fuel to the fire

Who: Mickey and December
Where: her place
When: Dawn

Warning: NSFW

December had been offered a ride home by one of the rookies, though she hadn't taken it. She'd instead taken the walk, wanting to clear her head. She'd also picked up a fifth of brandy, which she'd taken some nips off of on the way home, even if all it really seemed to do was burn it's way down her throat without any other effects. When she got back to her building, she didn't go inside. Instead, she climbed up onto the railing to look down into the water, the sun rising slowly to dawn a new day. It didn't feel like that was such a great thing, though, not to December. Not right then. Pulling a cigarette from her coat pocket, she lit it up, and took a deep drag, not really feeling any sense of relief or anything from the action. It was a new day and it sucked already.

What she was really considering was major life things. Like whether or not she was going to stay in this hell hole of a city. With Eric just...out there somewhere, she didn't know that she wanted to be anywhere he could find her, even if she didn't think he'd look for her. Then again, she hadn't seen the whole serial assassin thing coming, so maybe she wasn't the best judge when it came to Mr. Martens.

The universe was fucking with her. And she really, really hated it.

Mickey hadn’t done much else at the gala after December had left. He’d sat down in a chair and stayed there, watching people dance, keeping his mood off his face and probably giving the impression of being bored more than anything else. He could have gone home he supposed, but he’d be doing the same thing there as he was here, so why bother with the walk and the drive. When things broke up he got in his truck, but that didn’t take him home either. Instead it took him around in circles, outside of Shoshannah’s building more than once, back towards the Boardwalk as well. When the sun was coming up he’d parked the truck near December’s shop. He wasn’t going to go in, not after what happened. No he was going to sit in the truck and sulk, wishing he could talk to her about this, but knowing that was counter productive when it was about her.

That was the worst part of letting in next to no one. When your issues were deeply rooted in the one person you felt like you could talk to about them.

After a few moments of sitting in his truck it wasn’t enough and he was getting out, starting down the boardwalk. Walking wasn’t his best thing, not with the limp and the uneven gait and after all the fuss of the gala he was hurting a little, body stiff and sore from no sleep, but the ache was welcome, something else to focus on. Especially better than the figure he was seeing on the railing near her shop. “I hope you’re not thinking about jumping.” And I hope I’m not hallucinating and that really is you.

She heard him coming before he spoke, though she hadn't expected anyone to be speaking to her. The boardwalk was deserted this time of day. Nothing was open on it yet, and really anyone there were just stragglers, wandering, or people like her. Who lived there or worked there. When she did hear his voice, she turned to eye him from where she sat. "I'm not going to jump. Besides, it'd be just...like, I don't know. Down into the water. Not a huge deal." she told him. Then she took another drag of her cigarette and put her hand out to point at him. "Say the next words out of your mouth will be the last you will ever say to me. Make it good." she told him, figuring he was there to say something. What, she didn't know. She wasn't sure why he was here in the first place, and not sleeping it off at the brunette's house.

He’d had a comment about the water, the current, hitting her head, how it could be far more tragic than just falling into the ocean, but she asked him that question and he let the comment fade away. Last words? Did he have last words? Was there something better to say other than he was sorry? That was all it felt like. There was a moment where he looked at the wood beneath his feet, not out of embarrassment, but to think, focusing on one thing to aide in his decision of what he’d say. Looking up, he watched her for a moment before speaking. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this confused before, and I kinda hate that you’re the first person I think to talk to about it because you’re part of the reason I’m so confused. And at the same time I kinda love that I feel like I could actually talk to you.”

She didn't know what she'd expected, but it wasn't that. She flicked her cigarette down into the water, and unscrewed the cap on the brandy bottle. She took a long pull off of it, then set it down where he could take it if he wanted to. "What's there to be confused about?" she asked. "Thought things were pretty straight forward. And I'm the first person or the only person?" She stared down at the water, thinking the universe was still fucking with her. This was a big joke, right? And she just didn't get it.

Mickey’s eyes went to the bottle but he avoided it, drifting closer to her instead. “I don’t think things have been straightforward since you sort crashed into my life December,” he pointed out, leaning against the railing next to her. “First person, possibly the only one. Maybe the only one I’d truly be candid with, and say everything.”

"Well, maybe that should be a warning sign to you." December told him. "But fine, fuck it, whatever. Talk, or something. Say whatever it is you're going to want to say, because my life totally doesn't suck enough right now. Might as well deal with your bullshit too, so grab a shovel, and pile it on, I haven't quite suffocated under the weight yet."

“I didn’t come here to...I didn’t even think I’d see you,” Mickey started, feeling defensive from the start, but after a second it clicked in more and he managed to stop. “What happened?” His own issues were stupid if she was that upset, especially if he was the reason she was that upset.

"Oh, I don't know, I came home because everything is stupid, and sucks, and I'm an idiot, and I didn't want to stay here, so I went in to work. Which is lucky, because they would have called me in anyways, because my mother fucking killer of an ex boyfriend apparently escaped. And he couldn't do that without leaving some corpses to land on my table or anything, because that wouldn't be adding insult to injury or whatever, so yeah. Everything is stupid, and I spent the night determining whether or not the bodies pulled from the wreckage of the prison transport were murders or just deaths caused by the massive accident I'm sure he caused." She looked at him, jaw set as she dared him to say something. "So, nothing, really. How was the rest of your night, after I left you with the apparently hideously awful and confusing knowledge that some rich bitch beautiful woman wants to tap you?"

He ignored the question, closing the last of the space between them with a hand on her arm. There were corrections he could make, but they weren’t what mattered. She was right, what happened to her was far more important and Mickey let it take the spotlight. “What do you need?” He knew she wasn’t okay, there was now way that she could be okay, but he needed to know what she needed right now, what he could do.

"A new life? A really serious closed head injury that might make me forget the past like, month or so?" December suggested, looking down at the water again. She felt overwhelmed at that moment. Like the flood gates were about to crash open, because she couldn't keep them shut anymore. She didn't actually catch it, but she was shaking a little bit, and the world seemed to be closing in on her.

She might not have caught the shaking, but with his hand on her arm on her Mickey did. Moving closer he pulled her against him, arms wrapped around her protectively.

She was freaking out. Right now, she was freaking out. She realized it dimly, almost like she was detached from it entirely while still being swept away in the tide of it. December felt like she couldn't breathe. Like she needed to run away, literally, or something. Her heart was racing, and she squeezed her eyes shut, not even trying to get away from Mickey when he latched on. Really, she might have fallen into the water if it weren't for him there. Her brandy went that way, a splash down below after a moment. That shaking didn't stop, either, it was a tremor that went through her entire frame as she only belatedly caught onto the fact that she appeared to be hyperventilating. And she'd grabbed onto Mickey's arms, and was holding on, nails dug in like he might let go or something. Like she was holding on for dear life.

Mickey, distantly, was panicking at how she was acting, at the fact that she seemed so unlike herself in that moment. On the surface though, he was handling everything just fine. “Just breathe.” His voice was soft, reassuring, and while with the way she was holding on to him, he couldn’t move his hand well, his fingers were tracing small, slow circles against her. “You’re fine. I’m here.”

It didn't last that long, though it felt like it to her. She'd never had a panic attack before, but she certainly went through something. Tears had even escaped her eyes, even if she wasn't actually crying. When he told her to breathe, she listened, drawing in shakey breaths, trying to do it slowly, but it was a ragged sort of process at first. Little by little she calmed down, recognized that she was there, and fine, and not having a heart attack or stroke or something. When she settled, the shaking tapered off, and she started to breathe a little easier. Reaching up, she swiped her hands over her eyes, realizing her hands ached a little as she did so. Was that from the autopsies, or from holding onto him so tight? No, I'm not fine. I'm not fine at all, and I'm not going to be fine. Everything is fucked, and you can't undo that. No one can undo that, and he's out there now, and he wouldn't let himself get caught again, he'd go out in a blaze of glory or some shit, and people will die, and I'll be the one to clean up the mess. Again. She couldn't make herself speak, though. None of that made it to her lips, even if part of her really desperately wanted to let go of it.

Mickey stayed steady through all of it, not wavering even as she caught her breath, as the shaking stared to subside. When she wipe at her eyes he let go of her enough to smooth her hair back off her face, closing his eyes as he leaned in closer to her. “I’m not going anywhere.” It was the best he could give her, and not the lobotomy that she wanted, but the best he had to offer.

"Sorry." she said, voice very quiet. She drew in a deep, deep breath, held it for a second, then let it out very slowly. Okay. She was okay. She had to be okay. Wiping at her eyes again, she focused on the task at hand, which was dealing with Mickey. She turned on the railing, facing him instead of the water, and she didn't know what to say. She didn't want to be this vulnerable at all, let alone in front of someone. She spoke before she cleared it with her brain. "I thought it was over. That he was captured, and he'd go to jail, and it'd be done besides the trial, which I'm sure I'd have to testify at, but I wouldn't have any corpses he made on my table again, and he'd be behind bars, and that isn't what happened. There were six casualties last night, and sure, some of them were other criminals and I have no idea what the fuck they did, but it doesn't matter, they're still dead, and I still had to do the autopsies." She blinked hard a moment, biting at her lower lip. "And it's not. Fair."

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Mickey said softly, shifting as she turned to face him. He stayed close, hands holding her there, protecting her from the fall into the water at the very least, and the whole damn world if she’d let him. “It’s not fair, not at all,” he agreed. “Not even close to it. I’m sorry.”

She stared at his shirt, looking rumpled. She expected she didn't look much better. She didn't know what else to say. And in the end, she leaned closer to him, taking a second. Maybe she needed a hug. Whatever the case, she leaned closer, and in the end rested her head against his collarbone, closing her eyes for a few heartbeats. He was there. And apparently her world was a lot closer to shattering to little pieces than she'd thought.

While he realized that her leaning in for a hug like that wasn’t like her, it didn’t stop Mickey from hugging her tightly. One hand drifted towards the back of her neck, holding her there against him. He force himself to keep his breathing in check, to stay something solid for her to lean on because she seemed to need it.

She wasn't there long. Or, she wasn't planning on staying there long. She didn't want to think about things anymore. She didn't want to think about Eric, or the bodies last night, or the ones that came before it. She didn't want to think about her entire life, or just about anything in it. So, when she spoke again, it was detached from everything else. "Why aren't you with what's-her-name?"

Mickey didn’t really pull back when she spoke though his shoulders did lift in a shrug. “Not as easy of a decision as you’d think. And...I’m just not.”

"Why are you here?" she asked. "...you said you didn't think you'd see me." Or she thought he'd said that. It was familiar, even if she was thinking her whole brain was fuzzy. she didn't feel like her concentration skills were up to par. Or like, anywhere near proper functioning levels.

“Why? I don’t know. I was driving around, wound up here. Then I thought I’d just sit in the truck, but I was was too restless.” It sounded ridiculous, but that had been about where his mind had been the whole time, lost.

She finally sat back, and she looked up at him. "Why are you here?" she repeated the question. "Don't say you don't know, think about it. Why are you here? There's got to be a reason." He couldn't have just randomly chosen the boardwalk. it wasn't like it was that nice a place. And he still wasn't with that other girl. So, he had to have showed up for a reason. Especially since it looked like he hadn't slept, and he just happened to be close enough to her that she hadn't been sitting there for long before he came over.

Mickey tried to think about it, but he wasn’t coming up with a reason readily. “I’m not sure, honestly. Because I missed you already? Or I was stupidly walking by your place like I was checking up on you. You weren’t supposed to be out here. I thought I was imaging it at first.”

Nodding slightly, she exhaled, then pushed down off of the railing. It meant she was up against him for a moment, before she was walking towards her building. "So what do you even have to think about with this supposedly hard decision?" she asked, assuming he was going to follow her. Rationally she knew she should just tell him to go home, but in truth she didn't want to be alone right then. She wanted to distract herself, listen to whatever he was thinking. It would mean she didn't have to sit alone, thinking about Eric, and the bodies from the transport vehicle.

This time he hesitated in following her, knowing that she hadn’t asked him to, but having to remind himself that she hadn’t told him not to. Plus she was still asking him questions, which meant she expected him to answer. So he followed, gait slow and uneven as ever, maybe worse now. “About what I want. What I don’t want.”

She made a gesture that he should go on, as she unlocked the shop. Then she went inside, still expecting him to follow as she headed upstairs, dropping her coat on the floor at the top of them. "Well, you said you wanted to talk to me, so talk. Pretend I'm not involved." she told him eventually, not sure what else to say to it all. But she wanted him to keep talking, because it would me she wasn't thinking of anything else.

This felt weird but he let out a sigh, trailing behind her and up the stairs, slipping out of his own jacket. “I’ve liked her since I saw her, but...never thought of it as being a possibility. And at the same time, liking her doesn’t go away. But you...you’re different. And you...you were under my skin the first night I met you. That’s not easy to walk away from.”

Leaning against the wall, she unstrapped her shoes, feeling the ache in her bones. "When you liked her when you first saw her, was it just 'yay pretty girl' or have you been crushing on her after you became friends?" she asked, feeling that was the easier part to deal with first. After she dropped her shoes, she headed towards the bathroom.

“It’s more than the fact that she’s pretty. She’s incredibly nice, polite, doesn’t judge people. So it started with her being Elle’s pretty roommate and turned into being a crush on the nice roommate.” Mickey found himself following her again, but not quite into the bathroom, just back towards the entrance of it.

December pushed herself up to sit on the counter again, finding her pliers so she could start to take the rings out of her arms. She hadn't thought to earlier, she'd been a little too upset to really do much then she'd gone into work where her night got infinitely longer. "So what do you like about her?" she asked.

Mickey leaned in the doorway, sighing slightly as the pressure eased on his frame. “What? She’s nice. She’s always seeing the best in things. She doesn’t judge because she’s different too, just not as obviously.”

"You're repeating yourself." she said. "You said the nice and non-judgmental thing before. Also, it's pretty flat. So, go into detail. If you really like this girl, there's got to be more to it than 'she's pretty and nice'. There's got to be some drive in there or something, Something that really draws you in, or fascinates you, or something. Otherwise, you don't actually like her all that much." She dropped the rings one at a time into the sink, the bruises around the piercing sites standing out on her skin.

He watched her work at her arms, thinking about touching the bruises, soothing the skin, for a moment before answering her question. “She’s easy to be around, even though she’s not from the same side of the tracks that I am. She’s curious, wants to learn about things. I spent a couple hours with her a few days ago trying to show her how a car worked. Because she wanted to learn. She looks at things differently than I ever would. She asks questions about me. Not like you do, but she seems more curious than most.”

"Does she know you?" December asked. After all, that was one of the big things he kept saying was the reason he wanted to stick around her. She asked questions, she got to know him better. But if this chick asked questions too, then she didn't know what the difference was. "How are her questions different than mine?" she asked.

Mickey considered that question before answering. “Not entirely. Slightly. Maybe I could be willing to give more. But she doesn’t always pry. You don’t really let me gloss over answers, but she does.” Shoshannah was too nice to force a subject if he dodged the question.

When she finally had all the rings out, she dropped the pliers onto the counter, and rubbed her hands over her arms, feeling every bruise. "Slightly? How slightly? And 'maybe' you could be willing? That...doesn't exactly sound like you're jumping at the chance." She turned her gaze on him then, waiting for the answer.

“She asks questions and I answer them,” Mickey said. “As for maybe, it’s a matter of what I feel comfortable sharing. She’s not like me, history wise. She might not need know all of it. And just because I started sharing with you doesn’t mean I’ve started doing that with everyone else.” Stepping forward he reached for her hand pulling her arm towards him to look at the bruises. “Does it hurt?”

"Don't you think that if you were going to be with someone, you shouldn't feel like there are parts you should skip over? Isn't that part of the point of being with someone--that whole bullshit sharing everything thing?" December posed. When he took her hand, she wasn't quite sure what he was doing, but she didn't stop him. "'Course it hurts. I shoved bits of metal through my skin, and left them there for like twelve hours."

“Calling it bullshit doesn’t exactly bestow an impression that it’s all that vital to a relationship.” Mickey ran his thumb over the bruise closest to her wrist. “And you still do it. I know you’re going to say you like it, but this can’t be the same thing.

"Doesn't mean it should be left out, either. Hell, even if it is bullshit, if you're with someone...look, I just found out a rather earth shatteringly awful secret the guy I was with had. Trust me, bullshit or not, things matter." December told him, possibly slightly sore still on the subject of massive omission of details. She watched him run his thumb over her skin, over the bruise and it gave the slight ache that was normal. "What do you mean it can't be the same thing? Why can't it?"

“Leaving out the fact that I lived on the streets for a few years, barely getting by, isn’t the same kind of secret,” Mickey pointed out looking up at her. “Especially since at the same time she was living with her parents, not allowed outside of the house on her own.” He frowned slightly. “Well, I guess it could it just seems...less direct I guess. I don’t understand it remember?”

"yes, it is." December told him, looking him in the eye. She held that eye contact, feeling the need to impress her point at the moment. "It makes you who you are. It means you'll react to certain things in ways she might not understand if she didn't know. That, and maybe she doesn't make 'homeless guy' jokes around you or whatever if she knows. You can't be sensitive to someone's needs or issues if you don't know what they are." she looked down again, at her arms. "it's less direct, but in the right context, it would still have the same effect."

“No one said I had needs or issues about it,” Mickey pointed out, though he supposed maybe she was right on how he reacted to things. There might be some of that there. “Explain it to me. The whole thing. I want to understand it.” And he wanted to stop talking about Shoshannah. He felt like he was alternately defending his crush on her and trying to talk himself out of it, which was spinning him in circles.

"Well, you should have needs and issues, and if you don't, then you're either repressing, or you're magically the most well adjusted person on the planet, so congrats on that." December told him. "Either way, it's part of you. And frankly, if you didn't have issues about it, it shouldn't be a problem, the whole sharing thing." she pointed out. She exhaled when he asked her to explain it, and she bit at her lower lip. "I don't know what to say. It's just...different for me. When I feel pain, I don't feel it like it's a bad thing. I mean, I'm not going to extremes or anything, I wouldn't get off on mutilation or anything, but bruises, scratches, pulls to my ribbons, biting, all that, that's...something for me. maybe it's the sort of rawness behind it. A connection to a more animal side of things. It takes out the bullshit emotional overtones and instead taps straight into something darker."

“It’s not something I’m proud of that’s why. My life spiraled out of my control and I had to climb back to where I am. It’s a black spot on a life I’ve tried to make better.” He looked up at her. “Phoenix remember?” There was a slight smile, tugging at the corners of him mouth for a moment. “How does it feel? Like..when I was lacing up your back..”

"Black spots in life define who you are as a person, what you're capable of surviving, Michael. You should be proud, you didn't let the city eat you. Most people get chewed up and spit out, you somehow made it to the other side, and in decent mental shape. You shouldn't look at it as something to be ashamed of, or whatever it is you do, you should look at it as proof you have what it takes to make it, no matter what." December told him and she did believe that. As he said, the phoenix, it was why she'd done what she had on him. Why she'd marked him that specific way. She watched his eyes again, then shrugged one shoulder. "Nice." she said. "There's the soft, light touches, and then the little pulls to the rings. The alternating sensations make it all more heightened, because you don't know what you're going to feel or when, really. I suppose there's something to allowing someone that kind of power over you. And the trust that they won't go too far." That was knowledge she picked up more from being a dominatrix than anything, but it held true.

There it was. His name again, not the nickname in an attempt to push him away, but his real name. “Call me that again.” It slipped out before he could think not to say it, eyes locked on hers. Once it was out though, he was glad. It sounded sure, confident and it was what he wanted, to hear the name that no one called him, his own mother had barely used it.

That wasn't the reaction she expected, though for a moment, her stomach seemed to give a little bit of a butterfly sensation. Why, she didn't know. Maybe it was his voice when he said it, or the fact that it wasn't a request. So she held eye contact, waited a beat, and said his name. "Michael." Her voice was a tiny touch softer than it had been a moment before, because there was a spark of curiosity in her, wondering what it might do. What he was demanding that for.

He wish he knew what he’d done. Something in the past moment had caused her voice to change and though while it might have been subtle it was enough for him to notice, his own breath hitching slightly when she spoke. This was why it was so damn complicated. Because with one word he was practically undone. “I like when you do that,” he told her, drifting closer, knuckles grazing along her chin. “Don’t stop again.”

She heard the hitch in his breath. That was interesting. Everything was interesting about that. She already suspected what he confirmed, that he liked it. He got closer, and she didn't pull back, letting him invade her space, touch her face. "I won't." she said. Not if it got reactions like that.

“Good.” He was leaning on the counter more, not at all sure what he was doing, just knowing he couldn’t pull away from her. “And then there’s you,” he finally voiced, looking down at her.

December ticked her gaze between his eyes, thinking things were sort of slowly getting a little more intense by the moment. And she wasn't at all sure why it was happening or how. But it was still keeping her mind off of everything else, and with his last statement, it was right back around to her. "So tell me about December." she said, since they'd started the conversation like she was listening him talk about issues he was having that she wasn't involved in.

That got him to pull back slightly, taking in a lungful of air that didn’t feel so charged as he thought about an answer. “December is complicated. She pushes for something different, something I’m normally not. She’s under my skin has been from the start. And I don’t mind it. I probably should, but I really don’t.”

She was a little disappointed that he pulled back that little bit, but didn't show it. It was something she just internally rolled her eyes at herself over. "So this 'something different'." she said. "How's that working out for you? Does she know you?"

“It’s taking getting used to, but she does know me. Or a lot of me. I haven’t known her long enough for her to know everything.” He touched her chin again, calloused thumb against soft skin. “I don’t think she minds me either, the real me. Seems to prefer that version some days.”

"Does anyone else know the 'real' you?" she asked. That was interesting wording. Was that how it really laid out? That she for some reason got the basest, most real version of him and everyone else got a front, or some other modified version?

“No one I talk to anymore. No one I see.” That was the most honest answer he could give. People saw facets of it, depending on how it fit into situations. December got all of it.

"Okay." she said, nodding. "Here's the question you have to answer for yourself." She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. "Who do you want to be? You, or a version of you?" Because he really could have either. He proved he lived most of his life as some falsified version of himself. And things were different with her, clearly. On a number of levels. But that was what she saw as the bottom line. That was what he needed to figure out. If he wanted to be a version of himself, then he should be with the high class chick, because things were nice, and normal, and he could deal with it. If he wanted something where he never felt like he had to pretend, and was thinking about redefining what 'normal' might be for him, then maybe it was her. It occurred to her that she didn't know her own answer here. She didn't know if she was ready for anything. Shit, yesterday she'd been trying her damdest to get rid of him. But she also knew when she'd gotten home just how awful it had felt, thinking she'd succeeded.

It should have been simple to answer. Very simple. But he didn’t have an answer. Nothing jumped in his head right away. In fact it went blank at the question. “I don’t know. That’s why it’s confusing.” He wanted to answer, to tell her one way or the other and make a decision, but he just couldn’t. Sighing he ran a hand through his hair then looked down at her again. “I thought it was really one option to you. Two for me, but one for you. That the ‘real’ option, the you option, wasn’t on the table.”

Well that wasn't what she wanted to talk about. In the end she looked away, not sure what to say. She went with the truth, but it was clearly difficult for her to say it. "I think I'm not going to be good for you. I think you're good for me, but not the other way around. Maybe in the one aspect...how there's the truth of things, the idea that you don't have to put up a front with me. But I know me. There's a whole lot of things I see as incompatibilities. But at the same time, even when I handed you a clearly better choice, I went home and felt like hell over it. And you're here, right now, and there's that physical draw. Can't say it isn't there. But there's that too, isn't there. You...aren't going to do that with me. And there's my specific tastes that you aren't really going to be able to handle. I don't know. Maybe you're not the only one who's confused." She looked down. "I know I actually like you. And that's partly why I've been trying to get rid of you. You've dealt with enough darkness in your life, and I draw it in. I would want better for you than that."

She was saying things he wanted to hear. About how she thought he’d be good for her, how she’d felt bad when she tried to send him away and how she was confused too. When she looked down he found himself kneeling slightly, to meet her eyes. “And here I keep wanting something that isn’t so dark for you..” he said softly, looking up at her now. “I’ll figure it out, what’s best. But I need some time.”

"Tha'ts just it though. That's just me. It's how I am, as a person. I don't really like all the shiny, fluffy things in life. It's not what interests me. It's not what draws me in. Darkness does. And if what you want for me is something shiny and happy, then all you're going to get is frustrated and disappointed." she told him, feeling like she needed to be up front with him on that.

“You like me though don’t you? I hate to break it to you, I’m mostly shiny and fluff.” He sighed slightly touching her cheek again because he really couldn’t stop touching her. “I’m not meaning the shiny and fluff, I mean the things that make you happy. A chance to smile every so often.”

No, you're not. There's a hell of a lot more damage there than you like to think. went through her mind, but she didn't say it. She was also thinking that he was being awfully physical with her when he had no intentions on anything else. A faint hint of a smirk lit her lips, however. "What if I don't want to smile?" she asked.

“There’s got to be something I can do to bring it out,” Mickey said, pouncing on that change, something he could do, physically even, a task. That he could handle right now.

"I can think of a few things. But you don't want to do them. See, there's that little snag in the road, Michael." she said, leaning slightly closer, though she was expecting him to back off. "The things I'd want you to do to me? To get a smile, or some positive reaction? You won't follow through on."

Again he was fully aware that she was trying something, changing who had control of the situation, but Mickey held his ground, not backing off when she came in closer. “Tell me what it is.”

"Well, it isn't an 'it' for starters. It would be a sequence of things." December told him. She took hold of his hand, internally banking on the idea that this was where he was going to decide that 'I need time to figure things out' thing needed to be done elsewhere. She brought it around her back, to touch the ribbons still there from last night. "But it would start here."

Of course it started there. The idea was to prove something he couldn’t do, not just tease at him and then pick something easy he could handle. But still he could feel the slickness of the ribbons beneath his fingers and the image of lacing her up was back in his mind. “And then?”

"You'd have to figure it out on your own." December told him. "But it would end somewhere with clothes on the floor, and feeling this deep, all over ache that feels incredibly good." Which he also was not going to do. So, she had him cornered, and she knew it.

She did have him cornered, very much so. And it felt like the temperature between them had just reach desert levels of heat. “What if I agree to some of it?” Maybe not all, but something he could do.

"What, getting me all worked up with no payoff?" She arched a brow at him. But she didn't actually make him move, or disagree, per se. Even if part of her was wondering what the hell he was even doing, considering 'some' of anything. That and she had to wonder just how much self control he had. And how much of a buzz kill it would be when it kicked in. Was it better to just not start something when she knew it wouldn't go where she wanted it?

“If you want me to leave, just say it. If you don’t, stop trying to convince me to go on my own,” Mickey told her, one hand on either side of her on the counter as he leaned against it. His tone had taken on that same direct manner, the one that suggested that he really wasn’t up for games. It was same thing with Eily. He could make his own decision here.

"I don't want you to leave." December told him. "But that's probably a problem." She kept her eyes on his, burning willpower to not just grab him and pull him in. Because, as she'd already pointed out, she knew where this didn't end. "Right now I really don't think I can take a whole lot in the way of...anything. Not with everything that's happened, not with the night I've had." Normally she wasn't quite so damn fragile, but this morning, she definitely was. This morning, she felt a little like she was in a more vulnerable state than she'd been before.

“Then we do nothing,” Mickey said, brushing her hair back. “And I won’t go anywhere.” It was probably for the best anyway. He wasn’t sure he could give her what she wanted, even if he wanted to. It was against what he believed in but he wanted it desperately.

She didn't want to do nothing. She wanted to feel something that wasn't full of awful. Looking at him, she eventually ticked her gaze down. "How do you just...turn it off like that?" she asked. She certainly didn't think she could. Not by a long shot. She was still fighting not to grab him by the front of his shirt and kiss him. In fact, her fingertips found themselves brushing against his stomach, as close as he was.

“What makes you think it’s off?” Mickey said, feeling his skin burn as she touched him through his shirt. It was very much still on but he was able to put it aside if she needed something else. Denying himself something was normal.

"It isn't even a consideration for you. Just...it's off, or you're off, or something, and it sounds like it's really easy for you." Which said something, too, really. If he didn't have any trouble dialing things back, then it was possible that he didn't have all that much desire for her. That was something good to know, even if it sucked. She still didn't look up at him, just tracing her fingertips back and forth, then sweeping slightly lower.

He was quiet for a moment, trying to reign his breathing in as she touched him. “It’s not so much that it’s easy, but if it’s not what you want, not what you’re up for, then I can turn it off, or ignore it. Doesn’t mean it’s completely off or what you’re doing now isn’t affecting me. I’m not made of stone.”

She said something then that she never normally would have said. It was true, certainly, but any other day, any fraction of time spent not in the situation she was in currently, it wouldn't have gotten uttered. "I do want you, you know." was what she said, voice soft. Quiet, almost a whisper, but not. Also wildly unhelpful, but oh well.

It shouldn’t have raised questions, but the statement did. Did she mean right now? Or all the time? Or with her, not with someone else? Gently, he tilted her chin up, raising her eyes to meet his. “I want you too,” he told her, just as honest.

She didn't try to stop his turning her face up towards his, though she hesitated before she made eye contact. It happened, however, and then he spoke. Her fingertips against his shirt changed, so she was holding onto it, gripping the fabric in her fist. She was aware he wasn't actually telling her he'd go through with things. And yet that didn't quite matter to her then. Her mind switched gears. "You said you wanted to understand." she said. "About me, about what I like. There's only the one way you'll actually be able to figure it out."

It was the change in her grip on him. Other things could have led to it, what she said, what she was asking, but really that was it. It was that grip, like she needed him that had him nodding. “Show me.”

She pulled him closer, using her grip on his shirt to do so. She sat forward slightly, meeting him somewhat in the middle, though he was still looming over her. "it's more up to you. And your willingness to experiment a little." she informed him, taking her free hand, and putting his back towards her ribbons again. "So, are you willing?" she asked. She'd give him a tiny bit of instruction further, if he was, but she needed confirmation there first.

Mickey moved where she pulled, looking down at her. His hand smoothed across her back, stopping when he got to the rings and the ribbons. He wanted to be willing. He really did. It made him nervous, concerned in what he was doing, but he was still nodding. “I’m here aren’t I?”

She nodded. yes, he was there. She drew him in a little closer still, though she didn't kiss him. Instead, she tilted her head and murmured into his ear. "Close your eyes. And don't think about the logistics of what you're doing, the technical act. Just listen to me." It felt a little like her nerve endings were on fire. Just waiting, the anticipation electric along her skin.

He was anxious, breathing heaver than it had been before. As she pulled him closer, his free hand slipped in her hair, listening to her and doing as she said. Eyes closed, trying to push what this would mean out of his mind. He didn’t want to hurt her, even if it was what she wanted, but at the same time he wanted her to feel good, to feel like she’d made him feel before. “Listening.”

"Pull." she told him. She didn't say how to do it, she imagined his first try would be tentative at best, but that was okay with her. It really was. At the moment, she was all turned on anyhow, so it wasn't going to take a whole lot. It wasn't like she required a ton, she'd never really had anyone to do this for her besides Eric, and that was a short lived thing, all things told. So it wouldn't take that much. Just a little, and maybe that would encourage him.

He was holding his breath, not sure what he was doing but when she gave the order he complied. Fingers hooked in one of the strands and he tugged. It wasn’t hard, but it was there, and he felt his fingers pull away from her skin terrified of what might happen, how she might react, be it good or bad.

It was what she'd been expecting, the sort of tentative nature of the pull, but it was enough. The lacings on her ribbons were always tight enough that it didn't take that much to pull at the rings in her back. So when it happened, she gave a soft, shakey little moan in his ear. On anyone else, it would have been the sound made when he touched someplace very different.

That noise. It was unlike anything he’d ever heard. Anything at all. He swore slightly, a murmur against her ear, his thumb along her jaw, fingers flexing against her hair. Instinct took over, thought out the window, all he wanted was to hear that sound again. He tugged again, not hard still, but with something more assured than before.

A smile spread over her lips, though it was short lived. Not because she didn't like what happened, but because it quite clearly worked. The better pull to her ribbons was so immediate, and part of her knew that quiet cuss in her ear would echo in her memory. When he gave the better pull, there was a little gasp, then another moan, and she pressed closer to him. This was what she'd wanted. She'd wanted him to hear what it did. She could explain all day long how it was different for her, but in order for anyone to understand, that was the only way she thought they could. That she thought he could. If he heard it, experienced the way it made her react.

When she pressed closer he was using the hand on her cheek to draw her to him, kissing her hotly for the first time. His hand hand pressed against her back, fingers hooking on another part of her ribbons, wanting to tug again, but trying to keep a level head. It was hard though, not when she made noises like that. Not when he was kissing her like he was.

Now December finally believed he was turned on. That there was a passion in him, and specifically for her. With that kiss, which was so different than anything else, she felt it. It seemed to go straight through her, like everything else. It heightened things, and she didn't hesitate to return the kiss. She met it with passion of her own, that bright desire the pull to her ribbons had kicked up fully reflected in that action. She kissed him hard, like she might require it to live.

He was more than caught up the moment, practically lifting her off the counter. She hadn’t kissed him like that before, not desperately like she was now. Before it had been more restrained, or at least not as caught up in him. This was different though, this echoed what she’d said, about how she wanted him and he was hit with the surge of how badly he wanted her. Only breaking off the kiss when he couldn’t breathe he held her against him, her name breathed into the space between them.

When he did almost lift her off the counter, she slid her legs around him, not really discouraging that action in any manner. She was drawing in ragged little breaths, not wanting him to stop. She had been fully swept away in the moment, moreso than she'd even imagined she would be. It was partly him, his actually responding in such a way. "Michael," she said, voice unsteady. It was a breathy little whisper, something that held longing. "Don't stop now."

How could he stop? Not with her like that. “Say it again,” he told her, lifting her up enough to kiss her neck, slight tug at her ribbons again. His name, like she had, where it sounded like it was him she wanted. Where it sounded like it wasn’t just something she was saying, but something she needed.

December's eyes slipped shut as she tilted her head to the side, and another moan filled the small space. He really had gotten the hang of that fast, now hadn't he. He was a quick study, clearly. it wasn't hard to comply with his command there, repeating his name, a clear ache to the word. Something that almost sounded like a heated plea. Very much like she needed him, needed him not to stop what he was doing. Her hand slid up over his shoulder to the back of his neck, keeping him close.

It was almost too much, but he managed to keep his head in what he was doing. He kept moving his mouth down her neck, towards her shoulder and collarbone. He wasn’t thinking as he reached to slip her dress off her shoulder. There was a need to hear her say his name again, to coax it out of her. Another tug at her ribbons, nothing hard which in the back of his mind was how he was justifying the moment. It made her feel good and he couldn’t be hurting her that much.

Some deep down part of December was thinking that this was going to suck so incredibly badly when he came to his senses. But at no point was she even considering stopping, either, to save herself the frustration. No, it all felt too good, and the passion, the clear desire going on was intoxicating. It had quite successfully gotten her mind off of everything. Nothing was filtering through but him, and what he was doing. She gave a sharp, shakey gasp at the tug again, a clearly good sound in her throat. And, he didn't even have to demand it again, she turned her face in towards his ear and moaned his name there, where he could hear it along with what he was doing to her.

The problem for Mickey was that his senses were gone, at least the ones that were going to stop him from what he was doing. The others were flooded with the taste of her skin, the feel of her pressed against him, the sound of her voice in his ear. His name. Her dress was being tugged at more, trying to get more real estate to touch, to kiss, his fingers tracing the ribbons on her back again.

December shifted, though it was literally only enough that she could help him with her dress. She quickly pulled the top down, out of his way entirely, which left her bare except for the ribbons. With that, she wanted to feel his skin against hers, and she started unbuttoning his shirt. She kissed him again, a fiery, desperate sort of kiss. Like it had been far too long since she'd done that.

God her skin, just there and exposed. He was reaching for her when she kissed him, working on his shirt. He met her kiss with something just as fierce, working his way out of his shirt as well, pulling it off once it was undone. With it free he was gathering her up into his arms, pulling her body against his.

That was what she wanted. To feel her skin against his. With him pulling her in, her arms went up around his neck, one burying itself in his hair as she held him close, like she was in danger of him escaping. She also circled his waist with her legs, pulling him in that way. Like she couldn't be close enough, like any separation from him was unacceptable.

He was almost sure she wasn’t on the counter anymore, pulled as close to him as he could get her It was the same with him, obvious in the way his he held her there, that he couldn’t stand her any farther from him. His fingers found the ribbons and tugged it lightly again.

She broke the kiss with a gasp, and a push against him. She pulled him in by the neck, so she could speak in his ear again, even if her voice was incredibly unsteady. "Michael, harder." she begged, kissing his neck in between gasped breaths.

He didn’t let himself think. Not with her voice like that, so close, her lips on his skin. If he’d thought he would have talked himself out of it and right now it would ruin everything. This time the tug was sure, harder than before, the ribbon he was tugging on coming farther away from her skin than before.

Where he'd gotten a moan previously, he got a sharp, helpless cry with that. It was loud, in the small room, and she pushed hard against him, like she didn't have any control when he did that to her. Which was pretty damn close to the truth. The words 'god, yes, Michael' got spoken, though it was between ragged breaths.

In the first instant he’d thought it was too much, that he’d hurt her, but then the words, the additional comment, that brought him back, reminded him that it was the right thing. That what he did in that small motion was better than anything else he’d done. Unsure of what else to do, he did it again.

And it got the same intense reaction, a sharp intake of breath and a cry, clinging to him like she couldn't let go even if she wanted to. She kissed his throat, up under his jaw, then found his lips again, feeling herself shaking just a little bit. Not a reaction she would have anticipated, but everything was playing in. And she kept wanting more. More of him, more of this. She lightly bit at his lower lip, not enough to cause any pain, but just enough to give that sensation like she couldn't get enough.

As she started to shake he drug her closer, hands sliding along her bare sides, then down her back. The bite was surprising, getting a short gasp out of him. He was lifting her up more reaching at her dress again, wanting to touch more of her.

She loved the feel of his touch on her skin, his hands down her ribs. When it became clear what she wanted, she very abruptly pushed him away. But it was only to drop down from the counter, letting the dress drop to the floor entirely. Which just left her in her stockings and panties. Not wasting time, she looked up at him with flushed cheeks, hair dishevled, breath heaving her chest. That, and a nearly animal level of desire in her eyes. Then she reached for him again.

The push had him stumbling back worrying that something was stopping but then...well then there wasn’t much a of a dress there anymore. He took her in, staring so much that he didn’t quite reach for her right away, at least not until her hands were on him that he had her up, hands on her arms, forgetting that they were bruised as he tried to lift her up again, starting her back towards the counter.

When he did hit the bruises on her arms, she gave another moan, quite happy to get brought wherever the hell he wanted to bring her. The counter? That was just fine. It took care of some of the height distance, after all, and she was right back to pulling him in against her as hard as she could, wishing there was even less in the way of clothes. If she'd ever been ready for that next step, that final step, it was now. God, she wanted him. And, just in case he was fuzzy on that, she grabbed his hand, and brought it between them so he could find out. She thought he ought to know what kind of effect he was having not just by her reactions but the actual physical reality.

He stumbled after her, one hand hitting the wall behind her to keep from falling into her. What he hadn’t expected was her putting his hand where it was and he couldn’t help the gasp. “God,” he breathed, leaning into her more.

That she took as a good reaction. "That is what you do to me, Michael." she told him. That, before she kissed him again. She liked the space they were in, how he had one hand on the wall behind her, like she was trapped there. She rather wanted to be trapped there by him, she was perfectly happy with that turn of events.

“Tell me that’s a good thing,” Mickey asked before she kissed him, groaning into it slightly. Not sure what else to do he, moved his hand against her, distantly curious as to what might happen.

He got a moan breathed into the kiss was what happened. "It's a good thing." she told him, kissing him again. "It's a very good thing." She gave his lip another light little nip, fingernails digging in just a little at the back of his shoulder. Though she did have just enough presence of mind to make it his non-tattooed one.

Taking her moan as a sign, he moved his hand again, wanting to hear her moan again. The nip and the fingernails in his back got a groan out of him. He kissed her back, that same passion that he’d had since it started. He had no idea what he was doing but he wanted to be here.

A shudder went through her, and she did moan again, wanting to try and pull him closer, though there wasn't much more room to spare. She scratched lightly at his back, just a slight slip of her fingernails. She was getting to that point, where she was absolutely desperate for him. And it really didn't seem like he was far behind her.

He was getting there, struggling with what to do, wanting to do more and not sure what he was doing in the first place. All he knew was that his breathing was off, his skin was on fire, so much that when she scratched at his shoulder he shuddered against. “December.” It was a needy thing, almost a plea for something anything.

It wasn't actually a full decision on her part, when she reached down between them, to unbutton his pants. It was much more dictated by instinct, a baser sort of functioning. Really thinking it out would require much more clarity of thought than she was capable of, in the haze that was him, them. Everything that was going on between them, the electric charge in the room. Hell, even the part of her that knew if things were going to crash and burn, they were going to right then and there wasn't awake in her mind. There was a single drive, and she was following that.

That wasn’t what he was expecting, not her reaching for his pants. He reached for her hand, closing his fingers around her wrist. His breathing was uneven, chest heaving with it as he watched her. What the hell were they doing? And why did he desperately not want to stop?

December squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't actually fight him, even if she kinda desperately wanted to. She was starting to remember why she hadn't started any of this to begin with. She didn't actually move her hand, though, instead she drifted her fingertips back and forth against his skin. She swallowed, heart still thudding in her ears, breath still uneven. Finally, she looked up at him, making eye contact and holding it. She didn't say anything, just looked at him, allowing everything she was feeling to show there. It was passion, heat, vulnerability, desperation, a whole host of swirling, overwhelming emotions and sensations. Desire high among them. For him. She wanted him.

What was he supposed to do with that? Standing over her, her looking at him like that had him forgetting why he’d stopped her in the first place. For a few uneven breaths he stared at her, watching her eyes, knowing a lot of what she was feeling was echoed in his own. Letting go of her hand he nodded, leaning in to kiss her again.

It was probably pathetic the wave of relief that swept through her, and she didn't hesitate past that. When he kissed her again, she continued what she was doing, moments later pushing everything out of her way. She reached for him, wanting to touch him, wanting to make this worthwhile.

Mickey tried not to think about it, not to do more than just follow her motions, a deeper groan slipping into the kiss when she touched him. He was following what she doing, letting her take the lead and while it seemed to go against what he’d always thought was right, what he thought was right was quickly fading. She needed him, that was what he was seeing in her eyes. How could he be against giving her that.

She liked the groan. She kept kissing him, and kept touching him, getting him closer. She wanted to breathe him in, to keep him there. December kissed him, not letting the passion she was feeling die out, or even slow down. She wanted that frantic, urgent sort of feeling to hit again, and she was sure it would.

He was trying to pull her closer, leaning over her more, needing to feel her there, to be as close to her as she wanted to be to him. As he went to lift her more, his hands moved across the ribbons on her back and this time, this time it was just instinct to tug on them before he drew her closer to him.

The fact that she hadn't had to ask, that he just did it, and pulled hard enough to make her cry out, to jolt against him harder than before. And there it was, that urgency factor, kicking in hard, right there and then. She reached up to put his hand on her hip, right where the lace of her panties were, to give him the hint that they should go away now. And however he might want to do that? Was fine.

Her crying out had been what Mickey wanted and her jolting against him sent a shudder up his spine. He was just as caught in the moment, thoughts gone, senses taking over. When she moved his hand though, coherent thought made a play, firmly reminding him what came next, where it was going. For a moment he faltered, fingers gripping the lace, but not moving more than that. All it won though was the moment, the slight hesitation before he was tugging them lower, letting need take over. He could regret this later. He could repent for it later. For right now, he was taking advantage of the gift in his hands. Temptation had won out long before this moment.

She had almost been going to do it herself when he started, when he was starting to remove them, and she helped, shifting to make it easier for him, allowing the slight distance between them so it could get done. And the second they were out of the way and dropped to the floor, she was grabbing him back to her, pushing herself to the edge of the counter to be closer to him. The entirety of her being could be described as frantic for him.

She wasn’t the only frantic one. Mickey was reaching for her the moment he could, hands over her bare hips as he pulled her back towards him. Everything about it, nothing between them, had him gasping as his fingers threaded in her hair, mouth finding hers to kiss her needfully. At this point he was so far out of his depth, he’d need her help, but he knew she’d give it.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, reaching between them to take hold of him. December didn't wait afterwards, though. No, she wanted to complete this, to feel him. So she guided him where he needed to be, then dug her heels into his back to urge him forward.

Mickey had to break off the kiss because he’d stopped breathing. He closed his eyes, hand out against the wall behind her as he moved forward where she urged. The feeling was instantly overwhelming, a sharp gasp coming from him as he moved inside her.

December made a soft sound, leaning back a little, though not actually shifting farther back on the counter at all. She didn't want to be any farther away from him. She gave him a moment, eyes up on him before she reached up, putting her hands to his cheeks to tilt it back down towards her. So he could look her in the eyes. "Right here, Michael." she told him, before she kissed him again.

He didn’t open his eyes until she pulled him down to look at her that he opened his eyes and looked at her. Panic was starting to rise, more out of being so dreadfully inexperienced rather than what he was doing, but what she said eased some of the anxious feeling. Nodding he kissed her back, moving his hips. It wasn’t a sure motion, but he was trying and not moving was fast becoming its own type of torture.

December kept kissing him, trying to help urge him on a little, putting pressure on his back then easing it off again. When she broke the kiss to breathe, she murmured in his ear again. "Stop thinking, Michael." He'd been doing just fine before then, she was imagining he was abruptly aware that he didn't know what he was doing. But you didn't really have to know. He just had to move. let the moment carry him away again.

He was thinking, trying to make sure he was doing the right thing and blundering massively. The direction helped, but it was easier said than done. Looking down at her again he forced himself to be there, feeling it, with her and not worrying about how she’d judge him after. When he moved again it wasn’t so much surer, but far less stunted by his own fears.

She gave a moan, and pushed back against him when he moved, helping things along. She brought his hand back to her ribbons, too, because that she knew was going to help. What brought him into this in the first place, what sparked his entire passionate reaction was hearing what that did.

Her moving against him got a groan out of him, and he kept doing what he’d done before to get her to react in kind. Mickey didn’t even realize where she’d moved his hand to until he felt the ribbons under his fingers and like before he tugged at them before pressing against her back, trying to get her closer as he pushed into her again.

December gave a loud moan, the reaction physical as well, as she pushed against him and scratched at the back of his shoulder, trying to get him closer. She started to kiss down his neck, leaving tiny, little nips in with the kisses, though nothing enough to hurt.

Mickey was trying to drag her closer, gasping at the trail of kisses. Her reactions were taking him over, almost as much as what he was feeling himself. His movements were faster, harder, though he didn’t remember deciding to change what he was doing. “December.” It was desperate and needy, strain starting to show.

"Michael," she said, because she knew now he liked it. So, he got to hear his name on her lips, a breathed moan. As he went with the urgent nature of things, harder, faster, he got more sound. Definitely sound that was ringing in that small room. She didn't make any effort to keep herself quiet, either, wanting him to hear it, wanting him to know absolutely that he was doing the right things.

“Oh God,” he groaned into her hair. He couldn’t stop moving, feeling like he was reaching for something that he couldn’t quite grasp. He was teetering, tension built almost to the point where he couldn’t stand it. The hand on her back gripped at her ribbons again, not with the intention of what it did to her, but more because it was something to hold on to as he tried to drag her closer, tried to reached that edge.

December swore in a moan, his name following it as she felt herself get closer to the edge too. She pushed back against him, helping, and his hands in her ribbon only served to make everything all the more heightened. She dug her nails into the back of his shoulder, accidentally digging them in harder than she intended, but she really couldn't help it. Not with everything else going on.

The spike of pain on his shoulder was really what did it, breaking enough that he was crying out, movements gone from somewhat steady to completely erratic as he tried to drag her closer as if his might climb in her skin. All he could do was shudder as his hands gripped at her, ribbons, hips, anything to draw her closer.

For December, what pushed her over was his reaction, and that last pull to her ribbons. She cried out, her voice lost with his, as she latched onto him, whole body shaking as it all ripped through her. She rested her head in against his neck, breath coming erratically against his collarbone.

As the wave of it passed Mickey was left shaking, reaching out to hold on to the wall again with one unsteady arm, sure that that was keeping him from falling over all together. His other arm wrapped tight around her holding her there against his chest while he panted, trying to catch his breath.

It took December a little bit to catch up with herself. To let her breath slow, to stop hearing her heartbeat thudding loudly in her ears. But she smiled. She smiled against his chest, and then looked up to his face, a strange sort of lightness to her eyes, to her face. It was definitely not an expression that was normally ever seen. Not even when she smiled.

His head was still hanging, but the shakes were starting to subside, replaced with a languid feeling in his arms and legs. Even when her breathing slowed against his chest, he was sure his heart was still pounding, loud enough for her to hear over her own. That look though, the one she gave him, with the smile, that changed everything. That had been what he was looking for, that change. Letting go of the wall, he smoothed her hair back with his own smile then leaned down to kiss her softly.

December kissed him back. It was soft, and lingering, a brush of lips and exchanged breath. She felt better. She didn't know why, necessarily. Maybe it was just she'd gotten her mind off of everything. He made her feel good, when she'd felt as awful as she'd ever felt in her life. Maybe he'd just given her what she needed. So she kissed him, in a manner she wasn't really used to, but didn't seem wrong, or out of place.

Mickey let the kiss draw out, leaving it to taper off on its own accord before he pulled away. Smiling he looked down at her again, watching her features, surprised that she seemed so different. While the whole experience had been incredible, he hadn’t expected that sort of result. He opened his mouth to say something once before he was able to actually find something to say. “Feel better?”

December found herself answering before she had a chance to think it over. It was in the form of a nod. Then, she drew in a breath and let it out slowly. "I do." She sounded vaguely surprised, and then she laughed, a quiet sound, as she leaned back. It was more like a collapse back. "I do." she repeated herself, looking up at him. Reaching up, she drifted her fingers through his hair, to get it out of his eyes.

He smiled more has she let herself fall back, keeping one hand behind her, as if supporting her. “Good,” he told her, fingers drifting across her stomach as he took her in. “Good. That’s what I wanted.” More than the rest of it, he wanted her to feel better. That made it easier to justify, at least for now. Later he’d be plagued by it, but for right now, what he’d done had helped, had fixed things at least somewhat. That was as good a justification as there ever was. “Now what?”

She considered that for a moment, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "We go to bed?" she suggested. "We were both up all night, right? I know I'd like to sleep." Or she needed sleep, and right now she was quite pleasantly exhausted and she wanted to go to dreamland before her brain had too much time to go back to reality.

Mickey nodded, pulling away from her with a slight groan. “I was starting to think I could barely stand anyway.” He’d been worn out before this, and now he was half holding himself on the counter. He reached for her, pulling her towards him as he started away from the counter and the bathroom.

December didn't even protest as he reached for her, going with it. Her legs didn't feel all that steady, but she leaned against him as they made the short walk to the bedroom. When she got there, she paused to rid herself of her stockings, then she collapsed onto the bed, pulling the blankets back for him to join her.

Mickey wasn’t much steadier than her but he manged to lose his socks and follow her onto the bed. He did his best not to fall on her as he collapsed, relieved to be off his legs again. For a moment he watched her then reached for her, pulling her towards him.

She pulled the blankets over them, and when he reached for her, she actually went. She curled up with him, feeling better that he was there. She didn't want to be alone, not with Eric out there. And right after what they'd done, with her still feeling better and sort of blissfully blank, she wanted to hold onto that.

He kissed her lightly before wrapping her up in his arms, needing to keep her close as much as to protect her. That she was better, needed to be protected, kept alive for as long as he could manage and even as his eyes drifted shut, he felt like he was keeping a watchful eye over her, keeping her safe from the darkness she so often retreated into. What had happened, what it meant, that could wait for later.