watching_you | OOM: Suite 130

"Mmm hmm."

Okay, now he's just going to sit back in his chair, giving her a Look.

"I'm sorry, Mills, but if you're going to know me, you should know that this is my life. These days, in my world, F.B.I. stands for Feral Bird I-radicators."

Serious face is serious.

"Feral Bird I-radicators."

It takes a moment, and he's really trying not to, but she's gone Too Far.

He hangs his head and laughs.

"This is not a joke! This is deadly serious!"

Her poker face is already beginning to crack.

"Thousands of innocent people... die every day! All because of the... wereduck... menace."

She dissolves into laughter, then reaches across to give him a playful punch on the arm. "Jerk. You were just going to make me keep going with that, weren't you?"

"Well, what choice did I have? You seemed so — adamant." He's still chucking. "Man-sized wereducks," he scoffs, picking up their plates and ambling back into the kitchen.

"You forget, I've been out of bar with Ellen Park. Man-sized crab things. No really. Wouldn't go down but for a 12 gauge slug to the face." He's completely serious.

He flexes his wrist, working out the tightness from the injure. "Wereducks," he laughs under his breath. "You almost had me."

"Ducks with teeth, Mills, ducks with teeth."

She watches him, leaning forward onto the table, chin cupped in one hand.

"I'm definitely keeping you around. Most other folks have caught on to me by now -- I never get away with that stuff these days."

"There goes my credibility. Shot to hell, by ducks. With teeth." He shakes his head, grinning. He rinses the plates off and then turns to look at her while he dries his hands.

"Veronica, Veronica. Whatever shall I do with you, hmm?"

Her eyes narrow in thought.

"Put up with me, hopefully."

"Oh is that all? I could do that much in my sleep."

Oh hey, look. A kitchen that needs tidying.

Too easy. Veronica lets him off the hook, smirking.

"I have been told I am easier to tolerate if one is unconscious."

Eventually he runs out of things to wipe down or put away, and he drifts back to the table. His long fingers encircle the glass of water, like she's seen him do with beer bottles.

When he manages to look back into her face, his irises are dark, the smile lines deepening at the corners of his eyes. "You're the most unexpected thing I've met since I first came to Milliways."

Somewhere in there is a compliment, she's sure, but she's not quite sure how to take it.

"More than man-sized crab monsters?"

"You forget. I live in LA now. Crab monsters on every corner, working through their lines. But a beautiful, intelligent, funny young woman who seems, seems mind you, seems to be interested in a man like me?"

He shakes his head, looking back down at his hands.

"I'd sooner expect to meet the Loch Ness monster lounging by the pool or Bigfoot selling magazine subscriptions."

There's no witty answer to that, really.

She reaches out, takes one of his hands off the jug, holds it in hers. Gently, she lifts it to her lips and brushes a kiss against his knuckles.

Softly, "You're pretty unexpected yourself."

His eyes drift closed for a moment, and he hums, a low, contented sound. When he opens them again, he's grinning like a fool.

"Hey pretty lady," he rumbles, squeezing her hand. "Wanna buy a subscription to National Geographic?"

She laughs.

"I like to think my skin's too nice to be a lake monster."

With some reluctance, she lets his hand go.

"So. Um."

He catches her hand again, gently pulling her back. "You keep doing that, you're gonna give me a complex."

His thumb hooks around hers and he bends her wrist just so. And then he's the one pulling her hand to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to the back of her hand.

She shivers in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature.

"I don't -- I don't mean to."

"I know," he answers simply.

And then he's the one letting her hand go, reluctantly.

"I suppose you need to be getting back."

"I suppose," she says faintly.

But she makes no move to leave. Instead she takes her now-free hand and touches his cheek, feeling his warmth through her fingertips.

Again his eyes close and she feels him lean into that touch. His hand comes up to capture her wrist as he turns to kiss her palm. A series of gentle, languid kisses, trailing over the mound of her thumb, down to the sensitive skin of her inner wrist.

Options, options. She could get up, walk away. Leave. Most likely that would be the end of it.

Or she could turn her hand and catch her fingers in his hair and grab him and --

She squeezes her eyes shut, postponing the decision.

Bryan is waiting for her to pull away. Any moment now, she's going to take her hand away, and they'll go back to pretending they both don't feel this sweet pull.

Until the very moment she does, he decides he's going to keep kissing her palm, nuzzling gently, exploring the soft curves with his lips, savoring her for as long as she'll let him.

Veronica thoughts can be best summed up as a very frustrated 'arg'. She attempts to say his name but makes no sound; all she can hear is her heartbeat in her ears.

Funny how she feels no less dizzy than when she'd been so influenced by the tequila, earlier.

Without consciously thinking about it, she curls her fingers, tracing his jawline.

Her touch elicits a rumbling purr. Instinct makes him shift towards her, but he doesn't want to overwhelm her. What he wants, more than anything at this moment, is to make her feel safe with him.

He opens his eyes and looks up at her, pressing his jaw into her hand while his own reaches up to stroke her cheek with the back of his knuckles.

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