electrocynic | Hallway to MCA #5, Monday Afternoon

Ugh.

Sarah had been away for a while, back in London. For reasons. Nothing very good, though nothing very horrible, either. She'd ducked out this morning, though. It would've been otherwise fine to spend her birthday in dear old London, except her parents had threatened to pay her a visit, and she just wasn't feeling up to her old favourite game of disappointing her dad extra hard by pretending to be even worse than he thought. So, she'd come back.

And once she'd come back, she'd realized she'd missed graduation. Sparkle's graduation, to be exact. So now she felt like shit. And she had no plans for her birthday, and she was spending it alone, and she found herself missing Guy and April and who the fuck ever she'd ever managed to care about only to lose touch.

Yeah.

This all probably explained why she was making her way towards her apartment with a great big bag of groceries, where bottles of Green Lamp Ale clinked together, packets of crisps made crisp-packet noises, and there was enough ice cream to probably get a class of first-graders into a sugar coma.

[ooc: Oooopen post! Of birthday frowning.]

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"To be fair," Sarah mused, with a few chips, "checking online would probably give me a clearer idea of what she's trying to do in the first place."

"Trying to break into something while still showing as much of her cleavage as possible?" Atton said.

She shrugged.

"Well, that's good enough for me."

Atton took a bite out of another chip. "I try to be of service."

"Still don't know how this ends, though." More beer. "Could be a twist. She might not make it. It might be touching and heart-wrenching and all that shit."

"Are you hoping to have a good cry?" Atton asked.

"Are you offering a shoulder for that?" Sarah retorted. "Because if we start naming body parts, my interest will probably be elsewhere."

"I have a lot of body parts," Atton said, raising his eyebrows at... her cleavage, yes. "Which ones are we talking about?"

"Hopefully something in your pants."

That was remarkably non-rude phrasing for her.

"And not to cry on. 'Case that wasn't clear."

"If you cried on something that was in my pants, I'd be really worried," Atton said, "So hey, that's a relief."

So this was edging a whole lot closer to actually something than he'd anticipated. After a second, he decided he'd roll with it and see where it wound up. "But I'll negotiate about anything else."

Sarah snorted. "Negotiating sounds like business." Just getting that out there. "Like there are about to be terms and conditions for sex."

"What, you mean you don't want to discuss how many items of clothing are allowed to come off before they come off?" Atton said. "And now I'm disappointed."

Beat.

"The answer is usually 'all of them', though."

"Clothes tend to take care of themselves," she replied. "Would've gone for ruling out attempts to cuddle like a teenager, that sort of thing."

"I live across the hall from you," Atton pointed out. "If we had sex, I'd head over to my own apartment to sleep it off."

He could be charming if he wanted to. Right now it just didn't seem useful.

Sarah rolled her eyes at him. "I know, but it was the first example I could think of. Or, the rule was highly bloody effective."

"Are we now actually talking about the details of a sex contract we're not actually coming up with?" Atton checked. "Just keeping track."

Oh look, she pulled another face. "Not any more, we're not."

She'd been much better at this when it was at bars and not on her couch. Although admittedly, even then, it had been a while.

"Because you could just say 'hey, Atton, no butt stuff, but do you want to get laid'?" he snarked casually.

"That's assuming I remembered your first name." She had, although with a 50-50 chance of calling him Axton instead. (No, she wasn't sure why.) She affected a sarcastic brightness to her voice. "But hey, Atton, bum stuff optional yet highly unlikely, but d'you want to fuck?"

"That's the most romantic proposal I've ever heard in my whole life," Atton drawled. "Can't say no to that."

... Look, he wasn't sure if she'd actually asked, and now he wasn't sure if he'd actually said yes, but this was still better than spending the afternoon staring at the wall, so screw it.

It truly was an afternoon of low standards. Sarah gave him another crooked smirk as she leaned towards him a little bit.

"So don't."

Low standards and minorly bad life decisions. Atton was pretty sure he wasn't going to feel much better at the end of it, but he was pretty sure she was hitting on him to the full extent now, and maybe - just maybe - he needed the attention.

Besides, he was classy enough not to use anyone else's name out loud.

So he leaned in, himself-- more than a little. "Then sure," he said, "I mean, that really is a great rack."

Sarah liked to think they were both grown up enough to know that sometimes it was enough to just feel better during, because one night (or afternoon) stands weren't really a cure for anything.

Still better than staring at a wall. Or eating five tubs of ice cream.

"I know," she said. "But you should probably touch it to make sure."

Oh, Atton had done this for the during for a long time. But eventually it had just stopped being worth it.

If he was backsliding, though, he might as well do it good and proper.

So he slid his hand over her breast as he leaned in further to kiss her for real.

Well, relapses were a thing, and so far this one was starting off okay. The kiss was all salt and beer, but Sarah was fine with that. It went with everything else, and she leaned into it, her hand ending up on his thigh for now.

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suitably_heroic - 2015-04-28 10:40 (UTC) - Expand