[But truthfully, she doesn't have much to carry: she's used to traveling light, and even though she hadn't packed anything from the apartment to take with her for the month, she hasn't accumulated much stuff during her time away. Bear's things go in a tote bag that gets slung over one shoulder, the clothes and toiletries she'd bought for herself go in a duffle that gets slung over the other, and in her hands she carries a small paper gift bag. Everything else from the little free house - all the basic furniture and home goods that had been there when she'd moved in - gets left behind.
Shortly after sending that last message, she arrives at the apartment, letting Bear off his leash before they both come through the door.]
[ They come through the door into... a completely remade apartment. Previously there'd been piles of random crap everywhere that Charles and Root had accumulated, since they'd both used this space primarily for storing things and Root for sleeping. With Shaw here and Root needing something to do for the past two weeks, it felt like she should for once in her life make her living space a little more of a home.
That means she and Charles have spent the time Shaw was gone redecorating. The random storage piles are now tidied and put away into the second bedroom, and the living area is redone in a lush explosion of purple. There's a shag carpet, a beaded lamp... and a very comfortable-looking couch beside a new bed for Bear.
Root has a wrapped gift on the dining table, too, a shallow rectangular box. She's leaning casually back against the edge of the table, dressed in black jeans and tank top. ]
[Shaw asks dryly, taking in the new decor as she unshoulders both of the bigger bags. Bear, of course, is less discerning; he immediately runs over to check out the new furniture (couch first, then dog bed). Then she spots the gift on the table, glances down at the bag still in her hands, and shoots Root a quick, awkward look.]
I, uh-- I don't know if my thing counts as a real gift.
[ It really is. It's so adorable that it makes Shaw awkward, though, like Root really cares about whether or not she gets a gift back. Every time Shaw comes back to her she feels enough of a thrill. She knows what it means.
She straightens up from her casual slump and steps forward toward Shaw, hands raising and finding her collarbones, flattening, sliding along to the edge until her palms cup her shoulders. ]
[Careful not to jostle the little bag she's carrying too much, Shaw wraps an arm around Root's waist, steers her towards the new couch, and pulls her down onto it with her, leaning into her side. After a moment, she lets out a soft, contented sigh, which is basically Shaw's version of a dramatic declaration of love.]
I'm glad you're still here.
[She can't fully say she's glad that she's still here, even though she can't fully say she wishes she wasn't, either. But she is here, and being glad that Root is here with her is about as uncomplicated as it gets.]
[ Her heart warms and expands and feels like it boils over with the intensity of feeling Root gets from that admission. She wouldn't expect Shaw to say that she's glad she's still here as well, still means what she'd said the first day they'd seen each other, that she wouldn't ask Shaw to say behind in some digital afterlife for her--
But she takes what she can get while she can get it, without an ounce of regret. She surges forward and presses Shaw against the plush magenta couch, pushing her into an enthusiastic kiss, one leg straddling over Shaw between hers and teasingly applying pressure.
The world is complicated but how they feel for one another doesn't have to be. Root agrees completely.
She pulls back and meets her eyes with dark intensity. ] I won't give you up. Wherever you go, whatever happens, I'll come after you if I can.
You gonna be mine? [ Root arches up, pressing into her, challenging. ]
[Shaw reaches around her to gently set the little bag on the floor, then immediately reaches back for Root: sliding her hands from her hips and up her sides, underneath her shirt.]
[Without pulling her gaze away from Root's face, Shaw slips one hand out from underneath Root's shirt, snaps her fingers, and points to the bedroom. Bear immediately gets to his feet and trots through the open door.
Sorry, Bear. There are some things that innocent puppies shouldn't see.]
I won't be able to return the favor, if you do it right. Rip me apart, then ask for a raincheck.
Oh, [ she breathes, ] believe me, I'm not planning on this being the same day.
[ Shaw sending Bear away is invitation enough. It turns out that the gift Root has for the both of them is a traditional cupping set. She hadn't forgotten Shaw's comment months ago about that, had tracked one down and saved it for this moment. Modern versions use suction devices instead of fire using up the oxygen to create the vacuum, but Root knows Shaw and she hadn't settled for less.
She takes her apart as meticulously as she'd promised on top of the dining table, alternating wicked edging toward orgasm and red-hot capillary-breaking glass jars set on her skin. Mostly her back, but not entirely. Traditional cupping means Root lights an alcohol-soaked cotton ball on a stick on fire and holds it beneath the open jar before swiftly pulling it away and setting the hot rim of glass on her. It pulls red bruises to the surface immediately, and her inner thighs are especially tender, Root working her over with gradually increasing intensity and a deep sense of pleasure and satisfaction.
She doesn't care about her own physical relief; it's a benefit sometimes, being a woman and a cerebral one, that she doesn't mind delaying or denying her physical release. The mental release is so much rarer and so much more precious to her. She can go as long as Shaw needs to fall apart and she won't be distracted.
Once she thinks Shaw has had enough she crawls up onto the table, which creaks beneath their combined weight, and starts licking luxuriously over the marks she's left behind. She feels like a cat who's been given cream and wants to rub herself all over her in territorial claim. ]
[If asked if she's had enough, Shaw would not be able to give an answer, but only because she's largely incapable of speech at the moment. She's in sensory overwhelm: her eyes closed, her ears wringing, her muscles sore in the same way they are after a good, long, satisfying run. Root runs her tongue over a mark on her shoulder, and she twitches, involuntarily flexing into it.
So much of how Shaw interacts with people feels deliberate, forced, and calculated, rather than instinctual. She's fine with that. She's proud of herself, even, for the way she's successfully socialized herself into being a mostly-functional human being despite her very obvious limitations. But whether she's in a firefight or having sex, it's so nice to be able to strip all of that away and get down to the brass tacks of her most basic self. So right now, she doesn't mentally sort through a litany of potential affection options, carefully selecting the one that she thinks Root will like the most or that will best convey a particular message that she's trying to send. She just lets her body do whatever the hell it wants, which in this case is pressing her palm hard against the side of Root's neck: not like she's trying to push her away, but like she's trying to sink her hand into her skin, seeking her warmth.]
[ That's encouragement and invitation, too. Root likes to think she knows how to read her darling well enough that she doesn't need to ask -- and wouldn't, lest she force Shaw to break out of the relaxation and surrender into mustering up some grandstanding. Like she'd told Charles, other people should probably have a talk about limits, but she truly feels they don't need to. That's a large part of why she's so intensely attracted to Shaw.
Their limits are mutually a few steps past where anyone else wants to go.
She pulls up and whispers, soft and caring, ] Poor little Sameen. Everyone is either scared of you or wants to take care of you, don't they?
But what you want is for someone to pry you open with a crowbar. [ Root curls her nails into one of the welts. Shaw has probably had enough by now, but-- one step farther feels so seductive... Root wants to push and push. ]
[This time, Shaw's instinct is twofold, and contradictory: first she flexes away from the pain, and then just a millisecond later, she flexes into it, her muscles tensing and twitching in a way that begs her to stretch them. She throws an arm out into the air and dangles it over the side of the table, fingertips straining outwards, reaching for nothing in particular.]
Root.
[Her breathing is ragged and juddering. This means keep going.]
[ She absolutely understands that it means keep going. She starts scratching at the welt, merciless strokes of her nails against the swollen skin at her inner thighs. ]
You're too strong for them. Everyone else gets tired out before you've had enough, don't they, [ she coos, pressing in harder. Blood begins to well up, beading along the skin with the broken capillaries seeping through to the surface. ]
But I can go as long and as far as you want, sweetheart.
[In other situations, a comment like this might ignite Shaw's competitive side - earning Root a teasing You'll tap out before I'm even half done, or even an attempted tackle. God knows Root has seen both from her often enough.
But she's not wrong: Shaw does want to be pried open, and there's a big part of her that likes that Root can really, honestly wear her out, leaving her lying still and unable to push back. And as much as she also enjoys the competition and the push and pull, there's no need for genuine pretense or denial here: she is spent.]
How many marks?
[She asks - her head thrown back, her eyes closed.]
[ As promised, Root takes her time. She isn't trying to get one over on Shaw, isn't trying to prove any kind of superiority. There's a caretaking element to how tenderly she nibbles on and scratches the welts, narrating as she goes, taking inventory as asked.
She's never felt like she needed to say I love you because she feels certain this is closer to Sameen's native language, and will mean more this way.
Eventually she grabs a fuzzy pink couch blanket and crawls back onto the table with her, draping it over them. Root knows how fast someone can get cold lying naked on a table once the fun's over. She curls up around her and whispers, ] How'd I do? You doing okay?
[ Maybe they don't need to have the before conversation, but it would be irresponsible not to at least check in after. ]
[Her voice is slurred and sleepy, as if she's been lulled into a trance by Root's attentions. But she's clearly not completely out of it, because after a moment or two of them lying there together, she suddenly sits up, loosely clutching the blanket.]
[Shaw grumbles, and reaches for the shirt that's nearest at hand, pulling it on without bothering with a bra. (The fact that it's Root's shirt doesn't seem to be a problem for her, either.)
Leaving the blanket with Root, she hops off the table and makes her way back over to the couch, retrieving the little gift bag she'd brought with her. Inside is a small object wrapped in tissue paper that, once unwrapped, turns out to be a fist-sized pewter carving of an elephant, in mid-step with its trunk held aloft. Without further ado, she places it on the mantle. There. A single decor item has been contributed by Sameen Shaw.]
[ In response, Root scoots to the sit at the edge of the table and puts on Shaw's discarded tank top. Swapping clothes is cute and wholesome and she also thinks it's the kind of thing that Shaw is likely to find attractive.
When Shaw reveals the elephant knick-knack and triumphantly places it on the mantle, Root bursts into short giggles that she muffles into the fuzzy pink blanket. ]
I'm sorry to tell you, but you're the man in this relationship.
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expiationnet
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[ Insert address here! She's going to make you help her carry a few bags back to the apartment, Root. ]
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[But truthfully, she doesn't have much to carry: she's used to traveling light, and even though she hadn't packed anything from the apartment to take with her for the month, she hasn't accumulated much stuff during her time away. Bear's things go in a tote bag that gets slung over one shoulder, the clothes and toiletries she'd bought for herself go in a duffle that gets slung over the other, and in her hands she carries a small paper gift bag. Everything else from the little free house - all the basic furniture and home goods that had been there when she'd moved in - gets left behind.
Shortly after sending that last message, she arrives at the apartment, letting Bear off his leash before they both come through the door.]
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That means she and Charles have spent the time Shaw was gone redecorating. The random storage piles are now tidied and put away into the second bedroom, and the living area is redone in a lush explosion of purple. There's a shag carpet, a beaded lamp... and a very comfortable-looking couch beside a new bed for Bear.
Root has a wrapped gift on the dining table, too, a shallow rectangular box. She's leaning casually back against the edge of the table, dressed in black jeans and tank top. ]
Mi casa es tu casa.
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[Shaw asks dryly, taking in the new decor as she unshoulders both of the bigger bags. Bear, of course, is less discerning; he immediately runs over to check out the new furniture (couch first, then dog bed). Then she spots the gift on the table, glances down at the bag still in her hands, and shoots Root a quick, awkward look.]
I, uh-- I don't know if my thing counts as a real gift.
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[ It really is. It's so adorable that it makes Shaw awkward, though, like Root really cares about whether or not she gets a gift back. Every time Shaw comes back to her she feels enough of a thrill. She knows what it means.
She straightens up from her casual slump and steps forward toward Shaw, hands raising and finding her collarbones, flattening, sliding along to the edge until her palms cup her shoulders. ]
You miss me again? I missed you.
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I'm glad you're still here.
[She can't fully say she's glad that she's still here, even though she can't fully say she wishes she wasn't, either. But she is here, and being glad that Root is here with her is about as uncomplicated as it gets.]
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But she takes what she can get while she can get it, without an ounce of regret. She surges forward and presses Shaw against the plush magenta couch, pushing her into an enthusiastic kiss, one leg straddling over Shaw between hers and teasingly applying pressure.
The world is complicated but how they feel for one another doesn't have to be. Root agrees completely.
She pulls back and meets her eyes with dark intensity. ] I won't give you up. Wherever you go, whatever happens, I'll come after you if I can.
You gonna be mine? [ Root arches up, pressing into her, challenging. ]
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[Shaw reaches around her to gently set the little bag on the floor, then immediately reaches back for Root: sliding her hands from her hips and up her sides, underneath her shirt.]
Gonna be? I already am.
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I wanna take you apart into tiny little pieces. And then let you return the favor.
timeskip?
[Without pulling her gaze away from Root's face, Shaw slips one hand out from underneath Root's shirt, snaps her fingers, and points to the bedroom. Bear immediately gets to his feet and trots through the open door.
Sorry, Bear. There are some things that innocent puppies shouldn't see.]
I won't be able to return the favor, if you do it right. Rip me apart, then ask for a raincheck.
yes'm
[ Shaw sending Bear away is invitation enough. It turns out that the gift Root has for the both of them is a traditional cupping set. She hadn't forgotten Shaw's comment months ago about that, had tracked one down and saved it for this moment. Modern versions use suction devices instead of fire using up the oxygen to create the vacuum, but Root knows Shaw and she hadn't settled for less.
She takes her apart as meticulously as she'd promised on top of the dining table, alternating wicked edging toward orgasm and red-hot capillary-breaking glass jars set on her skin. Mostly her back, but not entirely. Traditional cupping means Root lights an alcohol-soaked cotton ball on a stick on fire and holds it beneath the open jar before swiftly pulling it away and setting the hot rim of glass on her. It pulls red bruises to the surface immediately, and her inner thighs are especially tender, Root working her over with gradually increasing intensity and a deep sense of pleasure and satisfaction.
She doesn't care about her own physical relief; it's a benefit sometimes, being a woman and a cerebral one, that she doesn't mind delaying or denying her physical release. The mental release is so much rarer and so much more precious to her. She can go as long as Shaw needs to fall apart and she won't be distracted.
Once she thinks Shaw has had enough she crawls up onto the table, which creaks beneath their combined weight, and starts licking luxuriously over the marks she's left behind. She feels like a cat who's been given cream and wants to rub herself all over her in territorial claim. ]
r o o t !!!!
So much of how Shaw interacts with people feels deliberate, forced, and calculated, rather than instinctual. She's fine with that. She's proud of herself, even, for the way she's successfully socialized herself into being a mostly-functional human being despite her very obvious limitations. But whether she's in a firefight or having sex, it's so nice to be able to strip all of that away and get down to the brass tacks of her most basic self. So right now, she doesn't mentally sort through a litany of potential affection options, carefully selecting the one that she thinks Root will like the most or that will best convey a particular message that she's trying to send. She just lets her body do whatever the hell it wants, which in this case is pressing her palm hard against the side of Root's neck: not like she's trying to push her away, but like she's trying to sink her hand into her skin, seeking her warmth.]
torture and edging have a lot in common ok
Their limits are mutually a few steps past where anyone else wants to go.
She pulls up and whispers, soft and caring, ] Poor little Sameen. Everyone is either scared of you or wants to take care of you, don't they?
But what you want is for someone to pry you open with a crowbar. [ Root curls her nails into one of the welts. Shaw has probably had enough by now, but-- one step farther feels so seductive... Root wants to push and push. ]
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Root.
[Her breathing is ragged and juddering. This means keep going.]
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You're too strong for them. Everyone else gets tired out before you've had enough, don't they, [ she coos, pressing in harder. Blood begins to well up, beading along the skin with the broken capillaries seeping through to the surface. ]
But I can go as long and as far as you want, sweetheart.
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But she's not wrong: Shaw does want to be pried open, and there's a big part of her that likes that Root can really, honestly wear her out, leaving her lying still and unable to push back. And as much as she also enjoys the competition and the push and pull, there's no need for genuine pretense or denial here: she is spent.]
How many marks?
[She asks - her head thrown back, her eyes closed.]
Do some inventory.
more timeskip
She's never felt like she needed to say I love you because she feels certain this is closer to Sameen's native language, and will mean more this way.
Eventually she grabs a fuzzy pink couch blanket and crawls back onto the table with her, draping it over them. Root knows how fast someone can get cold lying naked on a table once the fun's over. She curls up around her and whispers, ] How'd I do? You doing okay?
[ Maybe they don't need to have the before conversation, but it would be irresponsible not to at least check in after. ]
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[Her voice is slurred and sleepy, as if she's been lulled into a trance by Root's attentions. But she's clearly not completely out of it, because after a moment or two of them lying there together, she suddenly sits up, loosely clutching the blanket.]
Root, we can't lie on the table.
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Not with that attitude we can't.
[ She's just saying that to be sassy. Root sits up when she does and reaches out to affectionately brush Shaw's hair out of her face. ]
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Leaving the blanket with Root, she hops off the table and makes her way back over to the couch, retrieving the little gift bag she'd brought with her. Inside is a small object wrapped in tissue paper that, once unwrapped, turns out to be a fist-sized pewter carving of an elephant, in mid-step with its trunk held aloft. Without further ado, she places it on the mantle. There. A single decor item has been contributed by Sameen Shaw.]
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When Shaw reveals the elephant knick-knack and triumphantly places it on the mantle, Root bursts into short giggles that she muffles into the fuzzy pink blanket. ]
I'm sorry to tell you, but you're the man in this relationship.
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[She asks, turning around and squinting suspiciously at Root. Are you making fun of her elephant? How dare you.]
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