fanfic and original writing by ar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
witticaster) wrote2011-01-08 10:30 am
witticaster) wrote2011-01-08 10:30 am
0279
Things which happen after the second time they finally manage to end up in bed together. THIS IS PRETTY DUMB, NGL.
She walked over to the bathroom door, taking Julius' robe off its hook and slipping it on. The thick blue material half-swallowed her up--the arms were too long, of course, and so was the hem--but the nice thing about a robe was that belting it kept it mostly in place anyway. Kay bunched the sleeves up so she could see her hands again and looked up to see Julius staring at her, a peculiar look on his face.
"What do you think?" she asked with a wry smile, gesturing to herself.
He coughed once, his eyes fixed on her yet. "You look--very nice."
"Thank you. I wanted to look at your books. Unless you're tired, of course." Now that she'd regained the use of her higher faculties, Kay herself wasn't at all inclined towards sleep. If anything, she felt like doing more than wandering around the edges of his bedroom, planning out a story
"No, no," he said, regaining what composure had apparently fled him at the sight of her in his robe. (How much of this was also simply deference to her this time, in hopes of avoiding an evening like the last time they'd ended up like this, Kay wasn't sure. She hoped it wasn't much.) "If you'd like to stay up, I would, too."
"All right," she said, giving him another smile, and walked over to his bookshelves to have a look. The first thing that caught her eye wasn't a book at all, though--there was a teddy bear sitting upon one of the shelves, well-loved by the look of him. "Who's this?"
"No one--er, nothing, rather," Julius said quickly, from where he lay in bed. In what could be nothing but a bald-faced attempt to change the subject, he asked, "Would you like to go to dinner next Friday?"
"Of course," she told him, and steadfastly refused any further adjustment to the conversation. "Is he yours, Jules?"
The way his face took on the slightly sullen, defensive stare of a little boy who didn't want to hear he was too old for a stuffed animal told her she had it in one. "Yes, he's my bear--or was, when I was a child."
"He looks like a very nice bear." Kay touched the animal's worn brown cheek and smiled over her shoulder at Julius before going back to looking at the line of books the bear apparently guarded. "What's his name?"
"Baxter," he supplied, and added, in a fonder tone, "My father thought he ought to visit America with me. I didn't realize he was in my things until I unpacked."
Not for the first time, Kay wondered what it would be like to meet Julius' father; whenever the man came up, Julius spoke in nothing but the most affectionate of tones. That was unlikely ever to happen, of course--the man spent his days in London and saw little reason to leave, from what Julius had said--but the thought of seeing how much of Julius came from his father was an intriguing one. As she moved on from his bookshelf to the scattering of items on top of his dresser, she supposed she ought to share some childhood embarrassment of her own; it wasn't exactly fair of her to pick through all of his things when he'd be too much a gentleman to do the reverse. "I nearly brought my rag doll with me to New York, you know," she told him, picking up a framed photograph of an unfamiliar man. "Is this your father."
"Yes," he answered, and then, with some hint of cheer in his voice, "What was your doll's name?"
"Josie." She peered at the photo in her hands; it was difficult for her to see Julius in his father, but she supposed it'd be easier, were they in the same room. Setting it back down, she opened a round lacquered box that turned out to be filled with, of all things, birdseed. "I only had two bags to take with me, though, and she didn't fit in with my clothes."
That wasn't quite the truth, of course. The truth was that, even at nearly eighteen, the thought of smashing an old friend into a suitcase and forcing her to ride along, half-crushed and in darkness, without space to breathe, had bothered Kay too much to consider for more than a minute. As a child, she had been of the steadfast opinion that her playthings had as much sentience as any human and simply kept more exclusive company; shaking that belief had been easier than shaking the instinctive desire to treat Josie with the graciousness afforded to any person.
Instead, she continued on without those details. The others she could think of to share were nearly as personal, though; she looked away, down at the open lacquered box, and swirled a finger through the seed within. "It was silly, thinking of bringing her along, of course--but I'd never left Indiana before, and I was worried I'd be lonely." She paused, smiling ruefully, and shrugged. "Is the birdseed for the pigeons?"
"For the bird in the living room," Julius answered.
She shut the box and walked back over to the bed, untying the knot at her waist as she did. The robe's edges fluttered at her stomach, then fell back as she let it slip back off her narrow shoulders. "Who still needs a name," she said, leaving the dark blue velour in a puddle next to his bed as she climbed back under the sheets.
"If you want her to have a name, you'll have to name her," he said, kissing her when she drew near. "I thought 'Birdie' was a perfectly fine na--my God, your feet are like ice."
Kay grinned wickedly and pressed them against his shins. "It's a good thing you're here to warm me up."
She walked over to the bathroom door, taking Julius' robe off its hook and slipping it on. The thick blue material half-swallowed her up--the arms were too long, of course, and so was the hem--but the nice thing about a robe was that belting it kept it mostly in place anyway. Kay bunched the sleeves up so she could see her hands again and looked up to see Julius staring at her, a peculiar look on his face.
"What do you think?" she asked with a wry smile, gesturing to herself.
He coughed once, his eyes fixed on her yet. "You look--very nice."
"Thank you. I wanted to look at your books. Unless you're tired, of course." Now that she'd regained the use of her higher faculties, Kay herself wasn't at all inclined towards sleep. If anything, she felt like doing more than wandering around the edges of his bedroom, planning out a story
"No, no," he said, regaining what composure had apparently fled him at the sight of her in his robe. (How much of this was also simply deference to her this time, in hopes of avoiding an evening like the last time they'd ended up like this, Kay wasn't sure. She hoped it wasn't much.) "If you'd like to stay up, I would, too."
"All right," she said, giving him another smile, and walked over to his bookshelves to have a look. The first thing that caught her eye wasn't a book at all, though--there was a teddy bear sitting upon one of the shelves, well-loved by the look of him. "Who's this?"
"No one--er, nothing, rather," Julius said quickly, from where he lay in bed. In what could be nothing but a bald-faced attempt to change the subject, he asked, "Would you like to go to dinner next Friday?"
"Of course," she told him, and steadfastly refused any further adjustment to the conversation. "Is he yours, Jules?"
The way his face took on the slightly sullen, defensive stare of a little boy who didn't want to hear he was too old for a stuffed animal told her she had it in one. "Yes, he's my bear--or was, when I was a child."
"He looks like a very nice bear." Kay touched the animal's worn brown cheek and smiled over her shoulder at Julius before going back to looking at the line of books the bear apparently guarded. "What's his name?"
"Baxter," he supplied, and added, in a fonder tone, "My father thought he ought to visit America with me. I didn't realize he was in my things until I unpacked."
Not for the first time, Kay wondered what it would be like to meet Julius' father; whenever the man came up, Julius spoke in nothing but the most affectionate of tones. That was unlikely ever to happen, of course--the man spent his days in London and saw little reason to leave, from what Julius had said--but the thought of seeing how much of Julius came from his father was an intriguing one. As she moved on from his bookshelf to the scattering of items on top of his dresser, she supposed she ought to share some childhood embarrassment of her own; it wasn't exactly fair of her to pick through all of his things when he'd be too much a gentleman to do the reverse. "I nearly brought my rag doll with me to New York, you know," she told him, picking up a framed photograph of an unfamiliar man. "Is this your father."
"Yes," he answered, and then, with some hint of cheer in his voice, "What was your doll's name?"
"Josie." She peered at the photo in her hands; it was difficult for her to see Julius in his father, but she supposed it'd be easier, were they in the same room. Setting it back down, she opened a round lacquered box that turned out to be filled with, of all things, birdseed. "I only had two bags to take with me, though, and she didn't fit in with my clothes."
That wasn't quite the truth, of course. The truth was that, even at nearly eighteen, the thought of smashing an old friend into a suitcase and forcing her to ride along, half-crushed and in darkness, without space to breathe, had bothered Kay too much to consider for more than a minute. As a child, she had been of the steadfast opinion that her playthings had as much sentience as any human and simply kept more exclusive company; shaking that belief had been easier than shaking the instinctive desire to treat Josie with the graciousness afforded to any person.
Instead, she continued on without those details. The others she could think of to share were nearly as personal, though; she looked away, down at the open lacquered box, and swirled a finger through the seed within. "It was silly, thinking of bringing her along, of course--but I'd never left Indiana before, and I was worried I'd be lonely." She paused, smiling ruefully, and shrugged. "Is the birdseed for the pigeons?"
"For the bird in the living room," Julius answered.
She shut the box and walked back over to the bed, untying the knot at her waist as she did. The robe's edges fluttered at her stomach, then fell back as she let it slip back off her narrow shoulders. "Who still needs a name," she said, leaving the dark blue velour in a puddle next to his bed as she climbed back under the sheets.
"If you want her to have a name, you'll have to name her," he said, kissing her when she drew near. "I thought 'Birdie' was a perfectly fine na--my God, your feet are like ice."
Kay grinned wickedly and pressed them against his shins. "It's a good thing you're here to warm me up."