with fresh tap water.
it's almost as good as whiskey, not that she'd ever admit it.
Jess rolls her sleeves back a few times and then leaves the bathroom, declining the mirror's invitation to contemplate herself as critically as possible. wiping the corner of one eye, she scans the wall for the light switch and crosses to shut it off. ]
no subject
coffee is still brewing as he fixes his sandwich, not looking up from his task as she slips in. twelve long years of being a dad and eighteen of being a marine had taught him to sleep anywhere, anytime and be woken just as quickly. violently if you were frank jr. it's why it's no tax on his system at all to be a morning person, though just from the slight effort exerted here he's already deflating just a bit.
once the coffee is done, he pours some for her in a clean mug. one that declares her as the 'world's best grandma.' he rinses out his hoosiers mug and uses that again for himself, despite again the chip on the rim. frank sets everything on the table, their plates mismatched too, and sits down with her. it's hard not to draw comparisons to all the times they've sat here before, and what's different, but he's still doing his best to keep his mind quiet. ]
no subject
Anything you don't do better than me? [ Jess jokes, kinda, and hefts herself into her seat using the back of the chair. the aroma of coffee is strong, whipping up an uncertain rumble in her stomach that nonetheless begs for food. Just to be safe, she distances her mug by the length of her reach before staring the sandwich down again. half. half is all she has to manage. she can eat the rest later, if the disappearance of her hangover reveals an appropriate hunger. one of the reasons she practically lives on sandwiches. ]
no subject
no subject
[ it's a bitch of a metaphor.
Jess takes the biggest bite she can, her muscles labouring through apathy with every chew of her teeth. Jess grabs the gatorade to wash it down, gulping until her mouth is clear save for the peanut butter stuck to her gums. looking at her food turns putting it away into even more of a chore. instead, she watches him eat and enjoy it, expecting a spark of envy that's superseded by a surge of appreciation for his stupid, brick shithouse charm. oh well. either one will distract her well enough through the slog that is breakfast. she should swerve automatically into the jealousy lane when he sips that coffee of his. should. ]
no subject
no subject
with the help of orange sports juice, Jess makes her half-sandwich goal and slumps between her chair and the wall, resting her head for a moment. and her eyes. her brain too maybe. ]
no subject
Feel any better? [ he asks after a beat of silence, only getting through half the sandwich himself before slowing down. ]
no subject
A little. [ the twitch of a wan smile, there and gone. ] Still tired. [ half-lidded, she gives in to looking at him again though he'll be too pleased with himself for pleasing her by any small amount. ] But thanks.
[ for waking her up. she doesn't regret it. ]
no subject
Do you want to take a shower? [ he asks after a long beat, not sure how she'll take it. in an ideal world, she'd offer him to accompany her, but it's far from that especially for them. he'd be content with taking turns as long as whatever it is helps in some marginal way. because she's right, he's thrilled that he helped her, even if it's tiny as far as impact goes and more ephemeral than that. he doesn't care, he knows how much of a difference even one second of happiness can make. ]
no subject
[ normally, she might like to chance it in there with him but she doesn't feel any cleaner than she probably smells. Jess leans off the wall, sitting up semi-straight and then pushing herself to her feet with the table's assist. encroaching is the paranoid warning that if she leaves the room, she'll return to find him dead and strung up bloody to teach her a lesson. Jess convinces herself not to listen to that voice, using the logic that she doesn't have that fear when he walks out (and then under that -- "but maybe you should"). en route to the bathroom, she glances towards the window and dredges slight reassurance from the white-out on the other side.
who ever got murdered in a blizzard? ]
no subject
after a few minutes, he hears the water and he meanders out to the living room, knowing a tested way to pass the time. frank pulls down his guitar and sits on the couch, his coffee set in front of him on the table as he plucks away at a song. something that sounds remarkably similar to dream a little dream of me. ]
are you ready to take this to turbo cute because it's boyfriend shirt time
Jess finds his soap and lathers it in her hands, scrubbing her palms over her skin and scalp. while she's rinsing bubbles from the small of her back, where she's collected the ends of her hair, the plunk of of guitar string filters through the drip drops of water; then the plinks, until a recognizable melody arranges itself through the wall and in her head.
almost done with the shower, she pauses and puts her shoulder to the tile wall, followed by her temple, and listens to the watery, broken song she ends up with. like this, it's bearable to hear him play, and he can't be too bad because he hasn't missed a note, as far as she can tell, but she's an idiot about these things, and proud of it too. whenever she last heard the song, and she must have, it might have been a happier time. as a kid. Jess stops trying to remember and listens to the present, hoping to etch it in her mind so firmly that absinthe won't erode it.
to stay in there too long would be telling or, worse, concerning, so Jess shuts off the water and towels off well before he can finish the tune. soaking the water from her hair and then tucking the damply splotched towel around her chest, she piles her clothes into her arms and pulls the door open. she can grab her boots later, after he's showered, or later, the nebulous version. Jess steps barefoot into the main room with a seemingly offhand comment locked and loaded ]
All yours, Jack Johnson.
um HALE YEA who do you take me for huh
he's so swept up, he doesn't register the sound of the door until she's there. he gives one last strum and thwaps the flat of his hand against the soundhole in finality. first john mayer, now jack johnson. well, as long as he's touring in all 50 states, right? ] I always thought I was more of an Axel Rose.
[ he shrugs, getting up to put the taylor away since she had all but forbidden him from serenading her last time. and he really does want that shower now, feeling the greasy morning settle over him in a film. he also wants to get outside at some point... but the weather isn't letting up yet so he'll have plenty of time for that later probably.
frank digs through his clothes for fresh jeans, underwear and a t-shirt before grabbing up his coffee and making his way through her. his gaze flits over her damp image, another one of those impossibly soft looks legible across his face. he ducks his head and smiles as he passes her, just barely resisting the urge to lean in for a kiss. he thinks if he starts kissing her, his shower might never happen.
he slips into the bathroom and toes the door closed, taking a long drink and throwing his stuff on the top of the toilet tank, not trusting the lid yet until he gets in here to clean. he turns the water to scalding and gets himself a towel, not hesitating to strip out of his clothes and climb under the spray with the temperature still rising. expedient as ever, frank runs the soap cursorily over his body and hair, hitting his face briefly with a razor before leaning in to just soak up some of the heat. as much as he might otherwise be tempted to linger, the thought of jessica in his apartment at large waiting for him is enough of a reason to be quick.
the whole thing takes barely fifteen minutes and then he's stumbling out to grab his towel, the water finally loosening up his joints from the way they'd been locked overnight. drying himself without much worry for accuracy he puts on his fresh clothes: bluer jeans over boxer briefs and a plain black t-shirt, giving himself a sigh in the steamed over mirror as he makes the effort to brush his teeth and wash his face with more than just bar soap. he hangs up his towel and throws his clothes in the tiny hamper by the closet before wobbling his way out into the much cooler apartment, steam following behind him like an effect, to find out with no shortage of curiosity where jess had ended up. ]
no subject
after putting on her underwear, she goes to rifle through his clothes instead. he has the same penchant for long-sleeve t-shirts with a Henley tag and it takes her no time to find his grey one and pull it on. at least two sizes too large, it skims the tops of her thighs, with the sleeves almost swallowing her thumbs. Jess takes a break in dressing, having a seat on his bed. her brain must be tricking her into thinking she's more comfortable than she can objectively be; not a full minute passes before she relents to crawling onto her side and setting her head down on the blanket. then, she might as well go all in, so she shuts her eyes and listens to the falling water on the other side of the wall. eventually, she reels her legs up from the floor.
there's no chance she'll fall asleep. he won't let her, for one, but it's the liquor bottle on the floor that's sustaining her internal motivation. in another second or two, she'll get up and go grab it. or three. four more. the water shuts off, okay, before he gets out, then. the door opens and his footfalls call the expiration of that deadline too. well, it's not going anywhere. ]
I'm not sleeping. [ just lazy, proven by not bothering to open her eyes or move a muscle. ]
no subject
Time for Nap 2? [ he suggests in a murmur, realizing his mistake almost instantly. hey sleepyhead... there's plenty of time now that you're home. frank swallows, trying to shake himself from the dream, but it's gripping him. it shouldn't have this power over him when he isn't even asleep. he feels hot blood splatter his face and he's reaching out, getting a grip on jessica's arm to prove to himself she's alive. his heart pounds like hoofbeats on pavement as he lays himself down next to her, leaning in until their foreheads press. he doesn't dare shut his eyes for what he'll see behind them. ]
no subject
Did you even sleep? [ blindly, she reaches forward until she's touching him. his chest. with gentle probing from her fingertips along the crease of muscle at the centre, she hits upon his collar and then his skin, to which heat from the shower still clings. her lips relax into the bed of a smile. he missed her, obviously, so it's not as bad as it could be, admitting to herself that she missed him in kind: too strongly, unjustifiably, and in defiance of all precautions. ]
no subject
no subject
Guard dog. [ she teases him, stringing a smirk along both words. this can be the one exception to her rejection of his pro-bono protection services. the whole of her hand comes to lie against his throat, her thumb searching in small, sloppy circles for the vein carrying his pulse. when she finds it, she opens her eyes to mark the spot. she wants to kiss him there, when he wants her to. ]
no subject
no subject
Jess wants to kiss him, wherever it leads. he has signs of her intent and chances to stop her, as she lifts her head and reclaims the space between them, nudging his nose, and then brushing her lips across his. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)