OOM: Milliways Room 15

[luvs_yogurt]

After their quick walk, Michael let Emma lead the way back to the bar. He hasn't been up to his room since the apocalypse, but unsurprisingly it's exactly as he'd left it - looking vaguely like every single mid-range hotel room in Miami. A comfortable double bed occupies the center of the room with a small table and two chairs off to one side. Immediately beside the table is a minifridge on top of a small counter sporting a two-cup coffee maker and an unopened bottle of whiskey with two fresh tumblrs. Along the other side of the room is a small closet that Michael hopes still has a fresh change of clothes and assorted odds and ends he needed at one point or another.

"Feel free to make yourself at home," he smiles as he unlocks and then pushes open the door. "It's not much, but it's private and comfortable."

Pacing inside, he does a visual check on autopilot - confirming everything is where it should be (the whiskey being a nice and welcome touch, the bottle had been empty and wine the last time he left) and no nasty surprises were waiting.

"Do you mind if I..." he's already shouldering off his dirty, torn jacket; "put on something a little less destroyed?"

Comments

[notinthebook]

It is good. Headily so. And for a little while, she just lets herself get carried away by the pleasure of wanting and being wanted, that tight tension that wires itself all through her frame.

Is it such a bad thing to want to just lose herself in the feel of warm hands against her skin, kisses so deep and desperate that her breath comes ragged from them? Is it so damn bad to want to steal a little physical comfort after a day that's had her wound up, fear pushing at every single nerve in her body?

Lying like this, she's got leverage, and uses it; pushes at his shoulder and tugs her leg against his until he lands on his back and she's got both hands on his shoulders and her knees to either side of his hips.

She wants this. Him. After a day of being poked and prodded, needled constantly by Regina, he hasn't pushed once. He's a good guy.

That's what makes her pause, a breath away from kissing him again, her hair falling wild over her shoulder and her shirt askew as her eyes widen and search his face.

She lets out a shaking breath, shoulders slumping.

Crap.

She really likes him, too.

"I think this is a bad idea."

[luvs_yogurt]

When she pushes him, he doesn't resist; it would be simple to force her down - to take... Simple, and horrible. He's not that guy.

No, he's the guy the moans when she slams him down and sits so easily astride his hips. He's the guy that's breathless and digging painfully hard against his zipper.

And she's right. Every fiber of his body is demanding for her touch, to feel just a little more...

"I know," he whispers, closing his eyes and squaring his jaw to hold back the frustration."We're not thinking clearly."

He can practically hear Sam's voice beside him; 'Spent too long in the Army, brother - pretty sure you like jerkin' it in a cold shower more than women. She's hot, drunk and on top of you... Second guess or no, go for it.'

Thankfully he's never been hard up enough to follow the dating advice of a guy that thinks the good life is being a boy toy to middle aged women with more money than they know what to do with.

But damn if its easy. "I'm sorry, Emma..."

[notinthebook]

She sits back, letting out a long, heavy breath, rubbing a hand over her face as she frowns, hard, before swinging her leg over his and getting up. The floor feels unsteady and her head is still spinning, but at least she's not getting drugged off his kisses or his touch anymore, and she lifts a hand to stall his apology.

"No, it's fine. Look, I wanted this, too, but that doesn't make it a good plan."

Her hands go to her hips and she stares at the floor for a second, shoulders hunched, before looking back over at him with a wry, unhappy twist of a smile that goes nowhere near her eyes.

"I like you a lot. And you're better than just some drunken one-night stand, but you're not gonna get anything else from me, so better to just..." She slices a hand through the air in front of her, hip-level.

"Quit while we're ahead."

Her jacket's still where she left it, and she goes to the chair, slips it on, glancing at him.

"I should get going."

[luvs_yogurt]

Michael grinds the base of his palms against his eyes before forcing himself to sit up - staring straight at her. He's not disappointed, in a lot of ways she hasn't said anything he disagrees with.

"I don't know what you think I want from you, Emma..." He licks his lips, trying to form a sensible thought; "you don't owe me anything."

He means it to, whatever she's comfortable giving chances are he's in a similar place. But she likes him, and that's a whole lot more than he'd even bargained for.

"Look, you don't have to leave... I'm sure I can control myself..." Mostly. Pretty sure.

[notinthebook]

"I just think it's better to keep it friendly."

Friendly is simple, friendly doesn't confuse things the way sleeping with a friend does. They're well past the point where this would just be a random hook-up, and fun as it would be, she's not sure it's worth it.

She pauses midway through shrugging into her jacket; the leather feels stiff and cool after the heat of being all wrapped up in him. The glance she aims his way is quick, rueful, accompanied by a tiny smile.

"You're not the one I'm worried about."

Jacket on, she runs quick fingers through her hair, wincing when they catch on a tangle, and tilts a final, apologetic smile at him.

"See you around. Thanks for the drink. I'll, uh, show myself out."

It's just a few quick steps and then she's gone in a toss of blonde waves and a swing of the door.

[luvs_yogurt]

Kicking himself the slightest bit for letting her go, Michael forces himself out of bed to the partially empty tumblers, finishing his shot - and then reluctantly hers.

He knows that letting her go is the right thing to do, neither of them is in the right headspace to move past it without problems. That doesn't make it any easier, and its not the physical either.

A hard on can be dealt with by willpower or a few minutes of stimulation. Wanting to smell their soft blonde hair or wrap your arms around them... A bit more difficult.

Forcing back his frustration with himself for letting himself get attached at all, he poured out another triple and sat back in his chair - staring at the door as though something might change.