Clark was sitting in a fancy restaurant with George C. Scott. He didn't even remember how they'd met, but it was pretty freaking awesome. "So... The bouncing ball part," he said. "That was real creepy. Probably the greatest moment in any horror movie. I mean, I was ten when I first saw it and..."
"Kid, I don't wanna talk about the past," George groaned. "I have new projects I'm working on, but who asks abut that? It's Patton this and Changeling that and Dr. Strangelove this and..."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Clark said quickly. It was probably hard enough on poor George, being dead. "Um... What are your new projects?" He was now wondering why he was in a fancy restaurant with a dead guy.
"Glad you asked." George suddenly stood and whipped the cloth from the table. The plates and glasses stayed, strangely. What was even stranger was that he hadn't even noticed the table was a piano. "It's all about the music, Kid." George pressed his fingers to the keys, but no music came out. Just a mild tapping. "What do you think?"
The tapping continued. "Um... Great," Clark lied. Weren't pianos supposed to make music?
The tapping stopped. "Wait that's not right," George suddenly said. His voice seemed higher somehow, but Clark was just glad he wasn't the only one that noticed the music was all wrong. George looked at him quizzically. "Aren't men strange?" he giggled in a high, girlish way.
"Uh..." The room faded and he found himself in darkness, but the tapping started again, faster this time. And there was a softness beneath him and the smell of citrus all around him as he...
Opened his eyes.
A dream. He stared up at a poster of R.E.M. He was glad to know it was a dream. He didn't like seeing George C. Scott as a bad musician who giggled like a girl who... whose room he was in.
He looked to his right. Chloe was laying on the floor in a bathrobe, laying on her stomach with her crossed feet swinging in the air, typing in her laptop. It almost occurred to him to freak out. But he'd already done that. It would be stupid to repeat it. Besides... He took in her bare calves, her bare feet, her right hand that pulled at her lip before she brought it back down to tap away at the keyboard. He had nicer things to do than freak out. He leaned onto his side, a head on his arm. He smelled that spicy citrus smell again. He breathed it in. It was coming from him.
He smiled, remembering Chloe lathering him with her body wash against his protests.
"Don't you have normal soap?" he'd asked.
"Stop whining or I'll stop washing," she'd threatened. It had carried a lot of weight at the moment, considering she was washing his groin area.
"Whatever you want," he'd said.
That sentiment still held. Maybe his groin was still making decisions, but right now he'd run to New Orleans if she wanted a french pastry. He watched her giggle to herself and type something else.
"What's so funny?" he asked, grinning when she started.
"Clark!" She picked something red up from the floor and tossed it at him.
He held it away from his face. It was her tank top from last night. He put it under his head. "Mine now."
She smirked at him. "First my body wash, now my clothes. Something you wanna share?"
His brows drew together. "The body wash was your..."
"Kidding," she said, closing her laptop and crawling toward him. He closed his eyes as she leaned in. She didn't kiss him as he expected. He jolted as he felt her tongue on his nipple. He smiled and hummed to himself. He should have expected her to be unexpected. He'd only known her for seven years.
"What are you writing?" he croaked, opening his eyes.
"My article," she whispered against him. "I told Kahn I'd have it to her by tonight." He groaned when she pulled away. "Which is why I probably shouldn't start something I can't finish."
He leaned up as she moved back to her laptop. "Can't you take a break?"
"This is a complicated piece. I'm still dealing with all of it. I mean... It was surprisingly easy, too. What does that say about me? Clark, I had word sex with men I don't know."
He laid back. "Don't remind me."
She turned to him suddenly, her eyes lighting up. "Does that really bother you?"
Did she really want him to analyze this? The idea scared him a little. "Well, you..."
She sat up and leaned forward. "Do you feel scandalized as a man that a woman is able to compartmentalize a job like this and not make it part of who she is as a person?" She stood and started pacing. "Or is it more of a moral outrage on account of your mid-states upbringing? Kansas is part of the bible belt, after all."
So it was the story she was on about. He felt relieved. "Um... It's not exactly moral or... I don't mean anything against girls who... do that for a living."
"Then is it a threat? Maybe you feel threatened by women talking openly about sex with men. It blurs gender lines and..."
He sat up. "I don't know if it's that, either." He shrugged. "Maybe it just bugged me that the girl in question was kind of... mine."
"Interesting," she said, staring at the wall above him. "See, some women I interviewed saw it as a form of adultery, whereas some guys thought, if their girls were doing it, it was kind of hot and..." She trailed off, then stared at him. "Yours?"
"Huh?"
Her eyes were wide. "You said I was kind of... yours."
He felt a strange rush of panic. Had he said that? He hadn't meant to. He didn't want to start thinking too deeply on these things. It freaked him out. "I just meant that... since we slept together, I don't like the idea of you..."
"But you said it bugged you- past tense. Was that what had you calling me and rushing over here and..."
"I was worried," he said quickly. "Like I said before because the..."
She smiled. "Bullshit." She smiled wider. "You were totally jealous."
"I..." He sighed. What was the point in lying to her? She always knew. "Fine. I was insanely jealous."
She bit her lip. "How insanely jealous?"
He shrugged and looked away. He felt his face heating up. "I might have broke a few things."
He met her gaze as she gave him a siren's smile and stepped toward him. "Is it weird that I find the idea of you breaking things over me extremely hot?"
"Well... I broke four," he said softly, not breaking eye contact.
"Mmmm." She put a knee between his legs and leaned in. "No. Uh-uh. Story." She pulled back, shaking her head. "You need to go."
He sat forward on the bed. "Why?" His voice was whinier than he would have liked it to be.
"I need to finish this, Clark. Once I'm done, we can..." She looked down to where he was positive he was changing the shape of the sheet draped over him. "Resume."
He stood, letting the sheet fall as he pulled her close. She resisted for a moment before leaning into him. He took her lips hard, pulling her against him. Her robe opened slightly in the middle and he groaned at the feel of warm skin, slipping his tongue into her mouth for a brief exploration.
He pushed her away and sped around her, gathering his clothes as she stared into space. He stopped at her door, dressed in the ripped jeans with his boots unlaced. "Write fast," he said, pulling the door open.
"Uh-huh," she said blearily, staring at him.
He started out.
"Wait!" he heard her call.
He smiled before he turned. He'd been hoping she'd change her mind. "Yeah?"
She pursed her lips. "Don't worry about the 'yours' thing, Clark. I won't... I'm not going to push you into anything." She smiled. "I know this is just for fun. It doesn't have to mean anything."
His smile fell away. He hadn't wanted to be pushed, but... Was fun really all this was to her? Did it not mean anything the way talking to pervs didn't mean anything? "Thanks," he said dully. He squared his shoulders. "I'll see you."
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