River Song (
hell_in_highheels) wrote2009-02-08 09:51 pm
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Entry tags:
[oom: Dinner with
captainryan]
[from here]
River arrives in the bar just before seven in the evening, and secures a table for two in a cozy corner of the bar. She's dressed casually, wearing her favourite Irish sweater, jeans and her tan field boots. But she has to confess, she's spent a bit more time with her hair and her face.
For as interesting as Richard is, he is also a good looking man.
She orders a glass of pinot noir, and waits, watching the faces in the crowd. When she sees him, she smiles broadly and holds up a hand.
River arrives in the bar just before seven in the evening, and secures a table for two in a cozy corner of the bar. She's dressed casually, wearing her favourite Irish sweater, jeans and her tan field boots. But she has to confess, she's spent a bit more time with her hair and her face.
For as interesting as Richard is, he is also a good looking man.
She orders a glass of pinot noir, and waits, watching the faces in the crowd. When she sees him, she smiles broadly and holds up a hand.
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Then he exhales, relaxing, and rolls onto his back.
He's watching her, though. A faint smile is still in place, a warning of teeth hinting through as he eyes her head.
He trusts, but cautiously.
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She senses the tension in him, and places a chaste kiss at the notch of his throat, humming to soothe him. She is pressed against his side, from shoulder to knee. Her hand brushes down his chest to his ribs and back again, a firm but gentle touch.
Nuzzling, breathing him in, painting her scent on him. She considers tracing the line of pale silvered flesh with her tongue, but decides against it, keeping to the course of gentle, close mouthed kisses. She hums quietly the whole way, letting him know where she is.
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His mouth closes.
He settles back again, still watching her, faint smile still on his face. It's more relaxed than it was a moment ago and stays that way as her mouth coasts down his torso, the vibration of her lips tickling his skin.
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She rises on her hands and knees, her breath playing over his skin, and stalks back up to lay beside him, nestling in the crook of his arm, nuzzling his jaw. "Thank you."
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Genuinely curious, "For what?"
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"Everything. The best evening of my -- not life in the last century."
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"...century?"
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She nestles closer to him.
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"You are human, correct?
"Not that I mind if you aren't," he adds quickly, "but I think that's the sort of thing I should know beforehand." He gives her a wry little smile.
He's also aware she could have simply been dead for that long, but he's not used to the idea of 100-year power sources. He hasn't seen much tech of the future yet.
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"52nd century? No, it was the 51st when I died, and I've lived -- I mean, my data ghost has been online, for -- damn it, I can't remember. Something over 39,000 cycles? Days, in your world. And I've been kept from file degradation, restored from backup you might say, every day since about day 7,000, after that run in with Professor Challenger and his little pets." She laughs, but there's a shiver as well.
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"You don't have to...have an 'run in' in order to be restored, do you?" He sounds cautious, but he just looks concerned.
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Quietly, "Were you able to help them?"
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"Anyway, I'm here now. And whole, it seems." Another little smile ghosts over her features. Even sad memories can't rob her of this moment.
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"I'm glad," he says, then frowns at himself. How did he become so enamoured of her so quickly?
What will he do when she leaves?
He gives her a gentle squeeze.no subject
"Mmm interesting," she sounds bemused. "I don't have a bed back in the Library, as I typically don't need to sleep when I'm there."
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"So you haven't dreamed in a century. I think that's some kind of record."
He grins, teasingly.
"Assuming you're still sane, of course."
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What the hell was he thinking having sex with her?
"Yes?"no subject
Her heart is in her throat all over again. She's already imposed so much on him.
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"I'm not going to kick you out now." He kinda doubts he could.
And speaking of kicking out...
"Oh shite!" He starts, gently but still urgently, disentangling himself.
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"Damocles is still outside." Poor pup hasn't spent a night alone since Ryan was kidnapped by the angels.
"Sorry," he apologizes after a moment. He hadn't meant to cut their conversation short.
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He leans over to kiss her. "I'll be right back," he says, grabbing his holster from the nightstand. He pads silently to the door, picking up his belt as he goes, and shuts it with a click behind him.
He can still smell her. She's all over his clothes, all over him, and he thinks of little else as he finds the stairs. He has his belt threaded through the holster and loops by the time he enters the bar proper. He looks his usual grumpy self as he heads for the back door in an attempt to discourage conversation.
He steps outside and winces as the cold air takes advantage of his damp clothes. He howls (River will hear it through the window, he thinks) for Damocles to come and quickly before he's hit with the realization that now he has nothing to do but wait.
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