pitythetrumper | (no subject)

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maureen

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It was pouring and he was drunk. Those were the only two thoughts he could keep in his head. No, three things. Pouring, drunk, and the fact that he fucking loathed Sergievsky. How Florence could have put up with him at all was something he didn't want to think about. It was lucky for him that he couldn't think. All he knew was his next destination was home, or at least what passed for home.

Nothing looked right, though. That cluster of trees. Wasn't it supposed to be over there? Or was he supposed to walk through them? Hell. He should have brought a drink back with him.

He closed his eyes, leaned back against a tree, and closed his eyes. He'd just stay for a little while. A few minutes.

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Maureen still thought she shouldn't. She couldn't help but think how prickly Patrick had been at the idea of Freddie living here... was she only proving that he had good cause?

Of course, she remembered, it wasn't as if they had ever explicitly said that they were exclusive. It was implied, sure, but...

God, he was a good kisser.

Retroactive sex.

"Well, let's get out of these wet clothes before we catch our deaths." Maureen had always been weak.

A part of Freddie wasn't entirely sure how he'd gotten here, since he'd mostly been leaning on her for support. A smaller, crushed part of him knew exactly how he'd gotten here and knew that this wasn't Florence. The rest of him, though, the majority of him that was drunk just didn't care. She looked like Florence and that was good enough for now.

Good enough that when she suggested getting out of the wet clothes, his shirt was up and off without another thought, completely forgetting about the pattern of scratches and bruises still covering his skin. He dropped it where he was and started toeing out of his shoes.

Maureen's mouth started to curl into a smile when she saw him tugging at his shirt - but then she saw the bruises.

"Oh, sugar!" She moved closer to him and slid a palm gently onto a clear spot on his chest. "Are you all right? You didn't fight with Roger again did you?"

Panic welled up in his chest until he firmly squashed it down. "No. Lex." His lips twisted into something resembling a smirk. "But don't worry. I gave as good as I got." It was a lie, but it didn't mean anything. Just like the fact that she'd called him 'sugar' and knew who Roger was. He pressed a hand over hers and moved his thumb gently. "I'm fine. Promise." His voice was just a touch lower.

Maureen's breath caught. She too was pushing down something unpleasant welling up in her chest... guilt.

But one of Maureen's problems had always been that she didn't tend to think with her chest. Or her head. But something much, much lower.

"It makes you look sort of... dangerous," she said with a small, quirked smile. The white dress was still hanging off of her, soaked with water. She was wearing light blue underthings underneath. They too were wet.

Freddie's lips curled up. "And you like that?" Well, then. He stepped forward and slid his fingers under the bottom of the dress. "You really should get this off. Cold, remember?" His hands started moving up her dress, trailing over the skin softly.

"It is," Maureen said softly. Then she pulled the wet dress easily over her head and dropped it to the ground.

Then she smiled and walked back toward her bedroom, assuming he'd follow.

Freddie had another moment where he could either turn and go or follow her in. A face flickered through his mind, but it was gone again before he could place it. He followed her in.

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