mylegacy | ic inbox / drift fleet

Mmm . . . I don't know. I might not.

[He does not say I might die, because he's learning, but that's fairly close to the truth, all told.]

You're going to be so perfect and singing to me. I'll have to be good and not interrupt you for kisses. But it will be very difficult.

Mm, well. No matter who looks at me and listens to my songs, there's only one handsome man I'm going to go home with at the end.

[And up she goes onto her tiptoes to chase him for a kiss again.]

I know you can be strong, if you keep that much in mind.

[Let it never be said that Caesar refused a pretty girl a kiss. He meets her obediently, cupping her face with both hands and only not getting his fingers in her hair because he knows she wants to look nice in her dress. Admire his restraint.]

I'll try to remember and not be too jealous. Even though I think maybe you want me to be a little jealous.

Weeeeeeell...it's a little romantic, isn't it? Being someone that handsome men act that way about...

[She smiles at him, cheeks flushing a little pink.]

Like a glamorous movie star. It's not so bad, to want to feel like that just a little, is it?

It's not so bad, dolcezza. I think you should get to feel like that.

[He runs his thumbs over her cheeks, kisses her again. If he can make her feel like that, damn right he's going to.]

You look so amazing right now . . . maybe I'll be more than a little jealous. But I promise I won't do anything bad. I'll just save up my kisses for the end of the night.

I know you will. It'll be worth the wait, I promise.

[Her eyelashes flutter, feathered against her cheek; he kisses her and it's hard to keep her eyes open, hard to concentrate on anything but this.]

...Mmmmmlet me go change. And then kiss me on the stage, for good luck.

Mmhmm. Okay.

[With extreme reluctance, he pushes her lightly away by the shoulders.]

Go on. Hurry up. Don't keep me waiting too long.

You need the practice!

[But with that, she takes up her bag and zooms off purposefully into the backstage area, where she remains gone for a reasonable amount of time — the last thing she's about to do is rush herself and run the risk of something happening to this dress, after all.

When she does make her reappearance, though, it's not from one of the doors that connects to the floor, but from stage left itself; as promised, she's let down her hair and fluffed it up into a cloud of old Hollywood waves and curls, with red, red lipstick and a diamond-studded dress to match.

And here she comes, down the little runway, in what would be a fantastic imitation of Jessica Rabbit, if it weren't for the anachronism of about fifty years in the wrong direction.]

[Just as Caesar is very sure he's about to die of anticipation (despite every outward appearance of calm collectedness, because he actually is very good at waiting, even though it's usually girls waiting for him and not the other way around), Suzie makes her reappearance. He doesn't quite see all of her at first, just movement out of the corner of his eye, and he turns from where he's leaned back against the stage and--]

[Hm. Yes. He is, in fact, going to die here. At the very least he's going to pass out, looking up at her like she's absolutely the most perfect thing he's ever seen, which in fact he is, and like he doesn't have words, which in fact he doesn't. Not in English or in Italian. He's just. Well. Very hnngh again, honestly, and seems perfectly content to stand here and worship her from this distance for as long as she'd like him to.]

[The trick, really, is not to fidget. She wants to; the impulse is always to fuss, to touch the ends of her hair or smooth invisible wrinkles out of her skirt, to find something and decide that it isn't quite perfect and then fixate on it to mentally undermine the whole image. It'd be easy to decide she doesn't know what to do with her hands, or get self-conscious about the angle of her shoulders, or to press her lips together to feel the color smoothed across them in perfect lines.

And the temptation to do any or all of those things, it all stems from the notion that this isn't right for her somehow, that she's playing dress-up or make-believe and pretending at something that she knows full well is a fantasy.

But Caesar's looking at her like he might fall over, and there's nothing feigned about that. It's entirely genuine, and that means she must be entirely genuine, too.

What an amazing feeling that is.

So her voice comes soft, but sweet, with a smile creeping at the artful corners of her pretty red mouth.]

...So di essere bella, quando si guarda a me in quel modo.

[Honestly, even if she did fidget, he probably wouldn't notice. That is, he'd see it, because he pays careful attention to everything she does - everything she does is important and valuable to notice - but it wouldn't take away a single thing.]

[She's perfect - for him, but not just for him, perfect in general. What few brain cells are still actually working are telling him maybe he shouldn't be staring so much, but they're also telling him that maybe he should, because look at her looking at him back, loving all the looking, basking in it . . . maybe that's a good thing.]

[He turns it over in the back of his mind and decides it is. Anyway - he doesn't think he could look away even if he tried.]

[His mouth is, frankly, a little dry. But he is trying.]

Sei troppo bella. Non so cosa guardare prima. Non so cosa baciare prima. Troppo perfetta . . .

[Call that her cue to turn in a slow circle, the hems of her dress sweeping dangerously close to the platform beneath her feet as she makes a slow, easy revolution for him.]

Non voglio cantare per chiunque, ma voi. Quindi non lo farò. Sarà...solo per voi.

[She whispers, soft and maybe just a little bit overcome herself.]

Suzie . . .

[Jesus Christ. Okay, fuck this. He leans up towards her on his tiptoes, his eyes raking over her.]

Si desidera che il brano sia un segreto, non è vero? Fino a stasera. Ma non ho ancora di baciarti?

You'd better.

[She moves her hands at last, using the height the little stage affords her to her best advantage, and catching his face in them like he'd held hers before.]

That's the price, for looking at me like that.

[He tilts his head up towards her, his expression lazy and pleased and a little hypnotized. Her hands are soft on his face. He'd go anywhere she told him to go.]

That's the price . . . ? What's the price for wanting to eat you up?

[But he doesn't bother to wait for an answer. He likes this, not so secretly, he likes being the tall one but he likes the opposite, too, because it allows him to lean up into her and let her see how absolutely devastated he is, to slide one hand around her waist and rest the other at the back of her neck and kiss her like he's never going to get another chance to. She wants to be a movie star - let her have her movie star kiss, let her have a hundred of them, let her get everything she wants because she deserves it.]

[And indeed, she really is about to answer, except that then he's kissing her and all thoughts of that go right by the wayside, along with all thoughts of pretty much any other nature, because they can't possibly be of any importance next to the fact that she's being kissed breathless and Caesar is going to come away with red on his mouth.

If someone were watching them right now, who would they really be more jealous of? Suzie's honestly not sure at the moment, because Caesar's kisses make a resounding case for it going either way.

But when he does let her have a chance to breathe, when she already feels like she's going to float away from the dreamy lightness that's settled around her, he does get his answer after all.]

Are you a wolf now? What big eyes you have.

[He does indeed come away with red on his mouth; the way he licks his lips indicates that he's perfectly aware of it and absolutely pleased by it, and the way he leans slightly in towards her indicates that he'd be fine with a little more. Still, if she wants to talk, she can talk. Let her get everything she wants - even if what she wants is to tease him.]

Is that what you want me to be?

[He's a breath away, eager to pull her close, unwilling to do so without her go-ahead. God, this and the singing is going to really kill him. His eyes aren't nearly big enough.]

Maybe.

[Yes. Probably? Definitely. And she doesn't catch it at first, why he's holding back that extra little bit, not until she really looks at him and realizes in a dizzying moment of clarity that really, honestly, he'd eat out of her palm if she asked him to, he trusts her and loves her so much that all he wants is to make her happy and he's looking to her to be his guiding star for how to do that.

And so she reminds herself that she has to take good care of him in exchange, always, because that's the way that it goes, she is protected and protects him by giving him something to feel this way about, and that's important, that matters so much.]

Are your teeth as big as your eyes?

[It's . . . funny. Suzie, for all her distractability and indecisiveness, is the cleverest of all of them. She knew first, before either of them, what she wanted and where the problems lay, and he can see her now, the way she looks at him and sees him just like that, like it's nothing, like he's laid bare for her, and maybe he is. Maybe he really is that transparent.]

[With someone else it might bother him. With her it just feels natural. She should see to the heart of him; it's part of why he loves her.]

[His thumb strokes the back of her neck, and he sighs, just this side of longing.]

My teeth are almost as stunning as you are.

Then I must be stunning. And you must really want to gobble me up.

[She runs her hand through his hair, brushing it back more for the sake of stealing the chance to feel the strands than out of any real assistance toward keeping it away from his face.]

You can. I want you to. So the price for that is...you have to put me back the way I was, after.

[The way she touches him edges on reverent. It means more from her than it would from someone who was seeking to take from him only, even though that was once all he'd allow himself. There's some kind of effortless push and pull here, so much that she wants from him but so much that she wants for him, too. Maybe the most stunning thing about her is her generosity.]

[Not that he isn't particularly thrilled by the way she's looking at him, too.]

. . . I don't think I can do you any kind of justice, Suzie. You're too perfect for me to recreate. But I can try.

[He leans in and brushes his nose against hers, kisses her light and teasing and fleeting, but he doesn't move much away. If he moves away, he'll lose touch with the sweet smell of her hair, and he doesn't feel like backing down from that particular indulgence right now.]

...You can.

[And then it's interrupted, albeit in the most pleasant of ways but still technically interrupted, by a kiss that she feels the irresistible urge to devote her full attention to — so she does, she drinks in the gentleness and feels it all the more significantly because of the way her focus leads her to absorb every least bit of nuance, and it makes her want to sigh her satisfaction, so she does.

She keeps brushing at his hair, following the curve of his head back and around toward the nape of his neck, halfway to petting him and always treating him as sweetly as she can.

But when she does find her voice again, when there's the space for it, she cradles the back of his head in her hands and finishes the thought with gentle adoration.]

You can, because you're perfect for me.

[Oh. That always takes him aback. Every time. The prospect of himself being perfect for anyone is strange, much less someone like Suzie, who he always thought of as deserving the best.]

[But she'd never lie to him, would she. Even the way she touches him is unflinchingly honest, not even the little kinds of lies that he passes back and forth with Joseph, no-I-don't-like-you-but-don't-ever-leave-me. She just loves him with everything she has until he feels like the center of the universe.]

[It's the best feeling there is.]

[She deserves everything - glamour and romance and spontaneity and devotion. And because she deserves all of these things, he's careful with her, his hand on the curve of her hip certain not to bunch up her dress, the fingers at her hairline delicate in an effort not to disturb what he knows must have taken time. He lifts her off the stage and into his arms with effortless grace and attention to ensuring that her heels don't scuff the edge.]

[When he holds her close and kisses her, it's devoted, but it's also greedy. Because she deserves someone to guard her jealously, to hold her up and let her worry if she needs to worry, unwind if she needs to unwind. She's strong, but that doesn't mean she doesn't need strength. So he kisses her with hunger, and he holds her like letting go of her would hurt, and it would, because she's a part of him he didn't know he was missing.]

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