The Blinders Off
He wasn't sure about this, he really wasn't.

The club had seemed pretty beat-up from the outside, but the second he'd walked through the nondescript door all that had changed. Connor looked up at the ceiling, watched as the expensive lights changed it from purple to red to black and then take on the look of an alien sky. He'd heard of the club but had never been inside. Dancing? Not exactly his favorite activity. Still, Rhiannon was with him and she seemed comfortable enough. Her he trusted. In the dimness, he reached out and touched her hand.

"I feel like I just stepped through a portal without realizing it," he said, raising his voice to be heard over the thump-thump-thump of music. "We didn't, did we?"

Rhiannon shook her head. "No, but if you're worried about it, I wouldn't go in the men's bathroom," she said, speaking loudly at his ear. "I've heard stories." She caught his eyes and quirked her brows. Whether or not she was joking, it would've been hard to read in the poor lighting. She squeezed his hand. "Let me get you a drink. Trust me. It'll make it better."

She brushed past him and went to the bar. Everything there was electric blue, made of glass or thick plastic. Rhiannon eased herself between two sets of shoulders and ordered two shots. The drinks glowed fluorescent yellow, as if someone had soaked a highlighter pen in water. "Here." She passed one to Connor.

He looked at it, his hair falling into his face as he studied the contents of the glass, then sniffed at it. He'd only recently begun to trust vodka when it came to imbibing, and the strange stuff didn't smell like anything. Still, it was yellow, and a very bright yellow at that.

One of Connor's narrow shoulders went up in a shrug, and he sampled the drink. It tasted strangely fruity at first, as if the bartender had plucked something citrus off of a tree for the purpose, and he drank another mouthful, feeling it start the journey down his throat to land in his stomach and make it warm. Okay, so it wasn't vile. He looked at Rhiannon, squinting at her against the screaming blue of the bar lights. "How much better?"

Rhiannon laughed. She covered her mouth. "Sorry. We'll say 50% better. It's a conservative estimate." Her drink went down with the odd, sweet-sour taste of fruit and unknown 'other thing'. She took Connor's shot glass and set both on a table. "Any minute now, I promise. C'mon."

She grabbed his hand and pulled him through the crowd. She had no intention of letting him hug the wall all night, even if the people watching was decent entertainment. The longer he stood there, the more likely he was to be a chickenshit, or so she thought. Past the bar, there were seating areas where card games went on, a dance floor, and an elaborate stage set up for live music. When she looked back, she could barely see him, even though she felt his fingers.

He was minding his shoes, the chair legs hidden in the gloom seeming likely to trip him up. Connor had good spatial relations from all the fighting over the years, he knew it was likely for him to get tripped up if he wasn't careful. He'd actually bothered with his clothes tonight, leaving the ripped jeans at home to wear chinos and a blue button-down instead. Cliche or not, he didn't get out much. He wanted to look halfway decent for a change.

There was no band onstage yet, but pre-recorded music was coming through the speakers. Connor buried his uncertainty somewhere beneath his ribcage. He would probably never be a party animal, but he could at least give this a try. He ran his free hand through his hair, looked the sparsely populated dance floor over.

She stopped on the edge of the dance floor and let go, letting him get his bearings on his own. Rhiannon put her thumbs in her hip pockets. Her pants were black, her tank top burgundy with spaghetti straps, a subtle notch better than patrol but comfortable. There was another girl out there dancing, a pretty girl with freckles. Rhiannon watched her for a moment and felt her muscles jump. Fighting wasn't so different from dancing; it was just a different choreography.

"Wanna give it a try?" She thumbed at the floor. Already, she was backing out there, planning to go by herself if he wasn't ready.

Blue eyes scanned the crowd, looked back towards the bar. The worst that could happen was that he would make a fool out of himself, and no one here knew him anyway. The female dancer noticed him, gave him a little wave. He blushed, smiled awkwardly and waved back. One foot in front of the other...

His hand caught Rhiannon's, their equally callused fingers twining. "I'll try. First time for everything."

Rhiannon saw his wave, the look on his face. She pressed her lips together and tried not to smile. It was good to see him noticing a girl; better yet, noticing when a girl noticed him. Usually, she got the feeling he walked around oblivious. "Don't worry." She twisted their fingers together and got them into space near the wall. When he was close enough to keep the other girl from hearing, she poked his stomach and said, "I won't wreck your game. If you dance with me first, she'll like you more."

She raised their hands and looked at his shirt, buttons where normally there was just cotton. The lights strobed and streaked, turning it colors that weren't quite blue. Either that, or the shot was starting to work on her brain. The alcohol here always seemed stronger than normal, and she had suspicions the bartenders were lacing drinks with something illegal. The beat shifted into something faster and she swayed with it.

He let the music sink down into his bones, already feeling the booze despite his half-full stomach. He'd never been clumsy, because clumsy got you killed when fighting was what you grew up doing, it was just that he'd never really tried dancing before. Still, he was giving new things a go lately. Through the electric sea of light, he focused on Rhiannon's face. "They're selling some fast-acting.....whatever back there."

"No kidding." Rhiannon flicked her hair back from her shoulder. "Maybe I should've mentioned it." But getting him to just let go and have fun, instead of worrying, was half the point. "Why, is my face all melty?" She was exaggerating; it took more like three or four shots for that to happen, unless she had over-estimated Connor's constitution. The beat thudded in her eardrums. She dipped her knees and began to swing from left to right, rolling with the motion. Rhiannon brought both of their hands overhead in an arch. There was a fog machine, and something that looked like a low-hanging cloud grazed their knuckles.

Connor didn't recognize the song, but the music carried him along anyway, a heartbeat that picked him up and tugged him along through the musical current. His thumb skated over Rhiannon's palm, and he tugged her a little closer. He felt normal and yet not, as if he were traversing yet another alien landscape.

"No," he said after another moment, belatedly answering her question. "No, your face looks fine. I think I feel a lot less...likely to hide somewhere, though."

"Good." Feeling the little stroke on her palm, and figuring he wouldn't flinch away, Rhiannon curled an arm around his neck. "You know I'd just find you anyway." She let herself get closer to him; it wasn't a high school dance, and no one was going to object if they touched. Even though she'd never danced with him before, it didn't feel strange. There was a familiarity between bodies that came into frequent contact. They sparred and nudged and jabbed one another all the time, and she already knew how his muscles and tendons and bones mended together, and how they lined up next to hers.

"Connor, you're surprising me here. You have rhythm." Rhiannon smiled, her eyebrows quirking, because for some reason, it was funny.

The Destroyer snickered, the sound lost in the noise coming from the stereo system, and his hair brushed her forehead as he leaned down. "You always find me. Maybe I don't mind so much."

Voiced aloud like that, it threatened to become nonsense, but it felt right to say it anyway. Rhiannon was his closest friend. Trust, that hardest-won commodity, had sprung up between them like a blade of grass peeking through concrete, and he guarded it as jealously as a miser with his gold. The music swirled around them, and the cloud of fog thickened overhead.

"Which is a bonus. When you mind, it kinda hurts." When she said it, she meant his fists, but it encapsulated more than that. Being pushed away from Connor felt like having a limb severed. Inevitably, they had to punch or cuss each other out until things fit again. She gave the back of his neck a playful scratch. Up close, she smelled his soap, recognizing it from the house they had shared for a couple of months. When he moved in, it felt like turning something right-side-up.

The beat shifted. Her nose bumped his. "Ow!" Rhiannon scowled and turned around, putting her back to him. Before he could wander off, she reached back for his arms, putting them around her waist.

"Sorry." Connor wrapped his arms around Rhiannon from behind, rested his chin on her shoulder. Strange to hold her like this, given that now they shared a bathroom, but it was a good sort of strange. The dance floor was filling up now, and he saw the girl from earlier go twirling by them to head towards the bar. He felt the Slayer's weight and her solidity and none of his usual embarrassment at the closeness. "I think I'm finally learning how to just chill and have fun."

That made her smile. "Victory!" Rhiannon angled her face to the colorful lights. Blue and purple seeped through the fog. Her palms rested on his forearms, two fingers on each hand tapping out the rhythm. She closed her eyes. The drink was working on her, keeping her body loose, and her stomach felt warm. She leaned back and spoke into his ear. "Are you having fun right now, or do we need to work a little harder?" Whatever that meant. Getting him another drink. Letting him do his own thing, if he wanted. She felt pliant enough to stay right where she was.

Her breath tickled, but he didn't disengage to make it stop. "I am having fun," he clarified, moving in time to the music as if they'd been dancing together for years instead of this being the first time. One of his arms dropped, the corresponding hand plucking at the fabric of her pants. It was as if the new proximity had flipped a switch in his brain, given him permission to do more than just poke and prod in fun.

"Are you having fun?" He said it right in her ear, both protective and something else as the song changed, turned into something slower and more driving. ""Wouldn't want to think I was boring you."

Rhiannon's stomach muscles quickened. She couldn't remember the last time a touch made her do that. A couple of years ago, maybe, going along with the first time a man touched her. Like anticipation realized. But she hadn't anticipated anything here. Connor's voice like that was a shot of adrenaline, too. What was that, a lack of recent practice? She smiled, reaching back to curl an arm around his neck. The gesture stretched her abdomen, the tank top riding up. "You're never boring." She held onto his wrist. In a weird way, it felt like a playful dare. Exactly how relaxed are you? When's Connor going to do his shy routine and look away, punch my arm, tickle my ribs, tell me to shut up? "Especially not when your hands are involved."

"Oh, I see. Duly noted." It was as if he heard the dare, the tease in her voice, but the part of him that was normally terrified of this sort of thing had apparently stayed behind at the door. Connor was very aware of how Rhiannon's hand felt where it encircled his deceptively thin wrist. Couldn't even blame the liquor, not from just one drink. Never mind. His fingers made contact with the rough edge of the Slayer's inseam. Her legs were very solid inside the cloth. He must have noticed it before, but it was only now that he was really taking stock.

"Do you..." Pause. "Your stomach's doing a funny thing. I felt you twitch."

Rhiannon tipped her face back to look at him. She started to laugh, a girl that had been busted and had no better reaction. She bit her tongue. "Are you calling me out on something, Connor?" Uh oh. Their dance slowed down, only keeping half-time with the music. She couldn't tell if he understood, if he was asking because he already did. "Maybe I'm ticklish, and maybe I'm not. Either way, your hand's still between my legs." Thrust and parry. She wondered if Connor thought she was pissed. Take me off guard, watch me turn the tables. She slipped her left foot back and there was contact, his body getting an intentional bump from her ass.

"I don't know, you tell me. You're usually the one who's doing the calling out."

If he thought anything consciously, it was only that she was very warm, her back pressed against his chest and her thighs aligned with his. His hand slipped away from the inside of her thigh, then down to the joint of her knee. It lingered there for a moment, one finger pressing lightly into the muscle of her calf, then casually traveled back up to her hip. The music was down past his bones now, having lodged quietly into his bloodstream instead. "I trust you to let me know when you mind."

"You might be waiting a long time." Rhiannon shut her eyes. Something was slowly dawning on her, but it wasn't brave enough to show its face yet. Part of her wanted to hang back, inspect it from all angles. The other, more persuasive part just wanted to ride the current wherever it took her. Since when was she cautious? Since never.

She released his wrist. A sort-of 'do what you want, I wanna see' mentality coming on. Behind his head, her fingers laced into Connor's longish hair. Newly empty, the other hand tucked into the hip pocket of Connor's chinos. It was a strange positioning of herself, both vulnerable and directive, submissive with the ability to command on a tug.

Now his stomach was doing a funny thing, and he ignored it in favor of hooking one thumb through Rhiannon's beltloop. If he started thinking now, he'd run and he knew it. The purple lights overhead looked like alien stars, and there was perspiration trickling down the side of the Slayer's neck. He was sweating too, the closeness and the rapidly increasing mass of bodies around them combining to add more and more heat. Not that he minded. The two of them had been much closer than this in the past, and under much less benevolent circumstances.

"Say when." His hand slid the length of her bare arm, fingers trailing over her wrist, and the thumb in her beltloop tugged backwards. He'd never touched her like this, had been afraid the blush might kill him, but now it felt like he had to. Freed from the possibility of mortification, he felt capable of anything. The Destroyer shook the hair out of his face, brushed his mouth against her earlobe. They were moving at quarter-time now, his heart keeping pace with the unknown song. "We're still having fun?"

Rhiannon nodded. She was glad he couldn't hear her breath catch, not 100% okay with Connor knowing he was getting so far with so little, at least until it seemed reciprocal. Her nerve endings were as reactive as the strings on a violin. She felt hyper-aware of him and muddied concerning everything else. The lights were distant flashes behind her eyelids.

"Definitely." Her nails scratched his nape. After a few seconds, she turned her nose into his neck. "If you stop, I may kill you." There was a sort of seriousness to the claim, like if he walked away, she was likely to drag him back by the shirttail and punch him. Rhiannon opened her mouth. At first, only warm air touched his throat. Then her lips, the tip of her tongue. Careful... that absolutely cannot ever be construed as just dancing.

A tendon in the side of Connor's neck became more pronounced, and his right hand tightened where that thumb was still fastened to Rhiannon's beltloop. Fabric rubbed over fabric as he altered the position of his hips, and his left hand found a new resting place on her upper thigh. Fingers toyed with the outside seam of her pants. He arched his neck, tilting his head to give her mouth more room. Her breath was warm and sweet against his skin.

"I won't..." It was a bit of an effort to keep his voice steady, although not as much as he might have expected. He untucked her shirt, his index finger sliding under the cloth. He was still holding her beltloop with his thumb. "I won't stop if you won't."

Stop? "Huh-uh." Rhiannon shook her head. It would've taken a security team to pry her fingers out of his hair. It was not his imagination if he sensed her leaning back, the movement of her hips becoming a little more serpentine. It was just that she could feel him, the concavity of his abdomen, the sharp planes of his pelvic bones. A memory of him sparring shirtless surfaced and she realized she could picture it all perfectly, meaning she had noticed before. More than noticed. Maybe stared.

But hadn't that been admiration? Respect for the physique of another fighter? Sizing him up to know how he moved and where to hit? God, maybe not.

Rhiannon's mouth crept up his throat, as light as a feather. It paused at his jawline. She was flushed all over, could he tell? Using the hand in Connor's back pocket, she tugged him closer, until there really wasn't any closer. "You can touch me. I won't pull away." She wasn't sure if he heard her or not, but the pronouncement was as much for Rhiannon's benefit as his. When she said it, she knew she meant it.

Connor pulled the Slayer's shirt up a notch higher, exposing a slice of firm stomach to a palm rough with calluses. Their bodies were pressed so tightly together now that he could feel her heartbeat pulsing strong and solid inside her ribcage. His half-open mouth had found a spot close to her earlobe, and his breath wafted over the damp flesh there. He was emotionally inarticulate much of the time, but there were things he'd been saying in his heart for months. Did she know? Had she guessed?

"You're sure?" His voice was very soft compared to the cacophony around them, but to his own ears it sounded like a yell. His mouth puckered into a hesitant kiss, which he placed on the side of her neck before withdrawing, but his hand had splayed across her belly so that his fingers covered as much as they could reach. His shoulders were tensed, but he wasn't running.

These were mild touches, fledgling -- her legs, arm, neck, stomach -- and yet they all created electricity. Connor, her best friend, who had touched those parts of her hundreds of times in ordinary ways, was making her incapable of taking deep breaths. Had she imagined before what his hands would be like in this context? If not, she was making up for lost time now. She rose onto tiptoes just to feel his palm slip.

Her nose nudged his cheek. “You’re giving me goose bumps. I’m sure.”

Rhiannon let go of his hair. She traced a thumb across his mouth. “Are you?” Even as she asked, she wondered if either of them understood what they meant. Sure of dancing, of putting their hands on each other? Sure of going someplace together afterward, of moving clothes aside and seeing what else clicked? It was tricky territory. How far was too far for the other? I dare you to be brave. But she wouldn’t say it, not if it might screw with his gut reaction.

The loss of fingers in his hair had Connor's stomach tightening up with wanting that tugging back, and he chuffed out a short, soft breath against the pad of Rhiannon's thumb. His eyes were about three shades darker now, the stormy blue of an overcast day at sea. His chin dug gently into her shoulder, the buttons on his shirt probably leaving indentation near her spinal column.

"Yeah." Those strong, agile hands pulled backwards although there wasn't much pulling necessary. She had to know by now what she was doing to him. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Hearing that made Rhiannon's pulse do a strange trip-hammer. Too many beats in a handful of seconds. Still inside the tight squeeze of his arms, she turned to face him, looping her arms around his neck. The fingernails went into his hair again. Sift, scratch, tug. He felt even better on this side.

"What do you want, Connor?" If his eyes were ocean-meets-sky blue, the brown irises of Rhiannon's had gone black, the pupils widening. Only a slight sway kept them dancing.

"You're gonna ask me that now?" He sounded amused if a little strained, a little short of breath. One finger lifted to pluck at the left strap of Rhiannon's tank top, let go of the fabric after a moment. Maybe she hadn't known after all, although he was lousy at not telegraphing how he felt. Then again, he'd hidden it even from himself, hadn't he?

There was a different song playing now, but he was barely aware of anything except for the woman in his arms. He leaned down, rested his forehead against hers. Creating a bubble there in the torrent of sound. "You didn't have any idea at all?"

Rhiannon bent a knee and slipped it carefully between Connor's. She didn't apply pressure, but she kept her thigh inside the warmth of his, asserting her presence. "I knew for me." Lowering a hand, the Slayer drew a line along his spine and reached into his shirt, where his skin felt hot and damp. "I felt it creeping up sometimes." Her fingers trailed up and down his back. "When I was around you, I felt something inside me... move." And promptly told herself it was because they were best friends. Because she saw herself in Connor. Because she loved him.

"But you..." Rhiannon looked at his eyes. "No. I didn't know."

His leg flexed against hers, the muscle in his thigh stretching the fabric of his chinos before it relaxed again. "I think I've known for a while," he said, because hindsight really was twenty-twenty. "I knew and I put it away. Because of... I told myself I would never do anything to hurt you, no matter what I wanted. Or how bad I wanted it." The words were like a river, a bright cleansing stream that flowed out of him the way his love had churned silently in his chest for months. "Guess you could say I knew and then forgot on purpose."

His knuckles brushed against her jawline, and he tipped her face up so he could see her eyes without the possibility of either of them flinching away from it. "Don't want to hurt you now either. But I guess I kind of..." A muscle in his cheek jumped, a sign of annoyance that was directed at himself. 'Kind of'. It hadn't been 'kind of' for a while now. "I love you, Rhiannon." Had to say her name along with it, make the confession stick. "I love you."

She closed her eyes and breathed out. "Say it again." Behind his head and back, her fingers clasped hard. Funny how Rhiannon was the one having trouble locking her eyes on his, that gorgeous, trusting blue in a face that often looked pained, closed off. God, how she adored him. "Say love and mean it the way I want."

She smiled. "So I don't have to keep punching you, when what I really want to do to you feels a lot better." Her hands tightened. Shit, had he been anybody else, he would've seen right through Rhiannon, simply from her constant need to touch him. Jab, poke, tickle, shoulder, hit, it was always something.

She opened her eyes.

"Love." He bent down farther and kissed her on the cheek, letting it linger, inhaling the smell of her hair and skin. Funny how blind he could be. His mouth snuck closer to hers, his hand tipping her face in his direction. The music was like a drumbeat, one he could feel though the soles of his shoes. It was nothing compared to the way his heart was beating at the moment. "Love. For as long as you'll have me."

That first kiss threatened to stun him senseless, and he grasped her shoulder more tightly, looking for an anchor. Hoping not to go flying off the face of the earth.

She hesitated. The tip of Rhiannon's nose touched his cheek. It was a deliberate holding off of the kiss, letting her anticipation build until she thought she might die of it. She tilted her face and hovered centimeters away, sharing the same breath. Nerve endings caught fire in her lips, her stomach, between her legs. Connor's mouth had gravity, though, and as much as she loved a tease, even more she wanted to know the fit of his mouth and how he tasted.

The first touch was soft and moist, barely there and brief.

But on the second time, she tugged hard on his hair, then went onto tiptoes and captured his mouth. It was a kiss in slow motion, made of persuasive nudges and hints of tongue. It was also foreign and thrilling and arousing. She leaned onto him. Their stomachs pressed together and all the familiar angles and planes of his body made her tighten until she trembled.

She stopped kissing him to say, "I love you... I can hardly breathe."

"I'll hold you up."

The last time Connor had felt like this, it had been because Rhiannon had gotten her powers back after having them stolen, had returned to him as if from a long way off. He was incandescent at this new development, his hands wandering away from her shoulders to find purchase on her hips again. It was as if he'd never taken a full breath before now. He nuzzled against her neck, his weight leaning into her body. "I love you. God, I love you..."

Rhiannon's fingers scratched his scalp, smoothed across the small of his back. It would be impossible not to touch him, given free reign to do it. "Why didn't you say so?" she asked. Why hadn't she? Probably the same reasons. The little tremble was both laugh and outward manifestation of a torrent of feelings. It had always been impossible for her to feel something without it becoming a physical act. Now those acts didn't have to ache or sting. She squeezed him tighter. Turned her mouth to his ear. "I swear I won't hurt you."

She wasn't even dancing anymore. Hadn't been for a while. Nobody around them cared. She simultaneously hated where they were and was grateful for it. She didn't know what else would've made her finally try. Not sparring. It wasn't easy, grappling and doing submission holds with a shirtless guy she'd rather pin down and screw out of his mind. But neither was it easy to flip the switch.

"Because...I don't know why because. I was in this whole crazy denial thing, I guess. Just being dumb." He grinned down at her sheepishly, took one of her hands and lifted it to his mouth. "If I couldn't tell myself, how could I tell you?"

The crowd was getting to be a little much, the heat stifling. He couldn't decide if he wanted to be right where he was or outside where he could get a little of his bearings back. But he couldn't let go of her, and if he moved too far away he'd have to. Such a dilemma to have. He touched her hair with his other hand, ran his fingers through the clean brown strands. "Do you want to be someplace else? Like, we could...we could go home."

She rubbed her lips together and nodded. "Okay." It didn't really matter what they did, whether it was talk or hold each other or whatever other urge came over them. She just wanted to be near him, have the opportunity to touch him. But God, wasn't that weird? Going home together, to a place they both lived, suddenly had all these implications. Or maybe it didn't. That was the odd part. Not knowing how to act, what to expect.

She laced her fingers through his and pulled him off the dance floor. While they weren't paying attention, dozens of bodies had filled the club. It felt like hours must've gone by, only it had been what? A half hour? Less? Rhiannon didn't know. She had a tickle in her chest, holding onto his hand in a public place, realizing people saw them and thought 'together'.

He was minding his feet again, as if the slightest mis-step would cause him to go crashing to the floor and bring this glorious thing to a screeching halt. He was also very conscious of how Rhiannon's hand felt linked with his. He'd touched her a hundred times before this, even a thousand, but this was completely different, at least in his mind. The two of them passed by the same freckled girl from earlier, and he lifted his hand in a sort of farewell to her. His other hand stayed firmly locked with the Slayer's.

The night had grown cooler once they were finally outside, and the breeze ruffled his hair and he conducted a one-handed search for the keys to the bike. Suddenly it was difficult to do two things at once, like breathe and hunt for his keys. "I think I have too many pockets."

"Um..." Rhiannon raised an index finger. Having pressed herself so closely to Connor while they danced, she knew exactly where he put his keys. She recognized in herself a sudden, irresistible urge to be forward and decided to go with it. "Here?" She reached into his front pocket, hooked a finger in the ring, and tugged them out. So what if she took twice as long as necessary to accomplish it? While close to him, she kissed his cheek. "You just needed an extra set of hands."

The muscles in his thighs contracted, and he blushed despite himself as he accepted the keyring. "Don't know what I'd do without you." The keys jingled, and he let go of her hand long enough to give her a light slap on the butt. Swinging one leg over the Honda's seat, he steadied the bike so she could perch her weight behind him. How much different was it going to feel with her behind him now? "Glad it decided not to rain. I'm feeling shaky enough without worrying about wet roads."

"I know what you mean." The mutual admission felt good, and she loved him all the more for making her feel new at this. Taking hold of his side, Rhiannon straddled the bike and lifted her boots off the ground. After the helmet was strapped into place, she eyed his back. Where before the grip was intentionally perfunctory, this time she fully slipped her arms around his waist and scooted up against him. Her thighs hugged him. He was lean and wiry and solid. Probably because it reflected her own body, she appreciated how slight he was in comparison to the damage he could do. So much power in a narrow frame. Thinking back, she couldn't remember a circumstance when she'd been with a man who could do more than keep up with her; he could kick her ass.

He started the engine, felt the Honda rumble into life, then pointed the motorcycle in the direction of home. His stomach was alternating between knotting with anticipatory tension and shuddering nervously. The grip of her legs made it hard to concentrate. When they reached the second stoplight, one of his hands dropped away from the handlebars and brushed against her thigh, then gave it a squeeze. Things were going to change now, but in a good way. Probably a long overdue way.

Briefly, she laid her hand on Connor's. She was nervous, already looking at the drive to their place as unbelievably long and short simultaneously, which didn't make any sense. At least the noise level and helmets gave them an excuse not to make small talk. Probably she would've asked something dumb, like, 'You okay?' Rhiannon wanted a cigarette. Unfortunately, she was trying to quit. She wasn't about to blow it over being alone in a room with her best friend. Inanely, she reminded herself to flush the hidden stash above the refrigerator.

When the light changed, she let go and held his waist again.

The motorcycle surged. Rhiannon closed her eyes. She was so busy trying to predict their next move together -- idle at an imaginary red light? fly down the road on a green -- that she was missing the moment. She took a breath and leaned around him, watching taillights flashing, streetlamps rushing towards them, the road narrowing in the distance. Even his hands on the handlebars.

The motorcycle seemed to be doing most of the navigating on its own, which was fine with Connor as his thoughts were far too scattered to focus on the task completely. When they reached that final familiar turn, the Destroyer felt his pulse rate quicken, and he took a breath to steady it out as he parked in the usual place. The helmet came off slowly, an excuse to have something to do with his hands. The walk leading to their door seemed ridiculously long.

No talking. If he talked, there was no telling what idiot thing he'd say. Connor semi-casually draped an arm across Rhiannon's shoulders, started that trip to the door.

They had never been so quiet. Usually, a return to their place together meant they'd been out getting food, patrolling a neighborhood, walking to the grocery store. Something ordinary. The neighbors no doubt overheard weird snatches of conversation. 'Shit, we forgot the eggs.' 'Did you see the tusks on that thing?' 'My ass is killing me.' Rhiannon wanted to break the silence. Needed to. But her mind had gone blank. For some reason, the situation struck her as funny.

Halfway up the porch steps, she had to smother a smile. Outside the door, when she struggled to fit the key in the lock, she broke and laughed. "Jesus." Rhiannon finally got it to turn. She pushed the door open and watched it swing on its hinge. She waited to cross the threshold, though. "Okay, I give. I'm putting it on the record, I'm freaking out. I dunno if we're watching the Late Show or..." Her palm came up and pushed against empty air. "Yeah."

She wet her lips. "So..."

Rhiannon squeezed her hands into fists and willed herself forward. "Fuck it." She stepped into the room and spun around, taking Connor by the shirt. "Get in here."

[To be continued here: http://rhiannon-lee.insanejournal.com/37855.html ]