2007-07-31: Taxicab Confessions

Starring:

Max_icon.gif Identity_icon.gif

Summary: What summary?

Date It Happened: July 31st, 2007

Log Title Taxicab Confessions


Location Kirby Plaza; Moving Taxi; Brooklyn. NYC.

New York City. It's always bustling and busy in Manhattan, with pedestrians and vehicles everywhere. The plaza is no exception, though it's slightly less busy here than the sidewalk. Near the garishly huge sculpture of DNA, Identity stands with a carryout container of noodles and chopsticks in hand, as if she's contemplating going into the building, but hasn't quite made up her mind. Then again, she could just be looking for someone to stab with the wooden sticks.

Another day, another dollar. Max is arriving fashionably late today. Rather than his usual way-too-expensive suit, he's dressed down in stylishly crisp and dark denims, a snug white t-shirt, and a lightweight zippered coat. Chances are good that somebody has a busy day planned. Them's workin' clothes.

Identity isn't hard to spot. Then again, she never is. Max limps up alongside her and sniffs appreciatively in the general direction of the takeout carton. "Smells good," he rumbles. "I hope you brought enough for two. I'm hungry."

"You ask me real nice and I might share," Identity replies, with a faint smirk, shoving the sticks back into the noodles. She glances over after a moment, then gives his body a full eyeball. Id's gaze starts at the top and works down. There's a moment's pause before she asks, "Planning to get dirty today?"

"Only if you're lucky," Max replies without missing a beat. The scarred half of his mouth quirks upward into a self-satisfied smile. "I have to stop by the lab at some point. I'm trying to convince Mohinder Suresh that letting me run a raw electrical current through a woman's optic nerve is a reasonable medical procedure. I'm thinking today is the day."

There's a slight pause before Identity turns to face Max, and takes a step to being her closer, much closer, so close, in fact, that their clothing brushes as she turns. "You're a psychotic ass," is said calmly, at a murmur, as if she's just told him his tshirt brings out his delightful pectorals. Not that she would. Id doesn't use words like that. "Luck has nothing to do with it."

Max smirks down at Identity. He reaches out to very briefly touch his fingertips to her arm. The gesture is somewhere between affectionate, possessive, and irritated. "You're right." He nods agreeably. "It's my wallet you like, I think. Speaking of which, did I pay for that food?"

"You didn't pay for this." Id smiles slightly as Max's fingers brush her arm. "You should come check out the new hot tub." The plastic has taken another hit. She reaches up to thread her fingers through her hair, handing over the Chinese container with the other hand. "The wallet is a bonus. That's not my favorite thing about you." She nods toward the building. "You have an appointment?"

"New hot tub?" Max can't help but wince. That sounds expensive. He accepts the food and twirls a dainty mouthful of noodles around the chopsticks. "Chances are very good you'll be the death of me," he informs her evenly. "If not from stress, then from stab wounds. Speaking of stab wounds, I'm on a flexible schedule until this heals." He touches the pinky of his chopstick-holding hand to an area just above his left hip. "You consistantly amaze me with the places you think to hide blades."

"You won't go out bored," Identity doesn't even try to deny it. "And that's all that matters to a man like you." She treats him to a smile, and continues, "I wouldn't want to make it easy for you. If you think the hot tub was expensive, wait until you do something to piss me off." It's like being married, but to a surly martial artist with a stabbing problem.
Max lets out a snort of laughter and downs several mouthfuls of noodles in quick succession before handing the container back. "Mmm. I love Thai. You're right, though. You keep me entertained and you keep me on my toes. I like that. A man like me?" Again, his self-satisfied smirk makes an appearance. "Don't be coy. You like that I'm mean and abrasive and relatively wealthy. I'm ready to set up a separate account for all the money you spend on shoes, by the way."

"Don't set up a separate account. It's much more fun forging your signature." Identity smiles again, and glances across the plaza, taking stock of the pedestrians passing this way and that. "I'd kick your ass for free," she asides, drawing a brief glance from a passerby, "Any day."

"You say the sweetest things to me." What? Whatever. Max smiles back at Id. Unlike her, he has little interest in what the miscellaneous sheep are busying themselves with. He steps closer to her and brushes a few stray strands of hair back behind her ear with two fingertips.

Everyone knows Max is just a big gushy whore waiting for his dominatrix to come and complete him. Don't even try to pretend. "Max." Id says just that one word, his name, either as a warning or invitation. Her eyes fall half closed at the light touch of his fingers.

Max brushes the back of his hand along Id's cheek affectionately. "That's my name," he agrees quietly. "Don't wear it out or I'll make you buy me a new one. You'd probably use my credit card, though. Bitch." As always, the last word is more of a pet name than an insult. "You have anywhere to be?"

Id inhales a slow breath and shakes her head slightly. "No." Her hands brush over his tshirt as she steps in closer. "I was going to go in, but something more interesting came up. You?"

Max sucks in a deep, steadying breath and glances down meaningfully at the scant space left between their bodies. "Something suddenly came up for me, also. Let's get out of here." With a mischevious half-grin on his face, he turns and lifts one hand to wave in a waiting cab. "Your place or mine?"

Identity considers that for only a moment before she replies, "Yours." She hasn't, after all, seen his new place. Information is always power. "We're never going to get any work done working together." What the boss doesn't notice wont hurt anyone.

Max holds the door open for Id, then climbs into the back behind her. He hands a twenty to the cabbie, then points a finger into the air and makes a circular loop de loop gesture. It takes a moment for the man to catch on, but when he does he tucks the money away without a word and drives the cab in a quick lap around the plaza without bothering to turn on the meter. Altogether it takes thirty seconds, tops. "Welcome to my building. I have a real apartment now, even if it is the size of thimble. Are you sure you don't want to go to your place?"

"You're telling me you don't have—" Identity gives Max a look, then says to the Cabbie without another word to Max about it, "Brooklyn." She gives an address of a restaurant on her block, then says to Max. "It's probably bugged. That's the last thing I need at the Christmas party."

Max chuckles dryly and nods. "Whatever you like, my dear. I'm happy enough to be dodging work. No stabbing today, though. I'm still sore from last time." This earns a confused, wide-eyed glance in the rear-view mirror from the cabbie. "What's wrong, though? Embarassed to be caught shacking up with a former fugitive?" Smirk.

"Shacking up?" Id slides closer to Max, closing the distance between them on the backseat of the cab. "Stabbing's only for special occasions." She doesn't seem to notice the cabbie's reaction. "You like the idea of video surveillance of us circulating?"

"Mmm. I always wanted to be a star," is Max's response. He grins wider and leans down to press a fierce kiss against Identity's lips. It lingers long enough that the cabbie clears his throat to remind them both that he's there. Max raises a single middle finger without separating from Id by way of reply.

Steamy cab make-out video circulating the internet is much better than a hi def Company surveillance feed. There is no need for a verbal response to Max's initial observation. Id is much more inclined to turn on the seat and slide into his lap, with her back to the driver. Her hands are under his tshirt in three seconds flat and the kiss goes up a few degrees.

Max lets out a appreciative rumble from deep in his throat and rests both hands on Id's hips, settling her lithe form more comfortably against his larger, bulkier body. Shameless to the core, he's just as happy to be a part of the newest Taxicab Confessions as he is the latest issue of Company Escapades. He takes her lower lip between his teeth and bites down.

The cabbie starts to drive a little slower.

Though the cab is going slow, this is still Manhattan. Nothing moves that slowly, or else honking ensues. Of course slowing to watch people in the back of the cab takes away from the manual driving dexterity thing. Just as Id's hand slide up to Max's chest, baring her favorite abs, and the other does spelunking in the opposite direction, the cab goes sightly off course, bearing down on a delivery van double parked.

There's no need for words. Once they get past the initial banter they rarely need words. Max leans his head back against the taxi's seat and closes his eyes. Id is good with her hands. Very good. Just when the censors really start to flopsweat, there's a loud, metallic crunching sound as the taxi and the van make contact and grind along each others' bumpers at low speed. Max's eyes snap back open and he lets out a groan. "I think God hates me."

As the two metal structures meet, Identity is thrown back off of Max's lap. Though the jarring isn't hard, it's enough to send her slipping off, and thudding lightly against the divider. One hand remains tangled in his shirt, and a few new claw marks burn to the left of Max's naval. There's a comical moment of being smooshed up against the divider before Identity swears colorfully and leans forward to grab hold of Max's shoulders and drag herself back to the seat. "I was just getting into that."

"You and me both. At least we're almost there." Max reaches between their bodies to zip himself back up, then glares at the cabbie. "What's wrong, man? Too busy enjoying the show to watch the fucking road? Don't worry about us, we're fine. We're gonna take off, though. You have fun with this mess." The fugitive-turned-agent raps his knuckles against the glass and gives the man the finger one more time, the cracks the door. "Come on, Iddy. Let's get out of here."

The Company just can't get good help these days. Agents sleeping with fugitives turned Agents skipping work to cause traffic accidents during public sexual escapades. The humanity. Id slides over Max's lap and out the door, opening it into traffic regardless of who's in the other lane. She slides out, bodied against the cab, gives Max a moment to slip out himself, then darts across traffic to the other side. Only those who have braved third world streets could feel comfortable pulling that here. "Try to keep up, old man!" Just like her to take off leaving him to limp after while abandoning the scene of an accident.

Max can keep up, but not because he's rushing. With casual waves of his hands, he deflects traffic enough to create a clear path for himself to the other side. It seems that there are non-combative benefits to his ability as well. When he sets foot on the pavement, he exaggeratedly tugs his collar straight and brushes an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve. "I'm sorry, did you say something? I couldn't quite hear you. Apparently, I'm too old."

"I'm thinking about getting a new job," Id observes, apropos of nothing as they make their way down the Brooklyn sidewalk in the general direction of Identity's building. "This one isn't doing it for me anymore." She turns the block, reaching over to slide her arm across Max's lower back, hand settling into his back pocket. "Body-guarding high profile clients is one thing. This subtle shit is about as fucking entertaining as watching that vagrant on Houston try to hump every Kia that goes by." She belatedly glances over. "That was cheating."

"Whoever said that cheaters never win must have been a loser," Max replies, his voice falsely modest. His hip bumps against hers companionably as they stroll along and he drapes an arm around her shoulders. "I like to think of my own situation as being fluid. Subject to change. My leash is getting longer, though. You ready to chuck it all and work for me yet?" He glances down at her with one eyebrow lifted inquisitively. "Theoretically speaking, of course."

"Work for you?" Identity seems more amused than is necessary. She casts an amused glance up at Max with a little quirk of her lips. "Work for you doing what?" That's a blow to the manhood right there. Id takes a deep breath as they pass a particularly tasty smelling Italian sidewalk cafe. "Robbing banks and grousing about the state of the world? Who is your arch nemesis this week anyway?"

"You wound me," Max counters, mock-offended. "But if you want to keep sitting around at the KP building like a racehorse put out to pasture, that's fine with me. You know where to find me when you change your mind." After a few more steps he gives Id a quick hip-check. "And I'm between rivals this week, thankyouverymuch."

"I could wound you, but you pulled out the safe word." Identity replies, obviously teasing him. "Did you really just compare me to over the hill livestock?" That earns Max a body check into the side of a building. "You wanna have this conversation for real, or you gonna apologize and take me to bed?" There's an edge of a threat there. Seems like Identity could go either way.

"Oof!" Max grunts as he contacts an exterior wall. Smiling ruefully, he rubs at his abdomen, his fingers lingering over the new scratches near his navel. "Pleasure first, then we talk business. I'm sorry I called you a used up old biddy. Now take me upstairs and show me how wrong I really was."

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