watching_you | OOM: Suite 130

She takes a deep, but shuddering, breath.

"Yeah. Well, I mean, I was joking. Sorry. Hand signals."

She sits up a little for a moment, and performs an elaborate flurry of movements: with two knuckles of her right hand she knocks twice against the back of the left; then she holds up the index and middle finger of her right hand, miming 'two', tapping this hand against the left palm; she flips the right hand and mimes 'three' and taps that against the palm; she flips the hand back and repeats the 'two' motion; and finally she uses both hands to give him the double finger-guns. It all happens in just over a second, then she settles back against the couch.

"But yeah. We're friends."

He chuckles, shaking his head. He taps the back of her foot gently, and beckons for the other one. "You've known him since you first got here."

Again, not a question.

It doesn't take much convincing for her to swap in the other foot. Soon she's melting happily again.

With some effort, she manages, "Pretty much."

"And that's why you're worried about who he's sleeping with?"

His expression is curious. Just a simple question.

It's a simple question that's tricky to answer under the heady influence of both tequila and foot massages.

"Mm."

No, that's not an answer. She tries again: "I always worry."

"Mmm." He presses a little deeper, long fingers working out the tension in the arch of her foot. "Try again," he coaxes.

A quick inhalation of breath before she can stop herself, and she's falling back, coming to rest with her head on the arm of the couch.

Fucking footrubs. Fucking tequila.

"I just -- ah -- don't want to see him get hurt."

"A regular Mother Theresa, you are." He returns to the first foot, also working deep in the muscle.

He is careful not to touch her ankle, keeping his touch firm and intent. Nonetheless, he watches her face, curious to glean any bit of information he can.

"That's me."

For a few moments she just lies there, dizzy with sensation. But then she just has to speak, though it might cost her.

"You seem awfully curious about my relationship with Indy."

Mills cants his head to one side, and hums his assent.

"I just thought it was -- interesting the way you put yourself between us. Like you were protecting me." He presses his lips together, suppressing a smile.

"Heh." Her eyes remain lidded, but she smiles. "Who says I wasn't? You're such a troublemaker."

"Oh yes, that's me." He switches feet again, seemingly not inclined to stop any time soon. "Always in the thick of it."

There's a brief hesitation in his motions, and his brow furrows.

"I think he thought -- that we..." The sentence hangs in the air between them.

Veronica peeks open one eye to look at Mills.

"That we what?"

She knows exactly what he's referring to, of course. It's just so much more fun to make him actually say it.

"You know."

He runs a fingertip down the center of her sole, lightly, teasing.

"Gah!"

She jumps at this, instinctively attempting to jerk her foot away from him.

"No no no no no. None of that. I will be unable to prevent things from becoming violent if there's any more of that business."

He keeps a firm grip on her foot, his hand wrapped around, flat against her skin, suppressing any tickle response. "No need for that," he says. "None at all."

Only when she's relaxed again does he release his grip, shifting her foot back to the couch with a bit of a sigh.

She's disappointed, and a little guilty, as she mutters an explanation. "Really. There's thrashing involved. I can't help it."

Regardless, she pulls herself back up into a seated position, swinging her legs to the floor and taking the middle seat, next to him, on the couch. There's several inches of space between them. She folds her hands on her lap and drops her gaze to them, watching as she idly runs a thumb over birthmarks.

"I'm not sure it helps, but the response to your earlier question is 'Probably, yes'."

He leans back, slouching a bit into the corner of the couch, resting his arm on the back. His legs are stretched out and crossed at the ankle and she might notice there's a tiny hole in the toe of his sock.

"I'm guessing you're not in the habit of dragging strange men back to your apartment for tequila and foot rubs." There's a hint of a tease in his voice.

She half-turns her face toward him, cocking an eyebrow.

"And I'm guessing you're not in the habit of being dragged by strange women to strange apartments for tequila and foot rubs. So. Fair's fair."

He regards her with a muted half-smile on his lips.

"You kinda sprang the tequila on me."

"Well, I wasn't expecting foot rubs," she challenges.

There's a pause.

As a much more neutral afterthought, "Not that I minded."

He shrugs a little. "Didn't say I minded the tequila. Just took me by surprise is all."

Veronica angles her face straight again, and stills the hands in her lap. She's looking at -- nothing.

Softly, "I'm just full of surprises."

Mills says nothing.

Instead, he rests a hand on her back, his thumb stroking gently.

In reaction to his touch, Veronica straightens her spine, adjusting her posture. God, this man and his wonderful hands... And she thought she had a thing about touching.

There are still inches between them, but she turns slightly in her seat, curving her body towards him, and that space begins to diminish.

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