⟪ part of her wants to joke, before she remembers the way he lives and realises that this is, truly, the kind of thing he can just buy. working jets and all. by now, with her place being as crappy as it is and the occasional generous tip, she's got her paycheck and savings that, well, don't amount to more than two hundred bucks, if that. and that's already a lot, considering where she used to be.
she's paid no mind to the wolves. it's... not her habit to focus on the soundscape of nature like that. ⟫
I'm not stopping you. I'll trade you breakfasts and dinners for a dip.
( he knows that it's wholly possible she's got a chip on her shoulder about the money. he tries not to lord it over anyone, but it's an undeniable part of him — but he didn't have the typical model of wealthy upbringing growing up. his father was frugal. every penny had to be accounted for, clothing was bought second-hand or mended unless it was to be worn in front of the cameras, belongings beyond that had to be earned. sam mowed lawns every day for a summer to buy the nintendo he'd had as a child. and after he moved out of that old, big house at sixteen he'd been as dirt poor as anyone else.
honestly, he had no idea how much money the old man had skimped and saved away until a lawyer was muttering millions into his ear over a poor-quality phone connection. he'd thought at most the house was the only asset of any note, and that he'd wanted to sell. his mother was the one who changed his mind, who'd said that he should take it as a chance to turn a place of misery into something better.
he's not. quite there yet. maybe once he throws out the last useless box of hoarded garbage he will be.
but in the meantime, he has more freedom than he's ever had in his life. money has gone from meaning everything to meaning almost nothing. he's not rich, but he's certainly wealthy. he could quit his job tomorrow and live off the interest of the sundry investments. instead, he pays them back into the community. sets up grants and programs and ways for people to better their lives. all things his father claimed to do but rarely did. he never made a financial move unless it doubled his return somehow. sam feels a kind of petty, vindictive pleasure in spending his money frivolously. )
Deal. Also, god, yeah, that spot. Right there, right shoulder.
⟪ he is not unpleasant about his wealth –– in fact she's had no idea of it until she saw his house. that aside, he knows, intimately knows, in part through his work, what her side of the financial equation looks like. ⟫
Like so?
⟪ she can feel how tense this spot is, and she focuses her touch, amping up the intensity just enough to hopefully rub out the tension. ⟫
( it actually pulls a deep, pleasurable groan out of him. he doesn't exactly relax, but the tension does ease off, some. sam wouldn't know what to do with relaxation if it bit him, frankly. )
⟪ don't think flora won't make this her personal mission. ⟫
Oh, you would? Thank you.
⟪ she's not fully expected it, seeing how it was her idea to offer, so... the fact that he'd like to makes her feel all warm and soft inside. that said, she does shift to give him access. her curls are already pinned up as well as they can be, considering that they're not exactly tameable. ⟫
( he swaps with her, but. there's a problem. she sinks so low into the water that any motion of his hands against her back is going to create the world's most awkward splashing. he stares at her shoulders, flummoxed. the only solution he can think of off the top of his head is her sitting on his lap, but. he is. not going to suggest that.
instead, he just bursts out laughing. )
Holy shit. You're too short for this, I'm so sorry. We might have to carry this on inside by the fireplace.
⟪ she joins in, coming to just about the same realisation. it's not something she'd considered – after all, she's just had the most comfortable time massaging him, what with most of her body being in the nice, hot water. she laughs hard enough to get a helping of tub-water into her mouth, so the amusement is temporarily interrupted by coughing.
eventually – ⟫
I didn't consider that. ⟪ lord, it's a good idea in general – they've been in the water for quite a while now. once she's gathered her bearings, she wades through to the adjunct shelf and hands him a towel before grabbing one for herself. ⟫ And I should have, I mean, I sat in your driver's seat trying to reach any pedal.
⟪ back during the storm, when he'd shown her his precious blue. ⟫
( he just laughs, follows behind her. he grabs the towels they'd set aside, handing her one first before he drapes the second of them over one shoulder. )
Want a lift?
( it's not a long walk to the house, but they're barefoot. and maybe it's an excuse to be near to her, and maybe it's just being chivalrous. either way. )
⟪ she grins – after all, she'd been the one to awkwardly stalk barefoot into the tub, trying to avoid any pebbles that might have found their way onto the deck. ⟫
Always!
⟪ and it's only in part because, after spending so much time touching, it's a strangely bereft feeling not to be so close anymore. ⟫
( so, after ensuring she is secure in the towel, he sweeps her — quite literally — off her feet. an old-fashioned bridal carry, with all the bells and whistles. he's grinning a bit as he does it, enjoying the proximity just as much.
kissing her would feel so natural right here. he almost does it, too, half leaned in over her where she's nestled in his arms, but. he holds back, instead transmuting the gesture to a press of his cheek over the crown of her hair. affectionate without being overt. once he's finangled the door open with no small amount of finesse, he sets her gently down. )
Do you have any lotion or something? Your skin'll rub otherwise.
⟪ he carries her, and it's a wonderful, lighthearted feeling to be in his arms like that, and there's a moment where she's sure he's about to kiss her – instead, he presses his cheek to her, nuzzling her in an affectionate way that, somehow, has her feeling just as good as a kiss might have. once inside and on her own two feet, she nods, stepping over to her backpack and returning with a lotion bottle. ⟫
With shea butter.
⟪ because she'd liked the scent, which, to be fair, is how she does most of her shopping. lotion, much like conditioner and the concept of not just using her shower gel as both that and a shampoo, are a recent addition, slowly brought in as her paycheck became a stable thing to allow those small expenses she'd previously denied herself.
she joins him by the fire, hands the bottle to him to inspect. ⟫
Y'think it's going to work?
⟪ she's no expert. his skin's probably glad there was water and steam about. ⟫
( he flips the bottle over in his hand a little jauntily with a knowing smile. )
Perfect. Come on, let's cozy up in front of the fire. One sec.
( he towels himself off a bit and then heads for the bathroom, where he changes into a pair of sweatpants. then it's out to the main room of the cabin and the recliner in front of the fireplace. if he sits in that, and flora at his feet (maybe on a rolled up blanket) she'll be just about the right height. )
⟪ when he returns, her towel is already hung up by the fire to dry, and she's rearranging the recliner so it's comfortably close to the warmth of the fireplace. she must have had about the same idea of how best to arrange the two of them to make up for the, ah, height struggle.
while flora is still in her bikini, she's wrapped a blanket around her lower half for a little bit of extra warmth.
she's already getting comfortable, chirping happily when she sees him. can't be helped sometimes. the fact that he'd not put on a shirt, she notes – it's good to know he's more comfortable now. good to know he's fine with her seeing him. ⟫
I moved us a bit closer to the fireplace. I think this might work. ⟪ a smile. ⟫ In my next life, I'll come back as a giraffe. That's gonna make it easier.
( the little chirrup makes him smile. she has a lot more fox mannerisms than he does crow ones, and sometimes he wonders if he's been going about shifting wrong his whole life. she has such a warm, genuine love for her fox form — and while it's not like he dislikes flying, or any of the other wonders being a crow has given him, he's always seen it as more of separate entity, almost, from himself. a kindred spirit that inhabits the same body, wants the same things. something he calls on. he has nothing of a corvid's habits, and the few commonalities between them could be passed off as quirks of personality.
he settles into the recliner, knees spread to either side of her shoulders, and he sets that bottle down beside him, doling out a generous handful of it in the meantime, so he can warm it up before putting it on her skin. )
⟪ the laugh is more an amused huff as she nudges against his leg with affection. it's got all the markings of a bad decision. she's sitting with her legs tucked underneath herself, touching the spot above her left knee where her little mistake lives. ⟫
Picture this – you're seventeen, and your friend Tonya boyfriend Steve has a cousin called Bubba. Yes, Bubba.
⟪ she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, still grinning. ⟫
Well, it's four in the morning and Bubba's got a tattoo needle, ink, he doesn't care about an ID, and he swears he can tattoo a fox on you.
⟪ she exhales. ⟫
And maybe you're just drunk enough to look at this guy and think – yeah, that sounds reasonable.
⟪ doesn't yet explain why it doesn't look at all like a fox. ⟫
( he's grinning as she tells it. there's something so utterly infectious about her cheer, just being near her is like the warmth radiating off a sun. )
You know what? I kinda like it. It has... personality.
⟪ there is something so utterly good about talking to him. she's got people in her life now who listen, but it's something else, too. he's so warm about it, and so easy to be around. ⟫
Halfway through, this man looked at me and said: I don't know how to tell you this, but it's gonna be a racoon.
⟪ she laughs at the memory, much more distant now. ⟫
Personality. I like that. Part of me wants to cover him up, but y'know. It's not Herbert's fault he's an experimental racoon.
( the lotion is warm in his palm, and then puts his right arm over her shoulder so his hand is in her field of vision. he's got a hairband on his wrist and he sort of waggles his fingers to draw attention to it )
Pull your hair out of the way for me?
( and tie it up so he can work. he's not done talking about the tattoo, but there are other matters right now. )
⟪ gently, she fishes the hairband from his wrist with thanks.
it's a bit of a hopeless case – after all, she'd had them tied up in the hot tub, but the brief carrying interlude had undone that pretty much immediately. she ties it up in a loose bun, and at least the steam had gotten them wet enough to be termporarily tameable. she suspects they'll dry in an even curlier shape. ⟫
All out of the way?
⟪ she feels around her neck to make sure no stray curl escape. ⟫
( he starts the process of smearing lotion across her shoulders, warmed to body temperature now by his hands. once he's managed a liberal application he rests his hands across her shoulders, thumbs moving in concert circles. he's got a light touch. )
I mean, honestly. Tattoos are about the journey, you know? Herbert's part of that past that lead you here.
⟪ she gives a content little hum at his touch. it's light, but good, pleasant, the kind she knows she'll sink into within moments. ⟫
That's a good way to look at it.
⟪ her eyes fall shut in perfect bliss. ⟫
I guess that's why I'm hesitating about covering him up. I don't want to hide the past. I'm not proud of all of it, but I don't think pretending it's not there is a good grounds for a future.
( he didn't start getting tattoos in earnest until he was in his late twenties, when he could afford the high prices tatiana demanded. but even the shitty ranger motto on his arm, for all that it was done by a guy with an illegal tattoo gun in a fucking truck bed in afghanistan, he wouldn't touch. it meant something in the moment. )
But if you want me to hook you up with my artist... she's a real master. Maybe you can get something different down the line.
I think I'd like to. The colours on yours are just... there is a lot of soul to them. I like that. It suits you.
⟪ and it is a down-the-line project, after all, those aren't exactly worth pocket change. but that means she can give it thought, which, in on itself, would be representative of the way she's changed. ⟫
The motto was first, right? Then... the desert. ⟪ this, they've spoken of before. ⟫ Which of the watercolours did you start with?
( he'd gotten it after he came back from europe and they made peace. accepting that they were better friends than lovers. he doesn't regret their divorce, has tried not to dwell on the what-ifs that could have plagued them. he sat down with her and discussed the tattoo, what it meant to him. they were almost strangers then, he knows she could have taken it as a trap. something manipulative, to clip her wings. but she'd understood. it's why they're still so close. )
Then my grandmother's, grandfather's. Nieces and nephews all happened around the same time. The tattoo for my nation was last.
( it's why the red is still so vivid and bright. it was done to celebrate becoming passably fluent — not perfectly, but. it felt like coming full circle, somehow. the lakota way has always been that you can count yourself among their people if you speak the language. it has less to do with birthright and race and more about respect of culture and history. but he wasn't really ready to claim it before. now, he's proud. )
⟪ she leans into his touch almost without thinking – alright, this has been a pattern developing since they became closer. doesn't make it any less nice.
a hum of affirmation, to show she's listened, appreciates his answer. the tension in her shoulders seems to dissipate by the minute, and... and there's just no place else in the world she'd want to be right now. ⟫
I adore them all. They're so... I like how they tell stories. About you, and the people you care about.
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she's paid no mind to the wolves. it's... not her habit to focus on the soundscape of nature like that. ⟫
I'm not stopping you. I'll trade you breakfasts and dinners for a dip.
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honestly, he had no idea how much money the old man had skimped and saved away until a lawyer was muttering millions into his ear over a poor-quality phone connection. he'd thought at most the house was the only asset of any note, and that he'd wanted to sell. his mother was the one who changed his mind, who'd said that he should take it as a chance to turn a place of misery into something better.
he's not. quite there yet. maybe once he throws out the last useless box of hoarded garbage he will be.
but in the meantime, he has more freedom than he's ever had in his life. money has gone from meaning everything to meaning almost nothing. he's not rich, but he's certainly wealthy. he could quit his job tomorrow and live off the interest of the sundry investments. instead, he pays them back into the community. sets up grants and programs and ways for people to better their lives. all things his father claimed to do but rarely did. he never made a financial move unless it doubled his return somehow. sam feels a kind of petty, vindictive pleasure in spending his money frivolously. )
Deal. Also, god, yeah, that spot. Right there, right shoulder.
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Like so?
⟪ she can feel how tense this spot is, and she focuses her touch, amping up the intensity just enough to hopefully rub out the tension. ⟫
I'm so going to do this more often. It's fun!
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Christ, here. Trade me spots. Your turn.
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Oh, you would? Thank you.
⟪ she's not fully expected it, seeing how it was her idea to offer, so... the fact that he'd like to makes her feel all warm and soft inside. that said, she does shift to give him access. her curls are already pinned up as well as they can be, considering that they're not exactly tameable. ⟫
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instead, he just bursts out laughing. )
Holy shit. You're too short for this, I'm so sorry. We might have to carry this on inside by the fireplace.
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eventually – ⟫
I didn't consider that. ⟪ lord, it's a good idea in general – they've been in the water for quite a while now. once she's gathered her bearings, she wades through to the adjunct shelf and hands him a towel before grabbing one for herself. ⟫ And I should have, I mean, I sat in your driver's seat trying to reach any pedal.
⟪ back during the storm, when he'd shown her his precious blue. ⟫
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Want a lift?
( it's not a long walk to the house, but they're barefoot. and maybe it's an excuse to be near to her, and maybe it's just being chivalrous. either way. )
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Always!
⟪ and it's only in part because, after spending so much time touching, it's a strangely bereft feeling not to be so close anymore. ⟫
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kissing her would feel so natural right here. he almost does it, too, half leaned in over her where she's nestled in his arms, but. he holds back, instead transmuting the gesture to a press of his cheek over the crown of her hair. affectionate without being overt. once he's finangled the door open with no small amount of finesse, he sets her gently down. )
Do you have any lotion or something? Your skin'll rub otherwise.
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With shea butter.
⟪ because she'd liked the scent, which, to be fair, is how she does most of her shopping. lotion, much like conditioner and the concept of not just using her shower gel as both that and a shampoo, are a recent addition, slowly brought in as her paycheck became a stable thing to allow those small expenses she'd previously denied herself.
she joins him by the fire, hands the bottle to him to inspect. ⟫
Y'think it's going to work?
⟪ she's no expert. his skin's probably glad there was water and steam about. ⟫
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Perfect. Come on, let's cozy up in front of the fire. One sec.
( he towels himself off a bit and then heads for the bathroom, where he changes into a pair of sweatpants. then it's out to the main room of the cabin and the recliner in front of the fireplace. if he sits in that, and flora at his feet (maybe on a rolled up blanket) she'll be just about the right height. )
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while flora is still in her bikini, she's wrapped a blanket around her lower half for a little bit of extra warmth.
she's already getting comfortable, chirping happily when she sees him. can't be helped sometimes. the fact that he'd not put on a shirt, she notes – it's good to know he's more comfortable now. good to know he's fine with her seeing him. ⟫
I moved us a bit closer to the fireplace. I think this might work. ⟪ a smile. ⟫ In my next life, I'll come back as a giraffe. That's gonna make it easier.
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he settles into the recliner, knees spread to either side of her shoulders, and he sets that bottle down beside him, doling out a generous handful of it in the meantime, so he can warm it up before putting it on her skin. )
So what's your tattoo about?
( yes, he saw that. )
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Picture this – you're seventeen, and your friend Tonya boyfriend Steve has a cousin called Bubba. Yes, Bubba.
⟪ she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, still grinning. ⟫
Well, it's four in the morning and Bubba's got a tattoo needle, ink, he doesn't care about an ID, and he swears he can tattoo a fox on you.
⟪ she exhales. ⟫
And maybe you're just drunk enough to look at this guy and think – yeah, that sounds reasonable.
⟪ doesn't yet explain why it doesn't look at all like a fox. ⟫
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You know what? I kinda like it. It has... personality.
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Halfway through, this man looked at me and said: I don't know how to tell you this, but it's gonna be a racoon.
⟪ she laughs at the memory, much more distant now. ⟫
Personality. I like that. Part of me wants to cover him up, but y'know. It's not Herbert's fault he's an experimental racoon.
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Pull your hair out of the way for me?
( and tie it up so he can work. he's not done talking about the tattoo, but there are other matters right now. )
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it's a bit of a hopeless case – after all, she'd had them tied up in the hot tub, but the brief carrying interlude had undone that pretty much immediately. she ties it up in a loose bun, and at least the steam had gotten them wet enough to be termporarily tameable. she suspects they'll dry in an even curlier shape. ⟫
All out of the way?
⟪ she feels around her neck to make sure no stray curl escape. ⟫
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( he starts the process of smearing lotion across her shoulders, warmed to body temperature now by his hands. once he's managed a liberal application he rests his hands across her shoulders, thumbs moving in concert circles. he's got a light touch. )
I mean, honestly. Tattoos are about the journey, you know? Herbert's part of that past that lead you here.
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That's a good way to look at it.
⟪ her eyes fall shut in perfect bliss. ⟫
I guess that's why I'm hesitating about covering him up. I don't want to hide the past. I'm not proud of all of it, but I don't think pretending it's not there is a good grounds for a future.
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( he didn't start getting tattoos in earnest until he was in his late twenties, when he could afford the high prices tatiana demanded. but even the shitty ranger motto on his arm, for all that it was done by a guy with an illegal tattoo gun in a fucking truck bed in afghanistan, he wouldn't touch. it meant something in the moment. )
But if you want me to hook you up with my artist... she's a real master. Maybe you can get something different down the line.
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⟪ and it is a down-the-line project, after all, those aren't exactly worth pocket change. but that means she can give it thought, which, in on itself, would be representative of the way she's changed. ⟫
The motto was first, right? Then... the desert. ⟪ this, they've spoken of before. ⟫ Which of the watercolours did you start with?
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( he'd gotten it after he came back from europe and they made peace. accepting that they were better friends than lovers. he doesn't regret their divorce, has tried not to dwell on the what-ifs that could have plagued them. he sat down with her and discussed the tattoo, what it meant to him. they were almost strangers then, he knows she could have taken it as a trap. something manipulative, to clip her wings. but she'd understood. it's why they're still so close. )
Then my grandmother's, grandfather's. Nieces and nephews all happened around the same time. The tattoo for my nation was last.
( it's why the red is still so vivid and bright. it was done to celebrate becoming passably fluent — not perfectly, but. it felt like coming full circle, somehow. the lakota way has always been that you can count yourself among their people if you speak the language. it has less to do with birthright and race and more about respect of culture and history. but he wasn't really ready to claim it before. now, he's proud. )
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a hum of affirmation, to show she's listened, appreciates his answer. the tension in her shoulders seems to dissipate by the minute, and... and there's just no place else in the world she'd want to be right now. ⟫
I adore them all. They're so... I like how they tell stories. About you, and the people you care about.
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