Mar 15 02:20:52 105 PA
From Chronicles
The current game time is: Sun Mar 15 02:19:52 105 PA. Cheapo Apartments - Aimee's Rooms(#1900R)
A less than furnished apartment, this room holds the bare minimum of furniture. A cheap sofa, a bed that sags in the middle, a tiny television and an old throw rug. In one corner, a kitchenette stands, complete with stove, sink and cupboard. A door opens to a bathroom with a tiny shower unit in it.
She lets him hold her all night, her tiredness taking over, the shift followed by the passion exhausting her. In the morning, they lie in a tangle of sheets and even pieces of mattress, the morning sun filtering into the room through the blinds. Aimee is curled up next to him, the bed sagging in the middle and throwing them together. The remains of her sheet lies over her hip, her bare feet sticking out of the end. She sleeps on her side, facing him.
Desmond wakes in a flick, his eyes snapping open. Laid on his back, the view above not what he is used to.. he tenses slightly. The caution bleeding away slowly as he feels an increasingly familiar form beside him. Aimee. His head turns, eyes lowering toward where she lies beside him. His expression softening as he watches her sleep for a short while. A familiar feeling of contentment rising within him, apart from the sexual fulfillment of the night before.
With that uncanny sense of being watches, her eyes opens slowly, blinking sleepily, her view being of his chest not making sense for a moment. In a second, it clicks and she remembers, tilting her head back to give him a sleepy, warm smile. "Morning, honey..." Her voice is husky, the abuse from the night before adding to its normal soft purr. "Sleep well?" There is soft humour in her voice, her words, matching the amused look in her eyes as she uncurls, untangling herself from the sheets, and sitting up. As an after thought, she draws the sheet over her chest, her bare back to him as she watches over her shoulder.
Desmond actually seems to think about her question in his sleep state. He did sleep.. better than most nights. "Yes.." Spoken with a note of sudden, unexpected revelation. He sits up just a bit himself as she does, leaned on an elbow. A slight firming of his expression when he notes the light abrasions he's left on her anew. "These do not pain you?" Asked lowly as his other hand goes to gently pass his thumb over one slender weal.
Aimee shivers as his thumb moves over it and the grin she shoots at him is pure wickedness. "If you keep doing that, we might not make it out of bed at all..." She warns softly, her eyes twinkling. "The scratches on your back bother you, honey?" The point she is trying to make seems obvious to her and she squirms from the bed, abandoning the sheet there and walking to the small kitchette to make a hot drink. "Tea? Coffee?" She calls.
When she looks back to Desmond, it seems for a moment he might actually take her up on the offer. She can see it in his eyes. But he stops after a moment. "No. But I'm.." He might have said stronger, but thinks better of such a statement, deciding to say, "..they're not so obvious on me. Wouldn't this effect your work?" He shifts on the bed when she abandons it, sitting on the edge without concern for coverings. "I rarely drink coffee, tea will suffice," he responds. Likely she can feel his eyes on her, until something blocks his view.
Aimee lifts one shoulder slightly, her movements entirely comfortable with her nakedness. "I'm off today, should be comfortable to dance with tomorrow... and I ain't taking off much in the way of back stuff. Some blokes might like it, you never know what does it for them..." She pours boiling water over teabags, quickly stirring, adding milk and moving towards the bed. "I don't have any sugar.." Her tone is apologetic, the first sign of a blush in her cheeks.
"That's fine," Desmond replies easily enough. Not quite at the point of making playful jokes when given a line in, this one. He takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders before he too rises. Stretching his arms upward, then out as his fingers easily brush along the ceiling. A low, deep rumble rolling in his chest as he works out the sleep kinks in a methodical, shameless manner. One last breath released as his body relaxes and his eyes search for her again.
Aimee is leaning on the bed end, elbow resting on the metal frame, her eyes resting on him with an affectionate smile. "Better?" She asks softly, sipping her tea, watching him over the brim of the mug. "Got work today, honey? I think... " Her face relaxes, making plans for time off, "I'm going to take a walk, maybe eat a sundae..." She lifts one eyebrow, teasingly, "Have a drink at a bar I know..."
"Much," Desmond replies lowly. He will take his own tea as he responds further, not yet fully cognizant of how easily he dips into a moment such as this. "This is a day off for me. Perhaps tomorrow as well," he replies, turning toward her, with the cup carefully cradled. "I may not work there for much longer. Something better.. more suited to my skills could he on the horizon."
Aimee lifts both eyebrows, curling herself on the corner of the bed, facing him. She tucks her legs beneath her. "Oh? Something that pays better?" She rests her head back against the metal posts, throwing her face into shadow for a moment, the only brightness her eyes. "Was thinking of finding something new myself..."
Desmond nods to her first question on the pay. Lingering afar for a moment as he samples the tea. Seeming to find it adequate to his tastes. Her talk of her own occupation lead him to respond frankly. "I would encourage this. I will admit.. I do not like what you do for your living. If you could find something better, I would aid you in it, if I could. Though I admit I know not what aid I could give."
Aimee lowers her eyes, looking at her mug, her face thoughtful before she answers, slowly, "Honey, I enjoy most of what I do. Most of the time. But I love to sing, one day I'll sing properly, and someone will pay me for it..." When she looks up from the mug, for a moment there are stars in her eyes and then she blinks, smiling ruefully. "Maybe."
Desmond listens quietly to her dream, deciding to leave talk of her current work alone. He lifts the cup to drain it quickly and sets it aside before approaching the bed. "I wish I could give you ideas on how to do such a thing. I have never had much talent with artistic pursuits, however." He settles himself next to her carefully. "Perhaps you could sing at the place you work now. If they would allow such entertainment."
Aimee laughs softly, leaning forward to rest her mug on the bed, glancing at the ruins of her sheets. "I think the clients want something involving less clothes." She shakes her head, looking up at him, her face softening to look young. "You remember those singers who wore furs and dresses from earth that was? So glamourous, so beautiful...I'd love to be like that, one day..." She sips her tea, shooting him a humourous look over the rim, "Outside my own head as well.."
His brow furrows slightly and he shakes his head slightly. "I do not know much of what came before," Desmond admits. "But I think you could be those things." A pause before he adds, "I will watch for anything that might help you in this. I know you like what you do now, but I feel it is too dangerous." Other words he might use as well, but that is the most neutral and important.
Aimee shoots a grin at him, finishing her tea with a swig. "Dangerous. Tawdred. Tacky. Degrading. Pick any of them, honey. First profession on this world, you know." She rises, moving to the sink to wash her mug up, the only sign of neatness in the entire flat. She rummages in the pile of clothes, finding a shirt and pulling it over her head, her head emerging with tousled hair. "Everyone has to start somewhere..." She speaks softly, looking for other clothings.
Desmond frowns faintly at her response and the tone to it. "I know. I did the same when I came here.. too the first opportunity that came to hand. I do not fault you for that. We all make sacrifices to survive." His frown lingering as he follows her example in dressing. Ever feeling it is a quiet message of sorts.
Aimee digs through her bag, pulling out a comb, dragging it through her short hair. She finds a lipstick, running the bright red over her lips, before turning to him with a grin. "There, ready to face the world." The small bravado showing in her face is gone in a flash, and the normal cockiness settles down. "Honey, I've been doing this since I left home. It ain't something I grabbed at, figured I'm good at this. Someone can pay me for it, instead of having a boyfriend after another, and getting used." Her chin is up a little, pride in the lines of her body as she moves.
Desmond is attired by then, save for his jacket, which dangles from his hand as he listens to her. The words don't seem to soften the concern in his firm set features. Yet he takes a moment to speak. The words that come to mind not.. helpful, he decides. Thus after a few moments he reiterates, "We do what we must. But I will help you to reach for what you dream of, if I can." He goes to her to gently take one of her hands in his. "I promise this to you, Aimee." There is a seriousness about the vow that goes beyond casual cockiness.
She lets him take her hand, more out of a sense of shock for a minute, than anything else. She pulls her hand away and turns to look at him properly, her green eyes narrowing. "I do it because I want to. Not because some twist of fate forced me into it." She reaches for her jacket and keys, shoving the keys into her pocket with an angry movement. "Time to go out." The line is a door slamming.
Desmond trades places, obviously stunned by her reaction to his words. Easy it is to see that he desires to respond.. is a moment away from it. But he stops before he starts. He steps back and nods once. "Will you require an escort in the near future?" Asked in a tone that is lower.. polite. Drawn back, in a way, as if his hand were stung.
Aimee lifts one shoulder, pride stinging her cheeks pink, almost forcing her to reject the offer before sense gets its way. "Yes. Tomorrow night...." Her words are stiff, her chin lifted up. "Two in the morning, same place as usu...before?" Her eyes are sparkling a little brighter.
Desmond is silent for several long moments. Looking at her, as if he might find something in her pose, her expression to answer some silent question. Whether or not he sees it, he doesn't say. Instead, he states, "I shall be there. For you." His expression firm into that mask, veiling emotion as he turns and he goes, the door closed quietly behind him.
That night.
The room is dark, only the street lights flowing in the windows making it possible to see in here. On the frail sofa, a man sits, legs sprawled as best is possible with his trousers around his ankles. His hand is resting in the hair of the petite woman kneeling at his feet. Resting may be the wrong word, since his hand is full of her short hair, holding it tightly as he forces her head down into his lap. One of her hands automatically lifts, to free herself before a strong yank changes her mind in a whimper of un-fun pain. Although mostly hidden from a passing glimpse, the light from the window falls on naked skin, and a small pile of clothes nearby.
Desmond enters the building itself below, tromping steadily up the stairs at a languid pace. The slight irritation of waiting for nothing paling before the fact that.. well, she really has no way to contact him easily. He didn't wait too long before the other girls came out, no harm. at the top of the stairs to her floor, he slows, leaning one hand against the railing as he glances down the hall towards her doorway. Their last morning was.. contentious. Will she want to see him.. should he wait? Perhaps that is why she didn't seek him to tell him.. thoughts stay him for a few moments more as he stares down the hall intently.
From inside the apartment a sharp yelp of pain can be heard. A man's curse follows along with the noise of a fist hitting flesh, and then leather against skin. Something is knocked over, and the yelp returns again, louder.
Most would have missed that, but Desmond's hearing is another aspect that's beyond the norm. It might not even be her, but with her on his mind, he's not about to take a chance. The rolling thunder of boots on wood give seconds of warning before the door slams inward hard, the loosest of the hinges left weakened in the wake of the inward slam, a deep dent in the wall where the knob was driven in. The doorway now filled with Desmond, jaws parted to show teeth, a deeply displeased rumble bubbling up from his chest. His head ducked a bit to stare in, hands latching onto the doorframe to either side hard enough to dig his unslung claws into the wood.
The picture that would meet his eye might be ridiculous in another place or time. The light from the street illuminates a man, trousers around his ankles, holding a belt above his head, almost frozen in a snarl. The woman on the floor has hands lifted protectively in front of her face, head bent, her eyes fixed on the man. He has twisted, to take in the broken door, his face an unflattering shade of red. "What the fuck..." He curses, bending to pull his trousers up, as the girl scuttles backwards, out of reach.
Desmond takes in two things. Raised weapon. Cowering woman. The claws dig an inch into the wood as he thrusts, adding the force his arms can yield to propelling himself into the room. The deep, hollow growl is that of attack, one large fist clenched, arm drawn back and snapped to backhand the man cruelly. He's far too rushed.. too hot with rage to put in his full force. All the same, the man's jaw will not fare well as a result of the impact. But before he can fall, the big feline continues forward, his other hand snapping up as he drives the back back against the far wall, large fingers squeezing on his neck with slowly increasing pressure.
The man curses loudly, as his back thuds against the far wall, his hands rising to grasp at the strangling grip. For a moment, he hangs there, legs kicking in the ankled trousers, and then another curse is heard and Aimee rises, naked, from the floor, aiming a loud curse at ...Desmond? "Damn it, what are you doing, you bloody idiot?" She moves quickly, almost between then, reaching to tug his hands from the other man's throat. "Desmond!"
Desmond snarls deeply as he squeezes down slowly, taking the man's breath in total. He seems set and determined to choke the life from this man, even as Aimee comes up to him. She would feel the warm, comfortable muscle she's known before is now hard as steel, the fingers unyielding to her. But he is not, her raised voice filtering through the rage, forcing him to look toward her, to respond. "He was hurting you." His deep voice rough, almost animal, those choking fingers unmoved. By his inflection, this man has committed a grievous sin.
Aimee aims a sharp, surprisingly strong slap at Desmond's chest, fury written on her features. "He is PAYING me to hurt me, you idiot! Put him down before you kill the only income I've bloody well got!" The man's hands are scrabbling at Desmond's tightening fingers and the breathing sounds don't sound so great. "If you don't put him down this instant I'll never speak to you ever again!"
Desmond is confused.. paying to.. Somehow the grip doesn't falter, even as his angered expression is obliterated by total confusion. It's the last part that causes his fingers to jerk loose in spasm, the sole support the man had from Desmond gone. Ignored as the big feline stares at her with utter non-comprehension.
The man takes advantage of his sudden freedom, a strange lack of gratitude for Aimee as he scrambles for the door, pulling up his trousers as he goes. "Fucking crazy bitch, you set this up, you ain't gonna work once I tell folks this..." He vanishes out of the door, leaving Aimee staring after him, her face falling. Slowly she turns, her eyes passing the remains of her door as she reaches for a shirt from the floor, slowly pulling it on. "So much for rent." She whispers, dropping onto the sofa, all fight gone in an instant.
This deep, sinking feeling curls heavy and cold into the pit of Desmond's middle. The big male doesn't even notice the man's departure. Only enough of his words penetrating to make clear the magnitude of his mistake.. even if her part in it continues to defy the strict logic that his mind runs on. Only after she's dropped to the sofa will he move from the wall. Moving toward her slowly, as if in a daze. "Aimee.. I.." He trails off. What can he say? When he doesn't even process half of what just occurred. His mind reboots and defaults. "..I'm sorry.."
Aimee tilts her head back to stare at him, letting out a soft huff of air. "Sorry won't pay my rent, Des. You ...you..." She searches for words, waving a hand expressively at her door, then the wall where the man's head has left an imprint. "I guess I don't have to pay repairs if I get chucked out for being an unemployed bum." She rises, angrily moving around the apartment, picking up objects and mostly throwing them into piles. "But at least I have a god damn hero riding to my rescue." She faces him, hands on her hips, the shirt open.
With the flashfire of range burned out, rational thinking can again reign. Accepting for the moment that this was not a moment for him to act so decisively, Desmond cuts past the part of this that he doesn't understand for the moment. He goes to the door and closes it. The top hinge is loose, but it fits into the frame. Won't stand up to a person who really wants to come in, though. "I heard you struck.. you were not at work and I was coming.. to see that you were well." Starting to try and explain himself. He turns and moves toward her a bit. "I heard.. and I could only think of before.. that man." Even mentioning gets a flash of anger in his eyes. A spark that is quick to fade before the reality of the moment.
Aimee stares at him for a moment before her shoulders sag. "Des,..." She speaks softly, the tone helpless, before she turns abruptly away, returning to trying to clean the flat of its almost habitual chaos. "Perfect end to a perfect night." Her voice is choked, and in amongst the tidying movements, the back of her hand wipes across her face. "Gonna have to not do that, Des. I got to earn a living..."
Desmond feels an unfamiliar pang, moving toward her again. A natural urge rises in him, coming easier than words. She will hear him approaching slowly. Should she allow, he will hug her from behind. Feeling an urge to give comfort, not realizing she may not want it from him at this moment. Habitual words, when it comes to females, slip to his lips, but he bites them back this time. Saying it again would do nothing.
She allows the hug, stiff in his arms at first, before she twists, dissolving into tears, the bravado dissolving with her. Burying her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking, "So stupid, got fired..." The words are muffled by his skin and fur, her voice choked with emotion. "So bloody stupid."
Desmond says nothing for the moment. He speaks better in the now with his arms, all but enfolding her in a protective cocoon of himself. The steel is gone, leaving the comfort and security in that embrace. His eyes close and he lets his mind calm and still. The troubles will return soon enough and this.. this is too poignant to him to let them sully. He'll hold her for as long as she wants him to, as long as she lets him. Quiet and still, unmindful of the tears that moisten his shirt.
Aimee pulls away after a moment, rubbing at her face with her hands. "Right. Enough of that." Her voice is business like, her green eyes slightly pinktinged. "I'm going to fix that door, sort the flat out so my landlord doesn't throw me out and then get some sleep so I can see them tomorrow, get my job back." This might be the calm before a storm but for the moment, she moves, the temper drained.
Desmond lets her go reluctantly, but he will release her when she wants it. Even taking a slight step back, as if to give her some space. Perhaps sensing the calm before might be appropriate after her initial anger. Still.. "Allow me to help you with the door," he offers quietly. Almost immediately turning back toward it to inspect. Not that he knows much about fixing doors. But he feels he must do something.. even this little thing is a small step toward repairing what harm has been done.
Aimee gently touches the door, glancing over her shoulder, an edge of humour showing. "Do you know anything about fixin' up doors, Des?" She asks, green eyes glinting for a moment. "I'll fix it for tonight, just so it doesn't fall on me, and pay someone tomorrow." The words are lighthearted but a worry passes briefly behind those eyes before she turns away, carefully edging the broken hinge into the holes.
Desmond seems undaunted by her question, simply stating, "I can hold it in place for whatever you might need to do." Still, her mild rebuke does leave him standing near, without closing into actually do something. Perhaps a bit spooked by her threat whilst he was choking the life from that man. Though he has the look about him as if he needs to do.. something.
Aimee glances around, before picking up a heeled boot and using it to hammer the old screws into the wood, before moving the door experimentally. "It'll do." There is wry humour in her voice, and the shirt she wears moves as she walks across the room, bending to gather clothes as she does. "You going to stand around looking like a huge kicked puppy all night?"
That, at least, seems to nudge Desmond back a bit to himself. His expression firming with mild displeasure, though it doesn't linger long before he slips back into that firm neutral. He speaks after a moment, stating, "I wish to speak with you. About.. many things, now." A slight frown coming to him as he amends more firmly, "We need to talk."
Aimee turns, the humour draining from her face as she dumps the clothes into a basket, clearly intended for dirty laundry. "Go on. You sound like my father." The last line is a muttered sentence as she flops onto the sofa, glancing around. Her eyes linger on the dip in the plaster where the man's head had hit.
Desmond frowns faintly, but decides to let the slo comment slip. He approaches the couch and settles himself down more carefully, for now keeping to himself as he gazes at her. "First.. I would address what just happened," he decides. "I acknowledge that I made a mistake. I will not claim good intentions, for such is obvious and does nothing to erase the damage done. But.. I must admit that I still know so very little about you. This.. what you do, it is something I don't fully understand. I wish to understand."
Aimee curls herself into the thin cushions of the sofa, leaning her head back. For once, she looks tired and the look she slants him is not so friendly. "Can I explain when I'm not dog tired, and wanting sleep? I mean, it isn't so complex, Des. Men want sex of a type they can't ask their girlfriend for, and I do it."
Desmond frowns faintly, but doesn't seem about to back down yet. "I'm sorry, but.." he pauses, then decides, "Tell me then.. what happened tonight between you and this man.. and what would have happened if I had not come. It seemed as though he were about to strike you.. and you did not wish it. But you say this is not so. Describe this to me and I will go. I will speak of other things to you at another time, when you are better rested."
Aimee sighs, dropping her head back against the cushions. "Pretend, Des. He wanted someone to be afraid, I ain't that bothered by being hit a bit and he was paying enough to make my rent for the week." She slants a look at him, sidelong, "He'd have ended up the usual way, Des. What else is there? Might as well tell me now."
This doesn't seem to please him, by the firmness of his gaze. "I see." There is another question that lingers on the tip of his tongue, but some internal sense keeps it unsaid for the moment. Instead, after a moment, he leans toward her just a bit to take one of her hands lightly, if she will allow it. "I will go now," he tells her lowly. "I will do what I can to right my wrong. Even if I must give, that you can keep this place."
Aimee turns to face him then, her expression faintly disbelieving. "I don't want your money, Des. You said you had other burning questions, might as well get them done..." She pulls her hand away, a flash of temper in her eyes, as she rises from the sofa, tidying up once more. "You don't just bash in my door, scare off my work, only bloody work I'm getting, and then question me on my job, and then just... leave!" She throws some laundry into the basket with a fierce movement, her green eyes snapping.
And once more a woman leaves the big male confused. She can easily slip away and Desmond will just sit there, watching her move about the apartment for a few moments. He decides against questioning the sudden change of mind and simply asks another question. "I was curious as to why you were fired." High among his list of burning questions. "I was concerned when you did not show up."
There is a moment of stillness, thoughts flickering across her face, before Aimee turns, casually slow, her arms full of laundry. It seems her entire wardrobe needs washing. "Oh just over something stupid. I think I can get something anyhow. Nothing to worry over." She dumps the pile in the basket, glancing around and diving for the beneath the bed, her bare ass in the air as she rummages for more laundry.
Desmond looks. After their few times, she interests him more than normal. Still, its slowed, with the big feline's curiosity lingering. "It is was something inconsequential, then why would they fire you? Perhaps you should not bother with such a place if they are so quick to do such things."
Aimee wiggles backwards, dragging some clothes after her. She scrambles to her feet, bundling them together before pushing them into the overflowing basket. "Yeah, the queue at the door of folks to employ me is overwhelming." She slants a look at him, rolling her eyes, before her hunt turns to glasses and mugs.
Desmond frowns and considers her response a moment before he rises from the couch to move around it, pursuing her casually. "Tell me why," he requests again. More firm in his demand. "I wish to know more of you.. of your life. To understand more about you. Will you not share this with me?" The firmness relaxed back again to a more reasonable tone.
Aimee clicks glasses together as she gathers them up. The repeated question gains him a hesitation in this, before she puts them in the small sink, resting with her hands on the edge, her shoulders sagging. "Why do you need to know?" She asks softly, turning slowly to rest her back against it, hands lightly on the sides behind her.
Desmond pauses before her, looking to meet her eyes as he speaks. "Why do you hide it? I get the feeling that something such as this.. you would not be hesitant to speak of it without reason. To talk firmly of those you dislike is something I feel you would do without hesitation. No doubt you do not care for those who fired you. Yet you are guarded." Leaving her to consider his logic.
Aimee turns back to the sink, filling it with water, her fingertips under the flow. She sighs heavily, replying without looking at him at all, her voice muffled. "I got fired because someone complained about the scratches. There? Happy?" She washes up a glass, as if the movement would wipe this conversation away.
Desmond frowns deeply at that. "I see." His voice very quiet.. very calm. "And you would not tell me this? Why?" He moves closer to her slowly. "I want to know if I cause you difficulties. You should not hide this."
Aimee doesn't stop washing up, her movements angry. "Because it is my life, Des, and I get to choose who I tell what to. If I want to do stuff outside my job, it is my look out, not theirs, and noone gets to tell me who, when or where." She slams a glass down on the draining board, swearing as it shatters.
Desmond lays a hand on her shoulder then. "Aimee." A moment of silence before he states, "So to this is my life. And I would know how my actions effect those that I care for. Would you not demand the same? Do you think that if I knew this, I would simply leave and never return? IS that what you thought?"
Aimee sighs, not turning as she gathers up the pieces of the glass, putting them in a neat pile before she replies, turning slowly, putting a bleeding finger in her mouth. "No, I figured you'd start feeling afraid of sleeping with anyone in case you got them fired as well as hurting them." She shrugs his hand off, moving across to the bathroom, emerging with a plaster. "I didn't want you to feel like that. It is only a stupid job, Des."
Desmond lingers, watching her move away. "No.. because you helped me with that," Desmond states. "Though I still do not like that I mark you, I can accept that. To be honest, I was most concerned that you would need.. professional attention after the first. I have had little experience with average human women before." He moves out from the small kitchen space, but keeps his distance for now. "You did help me with that.. and for that I am grateful to you. And.. even with this, I still desire you. We will just have to.. try something else so that I will not mark you."
Aimee sticks the plaster around her finger, before she looks up, her face expressionless for a moment before she smiles. "Look. I know what I can handle, and what I can't handle. Des, honey, I've had rougher lovers before now, I just am not accepting some boss telling me who I can and can't do." She shrugs, putting out her hands, palms up, in a gesture of openness, despite the lack of emotion in her face. "I don't want your gratitude, Des." She speaks softly, before she glances around, "Flats tidy..."
Desmond approaches slowly, but doesn't come too close for the moment, a touch unsure of her true mood. Aimee still something of a mystery to him past her ever changing surface. "Then what do you want, Aimee?" Despite his uncertainty, he most assuredly wants to know the answer to this question.
Aimee goes still for a second before she draws her shirt around herself, an instinctively defensive gesture that she catches before she completes it and almost snatches her hands away. "What most people want, I guess. A bit of fun, enough money to live on and some friends to share the fun." The words come out a little harder than she intended and she turns away, pulling the sheets from the bed.
Desmond considers her response, considers her gestures. Still, he seems unsure. He continues to shadow her just a bit as he comes to the next obvious question in the line. "And what do you want from me? You say you do not want money, which I can accept. But I will give to you anyway. You did not wish my help, but I will offer it to you regardless. What can I do?"
Aimee looks down at the sheet in her hands, trying to make a decision, before she shoves it into the rubbish bin. "Des, you're my friend. Isn't that something?" She pulls open a cupboard, grabbing a sheet and bending to make the bed, tucking in corners casually. "You can do that, be my friend... " The words are muffled, spoken by someone reaching for the far corner of the bed.
"Friend is a word that I have seen as having many meanings," Desmond replies. "I can offer to be this, but even then.. you confuse me Aimee. I am not sure how to best be your friend. But I wish to know. Do you know? Or must we continue like this, fumbling in the dark?"
Slowly, she straightens, throwing pillows back on the bed and bending to grab a blanket. This, she just holds, turning her face to look at him. "Des, we have a deal, don't we? We're friends who happen to end up in bed. Nothing more, remember? You never had a friend before? We hang out, drink beer, play cards maybe. Occasionally screw." She turns, throwing the blanket on her bed, the flash of vulnerability in her face hidden mostly by the move.
Desmond listens to what she has to say and quietly digests it. His brow furrowed as the deal is brought back into highlight. This silence is longer than those before, but he does respond after a time. "I remember." His tone even.. perhaps a bit too even to be his natural default. "Still, I feel that there is more, even within that rule. But I will discover this in time. Perhaps we both will." He approaches her from behind once more and will try to embrace her again, brief but firm. "I will go now. Let you rest. If you need me soon, you can leave a message at Moe's. Until I get something better for myself."
Aimee leans back into the embrace, closing her eyes, keeping her face hidden from him. "What more?" She asks softly, her fingers touching his forearms gently, tracing lines across the muscles there with her nails. There is a moment of hesitation before she offers, in a whisper, "Don't want to stay tonight?"
Desmond keeps the embrace when she asks this, wrestling with that question in mind. He does. And yet he feels he should leave this night.. for some unknown reason. Some silent urge. "Do you want me to stay?" Turning the question back on her when his own mind hesitates to decide.
Aimee pulls away at the question, moving away into the bathroom. Water runs and her voice travels out, "Only if you want to." There are the sounds of someone washing their face, before she emerges, all traces of any tears or make up vanished from her face as she heads towards the bed, flipping the light switch off as she passes. The light from the street lights filters into the room through the blinds, illuminating it enough to move safely and she curls herself up on the bed, pulling the blanket over her knees.
Leaving Desmond to decide. Desmond will spend the whole time she spends to cleans herself for bed to consider that. In the end, that unidentified negative urge fades. It has no name, no face. No reason. Just a niggling feeling that soon is surpassed by something stronger, more familiar. Desire. Moments after she enters the bed, she will feel it shift, will feel his still clothed form cover her. Clothed for now, but not for long. He will be aggressive and wild as before and after he will stay and hold her until they sleep comes, should she let him.
