alwaysright | November 7, 2007

November 7, 2007

The paperwork took a while. Between the four of them-- Kutner didn't do much-- they got through it faster, but there was so much to do that it still took hours. The conflicting treatments of interferon and steroids was tricky enough to justify-- though justify it Amber did, since she hadn't been wrong-- but there was Brennan's interference which couldn't be explained. Casey could sue the hospital, easy. Probably would, too; they'd risked her life when she'd only been dehydrated.

When going over the more mind-numbing parts of the papers, Amber worked through the past few days in her mind. She was crazy about Eric. That much she couldn't doubt. Seeing him again and again, even when it went against her better judgment; liking waking up next to him; bothering to stick around after their fights...

He'd stuck by her. Goodness knew why, but he kept coming back. The first night of this case, he'd come by with coffee. He'd then turned her down for sex, but he did say he had to work. A workaholic, that's who she was dating. She'd choose work over him any day, too. And this morning, chasing her after she'd run out of the department-- what an idiot. Amber smiled at the list of blood tests she was writing up.

By the time the to-do pile was reduced to nothing, lunch hour had long since passed. Amber collected the papers. "I'll pass these on to Eric," she said. Why not? Pretending to call him Foreman would only make them tease her harder. She didn't have anything to hide, by now.

"Have fun," Kutner half-jeered, half-saluted. Thirteen snorted, Cole raised an eyebrow, and... that was it. At least, in reactions to her. As she organized the papers into folders, Cole mentioned having to pick up his son, and Kutner offered to go with him. Thirteen, sneaky as ever, didn't volunteer any information, just saying by and leaving.

Amber walked the few steps over to the office. She raised the folders. "Look at what I've got for you," she said teasingly. "Bet you've been dying for these."

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Eric kept his distance, responding to what she gave and going no further. It was like setting down a doll: it went nowhere, stuck in the exact pose you left it. Disappointing. Amber wanted more of a reaction; it wasn't until he pulled away that she realized she'd been hoping he'd hug her closer and deepen their kiss, his tongue pressing at her mouth. At the same time, Amber got it-- Eric was trying to respect the boundaries she'd so clearly marked at the beginning of their date. She appreciated his going at her pace but he clearly didn't understand what that pace was. What could they do, short of mind-reading?

Amber did not hide her longing, brow wrinkling in disappointment. She would've asked for more but as if he'd understood the message on her expression, Eric came forward once more; by the time his lips were on hers again, she was smiling, pleased. His kiss was an echo of hers, down to the pressure and rapid tongue flick, so fast she almost thought it a figment of her imagination; but still her heart warmed. In the place of deeper, more was a fairly good substitute.

She shared in the joy dancing in his eyes, glowing back at him. The Eric that had called her in to the lab this morning was a mere shadow of this one, nothing like the vibrant, confident man before her now. Solving the case and being right about Brennan probably had something to do with his improvement, but it was a lot to do with her too, she knew. She'd made him beam like he'd just gotten a whole row of A pluses. Amber's hand rose from his sternum to just behind his ear; he always liked it so much when she stroked there. She did so now, caressing the base of his skull. "Okay, but I don't want you to go." They'd only just started enjoying each other; why let go of that now? "Let's go do something else." But what did couples do when they weren't trying to get into each other's pants? Movies? But she just wanted to go home, which eliminated pretty much all other outings. Maybe he'd be okay with that. "We could go back to my place-- still going slow," she added quickly; she didn't want Eric to get the wrong idea. "And just watch tv or something. I do have a nice television."

Foreman's smile grew all the warmer when Amber said she didn't want him to go. He'd been envisioning holding her hand on the way out to the parking lot, and stealing a few more kisses outside where the heat of Amber's mouth would be all the more noticeable in contrast to the chill air. Seeing her drive away wouldn't be easy, but it would come with the satisfaction of knowing that they were back on the right track. Besides, he'd really had his ass kicked the last couple of days; an early night wouldn't hurt. It would make up for Amber's insistence on a measured pace, anyway.

Her offer was far more appealing than his bed, though. Foreman let his eyelids droop to half-mast as Amber massaged tender circles into his neck muscles. If she wanted him to still be on his feet and able to get himself home from her place, he'd have to tell her to stop doing that--it left him so peaceful that he might just fall asleep on her. He'd let her keep on for a while before he told her that, though. "Yeah," he said, swallowing a yawn. The remnants of his headache were slowly fading as Amber's fingers found the tension points. Hell, watching television was about all he was up for, as long as he was this tired. Forty-eight hours at the hospital usually left him out of the loop with his usual news channels and sites. A little catch-up, without any expectations piled on top, sounded just about perfect. "I'll follow you."

This time, Foreman didn't wait for overt permission, but took Amber's hands all over him as a sign of what she wanted. He kissed her again, still not hard, but with a little more initiative, going for what he wanted rather than holding himself back to Amber's exact pace. He sucked gently on her lower lip, tasting her lipstick, for a moment, before pulling back with a rueful sigh. They still had to pay and get out of here before they could forget completely that the world existed. Foreman pulled out his wallet and covered what he estimated would be their total bill, plus a reasonable tip. He didn't know the exact price of Amber's meal, but if he'd guessed high, the waitress could keep the extra--she hadn't hovered over them waiting for them to leave.

This was more like it. Amber purred in appreciation, the feel of her lips between his doing things to her that almost made her forget her earlier resolution to go slow. She pushed into Eric, wanting more. She loved the shivery warmth he excited in her and how everything, problems included, seemed to melt away as they kissed.

She was smiling very, very hard as they separated.

They never did get around to drinking their second set of coffees. Oh well. Probably someone if the staff liked drinking disgusting, leftover coffees reheated in the microwave. And if no one did, they could just chuck the coffees down the drain whole. No biggie. Amber got up to retrieve her purse from the other seat, where she'd left it, and dug out her wallet, only to turn around and see a pile of cash on the table that more than covered their joint expenses. Didn't Eric know better by now? She wasn't some whore whose meals he had to pay. "I'll get my half," she said in a tone that'd brook no argument. It didn't matter how gentlemanly Eric was, this was a point of pride. If he insisted on getting the whole bill, it'd be a tacit insult to her independence. It wouldn't be a big deal as long as he didn't make it into one.

Amber put down some bills that'd more than cover her part plus gave a generous tip. Their waitress had been very good, quick to serve them and pretty competent for her kind of work. Amber had noted how much she'd improved since the last time she'd seen her, and she wanted to show there were ample rewards for doing well.

She picked up her coat and slid back into it, the fabric cool from not having been used recently. "Ready?" Amber asked. They were driving there separately, but they could walk out together. She extended her hand.

Exasperated and trying to hide it, Foreman watched as Amber covered his money with her own. It'd be useless to protest, and he knew it, although it annoyed him that he wasn't allowed to act like they were really dating. Picking up the cheque was an easy way to show he cared, that he was paying attention. But, Foreman scoffed to himself, Amber had never once shown that she wanted to make it easy for him to care. He had to dig through his wallet for the right change to pay for his half, instead of the simplicity of dropping a twenty next to their cold coffee mugs. Anyway, it just proved he hadn't been paying attention, because he'd tried to pay without thinking about it. A good portion of his annoyance was for himself.

He wasn't going to lay that at Amber's feet or blame her. He stuffed the twenty back into his pocket and picked up his suit jacket, tugging it back on, and his coat after that. A pause to shake his collar into proper alignment was all he needed to brush past the momentary embarrassment, although Foreman was more than familiar with tiny moments like that rankling him long after the fact, after he'd been sure that he'd already dealt with them and laid them to rest. Well, he could control himself, he didn't need to make an issue of it.

Taking Amber's hand and lining up their fingers so that they could lock together helped. She was closest to the door, so Foreman let her lead--probably she would have taken the lead, even if he hadn't offered. Never mind. Mickey's had filled up since they'd arrived, with nurses and orderlies grabbing dinner either after their shifts, or before heading in for the next eight hours. It certainly didn't hurt Foreman's pride to be seen with Amber as they made their way past the other tables. He felt like the luckiest guy in the place, and the radiant smile on Amber's face when their last kiss had ended showed that she was just as happy. Foreman had gotten over any need for secrecy--it was pointless anyway--and it felt like just holding Amber's hand was a boast about how his life was moving on, getting better.

Outside, Foreman's satisfaction overwhelmed him, rising up as a chuckle. Amber's car wasn't far away. When they reached it, Foreman raised a hand to Amber's cheek, caressing lightly, his thumb running across her lips just before he kissed her, the kind of kiss he'd ordinarily follow up with something a lot deeper. They'd be seeing each other at her place; that would have to be soon enough. "I'll see you there," he promised.

Amber did not miss the dozens of eyes watching as she and Eric strode out, hands very clearly held. She smiled. This might even be better than telling Eric about her conquests with women; more people had seen, to start with. But the advantage with Eric was that he'd definitely remember, even if she never told him another word of that night.

They walked out, unhurried as only those who have no definite goal but more relaxing can be. Her car was not far and with every step, the longing in Amber grew stronger. She wanted to kiss him again. Why not? If they both wanted it. Amber knew she did and she couldn't see how Eric, his eyes shining like things were going his way just by holding her hand, wouldn't.

Amber found out just how right she was when Eric beat her to the kiss, touching her face first. It was quick, mostly a tease. Enough to make her wish they'd both get home as soon as possible. Her hand had made its way up to his shoulder when they'd turned to each other; now she ran it down the length of his arm, his coat rustling as she did so. Through all his layers Amber could still feel the bulge of his bicep; he'd picked her up once like she weight no more than her purse. A flush warmed her despite the biting autumn wind. "See you soon."

With that, Amber stalked away, holding her arms just so to make her back profile the most alluring possible. Always had to look her best, her most attractive. It didn't matter that she'd decided to go slow tonight; Eric had to desire her.

Driving was straightforward but still required the basics of attention; turning on the engine, pulling out of the parking space, and shifting gears. For a few moments Amber’s mind left the topic of Eric and their pseudo-date; by the time she was able to think more closely about it, waiting at a red light, she realized she had no idea what would happen at her place. No more than kissing today, she'd sworn. Why? Her resentment against Eric was gone like snow melted in morning sun. He'd apologized and so had she. What else was left? What more could she or they get by waiting?

She'd worried, she remembered as she stepped on the gas, that they were always going so fast they prioritized sex over their very real problems-- which then grew even worse. Which was a very good reason, actually. That was how they were: great sex, fight, explosion, resentment, more great sex. So the reason for going slow was still there. Amber was half-grateful for this driving break, since it let her think a bit more before she got ahead of herself. She'd been practically acting like a guy, led by her dick.

Amber pulled up to a spot near her apartment and slammed the car door behind her, beeping it locked. A quick look around confirmed that Eric hadn't arrived yet, but he would soon. She climbed up the stairs ahead of him; better get ready inside than wait outside.

Foreman couldn't help a quick, smug look around the parking lot to see if anyone had noticed the swing of Amber's hips as she--there was no other word for it--sauntered away from him. With a light laugh, Foreman shook his head, still amazed at how well things were going. He could practically still feel the heat of her hand on his chest, his arm, the back of his neck. Damn tease. He might have to fend her off tonight, and he didn't know if he wanted to, or if he'd be strong-willed enough to even if it was the right thing to do.

Being with Amber had helped him bury his anger, sure. Foreman climbed into his car and quickly pulled out of the parking lot. Did that really change what she'd done during Casey Alfonso's case? Did it change the fact that he was disposable, in her eyes? She'd promised not to hurt him, to tell him what she was doing, but it had taken so long to wring that tiny concession from her that Foreman still didn't know if he could trust it. She might blink in startled innocence at him, the next time, and claim that she'd had no idea, again, that what she'd done might hurt him.

Relaxed physically, and tired enough that he needed to spend most of his concentration on the road, Foreman still found his thoughts turning in circles. He believed that Amber didn't want to hurt him. But he was pretty sure he came second in her list of priorities. Could he accept that? Live with it? It seemed he'd promised to do just that, by accepting the minimal apology she'd finally offered. And he was going to her place, accepting her pace and her rules, again.

The time she'd cuffed him to her headboard was nothing, in comparison to this. He'd been out of control, but everything Amber had done had been with the explicit intent of making him feel good. Now he was getting roped in to a whole lot more, tied to an intimacy he didn't know he was ready for, and one that left him guessing more than he'd ever thought he could be comfortable with. And yet--God, just remembering it made a blush burn through Foreman's face. He couldn't touch her. He wasn't allowed to touch her. And he'd still come spectacularly, goaded onwards and left wrung-out and exhausted and all but melted in his own satisfaction.

Nothing was resolved by the time he'd pulled up in front of Amber's building. Foreman took the steps quickly, sparing a glare for the windows set below Amber's, and buzzed to be let in. Whatever tonight held, at least he had some idea that they weren't going to leave their issues hanging. Difficult as it was, they'd found ways to talk. Tonight wouldn't be that; it'd be the two of them, relaxing, slipping back into the comfort they'd found with each other.

She'd have a few minutes at most to prepare. If she'd had an hour two she'd have primped herself physically: a bath, a change of outfit, and painting her fingernails. But in a way that'd have been pointless because he'd just seen her. He'd know that she'd passed the day with rubbed-off makeup. On the other hand, Amber knew better than to underestimate illusions. Previous sloppiness could be easily forgotten in new and current radiance.

But for the moment that was wishful thinking. Amber settled for cleaning out the dishes that'd accumulated in her sink over the past few days of solving a not-so-mysterious case after all and gathering the scattered mugs of juice and tea. There were smaller messes throughout, like her overflowing laundry hamper in the bathroom and her unmade bed. She was running low on toilet paper, too. She'd need to restock by after tomorrow.

Amber was rinsing off the last couple of plates when the buzzer rang. Her smile was automatic. Mickey's was fine and all, but her apartment was home, with everything as she liked it. It'd surely be more relaxing to talk to Eric here amongst her carefully-chosen furniture and the drone and flashing lights of the television in the background. Getting off the last of the suds, Amber stacked the dishes into the dryer and turned the tap off. Walking to the interphone, though, Amber winced; maybe instead of getting her apartment all pretty she should've changed out of her heels and work clothes. "Hey," she said into the phone and rang Eric rang. High heels and all, Amber then walked to the front door and unlocked it, waiting for him to come up.

Foreman took the steps two at a time, a modicum of energy coming back to him after he'd had a chance to digest some of his meal. After a soft tap on Amber's door with his knuckles, Foreman figured he wouldn't have to wait long to be let in.

"Hi," he said, smiling despite himself. He had a feeling that Amber was a bit of a maniac behind the wheel. She never seemed to have any difficulty beating him to their destination, often with enough time to spare that she could present the illusion that she'd been here all along, and was just waiting for him to show up. Foreman shrugged off his coat and suit jacket, hanging them up on the coat tree by the door. His tie was already loose, from when he'd tugged the knot open at the restaurant. He pulled it over his head and tucked it into his coat pocket as he looked around.

Amber's apartment, under the golden glow of the lamps, was wonderfully inviting and cozy. Foreman just wished he wasn't still dressed in the same suit he'd been wearing for two days. Good thing he'd had a spare shirt in his locker, and there'd been time for a shower this afternoon. But he'd be more comfortable if he could get out of his work clothes, and he knew he'd left a few things behind here on the weekend. "Mind if I get changed?" he said. "After that, I'm all yours."

"Hey," Amber said, opening the door for him. It was good to see his easy smile, though it was strange to see him come in and place his clothes over her furniture with that same ease, as if he took it for granted that this was his space. And it was true, he was welcome here. It was just that these past couple of days she'd assumed he wouldn't ever be back. Seeing his coat on her coat tree felt unreal, like watching a rerun on TV she vaguely remembered.

"Right," she said. Changing and getting more comfortable sounded great. Amber had a whole closet full of what to wear, but Eric hadn't carried in with him his own change of clothes, which meant he was assuming he could wear what he'd left here. All of which was currently in the laundry hamper. In a fit of righteous irritation at her supposed ex, Amber had tossed everything into the laundry hamper, meaning to wash it all and then with great dignity shove the pile at him at work. The only reason she hadn't thrown it out altogether was that she wanted to look better than him by being more generous. In retrospect, the whole idea sounded pretty silly.

Trying to hide her blush, Amber strode towards the bathroom hoping that Eric would notice neither her embarrassment nor the fact that she'd come up with some fairly elaborate fantasies based on hastily-formed conclusions. "I didn't get the chance to wash what you left here, I hope that's not a problem." His stuff was beneath a layer of her own shirts, which she'd purposefully thrown on top to avoid looking at his. "I could do a quick load now, of course, but that'd still take a while," she said, trying to solve the problem as fast as possible.

Despite the warm atmosphere in Amber's place, and Foreman's own assumption that he could walk right in and make himself at home, he didn't move beyond the entryway until he'd gauged Amber's mood a bit better. Did 'slow' include keeping him at arm's length to that extent? He wasn't about to assume, although he'd rather ask and get turned down than let Amber think that he didn't want or need any accommodations at all.

Amber's immediate flush and agitation broke the ice for him, and Foreman grinned. He recognized that embarrassment--had felt it himself, a time or two, but it seemed to be stronger with women. His mom would be mortified if she couldn't hand him freshly laundered towels when he came home from college at holidays, even when six months before she would've smacked him if he'd asked her to do his laundry or tidy up after him. He'd never figured Amber would care about that kind of appearance, considering that she expected him to pull his weight in this relationship. But then, maybe they hadn't reached that point yet. He was still a guest, even if she'd let him leave a few things here. "Hey, I didn't mean to dump that on you," he said, following her at a decent distance so that she could brush any mess she wanted under the figurative or the literal rug. "Just my sweater's fine, you don't need to wash anything."

He paused in the doorway to the bathroom, watching Amber fuss with the laundry hamper, an amused smile on his face. It wasn't that he meant to laugh at her, he was just damn happy to be here, to be having this ordinary, everyday conversation, instead of blasting accusations back and forth. He waited for her to either fling his sweater at him or yell at him for being an awkward guest--either seemed possible--and meanwhile, enjoyed being with her.

His phrases of reassurance about how she shouldn't worry or make a big deal out of the undone laundry only sharpened Amber's embarrassment; he'd noticed and seen and had to comfort her for being a slob. All his clothes were wrinkled and dank from wear and being thrown in with other dirty items, but even so, Amber made a point of folding the jeans, shirt, and hoodie. "Here--" she started, and then caught sight of his wide grin. He thought this was funny? Was he laughing with or at her?

Whatever. If he was going to think her self-consciousness a joke, then she wouldn't bother! She tossed the tidy pile at him, which did no more than get slightly out of order in the couple of feet it flew. "Make yourself at home," she said, aiming for casual, though her voice was still tinged with her wounded pride. "I'm gonna change too." Another awkward moment: would he want to change here in the bathroom or with her in her bedroom? They'd unstripped each other nearly a dozen times by now, but they were maybe going slow and this was just confusing. Amber maneuvered round him, leaving the bathroom and the decision up to him. She wasn't feeling particularly sexy at the moment, so even if Eric tore his clothes off right now, Amber doubted she'd be aroused.

In her bedroom she took out from her drawers a grey sweatshirt and elastic pants. Nothing Eric hadn't seen her in before. Her back to the doorway, Amber pulled her blouse over her head.

Foreman did his best to muffle a chuckle when Amber's mouth clamped shut and she--as predicted--flung his clothes in his face. He had to reach out with one hand to grab his sweater, but the jeans and his hoodie slapped him square in the chest. One thing he could say for Amber: she had a good arm. If only they'd stayed at that crappy little Hallowe'en fair longer, Foreman would bet she'd have whipped his ass at knocking over lead-weighted milk bottles with a softball. He got out of her way when she brushed past him.

With a quick exhale, Foreman watched her head to her bedroom. One thing that would make things so much between them would be if she didn't tense up every time he tried to help her relax. From his hug earlier tonight to her nearly biting his head off because he'd asked for some clothes he'd never expected her to wash in the first place. It wasn't a big deal. Okay, there were a hell of a lot of things in Foreman's life that he took seriously. Anything to do with his work--he'd be pissed off if Amber ever laughed at his medical decisions, or one of his articles--and he'd been disappointed when Amber had barely reacted when he'd cooked that omelette for her. Those moments that cut down his dignity. But he was better at being laid back over the smaller stuff than perhaps Amber realized or was ready to deal with.

Since she'd thrown his jeans at him as well, Foreman decided to change all the way; it'd be better than getting his pants wrinkled. He pulled on the jeans quickly, and then followed Amber to the bedroom, unbuttoning his dress shirt as he went. "Do you have a hanger I can use?" he asked, looking up from the last button when he reached her. He could get away with simply washing and ironing his shirt instead of dry-cleaning it as long as it didn't get too disastrously crumpled.

He couldn't really help the fact that his eyes wandered down the slim line of her bare back to the firm curve of her ass under her skirt. He wasn't going to make a big deal of it; but damn, when there was an opportunity, he wasn't going to let it pass by entirely. He was attracted to her, and she knew it. Anyway, with her back mostly turned to him, maybe she wouldn't notice. Foreman moved past her and laid his work clothes flat on the bed, and then pulled his sweater over his head. Yeah, it needed washing, he could smell that, but he hadn't sweated it through, so it'd be fine for a relaxed evening in. He could even take it with him when he left, to make sure that Amber didn't think he expected her to become his laundress.

The problem wasn't that she hadn't done the laundry, or the fact that he'd caught her in the act of laziness; Amber was embarrassed by her embarrassment. You can get away with anything as long as you've got the confidence to pull it off, but she’d failed at something so minor. There was also the spite she'd invested in those items of clothing, but Eric, amused as he was, probably hadn't noticed.

Amber was peeling off her nylons when she heard Eric come in. "Sure," she said, nodding her head towards her closet without turning around. "Go ahead and grab one." She always had a few extra hangers in there.

The big question was, bra or no bra? It'd feel good to unhook the wired lace from around her, but Amber wanted that extra bit of support at the moment, so on it stayed. She changed quickly, getting on a cotton shirt and sweater, then unzipping her skirt and pulling up a pair of pants. Even with the bra, Amber felt a million times freer, like she couldn't have begun to understand the concept of relaxing until now.

She picked up her clothes and turned and walked towards Eric. Rumpled outfit or not, he was looking damn good: like the Eric she'd grown close to and trusted over their days together. Not like her boss Foreman at work, who represented an enemy as much as he did an ally . Another layer of stress lifted itself from Amber, loosening her joints. "Heya, handsome," Amber said, her wide smile tingeing her voice. With an armful of blouse and skirt and nylons, she couldn't hug him, but she got close enough. "Glad you're here."

It didn't take long to hook his dress shirt and pants over a hanger. For lack of anywhere better to put them, Foreman hung them up in Amber's closet, making a mental note to remember he'd left them there. He didn't want to think about it, but there was a possibility that another argument like yesterday's could break them up entirely. While he'd be willing to lose an old pair of jeans, he wasn't going to risk a suit he liked. Leaving his stuff here, beyond the easily-replaceable shaving gel and toothbrush, was an act of faith, one he hadn't doubted in the least on the weekend, but now felt more tenuous.

Not worth him getting knotted up over right now. Foreman took a deep breath, glad of the easier fit of his clothing, and the easy relaxation filling him because of it. Turning back to Amber, he smiled, a bit smugly--but hell, why not, since she'd complimented him?--and advanced toward her. She was wearing a loose sweater, too, but somehow that was more enticing even than the carefully-chosen blouses that showed off her figure. Maybe it was the fact that he knew what was underneath. Maybe it was teasing himself with knowing how easy it would be to slide his hands up under the loose hem of the sweater, palms running up her stomach to her breasts.

He wasn't going to act on that, but the idea that he could was good enough. "Hey," he answered quietly. "Me too." Stepping closer, he rested his hands on her hips, so that they were close as they'd been to dance. That moment that had started it all. Watching Amber--her eyes, her lips--Foreman couldn't help the warm surge of feeling for her, how deeply he cared, how glad he was that he was here. He knew he could probably kiss her and she wouldn't object, since she hadn't in the diner, but it was almost better not to. His chest tightened, and he couldn't stop studying each of her features. "You said something about TV?" he said, without making any move in that direction.

As she stepped into his space, Eric's arms rose to hold her, like he couldn't resist. The warm, tender feeling in Amber's chest became stronger, brighter. She loved the weight of his hold over her hips, drawing her closer; loved it almost as much as the glow in his eyes. She barely even thought before leaning in and kissing him, lightly working his lower lip between hers.

Her heart fluttered. In the diner it'd felt good and right, kissing him, but here it felt more... meaningful. Not because there was her bed right next to them, conveniently available for fucking if they so chose-- but because being in his arms was so much more intimate with the backdrop of her closet, his up-close face so precious by the light of her lamps. It was like here he was painted in the colors of her. She hugged her newest batch of laundry tighter, arms instinctively curling round what it held. The silk and cotton weren’t quite as satisfying as Eric, though.

Slightly breathless as she pulled away, strangely overcome with that simple act, Amber said softly, "Yeah-- and wine too." She had a couple of bottles and she couldn't imagine anything better than enjoying them with him.

A light, muffled sound made its way from Foreman's throat, matching the softness of Amber's kiss. His satisfaction increased about tenfold in that first second, and then he was concentrating on the kiss itself. Amber's teeth caught his lip, though gently, and the slight suction left him nearly lightheaded with sweetness. Forgetting about Amber's rules, or who was following what pace, Foreman's grip on Amber's hips firmed, and he tilted his head to kiss her back. He didn't have to work to forget the past two days, then; they slipped even from the back of his mind as he focused on the careful intensity of the kiss. Amber's arms were crossed between them, another barrier, but Foreman wasn't trying to break down any walls. It was enough to taste Amber's mouth, exploring cautiously, remembering the tingling rush that accompanied the brush of his tongue against hers.

He licked his lips when Amber drew away. Breathing lightly, he took a moment to take in Amber's words. Wine--TV--right. Foreman nodded, doing nothing from stopping what had to be the most ridiculous pleased smile from taking over his face. Since Amber still had an armful of her clothes, he backed off to let her deal with them. "I can get the glasses?" he suggested. Probably Amber would want to open the bottle and pour for them--he would, if they were at his place--but he'd started to get a sense of her kitchen, and he could contribute that much.

She almost laughed from joy, feeding off the exuberance shining from Eric. It was hard to believe they'd almost shredded each other to bits several times over. How could they make it so that it was always like this, this easy? "Yeah, if you want," Amber said, not understanding his offer, but not really caring. If he wanted to help out in such a tiny way, Amber had no qualms. And even if it didn't make sense-- it was just grabbing a couple of glasses from the cupboard-- it was kind of... sweet. "Lemme dump this first."

Getting rid of her armful was a simple matter of walking into the bathroom and dropping it into the hamper. There was a lot to wash and she could do a load tonight, but it wasn't as if she were in danger of running out of outfits; tomorrow would do just as well.

In her slippers Amber shuffled back to the kitchen. She always had a couple of bottles of wine at hand, since the urge to sit around and drink or to bring home a one-night stand could strike at any moment. Ideally she'd have left the bottle cooling a while in the fridge before serving it, but if Eric was fine with wearing dirty clothes with no more than a bit of laughing at her expense, then he could deal with room-temperature wine. She pulled out a Merlot from a cabinet and opened a drawer, looking for the corkscrew. "What do you usually watch?" Amber asked, partially out of curiosity, but mostly to hear Eric's voice.

Foreman left the bedroom, not without a look back at Amber, and stepped jauntily into the kitchen. He felt good, and not just about the kiss. Comfortable. He already knew where Amber kept the wine glasses, and he snagged two between his fingers. He headed into the living room and set the glasses on the coffee table. A quick glance around the room didn't show any coasters, but Amber would bring them out if she wanted them. "News, mostly," he said. He'd barely even had a chance to pick up a newspaper and keep an eye on his stocks. It was too early for the 11 o'clock broadcast, and they'd missed the 6 o'clock, so that wouldn't be on tonight's agenda. From the sound of it, Amber wanted to know more broadly than that, anyway. "Documentaries--I like history. And movies, if there's something interesting."

When he was a kid, he'd mostly liked shoot-'em-ups with plenty of explosions. In college, he'd cultivated better tastes, watching whatever promised some sort of interesting plot and character development. He wasn't interested in romantic comedies, but Amber didn't seem the type for them either, so he should be safe on that account. He still loved the Die Hards, and movies about boxing. He wasn't going to admit to loving pretty much any underdog sports movie ever made, especially if it was about football. He did not cry when he watched Rudy, and there was no one who could prove otherwise who was a free man today.

Foreman eyed the couch, and then looked back toward the kitchen--he could just see Amber's back, where she'd gone to get the wine after dealing with the laundry. With a cocky grin, he sat down lengthwise, his socked feet reaching the farthest cushion, and his back propped up against the arm. The invitation, for Amber to settle between his legs like she had when they'd shared a bath, would be obvious, but if she slapped his feet and told him to move over, Foreman would concede. Hell, she might want to go slow, but he'd still offer a few suggestions along the way.

They'd never talked about this basic kind of stuff, had they. They'd been sort-of together for two weeks now and she still didn't know that he preferred the news and documentaries. Though, honestly, the way Eric put it, all bland and perfectly respectable choices, made it sound like he was at a job interview and not with his girlfriend. Amber pierced the cork, digging in deep with a couple of decisive, firm twists. "What, no trash TV?" Amber asked, raising her voice slightly so that he could hear her from the kitchen. "No secret and guilty pleasures?"

She brought the corkscrew's arms down and, with the apparatus as far down as it'd go, Amber pulled the screw from the bottle: pop! The cork burst satisfyingly, her hand jolting up. She loved this part; it might even be what she loved most about wine, more than the tipsiness or the taste.

Amber strode into the living room, holding the bottle by its neck and supporting the bottom with her other hand. "I like action movies--" she started, then stopped when she saw Eric sprawled all over her couch like Burt Reynolds. She snorted. So confident and so Eric. "So much for taking it slow," she said, exasperated-- not that she'd been helping much in that regard, but she'd still stayed within better boundaries than that! He hadn't even turned on the TV!

Amber staked out her territory by sitting on the edge where his feet were; she had no idea what would happen later, but it was too early to propose being horizontal on the couch. She reached out first for the remote control and flicked on the TV; it was too early for the prime-time shows, but there was always CNN. She then poured them their drinks, passing Eric his glass. "Think you can drink that lying down?" she teased, a single eyebrow raised. She understood why he’d gotten so settled; even she didn’t really know how far was too far, and they were both feeling it out. At most she was amused by his blatant attempt to take things a bit further. It was honest of him, and she appreciated that. And who knew, they might end up in that same position once they’d downed more of the wine.

"Not on TV," Foreman answered, shifting his weight against the cushions to get comfortable. He liked getting his news in soundbites, and beyond that, he usually turned the television off or popped in a DVD if he wanted to spend a particularly mindless evening. He grinned when he heard the pop of the cork from the kitchen, and looked over his shoulder as Amber came into the living room.

Her amused exasperation was obvious as soon as she saw him, breaking off her sentence. Foreman gave her his most engaging, wheedling, eager smile, showing off that he had nothing to hide and that she had nothing to lose. Cuddling on the couch wasn't exactly the precursor to a sex marathon. She'd been at least that close in the booth at Mickey's, her whole body pressed against him and easing closer with every fresh detail that spilled out about that girl she'd met. The one whose room Amber had gone back to...

But he'd interrupted that story, and it looked like this was his punishment. Amber scrunched all the way at the far end of the couch, not even fighting for her own share of the real estate. Made Foreman feel like kind of a heel, to be taking up most of the space. After all the stories Amber had told about life with two brothers, bickering for supremacy, he'd thought that she'd shove him into place and then settle on the couch like a queen on her throne. It left him second-guessing himself, wondering if he'd made her uncomfortable, again. He accepted the glass of wine, sitting up as he did so, returning her sceptical eyebrow raise with his own. She was right, it would be awkward, and he'd rather not stain his sweater if he could help it.

His eyes flicked to the television, but there was nothing immediately attention-grabbing. Amber had picked CNN--to placate him?--but since Foreman couldn't devote his full attention to it, and didn't want to, he wasn't actually getting anything out of it. He took a sip of his wine. It was very nice, and he nodded to himself at the quality. "Action movies?" he asked, picking up on what Amber had been saying as she came into the room. "Like what?"

Once Eric was upright and settled, Amber scooted closer, tucking her folded legs onto the cushions close enough for her thighs to realign with his once more. That sweatshirt really did need to be washed, but she couldn't really complain; she'd pick his scent over the wine's any day. Not that she'd tell him that! Rather, Amber smirked into her goblet, sipping. She got both, lucky her.

CNN was showing some god-awful report about golfing."Boring!" Amber declared. She leaned forward again to grab the remote control and flipped through the channels. She leaned into Eric, her shoulder over his so that she could feel his chest rise and fall, slow and reassuring. Maybe this didn't really count as "slow" either, but it wasn't any worse than how they'd been at Micky's and it wasn't going as far as lying down together. Amber just wanted to feel close to Eric. And she did.

"Mmm, stuff with guns," Amber said, tilting her head towards his. The wine was doing its thing, expanding warm and cozy in her chest. His breath tickled her ear; made strands of her hair flutter slightly. "Like the Terminator! Sci-fi is stupid, but there's some great scenes there. And Kill Bill, that was awesome." Uma Thurman's work with a sword was a beauty to behold. "And, oh, I love a good chase scene too.”

There wasn't much on TV, but Amber eventually found a hockey game, so she left it there. It wasn't her favorite sport, but it far beat The Adams Family reruns on TMC. Dropping the remote on her side, Amber then let her hand fall into her lap.

The second he sat up, Amber was all over him. What the hell? Foreman took another sip of his wine and tried to concentrate on Amber's answer to his question, smiling a bit tightly, although with her head on his shoulder she probably wouldn't see. It just made no damn sense. The only possible reason he could come up with was that Amber was playing power games. Foreman couldn't deny liking that kind of thing, or playing around in bed with his girlfriends where he, or they, pretended to draw back. Occasionally. But he and Amber weren't in bed. As far as Foreman knew--and that didn't mean much; apparently he knew fuck-all about the rules, since they kept changing on him--they weren't planning on going to bed any time soon. So why did Amber need to keep jerking him around?

Ordinarily he'd be crowing that she liked action movies. He could sit back and let her pick them, give in to her choices--earning points that way--and suggest the highbrow stuff when it was his turn, getting the best of both worlds. Instead he found himself frowning at the Rangers spanking the Flyers, swallowing another mouthful of wine, and not keeping up his end of the conversation. He just bet he knew how the script was supposed to go after this. He'd offer to put his arm around Amber--more comfortable that way, and it gave him some leeway to return any caresses she offered--and as soon as he made the move, Amber would back away, accuse him of not respecting her boundaries, or else just jump up from the couch with some excuse like getting them more wine.

Lose-lose situation. Seemed like he'd been in a lot of them lately. Well, Foreman didn't feel like bringing it up. He'd had enough of arguments. Maybe he should lean forward, set his empty wineglass down, and then put back the space between them that had been there in the first place. See how Amber liked that, when she was the one getting the game changed on her halfway through. It was a stupid idea, sulky and unworthy. He'd just sit here, watch the hockey game, which was already in the third period, and when it was over he'd go home. He was too damn tired to navigate all the mixed signals. They could try again after he'd gotten some sleep.

Amber waited for Eric to cozy up to her-- maybe an arm around her shoulder or her waist, maybe slouching a bit further down the couch and into her. He'd been happy enough to hug and kiss at Micky's, and here was so much better. More intimate.

But if anything he grew more rigid the further she sunk into him, tensing like he was being lambasted by a peer review. His breaths became shorter and sharper and his arm was still and awkward between them. He didn't even reply to her comments about movies! Sure watching hockey players crash into each other was riveting, but Amber knew he wasn't ignoring her because of the game. The resentment practically radiated from him in waves.

Amber sighed. She had an idea of what this was about. She twisted around, legs staying in place and her arm resting over the top of the couch. Eric looked every bit as sullen as he'd felt. "Sorry," she said. This wasn't like their fight over Casey's treatment, where she was sure she was right and he was an arrogant prick. Amber knew just how confusing she was being this evening since she herself had no idea what to expect. "I don't mean to be giving mixed signs, I'm just--" she paused. What was she doing? "I wanted to go back to how were at Micky's," she concluded, since that much was true. Her wine, mostly undrunk, sloshed in her goblet as she waved her hand slightly. “I’m figuring this out as we go along, I swear.” It’d been too much of a surprise, walking into a scenario with Eric lying down; if they had eased into it, she’d probably have been more than happy.

But how could she tell him what she wanted and was feeling if she didn’t really know herself? “I’m not used to taking it slow,” she admitted unhappily. That had been one of the good things about Eric, how he was okay with waiting out her confusion. He’d let her stay that night she was thrown out of the mood, and he’d stuck out her crying fit after calling her baby. He’d better not have run out of patience, because where would that leave them?

Foreman turned to face Amber when she shifted her position. Her apology, immediate and sincere, though hesitant in the way she worded it, was at once welcome and confusing. Foreman had been worried that not only wouldn't she apologize for her actions, she wouldn't even consider them worthy of an apology in the first place. Amber Volakis was never wrong, not without a lot of wrangling and some pretty pathetic begging on his part. Which was why he hadn't wanted to get into it.

Apparently he'd been wrong. Foreman took a breath, relieved at that much. If she was willing to talk about it, then so was he. None of those barriers where they couldn't even agree on what the problem was, let alone how to resolve it. "At Mickey's, you nearly crawled into my lap while you were telling me about a girl you'd slept with," he said, unable to hold it back any longer. She hadn't been pleased when he'd stopped her, either, although she'd taken the hint after a moment. "That's not exactly taking it slow."

Letting his head fall back against her arm behind him, Foreman watched her doubtfully. "Honey, I don't mind waiting," he said. "I'm not gonna do anything you don't want. But you're coming on to me one minute and then pushing me away the next. I lie down and it's too fast, I sit up and it's too slow. I know we're not going to bed tonight. I don't need that to like being with you. But you're making me feel like I'm wrong no matter what I do."

The corner of Amber's mouth twitched. "True," she conceded. "I got caught up in the moment." And what a good moment it'd been, driving Eric crazy with just a simple tale. They'd have to finish up the rest of that scene at a more appropriate moment. When ‘slow’ was no longer in effect.

Thankfully Eric didn't insist on sulking, speaking his mind instead. Strange that what was essentially complaining about her felt better to hear than not; Amber preferred this over his silent recriminations at the hospital. This at least she could counter. And it wasn't anything she hadn't suspected him of thinking.

Amber was sipping more wine when the word 'honey' came out of his mouth; she nearly choked. For special occasions, he'd explained that night he'd first started calling her endearments. 'Special' seemed to mean 'fucking,' since that was pretty much the only time he pulled out those 'babies' and 'honeys.' She still didn't like them much-- their potential sweetness was canceled out by just how damn patronizing Eric sounded-- and the word jolted her out of the conversation. Amber barely picked up on what followed.

She wiped excess wine from her lips with her thumb. They could tackle his thing with endearments later. "It's not about you being wrong," Amber protested. That was reframing the question so that it was her blaming him, which wasn't the case at all. "I'm just letting you know what I feel comfortable with, what else am I supposed to do?" If he didn't like it he could go home, she wanted to say, but they'd fought enough for her to know better than to jump to that conclusion. It wasn't an option between perfect harmony or absolute break up, Amber knew. The point was to reach some kind of agreement so that they could go back to the fun part. "What do you want to happen?" she asked, sincere but also wary. She'd really much rather go back to just leaning against him and maybe watch some TV like they'd planned, and sneaking in some kisses between sips of wine, but if she got to tell him what she was comfortable with, then he did too.

November 7, 2007

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