2011-04-01: Character Is What You Are in the Dark



Date: April 1, 2011


Just when everything seems so clear…

"Character Is What You Are in the Dark"

George's apartment, New York

It's that same familiar bathrobe from the other night, the dark green one. Not exactly an uncommon style, but it's got that distinctive scorch mark along the underside of the sleeve. (Note to self: roll them up before frying bacon.)

Unlike before, though, George is not wearing it; it's draped over the back of a chair. Over one corner of it, actually, like it was tossed there in a moment of distraction.

A distraction or a hope of a distraction? There are long work days that lead to even longer nights. In fact, sometimes people have to come over to the other's apartment. Mmm the New York one now. So that means there are a pair of shoes by the door. They oddly would fit Eve's feet if they were tried.

From within the apartment, there comes a low moan. It's the kind of moan that makes others pause and take notice. However, it is from a certain woman rolling her neck to get a kink out of it. Her own coat is tossed to one side. As well as there are files upon the table. Hmmm files.

Work, work, work. What is it with Evette, anyway, she can't leave that stuff at the office once in a while? Okay, so George has been equally guilty of bringing it home with him from time to time, but still.

"You all right?" the familiar voice calls out. A padding of bare feet against carpet; a silhouette— but nothing more. Most of the apartment remains draped in pitch blackness, the chair with the robe only visible because it happens to be sitting near a window.

Evette stands to the voice and rises from her place on the couch. There is a stretch over her head, but the darkness doesn't show too much. It is a swing of her hips as she moves to saunter into his path. "I'm fine." Eve's voice is weary from the lack of sleep as she approaches closer to him. The woman is less intimidating as she's barefoot. "How are you?" The darkness of the rooms just seem to make her blue eyes more intense.

"Better, now." The George-shaped silhouette draws closer. Close enough to— but no, for now, he just slips the fingers of one hand into her hair, gently running it downward and straightening it out. "It's good to have you back in the land of the living," he teases.

Evette takes a deep breath as his fingers curl through her hair. It is as if his fingers work the magic to calm her no matter what. "The world of the dead has that seductive siren music though. Shhh.. if you listen you might be able to hear it." There comes a soft vibrating noise from where their mutual phones are silenced. Evette grins up at him in an adoring fashion, that is truly his alone. Since most others get the demon of hell look. Her own fingers come to press to his face and trail the edges. It's almost like she's in awe of the ability to touch him as she gives a soft chuckle. "I suppose it's just your luck that I'm in the land of the living for you."

George shrugs. "I suppose so," he replies, with a hint of a shrug. Running out of hair somewhere around her mid-back, he brings his hand back up to rest on her shoulder, the other one promptly following suit. "I've had so much trouble with that over the years, I suppose I was due."

This is the one. This is the one that lasts. Another step closer, and his hands begin to descend again, taking their time along the slight curve of her back, stopping again as they reach the hollow just above her waistline.

Evette curves into the touch and she smiles at him a bit time. "Funny how that works for you, Love." Eve gives a soft laugh and leans in to brush her nose against his lightly. Finally. She wasn't sure she would ever find anyone who would understand workload. Now. Someone who shares that with her. Blue eyes shift over to that discarded and tossed robe. The woman before him, one that belongs to him, wears only one of his dress shirts. It looks better on her though.

Mmm, but as good as it looks on her, wouldn't it look that much better off of her? Fingers move around to the front, teasing at the bottom hem before moving up along her front - another interesting stretch of territory in its own right - finally reaching for the top button and loosening it. "Enough about work, shouldn't you be getting back to bed around now?"

Evette laughs to that. "Oh look at that. I'm suddenly not tired. I think you are right and I should get to bed." Eve's fingers trail across his chest as she finally leans up to press her lips lightly to his. "Though only if you are going to do that thing on page fifty-six of that book my brother sent us."

"Fifty-six," he echoes. "Are you sure? I was planning to just start at the beginning and work forward, but…" George trails off there, distracted by what his hands have been up to in the meantime. One button after another, and now they've run out as well, the thin fabric hanging loosely - and separately - from her arms.

Evette shakes out her dark hair and hmmms softly. The shirt falls to the floor from how it hangs on her body already. "Only if you promise that when we are done, we can go backwards through the book and start over." Her brows wiggle before she wraps her arms around him. Then comes the words that no one ever thought she would utter, words that still stun her to her core to say. "I love you."

For just a second, all the playful retorts - and that line sets up a dozen or two, easy - are forgotten, that simple little phrase stopping him dead in his tracks. George's hands have almost reached a point of no return, but instead they move back up along the front of Evette's body again, one laying flat against the swell of her chest while the other traces her neckline. He opens his mouth, as if to echo her sentiment, stepping forward so that his face emerges from the shadows—



Evette's apartment, New York

The scenario dancing in Evette's eyes is bulldozed by the harsh, unrelenting screech of her clock radio sounding its daily morning alarm. Right on schedule, like always. Couldn't it have given her just a few more minutes for once?

Evette groans as the alarm goes off. She reaches and shuts off the alarm. For a few moments, the woman lies in her rented bed, in her rented apartment and might ponder if she's running a rented life. A sigh flits from her lips to that. "Fuck." The one word for just how messed up the situation is truly becoming.

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