multiversallogs | But these stories don't mean anything / when you've got no one to tell them to

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But these stories don't mean anything / when you've got no one to tell them to

Who: Raylan Givens and Rachel Conway
What: Dinner and catching up. And, likely, A Talk.
Where: In the general vicinity of Rachel's workplace in Syriac Well.
When: forward-dated to Veerdi.
Notes: passing mentions of sexual activity.
Warnings:see above.

Rachel packs it in for the weekend at a quarter to six, putting away files and notes, clearing her desk so it's neat for Newdi morning. It's something she's always done, as far back as college; a clean desk when she starts the next day's work is like a fresh start, it's soothing somehow.

Knocking off a little early also gives her time to duck into the restroom and make sure she's still presentable before heading for the front of the building. She's always thought it rude to keep someone waiting, or to make them have to ask somebody to go find you, and that's part of the reason she intends to meet Raylan out front.

The other part being she's still pretty new here, and even the best workplaces are full of gossip. She's not ready or willing to have her personal life or friendships examined quite so closely here, not yet. The front steps aren't far, but it's far enough to ward off most of the well-meaning-if-nosy questions and speculation.

So she's a few minutes ahead of six o'clock when she steps out the front door, ready to head down the steps to the sidewalk.

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She laughs too, setting her glass down for a moment to top it off, then holding the bottle up, eyebrows raised--does he want more?

"Well. For the record, whatever you are is fine with me."

He holds out his glass for a refill. "That is incredibly reassuring."

"Good. It was meant to be."

She leans in to refill his glass, and doesn't retreat once she's set the bottle aside. "So. Here's to being all right with each other?"

"Cheers." Instead of drinking, though, he takes the unspoken invitation and leans in to kiss her, holding his glass out of the way.

She hadn't given much thought to her glass, in all this sly creeping-closer. She kisses him back, starts to reach for him, and it's only then she realizes her drink is kind of in the way.

She draws back, leaning over to set her glass down beside the bottle, and then she renews the kiss, hands reaching up for his shoulders.

He takes the opportunity to set his glass down too, so he can shift and allow her closer. Things have been complicated and crazy for a long time, but kissing Rachel feels unexpectedly simple. Despite a million reasons it isn't.

Then again, that (of all things) feels sort of familiar.

And it's been a long time now since he's touched anyone, which doesn't hurt either.

Conversely, everything feels like it's just gotten so much simpler for Rachel. It's not just that there's no longer that weight of hiding what she is and what she can do from him, and that he's taken it so well, though that does help a whole lot.

She's been here in the city long enough now to feel like she has a place; she may not like being stuck here but settling in and building connections doesn't feel like giving in anymore. Raylan has turned up or come back or been in touch enough times that it's no longer one of those why on earth kind of things, it just feels right. He hasn't pushed for anything, not even that night at his place when she'd possibly had more booze than sense.

Hell, even her dog likes him.

And it's been a ridiculously long time on her part, too, since she touched anybody, and here's someone she feels safe and comfortable with, someone she respects. And someone she likes. A whole hell of a lot.

So here's another unspoken invitation, as she shifts closer: her fingers, at the front of his shirt, slowly unfastening one button, then a second.

Raylan's a gentleman, but he's not a saint, and the timing feels right this time. They're not running for their lives, neither of them is especially drunk, and she's a grown woman who knows her own mind and isn't even the witness in a case he's involved in.

He slides his fingers through her hair, taking another lingering kiss, and then untucks his shirt to help her unbutton it.

He's not ever going to like Baedal, but he doesn't have to think about that right this minute.

The rest of the buttons aren't as neatly undone as the first two, her fingers fumbling as she's distracted by kissing and by his hands in her hair. But once she manages it, she slips her arms beneath, wrapping them around his body, just holding on for a few moments.

So much about this place, and being in it, is all wrong. But this is right, feels right.

She tilts her chin up to kiss his cheek, before murmuring a question against it. "You wanna finish your drink first?"

"Don't need it to make you prettier," he says, with a quiet laugh. "I think it'll keep, unless you need a break."

He doesn't want it to go too fast for her, but he's much more interested in Rachel than his drink, at the moment.

She laughs too, shaking her head a little. "I didn't mean it like that. And no, I don't need a break. I guess I'm just making sure that this whole drag-you-back-to-my-bedroom plan I'm contemplating is actually all right with you, before I make with the dragging."

"If you're trying to protect my virtue, that's probably not necessary." He smiles. "Look, Rachel, I'm right where I want to be. I promise. As long as you're sure."

He wants to make sure her hesitation isn't in some way her own, instead of on his behalf.

That earns him another indulgent kiss, that wanting to be sure she's on the same page he is.

"I'm sure," she says, getting to her feet, taking his hand--look, she won't actually drag him like she said, but there's a gentle come on sort of tug there. "I'm one room from being exactly where I want to be."

"Well, that's not too hard to fix." He gets up, no dragging necessary. He does pull him to her for another long kiss, though, before he lets her lead him the next room over. It's past time they both had something nice, he thinks.

"You can stay," she announces, much later, from somewhere in the vicinity of his shoulder where she's curled up against it. In that one room over, in her bed, under the covers with their clothing strewn about the floor on one side.

And she's still exactly where she wants to be.

She shifts slightly, one arm draping across his body. "I mean, like. Stay the night, if you want. You don't have to get up and rush out or anything if you don't want to."

He smiles lazily. "Alright. I think I might take you up on that kind offer." He kisses her, lightly, in no rush to go anywhere himself. "You don't talk in your sleep, do you? Cause I don't know, that might be a dealbreaker."

Odd powers are fine, but a man has to draw a line. Or he's still teasing her.

"...Oh. Well."

She pulls back far enough to look up at him, a theatrically-false expression of gravity all over her face.

"I don't talk in my sleep, no. And I don't snore. But I guess I'd better tell you... I have a problem. I steal covers. I'm a pathological covers thief. I'll steal everything off you if you aren't careful. So we can either get you some more blankets and things out of the closet, or you can stay close enough that I can't get too far with your covers."

"I vote for door number two, since it involves the least getting up," he says, laughing. "I think I'll survive."

She laughs, soft and a little drowsy. "I like that option too," she confides. Though maybe, in her case, it's less about not having to get up and more about staying close.

"You don't talk or snore, do you? Or sleepwalk? And you were kidding about the werewolf thing?" Look, she can give as good as she gets, with teasing.

"No, depends on who you ask, no, yes." He's settled, arm comfortably curled around her waist.

"Hmm. Well. If there is snoring and I can't deal with it, I've got an elbow, I know how to use it."

She curls into him contentedly, tucking her head under his chin. "We'll have to do this again sometime," she says, and while her tone is still warm, light, she's not teasing anymore. "I could do with more nights like this."

"I wouldn't object to that."

"Then you've got yourself a standing invitation to be here whenever you like, if we're both free."

She closes her eyes, settling in.

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But these stories don't mean anything / when you've got no one to tell them to

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