OOM: Suite 130

[watching_you]

Veronica leads Mills through the labyrinthine corridors of the Milliways guest area until, eventually, they reach the right hallway.

"This place can be a bit confusing at times," she offers apologetically. "Things have a tendency to move. But I'm right up here --"

She cuts off, stopping short. This hallway's not empty.

Super.

Comments

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

Mills crosses his arms over his chest and looks down his nose at her.

"Teddy bears?" He leans forward a bit, trying to frown. It's not working very well. A smirk cracks the facade.

"No. I do take it off to sleep."

[watching_you]

"Good, then you can take it off now, too."

She steps in closer, hands on her hips as she tipsily attempts to look intimidating.

"Guns and that much tequila don't mix."

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

His eyebrows rise. And slowly, he complies. He coils the holster around the weapon and leans down to place it on the coffee table. "Happy?"

[watching_you]

She grins. "Actually that was just a ruse so I could do this --"

By the time she reaches 'this' she has already moved, grabbing one of the end cushions off the couch, and bringing it around in a clumsy arc towards his head.

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

Thump.

"What the--?"

His hand comes up and enfolds the pillow, twisting it out of her hands. This motion is complete before he realises quite what has happened.

"Oh is that how it is? Unprovoked attacks will be met with an appropriate level of force." The pillow is propelled back across the short space between them, aimed for her shoulder.

[watching_you]

Veronica throws up her hands and lets the fluffy projectile bounce off of her to the floor, laughing.

"Sorry. Couldn't resist. You're very --" she searches for the appropriate word, "-- provokeable."

Which is not actually a real word, but it will have to do.

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

Mills is still grinning, shaking his head slightly. "Y'know, I think you might be drunk."

With that astute observation, he settles back onto the couch and kicks off his shoes.

"I'd say bring the bottle but I think we'll be fine for awhile."

[watching_you]

"I have no idea what you're basing that on."

She grabs the far end of the couch, but sits sideways, facing him, her legs folded underneath her. For a moment she lets her head rest against the back of the couch, which serves to keep the room from spinning for a few moments.

"As for the rest -- I suppose that depends on your definition of 'fine'."

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

He's feeling the alcohol now and knows his faculties are compromised. He turns his head to watch her, head tipped back and can't help but wonder just what the hell he's doing here, getting drunk with her in the middle of the afternoon.

Questions.

"So tell me about this Jones fellow. He looked familiar, somehow."

[watching_you]

She starts to giggle again, and claps a hand to her mouth to stifle it.

"Indiana Jones? You're asking me why Indiana Jones looks familiar?"

She looks at him like she's waiting for the punchline.

"Temple of Doom? Raiders? The Last Crusade? Kingdom of the Crystal Skull but don't bring that up because I don't think he knows about it yet?"

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

His brow furrows. "Wait, that was -- the Indiana Jones?"

He mirrors the look of consternation.

"You have got to be shitting me."

[watching_you]

Shifting position, she stretches a foot across the gap between them to nudge him teasingly in the leg.

"As opposed to one of those other Indiana Joneses you've heard of? Nah. That's Milliways for you."

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

"Huh. Wait, you called him your BFF? As in 'best friend forever'?"

His hand comes down and grabs her foot in a firm but gentle grip. He looks across at her to gauge her reaction.

[watching_you]

She makes an attempt to pull away, but nope. He's got her.

Eying him warily, she says, "I'm not sure what kind of answer is likely to get you to let go of me, but let's pretend I gave that one, okay?"

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

He raises a single eyebrow, suppressing a smirk. He shifts and draws her foot into his lap, his thumb pressing firmly into the ball of her foot, massaging. His other hand joins in, attending to the arch.

He thinks perhaps this is a bad idea, but the tequila thinks maybe not.

[watching_you]

"Oh," she replies, breathlessly.

She lets her head rest against the couch again, her eyelids fluttering shut as for a moment, she does nothing more than enjoy his touch. It takes quite a while before she's able to rally enough to speak.

"Mm. What was the question again?"

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

His hands keep a gentle, languid pace, a firm touch that does not stray from its purpose. He'd never even considered this as an interrogation technique.

When he speaks, his voice is gravelled and low. "You called him your 'BFF'."

[watching_you]

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."

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

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.

[watching_you]

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."

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

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

His expression is curious. Just a simple question.

[watching_you]

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."

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

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

[watching_you]

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."

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

"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.