Topic: Warm Reassurance

Elena · Date: 2013-05-13 06:36 EST

((Contains material of an adult nature.

A crowded house was never the best place to be living, especially when your only privacy came when the door to your shared basement room was firmly closed against the intrusion of not just your sister, but her lover and her adopted daughter, too. It had been comforting to know that Mataya was just upstairs, first when she was struggling with her own cold turkey, and then when Michael came home from the hospital to struggle with his. But months on, the house had started to feel confining, unpleasantly so, tempers becoming more and more frayed with constant exposure to everyone and anyone. So Elena had taken it on herself to renegotiate the terms of her custody, wielding her seven months of hard-won sobriety like a weapon until she'd been granted permission to live away from her family. That she wasn't going to be living alone had been a mark in her favor, too, and after a couple of weeks' rather intensive house-hunting, she and Michael had come upon something that was almost perfect for their needs.

Moving in, given how little they both owned, had been a piece of cake, and with Michael now assured peace and quiet to get properly to work on his new manuscript, Elena was left to her own devices much of the time. Which was how she'd ended up perched on the high back of their sofa, risen onto her toes, one hand bracing herself against the ceiling precariously as the other very carefully put the finishing touches to a decorative vine she'd been painstakingly painting around the light fitting.

Unfortunately for Elena, when Michael was "in the zone", as he liked to call it, there was very little that could distract him. He might spend hours doing nothing but pecking away at the keyboard, ignoring everyone and everything around him. If it wasn't for Elena reminding him to eat and sleep, he might have forgotten to do even that. She was his anchor to the living world around him.

If it wasn't for Elena reminding him to eat and sleep, he might have forgotten to do even that. She was his anchor to the living world around him. She kept him balanced, she kept him sane. She made sure he didn't drown in a make-believe world of his own creation, and she was the one and only person whose disruptions and intrusions he could tolerate. He had plowed through about half a novel, which was somewhat autobiographical in nature. A romance story this time around, about a man on the brink of destruction who's saved by his true love. He was calling the novel Rhy'Din Nights, and it was sort of a sequel to his first novel. He wasn't sure whether it would be the best seller Boston Nights was, but it didn't really matter. He was writing again. The words were flowing again, and that was what mattered.

She'd grown used to being shut out while he was in the zone, and though at times she did feel a little jealous of those imaginary people he was spending so much time with, Elena knew that when Michael came back down to earth, he was all hers. Very little could distract him when he was typing, not even the heavy sound of her falling straight off her precarious perch to land on her backside in the middle of the floor, rubbing her rear end with an aggrieved expression on her face. "I really need to get a ladder," she muttered to herself, glancing at the clock on the wall. Hmm ....he'd been shut away in there for nearly eight hours now. Time to start bringing him back. "Michael?" she raised her voice to call to him as she rose to her feet, still giving the ceiling dirty looks for not being closer to the ground. "Baby, you okay?"

Some part of his consciousness had registered a thump, but he was deep in the zone and very little got through when he was there. The building might have burned down and he'd still be there sitting at his desk, plunking away at his laptop, lost in his own imagination. As it was, he barely registered a voice summoning him back from that make-believe world. "Hmm?" he muttered, only half-listening. It was the only sound that came from the spare bedroom he'd claimed for an office, other than the sound of his fingers deftly hammering away on his keyboard.

Elena smirked to herself. At least she'd got an answer, however vague and quiet it was. He wasn't quite as deep as she had thought. Leaving her paintbrush to soak in an old cup, she washed her hands and made her way through the apartment toward his office. They'd both worked out through experience that it was utterly pointless for her to knock and wait to be invited inside when he was working; instead, she knocked gently and let herself in anyway. Bare feet padded over the floor until she was behind him, bending down to smooth her hands over his chest. Her lips brushed just behind his ear, breath warming his skin as she murmured to him. "Missing you, baby."

"Just give me five minutes," he replied distractedly. It was always five minutes he asked for, but she'd learned that five minutes could easily turn into five hours if she didn't manage to pull him away somehow. She was just barely managing to distract him, to derail his thoughts, though he was working hard to resist her attention, if only for that promised five minutes.

"You've had eight hours," she protested softly, teasing her fingertips along the line of his collar as she bent closer. She never tried to read over his shoulder, knowing he'd let her read parts when he felt in need of a second opinion, preferring to coax him away from the computer entirely. Her lips parted, nibbling soft kisses from the sensitive flesh behind his ear down to the dip beneath his jawline.

His stomach growled reminding him that he'd forgotten to eat - again. The tell-tale signs of a former addict, now addicted to writing, scattered across his desk - a half-empty coffee mug, an empty bag of Doritos, a burned away cigarette resting in an ashtray overflowing with crushed out butts. He tilted his head sideways as she trailed kisses against his neck, his fingers faltering against the keys, and a slightly-distracted frown on his face. "I'm almost done," he muttered. Famous last words of an addict and writer.

"Press save," Elena urged him softly, refusing to give in to his addiction to the written word just as she refused to give in to her own addiction to fermented fruits. As her lips trailed downward, so too did her hands travel down, teasing their way over his chest, telegraphing their final destination long before they got there. He knew how this went; he also knew that he physically could not write a single word if she had to go all the way with him right then and there. "Be done for today."

He sighed, knowing where this was going, and knowing he might as well give up the fight. One way or another, unless he locked her out of the room, she was going to win anyway. And even if he did lock her out of the room, he had a feeling she'd figure out a way to break in. He finished typing the last paragraph that was flowing through his brain and hit the Save button, turning his chair to face her and drawing her onto his lap. "There, happy now?"

Elena beamed, delighted to have coaxed him out of his zone with so little effort this time, straddling his lap as he drew her to him. Her arms wound about his neck as she leaned in, teasing the tip of her nose against his. "Very happy," she promised him, rewarding his patient admission that the real world mattered too with a toe-curling kiss. "You gotta eat. Man cannot live on Doritoes and nicotine alone."

He smiled; as annoyed as he was at having his thought process derailed, he didn't really mind such a lovely distraction. Deep down, he knew if it wasn't for her, he'd probably be well on his way to self-destruction by now. "I thought it was 'Man cannot live on love alone.'" He wound his arms around her waist as he balanced her against his knees. "So, little girl....what would you like for Christmas?"

"Mmm, I think I'd like a neurotic genius writer and as much sausage as he'll let me eat," came her reply, teasingly risque as always. It was taking a while for them to get used to each other. The arguments were becoming fewer and further between, but when they got going, they really let rip. Though the making up was always the best part. Her fingers grazed his neck as she nuzzled fondly to him. "Unless Santa's got something for me already. Do you?"

"That depends....Were you a good girl or a naughty girl?" he asked, as he reached up to brush a bit of green paint from her cheek, evidence that she'd been busying herself with beautifying their apartment again. Money was really no problem. He was still making enough in royalties from the first book to support them both, and she was a De Luca, but he wasn't that interested in luxury. So long as he had a roof over his head and food on the table, that was all that really mattered to him. Having a warm bed partner didn't hurt, either.

Elena · Date: 2013-05-13 06:38 EST

Elena's angelic face twisted into a smirk of pure wickedness as the question reached her ears, thoroughly enjoying how easily he'd come from his characters around to playing with her, even if he did need to eat something before he passed out. "Oh, Santa, you know that's a difficult question to answer," she murmured back to him, inching closer to very subtly roll her hips, grinding entirely too close for the innocence in her eyes to have any hope of convincing him. "I'm a good girl in public. But I can be really naughty behind closed doors."

"Hmm, just the kind of girl Santa prefers. Naughty but nice," he teased back, blue eyes sparkling playfully back at her. He pulled her closer as she ground her hips against his pelvis. There were all sorts of addictions, and it seemed she was becoming his latest. He was feeling a little light-headed from lack of a proper meal, but at present, he was feeling a different sort of hunger. "Should we see what pops up?"

Her lips curved in a grin that warned him he was about to be mercilessly teased unless he did something about it. "I thought you said no playing in the office," she reminded him with a cheeky cast to her voice, nipping a sharp kiss to his lower lip before making to rise from his lap. "I'm going to make food. This ..." And she really gave no quarter - her hand smoothed up along his inner thigh to squeeze the evidence of how effective her teasing really was. "This is just going to have to wait a little while longer." She flashed him a truly evil wink as she said this, wondering how his reserves of patience were doing today.

"That can be easily remedied," he remarked, but before he could protest or do anything to further the situation, she was sliding off his lap and deciding for him that it was time to break his self-induced fast, which was just as well, since if he really wanted to make good on his promises, he was going to need some sustenance to keep up his strength and stamina. "Has anyone told you lately what a tease you are?" he asked with a pout, not being the first time he'd posed that question.

She laughed, crooking a finger at him to follow as she turned toward the door, long legs and bare feet coaxing him in her wake. He'd never said it aloud, but she knew he liked it when she wore shorts. Mataya had thought her utterly insane to wear them as often as she did, especially in the colder months. "Not since this morning," she told him over her shoulder. "C'mon, dude. You can grope while I'm cooking."

"If I grope, you may not get much cooking done," he pointed out as he moved to his feet, leaving his computer and his make-believe world behind for now and following her toward the kitchen. He frowned a little as his stomach reminded him once again that he needed to eat, even as other parts of his body reminded him he was male. He admired the line of her legs, as well as other body parts, as he followed her - like a fly lured into a spider's web. "What time is it?" he asked, as if he was just waking from a dream and wondering how long he'd been sleeping.

"It's about five," she told him, used to orientating him to time and place once he'd left his literary world behind. She didn't mind him enjoying the view as she led him to the kitchen; that's what it was for, after all. "What do you fancy?" There was a beat before she added, "To eat."

He would have replied that he fancied her, but she cut him off at the pass, so to speak, already knowing what he'd say before he said it. He shrugged as he strolled over to the coffee pot to pour himself yet another cup of coffee, replacing his addiction for alcohol with that of caffeine and nicotine and Elena. "Doesn't matter. Whatever's easiest."

"Hmm." He was one of the few people - very few people - who knew that the sunny, scatter-brained Elena De Luca not only loved to cook, but was actually pretty good at it, too. It took her barely a minute of scanning the fridge and shelves before she decided what she was going to make, setting to with chicken, garlic, onion, carrot, celery, and a packet of arborio rice. "Would you go with quick over easy?" she asked with a smile, pausing a moment to greedily admire him while he wasn't looking at her. For all that their courtship had been unconventional, very fast, and not a little bit bumpy, she couldn't see herself getting tired of her neurotic writer. He was good for her, even if he refused to admit it.

He smirked at her question, which he was guttering in his mind and changing the meaning of. They really did make a pair when it came to that sort of thing. "How about quick and easy?" he suggested, wondering what it was she had in mind to cook up for him today. It more than likely beat the hell out of anything he'd make for himself, which was more likely to be junk food or takeout. He could cook for himself when he wanted to, but it was rare. Why should he bother when he had her around to do it for him' He blew into his coffee before taking a sip, as he leaned against the cupboard and watched her move about the kitchen. As much as he might tease her, he actually enjoyed her little experiments, whether they were in the kitchen or the bedroom.

He wasn't alone in guttering the conversation, her smirk mirroring his as she glanced in his direction. "Baby, I like it every way," was purred toward him as a loud sizzle went up from the pan already warming on the hob. Somehow she'd managed to slice the chicken in the short time they'd been exchanging views on time and difficulty, setting it to brown as her knife turned itself to the rest of the meal. Within a couple of minutes, the vegetables were doing their thing in a pan of their own, and she was measuring the rice into a cup. "This won't take long," she promised him fondly. Mama Rosita had known what she was doing when she'd taught her youngest the joys of the kitchen.

"So, what have you been doing all afternoon?" he asked as he sipped at his coffee. This was often how their days went, reconnecting at the evening meal after a day spent at separate endeavors - him in front of the keyboard and her filling the time in various ways. It was at times like this that he felt a little guilty about all the time he spent away from her writing, but it was not only his chosen profession, but his passion, and it helped pay the bills. "I was thinking....Once this book is finished, we should go on vacation somewhere. Think they'll let you do that?" he asked, knowing she was on a somewhat short leash until after the trial was over, if the damned trial was ever over.

"I've been working on the ceiling, mostly," Elena told him with a smile, shaking the contents of the pan as she added the rice and a beaker of chicken stock she'd had in the fridge for goodness only knew how long. "I think it's pretty much done, unless you wanna add more color up there." His suggestion brought a warm smile to her face - his smile, the smile that half of their Earth thought they knew inside and out, but only he knew was charged with deep affection for him. "I don't know if they'll let me go anywhere," she admitted a little awkwardly. "They're hoping the trial will be over by August, but whether or not it's safe for me to go back to Earth is ....It all depends if they get Marco as well. If they don't, I'm a dead woman walking the minute I set foot back on Earth."

He frowned worriedly at the frank assessment of her safety back on Earth. Even if they got Marco Nicoletti along with his thug of a son, she'd never be safe there, not really. There would always be someone who wanted vengeance, whether they were connected to Marco or not. Michael was smart enough to know that helping to put a major crime lord behind bars automatically painted a target on Elena's back, and though it made for difficult conversation, it was a possibility they both had to face. "I wasn't talking about Earth, Elena," he pointed out. He'd learned a lot about Rhy'Din in the weeks and months since he'd first arrived here and knew the possibilities were endless.

She was quiet for a moment, tossing everything into a dish to put into the oven to bake. Straightening up, she turned to look at him, hating to see that frown on his face, and moved to wipe it away with a kiss. "Where were you thinking of?" she asked him through her familiarly inviting lopsided smile. As scared as she was of the impending trial, she hid it as best she could for his sake, knowing the dangers better than he. Her hands smoothed over his sides as she leaned into him, very tactile with affection and reassurance.

"I don't know. Nothing specific. Just getting away for a while, just you and me. No computer, no phones, no family, no cops, no worries. Somewhere tropical maybe. A secluded beach. Warm days and starry nights." Was he being a romantic" Maybe just a little. There would, of course, be no drinks with little umbrellas involved, unless they were of the non-alcoholic variety, but that was just fine with him, so long as he had her. "I haven't taken a real vacation in years." If ever. The frown softened a little at her kiss, but not much. He often felt like he was living life in a fishbowl, and though they had finally been permitted a place of their own, he wanted to take her away somewhere beyond the ever-watchful eyes of her family and the Rhy'Din Watch.

Elena · Date: 2013-05-13 06:38 EST

Her green eyes lit up with barely suppressed excitement as he painted the picture for her, not needing much of a push to add their likenesses to the scene built in her mind. "I think ....I think that sounds great," she agreed affectionately. "Do I get to sunbathe naked, or are you gonna find other things for me to do?" It was utterly impossible to hold a conversation with Elena without it somehow ending up back at sex, but he didn't seem to mind. After all, a goddess in the kitchen, a lady - most of the time - in the sunlight, and most definitely a prostitute in the bedroom; she had the whole package. What was a little inappropriate innuendo when compared with that"

"Oh, I think we can squeeze in a little naked sunbathing," he agreed with a smirk. "Though Mr. Happy might need a lot of sunscreen so he doesn't get burned." She had really met her match in him, as he could keep up with her innuendos and sometimes even outdo her himself. His arms slid around her waist as she leaned close. Dinner was in the oven and would take at least a few minutes before it was ready. He linked his fingers together at the small of her back. She wasn't going anywhere for a while unless she could manage to wiggle her way out of his embrace.

She seemed to consider this for a moment, her lips parting in that wide smile of hers as she felt his arms creep around her. They had about twenty minutes to play with until dinner was ready, but she was still debating whether or not to tell him that. "We could always put him somewhere so he's in no danger of getting burned," she suggested, fingers creeping up along the line of his arms to stroke ever so lightly at the curve of his ears.

"Like where?" he asked, completely straight-faced. "A sock?" He glanced over at the oven, wondering how long dinner was going to take. "How much time to do we have?" he asked bluntly, as his hands strayed to curl around the curve of her rear and pull her snugly against him. He'd set his coffee cup down moments before, slightly revived by the intake of caffeine.

The thought of a sock covering "Mr Happy" made her laugh, especially since the sock in her mind's eye had googly eyes and a tongue. But the laugh didn't last long, fading to the merest suggestion of a moan as he drew her to him. She'd tried any number of times to work out how he managed to flip her switches almost without trying, but as yet, no explanation presented itself. All she knew was that when Michael wanted her, she wanted him just as badly. Her breath warmed his lips as her hands strayed higher, easing her arms about his neck. "Twenty minutes," she told him softly. "Longer if I turn the oven down a little."

"Long enough for a quickie," he remarked, even longer if she turned the oven down. He didn't wait for a reply or a decision, his hands traveling to her waist to unfasten the front of her shorts and slide them down off her hips. "I hope you don't mind a little appetizer before dinner," he teased, as his lips grazed her neck.

Another laugh escaped, this one huskier, infinitely more inviting, as her head fell back, letting him play without interruption for a moment or two longer as she reached to turn the knob on the front of the oven. Half an hour was better than twenty minutes. "And here I thought I was the one with sex on the brain," she teased him back, lifting her head to brush her lips against his skin, kicking her shorts off one foot even as her own fingers slipped between them to undo his pants. They'd played this game so many times, and still she was not bored of it. He was so much better than anything she had ever found at the bottom of a bottle.

"We're just making up for lost time," he said, not that they needed an excuse for their very active sex life, but in a way, it was true. He'd lost her once years ago, and now that he'd won her back, he had no intentions of ever losing her again. He'd often wondered what their lives might have been like if she'd only agreed to be his all those years ago, but none of that mattered now. She had fulfilled his deepest fantasies and then some and had never even once disappointed. He helped her get his own pants off, or at the very least, unzipped, turning her around to press her against the kitchen cupboards. She was temporarily denied the ability to see him, but he'd more than make up for it in other ways.

She didn't put up any kind of resistance, putty in his hands whenever he took charge. Since those first days, when all he'd been able to do was lie back and enjoy, Michael seemed to be going out of his way to prove that he was the best lover she could ever have imagined, and he certainly had yet to disappoint. Pressed against the cupboards, she turned her head to look back at him, the parted softness of her mouth invitation enough without the sultry challenge in her eyes backing it up as she deliberately arched her back, rolling her *ss against him in a way that was either going to get her spanked or fulfilled. Either way, it would be fun.

Fulfilled was more than likely the inevitable result. Spankings were not really his thing, but in the rare event that they were, they'd be relegated to the bedroom, not the kitchen. Pressed for time, he decided to forego foreplay for now, though she'd more than likely be rewarded with afterplay once his stomach was full. He tugged her panties down past her hips, not even bothering to pull them off her legs, the heat of his arousal warm against her bare flesh as he teased her with the prospect. His hands found the swell of her breasts, circling them with a firm press of his fingers as he pulled her tightly against him.

No matter what he did, how they came together like this, he never found her wanting. Even now, as quickly as he was ready, so was she, releasing the tender ghost of a moan into the air in a shock of breath as his hands closed over her, pulling her firmly back into the hardness of his chest. Bare-bottomed, she teased him once again with a gentle roll of her hips, one hand covering his, the other rising to draw his face close to hers as her head turned, parted lips begging for a kiss with a soft whimper. "And you say I'm the tease."

"I'm not teasing," he replied, wasting no time p*ssyfooting around, going straight for home base. There was a time for taking things slow, and this was not it. He distracted her with a kiss, capturing her lips in a deep, burning kiss that seemed to reach down deep inside her and warm her from the inside out. He wasted no time filling her with a heat of a different kind. Sheathing himself inside her, he rocked his hips against hers, fast and furious, all the while deepening the kiss, his hands possessively grasping her breasts, claiming her, marking her, spoiling her for any other man besides himself.

It was just as well they weren't living with Mataya and the others any longer; as time went on, Elena thought she was actually growing more addicted to Michael, more eager for anything and everything, unable to get through a day without having him one way or another. At least in their own space they didn't have to behave themselves until they went to bed. Pressed between him and the cupboards, she could do little but enjoy this interlude, filling his mouth with the sound of her moans as he dragged her up toward the precipice he always ensured she reached. Screw dinner, some part of her mind was trying to insist. This was much more fun.

He had been with other women before, but he had never known anything like this, never felt anything even close to what he felt when he was with Elena. It was almost as if they were of one mind, one heart, moving together as one body, connected and yet separate. He devoured her moans, which mingled with his own, hungering, aching to make her moan again and again. A wild frenzy of passion passed between them, fiery and hot, cresting and then breaking with fevered abandon, and then it was over, but as they came down from that high, a warmth and tenderness surrounded them that could only be described as love and affection, contentment, peace. It was a deep sort of satisfaction of not only the body, but the soul, and he felt - if only for a moment - that he had died and gone to heaven.

Gasping for breath as he stilled against her, she trembled in the wake of their passion, reveling in the same peaceful contentment he felt, enjoying the tenderness of being in his arms, knowing she loved him better than anyone else. Her fingers stroked over his neck affectionately as slowly her smile made itself known again, loving kisses touched to his jaw before she spoke. "You know ....I don't think that's an appetizer you're going to be able to offer my mom when she comes 'round."

Elena · Date: 2013-05-13 06:39 EST

His chest heaved against her back for ragged gasps of breath, as he released his hold on her, his arms circling around her to hold her in the warmth of his embrace. He shuddered against her, his body echoing with ebbing waves of pleasure as his lips found hers again, his kisses gentling, soft and tender. "Your mom isn't the one I'm in love with," he replied with a warm smile.

"Sure?" Elena never could resist the urge to tease when they both in a good mood. "She's still pretty foxy for her age." Grinning, she answered his kisses with her own, gently twisting about in his grasp to wrap her own arms around him as they passed those kisses back and forth. "I love you," she told him between each press of lip to lip. "My genius, neurotic, gorgeous, wonderful writer."

He smiled, his heart swelling at the three little words that passed from her lips between kisses. He linked his fingers together at the small of her back, not quite ready to let go of her just yet. Not until the alarm on the oven dinged, breaking the spell to let them know dinner was ready. He touched a kiss to the tip of her nose, playful and affectionate, laughing a little at her assessment of him, which he did not deny. "I'm not so sure about genius, but I probably am neurotic." He'd been called genius before, even neurotic, but never gorgeous or wonderful. Though he thought she was biased, somehow coming from her lips, he almost believed it. "I love you, Elena." How could he not' She had saved him from himself, and in saving him, had saved herself.

"Don't argue," she murmured back to him through her teasing grin, the kisses slowly fading away until she was just there, wrapped up in his arms, gazing in something very close to absolute adoration into his eyes, green to blue. Three little words that meant the world to both of them, said so often they should have lost their charm by now. But she couldn't foresee a day when hearing Michael profess his love for her would ever get old. And there was something she wanted to ask him, something she was unlikely to get him in a better mood for than right now. "Baby ....when they call me back to New York, for the trial ....will you come with me" I'm scared to go on my own."

His smile deepened at her admonition. In truth, they argued like cats and dogs, but the make-up sex always seemed to make it worthwhile, and afterwards, he always felt even closer to her than ever, as if the argument was a cleansing of sorts between them. He would have commented on that - in particular, the make-up sex - but she distracted him with an unexpected question, a question he thought went without saying and didn't require an answer. "You don't have to ask me that, Elena. Of course, I'm coming with you. What makes you think I wouldn't?"

She smiled faintly, nuzzling to him, her fingertips stroking against the line of his neck as she sighed softly. "I didn't wanna assume," she admitted a little awkwardly. "Getting seen with me'll make you as much a target as the rest of my family, I ....I don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable with. But at the same time ....I feel safe when I'm with you. Kinda stuck between being selfish and trying not to be."

"A target?" he echoed, brows furrowing, not having really considered that possibility before, though it wouldn't have mattered if he had. "You think I'm afraid of being a target?" he asked, knowing she was more afraid of something happening to him than he was. He didn't have to ask why she was worried, knowing the mob would more than likely target not only her, but those she loved in hopes that she wouldn't testify against them, but he wasn't afraid of the mob, not as far as his own safety was concerned anyway. He might not be a hero, but he was a man first and foremost, and he wasn't going to let her deal with all of that on her own. "Did you really think I'd let you go alone?"

"Not really." Worried about him she might be, but she did know him. They'd shared some dark places in the past three months, shared enough for her to know that even if she'd asked him to stay away for his own safety, he would follow her into danger. "But I needed to ask. I needed you to make the decision, not me."

"Elena..." he started, that serious "Don't argue with me" look on his face. "I love you, and I'm not going to step aside and hide like a coward when you need me the most. I know the risks, and if being with you makes me a target, so be it. We'll get through this together. You're not doing this alone, and that's all there is to it. Don't make me get down on one knee and make it official."

"I'm not saying don't come!" she protested, smiling despite herself. It felt good to hear him say all that, to insist that she wasn't on her own facing whatever was coming. "I'm just ..." She cast around for some reason why she'd asked in the first place, eventually coming up with, "....trying to be polite?" Her brows rose in a comical expression of hopeful dismay at her own appalling offering of an excuse.

He knew she wasn't arguing with him, but some part of him needed her to know how he felt and that he was going to stand by her through this and through everything, no matter how hard or how dangerous or how painful. His expression softened, turning to another smile as he kissed her worries away, at least for now, loosening his hold on her to brush his fingers against her cheek. "You're scared, and I understand that, but I'm not going anywhere. I promise. Okay?"

She leaned into him, breathing him in as he kissed her, soothing away the underlying fears once again as she relaxed against him. Green eyes opened to smile up at him affectionately. "Okay," she agreed in a quiet voice, drumming her fingertips against his chest. "But, uh, you're kinda gonna have to step back a bit. I'm not serving up dinner with my panties round my ankles."

He laughed, not having to worry about that. All he had to do was zip up and he was all set. "You could serve dinner naked and no one would care," he remarked with a smirk. As yet, they'd never eaten dinner naked, though they'd had breakfast in bed a few times. The problem was that when either one of them was in a state of undress, it was usually too much temptation for the other. He dropped a kiss against her forehead and took a step back, allowing her to readjust her clothing before the timer went off on the oven. "Anyone ever tell you how adorable you are?"

She laughed, too, shaking her head as she set herself to rights once again, taking a moment to ponder her shorts before throwing them onto the couch. It wasn't like there was anyone here but him, after all. "Not since I was about twelve," she told him cheerfully, combing her fingers through her hair as she turned to seek out plates and cutlery. "Is this a segue into asking me to get the schoolgirl costume out of storage again?" Serving dinner naked wasn't on the cards, but dressing up" She'd do anything for him, as she'd proved several times.

"I wouldn't be opposed to it," he replied with a smirk as he zipped his pants, putting himself to rights. He went about helping her set the table for dinner, warming up his cup of coffee and pouring a cup for her. "It's about time someone told you how cute you are again." He grew quiet a moment as he set the cups on the table and added some napkins, the two of them working together at playing house. It felt good to be with someone, to have someone to share his life with, and to know that someone was her. "You know, the book is almost done. I'll be into revisions soon," he commented quietly.

He wasn't the only one who enjoyed the quiet moments, when they seemed to work in harmony, preparing little tasks, ordinary everyday things that other people seemed to take for granted. Laying plates on the counter, Elena looked over at Michael as he spoke, a small but proud smile on her face. "So soon?" she said, delighted for him at this progress. "Have you decided when you're gonna show it to your publisher?"

"Well, the writing is the easy part. It's revising that's hard. Deciding what to keep and what to scrap. In a writer's eyes, it's all good, but an editor won't see it that way." It was no secret that he'd struggled with writing. It had never come easy to him, but after his little visit from a certain muse, everything seemed to have clicked into place. He hadn't thought anything of it, dismissing it as an hallucination or a dream from an alcohol-deprived brain. He believed it was Elena who inspired him, and he was not entirely wrong, but he'd been touched by a muse and it was her inspiration that had set him on fire.

Elena · Date: 2013-05-13 06:40 EST

"Well ....maybe you should send it unrevised," she suggested a little tentatively. She was an actress; she didn't pretend to understand the process that went into creating a novel, and she knew that some of her ideas were very wrong. "Your editor knows your style, he knows what people like, and he knows what needs to stay and what needs to go. Why not let someone look at it with fresh eyes" You never know, it might not need that much editing." She shrugged, turning to the oven as the timer buzzed, pulling out the casserole dish. The risotto had come out almost perfect, giving easily to the stir of the spoon as she added Parmesan and the browned chicken before serving it out onto the two plates.

"I'm going to give my agent a heart attack," he remarked with a slightly ironic chuckle. He hadn't sent out a manuscript in years and assumed everyone had given up on him by now, including his literary agent, who had stopped calling what seemed like ages ago. He wasn't even sure if he still had an agent. He furrowed his brows in thought at her suggestion. Send an unrevised manuscript out' But to who' "I, uh..." He scratched at his hair, completely dumbfounded at her suggestion.

She eyed him encouragingly, her lips twitching into a faint smile as he groped for some kind of response that evidently wasn't forthcoming. "It doesn't have to be an agent or a publisher," she suggested, dropping salad onto the plates before turning to lay them on the table. "It could just be a friend, someone whose opinion you'll listen to." She rose up on her toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Eat your dinner."

"Oh, a friend." He smiled, catching her drift as she drew him back out of his thoughts. "And would that friend's name possibly start with an E and end with an A?" He caught her eyes as she pressed a kiss to his cheek before doing as he was told and taking a seat at the table, only just realizing how hungry he was. When had he eaten last' Oh, yeah....The bag of Doritos about three hours ago.

"Maybe," she grinned at him, that single word singsong and as innocent as she could make it. She'd read perhaps twenty pages of his novel - the beginning of the first draft, and a couple of sections where he'd gotten stuck and wanted a fresh opinion - but it was no secret that she was dying to read the whole thing. Dropping down into her seat, she took a drink from her cup. "I mean, no pressure, I know you probably don't want me reading it and finding out just what you see when you look at me or anything. It was just a suggestion."

"You're going to read it eventually anyway," he pointed out, picking up a fork and diving straight into his dinner. He waggled his fork at her as he chewed, a sign that he still had more to say but was waiting until he had at least taken a few bites first. "If you read it, you have to promise me that you'll be honest. Brutally honest, even if you think it might hurt my feelings. I need to know whether it's worthy of publication or if it's just a load of cow sh*t."

She waited for him to finish chewing and finish his thought, making a good start on her own meal in the meantime, and squashing a comment in the back of her mind over what she wanted to do with that fork if he waved it at her again. "Baby, I haven't been anything but honest with you since you woke up in my bed three months ago," she pointed out. "Why would I change that habit now" It's not like I tiptoe around your ego most days anyway, is it?"

"This from the woman who just told me I'm a genius, neurotic, gorgeous, and wonderful. Yeah, you're really bad for my ego." He grinned at her in amusement before shoveling more chicken-risotto mixture into his mouth. Back home alone in Boston, he might go days without eating until he was feeling weak and sickly, but here, she made sure he didn't forget to eat, and he rarely argued. He'd gained a few pounds in the last few months, but he looked and felt healthier than he had in years.

"All of which is absolutely true," she argued through her own grin, enjoying watching him eat almost as much as she enjoyed pretty much everything else he did. It was strange to think that this time last year she'd been too drunk to even notice that she wasn't in love, that she wasn't happy. With Michael, everything was different, and she was learning what it was to be actually happy with herself and the people closest to her. It wasn't a feeling she ever wanted to let go of, a plan already forming in her mind as to how she might go about holding on tighter. "Just because you don't see it doesn't mean it isn't true. So there."

"You could say the same for yourself, you know." It was true. They were good for each other. Both of them had thought themselves unworthy of love for too long. Together they were learning how wrong they'd been. They were learning how to love and trust all over again, and how to live. He laughed. "Not going to stick your tongue out at me?" he teased, waggling that fork at her again - it was a bad habit. "This is really good, by the way. What is it?" he asked scooping up another forkful of dinner. Her cooking was only one of the many talents she possessed and which he took full advantage of.

"Wave that at me again, and I'm going to stab you with it," she informed him with a sweet smile, her eyes focused on the fork as it waggled in front of her. She might have been teasing, she might not. "It's chicken risotto," she added, answering his question. "And I'm not a genius writer. Neurotic and gorgeous, maybe. Not a genius."

He chuckled at her threat, knowing she'd never purposely hurt him, physically or otherwise. It was a strange feeling to trust someone as much as he trusted her, but he had figuratively walked through the fires of hell and survived, and it was mostly because of her - or so he believed. "You have your own merits. For one thing, you're beautiful. Smart, thoughtful, funny, caring, and you make one hell of a dinner."

Her laughter was quiet but heartfelt as she shook her head, a soft blush coloring her cheeks under the wave of his praise. "Keep buttering me up, and you're not going to be able to finish your dinner before I get started on dessert," she warned him affectionately, chasing a forkful of rice around her plate while she tried to will her blush to go down. "Is there anywhere in this apartment you haven't complimented me into having my way with you right then and there yet?" With the obvious exception of his office.

"The west corner of the living room," he replied, without any hesitation, half joking, half serious. It was true, they had christened just about every inch of the apartment during the short time they'd lived here, but no one was complaining, except maybe the neighbors. He finished off the risotto and started working on the salad. Now that his hunger was mostly satisfied, he had more patience for what he considered to be rabbit food. He didn't mention the office, which was mostly off limits, solely reserved for work.

"Oh, you mean the door onto the balcony?" Elena snickered wickedly, which could only mean she'd gone that one step further. "Shame it's not dark out yet - the balcony hasn't been christened either, you know." And yes, she was shameless enough to do it, if he could be coaxed into it with her. Laying her fork down - her portions were always smaller, but she ate everything there - she reached for her coffee up, smiling as he tackled the greens. "You know, uh ....'Taya asked me if I'd audition for her rep company. If I wanted to. I'm not sure what to tell her."

It rarely took much coaxing, unless it was cold. He wasn't found of the cold. As much as he loved his home city of Boston, he had always hated the cold, damp nights, much preferring a warmer climate. He paused in his nibbling at the salad greens to arch a brow at her over her coffee cup. "I know now," he remarked. So often, the conversation between them was like a game of wits. They were getting better at sharing their secrets and reading each other's quirks, but there were still times when they surprised each other. This was one of them. How could he know what she hadn't told him yet' "What do you want to do?" he asked, studying her carefully. He had no qualms about her working again and actually thought it would be good for her.

She set her cup down, twisting her hands together to fidget uncomfortably as she considered her answer. It was all mixed up in the last six years of her life, in the anxiety that had arisen since she'd stopped drinking, and the depression that was always going to be lurking on the sidelines. But it was the anxiety that was rearing its ugly head now, very definitely threatening to hold her back entirely. "I don't know," she told him quietly. "I haven't been on a stage in years. I haven't worked sober since I was a teenager. What if I can't do it' I really can't let my sister down again."

Elena · Date: 2013-05-13 06:41 EST

If anyone understood how she felt, it was him. He hadn't written anything worthy of reading in years, not until recently, not until he'd cleaned himself up. He understood that anxiety, that fear of failure, but she had believed in him, and the least he could do was return the favor. Besides, even if she didn't believe in herself, he believed in her and he knew her sister did, too, or she wouldn't have asked her. "Okay," he started, setting down his fork, not letting her give into the fear and the doubts. "So, you start slow. Take a small part to start out with and go from there. See if you still like it, if it's still something you enjoy doing."

There went her thumbnail between her teeth. That was a bad habit of hers, a sign that she was letting herself get agitated over something she couldn't predict accurately or control. "I don't know whether it matters that I enjoy it or not," she admitted awkwardly. "Baby, I can stress myself out walking down a street. The thought of all those people watching me, paying to watch me not mess up ....it's scary."

"Life is scary, Elena. Worrying about all the bad things that could happen will only drive you crazy. What's the worst than can happen" You make a mistake. Big deal. People make mistakes. It's part of being human." Oh, he knew it went deeper than that, was more complex than that, but if she didn't get back up on the horse and try to ride again sometime, she never would, and she might one day live to regret it. "What did you tell me when I said I couldn't write anymore?"

She couldn't help it; she smiled, hearing him tell her everything she'd told him when he had fretted about never being able to write again. "That I didn't believe you," she repeated. "That you're too talented not to write, because it's what you love and you're good at it. And that you'd never know until you tried." All good advice, but much harder to follow when you were the one giving it to yourself.

"So, maybe you should take a little of your own advice," he told her, reaching across the table to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Even if you decide you never want to act again, at least, you'll know you tried. Otherwise, you're always going to wonder. You're always going to regret it." He knew that no matter how frustrated he got, he'd always be a writer - it was in his blood, it was just who he was, but he couldn't say the same for her. She had to figure out her own true calling for herself.

She considered this for a long moment, drawing her fingertips over his palm with soft affection. "You're right," she said eventually, only a little reluctant to admit it. "I'll audition. I'm not gonna let her just give me a part. Ludo's a good guy, he'll know if I can do it. And if he says no, then ....then I guess I'm back to square one."

He smiled warmly at her as she worked it out in her own head. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and if worse comes to worse, at least, you know. I just want you to be happy, Elena. That's all." He squeezed her hand again before pulling away to take a sip of his coffee. "If you keep feeding me like this, I'm gonna end up weighing 300 pounds."

"You make me happy. Very happy." Her smile echoed his as he pulled away, leaning back on her chair to draw her knees up to her chest. As he commented on his weight, she let her eyes roam, openly appreciative of her view. "Baby, with all the working out we do, you're lucky if you break even on calories."

He laughed at her assessment, figuring she was probably right. His eyes wandered over her in mutual admiration. His stomach was full - that hunger had been satisfied and another was starting to take its place. "Did you say something about dessert or were you speaking figuratively?" He sipped at his coffee and set the cup down.

"Oh, gorgeous, you can't get me off your figure, you know that." She snickered impishly, dropping her feet to the floor as she moved to stand up, reaching for the plates. "Let me put these in to soak before I pounce you, okay' Or you pounce me. I'm easy." One eye flickered a very suggestive wink his way. Easy was an understatement when it came to him and her.

"So long as you're mine," he said with a mirrored flicker of playfulness in his eyes. He drained what was left in his mug and moved to his feet to help her clean up from dinner. It wouldn't take long, and they had all the time in the world.

It would have been done quicker if Elena hadn't insisted on distracting herself. She only picked things up with one hand; the other hand consistently wandered back to Michael, touching, teasing, squeezing. Whenever she passed behind him, her lips touched the back of his neck; when she was at his side, she pressed too close to be doing anything less than teasing him with her softness. "Should I get it tattooed somewhere?" she asked in a low ripple of sound, breathing against his ear with a grin. "Michael's Girl."

He was only too happy to let her tease him, knowing where it would all lead eventually. He didn't have to worry about getting frustrated or feeling neglected - she made sure of that. He wondered if their sex life would always be this lively, but he wasn't one to worry overly much about the future. Life was too short to waste on worrying about things that might never happen. He laughed at her suggestion, imagining that in his head. "You don't need to brand yourself to show the world that you're mine. They're going to find out sooner or later." There was a small smirk on his face, as though he was considering something in his head. Sooner or later, he was going to ask her to marry him, if she didn't ask him first. He was just waiting for the time to be right.

"So you don't want your name tattooed on my *ss or anything kinky like that?" she teased back, mirroring his smirk as he hinted toward that "something official" he'd mentioned earlier. "What about around this finger?" The finger she held up was on her left hand, only too pleased to imagine how his name would look forever inked around the slender digit beneath a ring she didn't have to have to know she was his.

"Honestly?" he asked, looking down at her from where he hovered over her. She was pressed too close for comfort, and his temperature was slowly rising. He let his eyes drift over her a moment, lingering on the body part in question. "I don't want anything marring that sweet *ss of yours, not even a tattoo proclaiming you're mine." He slid an arm around her waist to take a grab of her *ss, as if to emphasize his wishes. Arching a brow at the next question, his gaze drifted to the finger she was holding up on her left hand. "You want to tattoo my name around your finger?"

She laughed happily at his possessive squeeze, the sensation a good deal more intimate without her shorts than it had been through the denim before they'd eaten. She followed his gaze to her hand, seriously considering what such a tattoo might look like. "I'm considering it," she said eventually, lifting her eyes to his as her hands came to rest against his chest. "Unless you got something else you wanna put there sometime."

His expression changed, looking more than a little surprised at this unexpected turn in the conversation. Though they'd only been together a few months, he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, and though he'd hinted, he hadn't expected to have this conversation quite yet. "Are you asking me to marry you, or are dropping a hint that you want me to buy you a ring?" he asked, tilting his head to one side curiously and arching his brows.

Her own head tilted, the thoughtful expression on her face quickly turning reassuringly comical as she stuck her tongue out at him. "Not yet," was the only answer he got to that double question, her hands snaking down to squeeze his *ss and bump herself closer. "When it's over."

Elena · Date: 2013-05-13 06:42 EST

He didn't have to ask what she meant by that. They both knew she was talking about the trial, and the thought of it brought a worried frown to his face, despite his attempts to stay upbeat and optimistic. He knew it wasn't going to be easy, especially not for her. They were going to grill her on the stand and try to break her, not to mention the danger involved in screwing with the mob. Too many people had been hurt already - innocent people - and he didn't want Elena becoming one of them. Though he couldn't hide the concern in his eyes, he nodded his head in agreement. She had enough to worry about, enough pressure and enough stress without worrying about a wedding. "All right. When it's over, but I'm gonna hold you to that. You're not getting away from me that easily." Not this time, he thought to himself. I'm not losing you again.

"Who says I want to get away from you?" The concern in his eyes was heartbreaking, knowing that there were days coming when all she would see in his gaze would be that concern. And it wouldn't just be in Michael's eyes - Anya had offered her testimony to support the indictment of Marco Nicoletti; she would take the stand as well, which meant Tony would be in court. Elena's big brother was going to hear in excruciating detail about the months leading up to the murder she had been made an accomplice in. That, more than anything, scared her. She didn't want Michael or Tony to know the whole truth, how weak she'd been. She didn't want to see the love and concern turn to disgust as they looked at her.

Worry as she might, she didn't have to worry about that, not with Michael. She had seen him at his worst, at what had become the very dregs of his pathetic existence, and she had fallen in love with him anyway. Whatever had come before was in the past, and once the trial was over, it would never hurt her again. He'd make sure of that. He would have told her as much if he'd known what she was thinking, but he didn't. "I keep thinking you're going to wake up one day and have second thoughts." He didn't think it all the time, but every now and then, he had to pinch himself to make sure it was all real, that he really was with her, that he hadn't just imagined it.

She blinked, genuinely surprised that he was still afraid of her leaving, even after everything he'd been through when they'd first come back together. "Baby, when I wake up, my first thoughts are about you," she told him warmly, her own concerns forgotten in the rush to reassure him of her affection, her loyalty. "So are my second thoughts and my third thoughts. You're always on my mind and in my heart and nothing is going to change that. Dude, I've watched you vomit and seen you pee. If I was really as shallow as all that, I wouldn't have stuck around for three days while you were unconscious. I promised I wasn't going anywhere, and I'm not. Try not to forget that, okay?"

He nodded his head again in agreement, a temporary lapse of will and self-confidence. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just hard to believe sometimes, you know" God, Elena..." He sighed, sweeping her into his embrace, never wanting to let go. "I love you so much it scares me sometimes. I've never loved anyone the way I love you." And I would be lost without you, so please, don't ever leave me. "After this is all over, after everything's settled down, I'll ask you again, and I'll do it right. I promise."

"On a tropical beach somewhere," she suggested, combining this promise with his earlier promise of a vacation away from prying eyes and wary trust, curling her own arms about him as she breathed soft and slow against his neck. "Wearing a sock on your Mr Happy." She snickered again at the mental image of that, pressing her face into his shoulder. "Oh, man, that one's gonna keep me going for weeks."

He'd go one better than that - he'd make sure they got married on a tropical beach, surrounded by family and friends - and he was just determined enough to make it happen. He smiled at the thought of that, laughing when she brought up the sock again. "You want me to propose in nothing but a sock?" he asked, with a smirk. "And what are you gonna be wearing?"

"Oh, I'll be naked, I thought we'd already agreed on that," she laughed back, lifting her head to grin up at him. One hand uncurled from his back to trace her fingertips over his smiling lips. "I love your smile, the way your whole face lights up when you laugh. I wanna keep you laughing for years, even if I have to boogie with a chipmunk to do it."

He laughed again, imagining her once again in his mind doing just as she said, and having a feeling she wasn't beyond doing it just to make good on her threat and see him laugh. "Which one?" he asked with a smirk. "Alvin, Simon, or Theodore?" He didn't wait for an answer, sweeping her up off her feet and carrying her through the small apartment to their bedroom where he kicked the door closed behind him, though there was no one there but them. It would be morning before they emerged from that bedroom, having spent the night doing what they did best - loving, touching, and squeezing, just like the song. They might both have come together from the darkest of dark places, but here and now, what they had was enough. It was almost perfect.

((Aw, the alcoholics are home-making - so sweet! ::snickers:: Lots of thankibubbles to Michael's player for indulging me on a whim!))