songofsong | AU } Maybe in another life, we wouldn't be alone tonight

She stills at the touch of his hand on her arm, it seeming to ground her nerves and give her enough strength to look at him again, properly look at him. Because when he touches her, she feels more than just the warmth of his skin through her sleeve, but she feels something else too, something she can't quite explain. Whatever it is, it makes his suggestion all the more appealing and she finds herself wanting that touch all over, in places he can't yet see.

She soon appalled by her own thoughts and she blinks slightly, trying to force them away. All that from a simple touch? It really has been a while. But then that's the problem, isn't it? She can barely remember the last time she was with a man, with somebody who cared about her and wanted to make her feel special.

Picking up her wine glass, she takes a needed drink of the contents as she tries to clear her head, even when all she's aware of right now is what he's offering and how much she wants it. No, how much she needs it.

She swallows down the sizeable mouthful, returning the glass to the table and looking at it for a long moment.

"It was a long time ago," she then mutters, raising her eyebrows self depreciatingly to herself, while she keeps her eyes fixed on her wine glass. "Too long ago."

James' eyes barely move from her. His gaze doesn't drop away, nor his touch for a long moment or more. He's not quite sure what it is about her that he finds so enthralling, but he's certain she is. Maybe it's because she's older, a little wiser, a little more experienced, perhaps. He's not really been with an older woman, and it would be a lie to pretend he's not intrigued.

Maybe it's her job, because that's exciting too, isn't it? Someone who does all she does, as important as she is. To think of being somehow commanding over that power. It's a strange thought, an exciting thought.

But there's more than that too, much more that he can't even begin to pin down. Things he has no idea are so close.

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" he says softly, a touch of a smile returning again.

Her head slowly turns aside at his soft words, watching as he smiles at her. She hesitates, uncertain, but then she too begins to smile. She's still not entirely sure what she's letting herself in for here, but if he's offering something, perhaps she should take it. And not just because it's been a while, but, well, look at him.

As attractive as she's been told she is, that still usually limits her to men in her age category. A man like him, as young as him, should be a missed opportunity from decades ago, from before Toby was even born. But he isn't. He's right here, right now, and maybe things are all happening in the wrong order, but somehow, she's okay with that.

She decides there and then that if she turns this down, she's an idiot. And every woman on the planet over the age of 40 have the right to smack her upside the head.

"You're not having me on, are you? Because if you are ... " she asks then, squinting somewhat. Because she has to be sure, she doesn't want to be foolish and misread all this. She finds it all so difficult to believe, that someone like him could be interested in someone like her.

"Definitely not having you on," he confirms.

It isn't the first time he's propositioned someone, of course. Okay probably the first time he's propositioned someone more than 20 years older than him, but that's hardly the point.

Still, with Melody just as anyone, he wants her to realise it isn't simply about a notch on a bedpost. He's not ticking off his 'older woman' from some bucket list. It's about her, and she's special. He's never met anybody who isn't.

"You're a stunning woman, Melody," he tells her, before again teasing a little, "And I'd really like to make up for you missing that train."

That makes her laugh, if a little breathlessly, because she's starting to realise what happening here, or rather, what might be happening in the next few minutes.

"Ok," she then murmurs. "Ok," she repeats again, going to pick up her wine glass and down the remainder of the contents in a series of gulps. Just needs to take the edge of those nerves. Not that she should have any nerves, but there's something about this whole situation that's a little bit mad and a little bit exciting.

"Woah blimey slow down," James laughs, can't help it seeing her bolster herself like that. His smile is wide, and it's heartwarming to see how she reacts. He knows she's nervous, but that's okay. He doesn't need her to tell him this isn't really the sort of thing she ever does.

But there's a first time for everything, right?

"Okay, I need to pop to the gents," he tells her. After all this is rather an impromptu occasion, and he didn't come up on the train this morning with a wallet full of condoms.

"But I'll be right back." His hand touches gently to her arm once more as he stands, a small squeeze of reassurance before he heads off to find the gents and retrieve exactly what he needs to, as quick as he can before he's heading back out to find her once more.

The touch to her arm does exactly what it did the first time, and when he walks away, her gaze is drawn after him, watching him as he retreats. That, and the thoughts that have since been stirring in her head are doing nothing for her state right now. It's like her body's suddenly remembered how long it's been, and it wants everything, it wants him.

She waits for him to return, giving him a smile when she spots him. Now she's started to come to terms with all this, she's feeling a little braver about it. After all, there's nothing wrong with what they're doing, they're two consenting adults, even if one is older than the other. Though certainly old enough to know her own mind.

"Ready?" she asks him, but she's already getting to her feet. She blames the urgency on her nerves, rather than her needs. Though in truth it's a little bit of both.

Part of him had worried that she might have disappeared while he'd gone to fiddle with the machine in the toilets, but when he steps out and finds her still there, there's a warm smile on his face. His new purchase is now tucked away in his pocket. All five of them. Well, never hurt to be overprepared. The machine ate about five quid more than it was supposed to, but he really can't bring himself to care, not when he's watching her get to her feet and thinking that before long he might have her with her ankles around his shoulders.

The thought is more than a little thrilling.

"Ready," he smiles, stepping back out and moving with her back the way they came, the short walk next door to the tired looking travelodge he booked into earlier.

His head turns towards her, as if checking on her, making sure she's okay, and he pauses just a moment. "Did you want me to get us a bottle of wine or something to take up?" he asks, wondering if he might be able to go run back to the pub to get one.

“Wine? Oh, yes, wine would be good,” she says, seeming to hear that sole word and latch onto it. “Tell you what, you go and get us a bottle, I’ll head up, shall I?” She looks down to his hand, reaching forward to hopefully take the keycard from his fingers.

There may be an ulterior motive to this suggestion - namely so she could spend a few minutes preparing herself, both physically and mentally. That, and she just needs a moment to come to terms with what’s happening here.

"Right, course yeah," he almost fumbles a little. Strange, it's not like he's ever nervous, not like he's usually awkward over these things. Maybe he's just looking forward to this impromptu little encounter.

Quickly, he pulls the keycard and it's little envelope from his pocket and hands it over towards her. "Room 437," he reads from the little piece of paper, memorising it for himself.

"You head up, I won't be long." And on that, he turns aside and quickly heads back to the pub. He can't afford a full bottle of the wine he brought her by the glass, so it's a house white this time. He pays for it and tucks it into his jacket before turning back. Outside the rain is heavier than ever, and in the short walk between the pub and the hotel he's practically soaked through. Still, not to matter, and he heads quickly to the lift and up towards the room, rapping gently on the door when he gets there.

As James hurries off to do just that, Melody heads up to room 437. Slipping the key card in, she steps into the modestly sized room. It's a little basic, but recently decorated, and certainly not something to turn her nose up at.

Alone, she feels a little more sure of herself, and she steps into the bathroom to try and neaten hair that never wants to be neatened. An extra spray of perfume is assessed before she plucks a lipstick from her bag and tops it up. Not that she needs to do any convincing now, but she ought to look her best.

Stood there, she watches her reflection in the mirror, seeming to notice all her flaws in the harsh bathroom light. She doesn't understand what he sees in her. She wonders if he expects this to be a fleeting one off. Grab an older woman for a fling and then never speak again. Put like that, it doesn't sound so assuring, but if she tells herself that all she wants too? Then it doesn't seem so bad. It's just not going to be the kind of encounter she tells her friends about - unless she's really drunk.

Stood there, she wonders if she should change. Not her clothes, they don't matter, but she's sure she has a nicer bra in her suitcase. One that shapes her bust much more pleasingly, but she realises it probably won't be on for long and she rolls her eyes at such silly thoughts.

It's just then that the door knocks and she jumps, startled by his arrival. Calming herself, she fixes one last look in the mirror and with a final pep talk to herself, she takes a deep breath and goes to open the door.

He stands outside the door for a moment, glancing back out along the corridor. He wonders for a second if she might not have come up. He'd understand if she changed her mind. But that possibility is quickly disproved when he hears movement inside and the door opening.

Standing tall, he takes his hands from his pockets, and pulls the bottle from out of its place in his jacket.

"Still cold," he tells her with a smile. "Got them to get me one from the fridge."

He can see that she's reapplied her lipstick, smell the renewed perfume, but then that's hardly unusual. Women, he's found, always seem to get the most nervous about the way they look when it's the most obvious he likes them. Strange, that.

Stepping into the room, he glances around. Not too bad a room, especially for a Travelodge. A bit cold but they'd soon fix that. He looks around, no glasses, but a couple of mugs. He frowns a moment before stepping and turning into the bathroom, pulling out two small plastic cups wrapped in a plastic bag.

"These'll do," he says, setting them out before shrugging out of his leather jacket. Underneath, he's wearing a faded baggy t-shirt with David Bowie emblazoned on it. He has a necklace around his neck, and the rolled up sleeves show the muscles of his arms.

Reaching for the bottle of wine, he twists the cap (luckily it doesn't have a cork), and pours some into each of the plastic cups.

"You get comfy," he tells her. "I'm just going to grab a towel." His hair is dripping wet, and his feet practically squelching in his shoes, so quickly he disappears and emerges a moment later, boots tugged off and throw to the side and a towel around his neck which he rubs his hair with.

The door opens to reveal him stood there, drenched by the rain and somehow looking all the better for it. She laughs a little as she steps out of the way, watching as he shrugs out of his leather jacket. The look she gives him tries to be discreet, even though there's no need for it. Very soon she could be looking at all of him.

Taking one of the plastic cups, she tilts it aside slightly as she studies it. Her smiles fades somewhat as it seems to symbolise all that's happened and going to happen. Quick, convenient, unplanned.

Perching on the bed, she tries to get rid of the bitter thought with a large gulp of wine, which would've helped more had she not immediately recognised it's value.

She tells herself it doesn't matter. Little things like that don't mean anything, and if she can stick this through, nothing else will mean anything for the rest of the night. And isn't that an enlightening thought?

His footsteps sound and she looks up again, giving him a smile as he tries to dry out his hair.

"Here," she says, standing up and bringing him his cup. "Think you need this."

"Thanks," he says, giving his hair another quick rub with the towel before discarding it off to the side, dropping it down against a wooden luggage rack. He reaches out and takes the cup, giving it a quick sip.

But the drink soon earns a distasteful look, and he coughs, a noise turning into a laugh. "Christ this is awful," he says, still laughing. "Drink it quicker and you'll never notice, right?"

He shudders at it a bit though as he takes another swig, and moves about the room, settling himself down on the edge of the bed, lifting his feet up and crossing them in front of him, casual and relaxed. Maybe it's less unfamiliar for him.

"So right then," he says, not attempting to push this to a new place just yet. "You ask me a question, and I'll answer it truthfully. Any question, anything at all. Then I'll ask you one." He did this once in a team building class. "Call it a bit of a getting to know you thing."

She laughs when coughs, glad she's not the only one who thinks it's awful. It seems to relax her a bit, and she nods, making a point of knocking the rest back in one swig. It does help, as does the amount of alcohol she's trying to consume.

Grimacing it down, she watches as he goes to sit, seeming much more as ease than she is. She'd thought they'd get down to business and just as quickly say goodbye. That almost seems easier to deal with.

This part? The talking? That makes it a little more personal and she wonders why he's doing it. If he just wants a shag out of her, why bother with this?

Curious, it seems he's opened the floor for questioning at the right time, and she considers her words as she walks over to the dresser. She goes to refill her cup, speaking as she does so.

"Forgive me if I seem a bit new to all this, but.. why me?"

Why her, and not the pretty redhead behind the bar? Or the girl on reception? Or anyone that makes more sense than she does.

Is it because she's older, she's easy? It's possible, she knows that. And she also knows there's some truth in it.

For all the questions she could have asked, for anything at all she might have said, somehow she's picked the most easy thing to reply to.

He almost laughs, because it's obvious isn't it? Baffling that she can't see it.

"You're kidding, right?" he asks, smiling like she's about to tell him she's doing just that. "You have seen you?" After all, she's gorgeous, sexy, eye catching and incredibly compelling. Why not her? Why anyone else?

She looks back at him, his tone of voice catching her by surprise. She gives a small sort of laugh, raising her eyebrows at herself and shaking her head in a way that makes her curls bounce.

“Yes, I see me every morning in the mirror!” she replies, in a way that suggests she doesn’t think it’s as pretty a sight as he.

He might well see it for himself, but she’s already wondering if she should spare them both of that monstrosity and go home tonight.

It's baffling to him how she can seem so insecure. It's not who he sees. He feels like he knows somewhere deep down just how strong she is; a strong and wonderful woman with fire in her heart. He'd bet his life on it.

He'd opened the floor for questions, and by all rights it's turn for his own, he'd answered hers after all. But he doesn't speak, at least not at first. Instead he uncurls his legs and pushes himself up from the bed, standing and then taking a step towards her.

"Lucky you," he says, "seeing that face every morning." His tone has dropped a little, a little more intent as he steps closer towards her. His hand lifts, reaches out and settles ever so gently against her hip.

His fingers curl gently against her side before he speaks again. "It's okay," he tells her, "I know you're nervous. But you don't have to be. I'll be gentle. We can do this however you want. Whatever you want, and I won't do anything you don't want me to."

And then his question. "Sound good?"

Hearing the bed creak, she looks back in time to see James walking towards her. Her breath seems to falter slightly as he stops in front of her and she feels his hand go to her hip. Silenced, she looks up at him, engrossed by what he was saying, or more accurately, the way his voice sounds when he speaks.

His reassurance does help, not that she’d doubted any of what he was saying, and she nods slowly in response. It really does seem he means this, that he sees her as not an easy catch, but perhaps a difficult one, one he’d have to try hard for. That gives her a little more confidence, and she begins to smile in a way that would’ve once been familiar.

“Yeah,” she replies, glancing over him at this close proximity, over his face and down to the neck of his shirt. “That sounds good.”

The hand on her side grips just a little firmer. His eyes rake over her, watching her, drinking her in, doing anything but hiding the way he looks at her.

Her agreement makes him smile, just a little, and it's that that brings that same hand up a little, sliding along her side before slipping away to move elsewhere. Her hair has been pinned back, that magnificent hair, and instinctively it's there he reaches first, gentle fingertips curled slightly as they touch the edge of her curls and reach around behind her head as he talks.

"But equally," he starts slowly, finding one of the pins in her hair with deft movements (it's almost like he's done this sort of thing before). "Anything you do want me to do, I will. Anything at all."

Carefully, he pulls the pins back, freeing her hair from its restraints, his fingers pressing into the curls to rearrange them and let them fall more freely.

"You're in control here," he tells her. He wants her to know that. He knows she's nervous, and he gets it. But this isn't about getting a quick fix, it's not about a notch on a bedpost, it's never that, and he can see that she might need a little more delicacy, at least at first.

"What you say goes." A promise as his eyes flick over her again, a smile at her newly freed hair.

"Much better," he tells her.

Melody can barely take her eyes off him as he speaks, feeling his fingers carefully removing the pins out of her hair. She feels the weight of her curls slip forward, hanging more naturally, a little more voluminous from being help up all day. He’s saying all the right things, reassuring that small voice in her that isn’t used to taking risks, that isn’t known for spontaneity.

She’s all planning and diaries and always on time. She isn’t this. But maybe, tonight, she can be. Maybe that’s what she needs. For so long she’s lived her life by some kind of rules, when she was the only one who had made those rules in the first place. Maybe tonight, those rules would be broken.

“What about you?” she then asks softly, her voice having dropped to a low note, encouraged by their proximity and the way he holds her. “What do you want?”

Edited 2014-09-17 14:25 (UTC)

He doesn't answer at first, too enthralled by simply watching her. His head is tilted down and his lips parted a little.

While his one hand still sits against her hair, his other is now on her other hip, his body a little closer and his breath a little more drawn. The touch shifts, sliding inside her cardigan that falls gently open, his touch pushing it aside a little, hand raising.

He's not ripping her clothes off, not pushing her up against a wall, it's not some drunken hurried rush of bodies against bodies. Two fingers curl against the soft silk of her blouse, and his eyes flick down to where the buttons meet. His gaze moves back to hers, just a moment, before back to the buttons as with one hand he carefully begins to open it.

"Me?" he says eventually. "Isn't that obvious? I want you." He knows it isn't really what she was asking, but it's the answer she's going to get.

Her eyes drop downward when she feels his hand slide over the silk of her blouse, coming to the topmost button. The sensation of that button coming undone seems to trigger something in her, an understanding, and she breathes a little heavier at something so simple.

She can feel it all building, the desire between them, the anticipation, all while knowing just how long it had been since she'd been with someone like this. And yet never like this.

"You barely even know me," she whispers softly, almost frowning as she looks up at him. They don't have the same connection she's shared with other partners, an understanding of each other before it becomes anything more. Their connection is a different emotion entirely, one she doesn't quite understand. She hasn't felt like this in quite some time. Perhaps ever.

With one button open his fingers drift lower, another getting the same treatment as the first, enough to give room for a hand to slip past the fabric, should he so chose to do that.

His eyes glance down again, taking in the bra beneath her blouse, plain, functional, a little off white and covering most of her skin. But it's what lies beneath it that he's more interested in.

Her question brings a wry smile to his lips. He doesn't know her, no, barely knows her at all. He can't even remember her last name, but isn't that just a little bit exciting? She has no idea who he is, not really, and nor he about her. But the best books are the ones without covers, the ones who's pages are a mystery to be discovered.

"I think we're getting a little better acquainted," he says as his hand slips inside her blouse and inside her bra too, his fingers sliding over her breast, feeling the soft supple skin beneath.

"And anyway, who said we have to do things in the right order?"

She lets out an unsteady breath when his hand slips into her bra, the touch seeming to lull her eyes closed. She exhales softly as she stands there, summoning up the strength to open her eyes again and look up at him, meeting that gaze with a meaningful one of her own, determined. Determined to get what she wants, despite her uncertainty.

His words twist her smile somewhat, and she blinks up at him, repeating them in her head. They sound so familiar to her, like a strange sense of deja vu. But then Melody has a habit of remembering strange things, and she dismisses her thoughts. It means nothing.

"We don't," she replies, shaking it off by concentrating on him, doing so with a little more confidence. He's bringing it out of her now, and she smirks a little as she brings her hands towards his waist, eyes wandering him appraisingly. After all, he's quite the catch himself.

"So where would you like to start?"

Edited 2014-09-17 21:38 (UTC)

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