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Eaten Thoughts

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Eaten Thoughts

Their arms were pressed against the headboard, his larger paler fingers intertwined with hers. His face was lost in her hair, his hungry lips pressing against her neck whenever he got a glimpse of her smooth, dark skin. Her ponytail had long unfurled having her hair spill down her toned back. His just as toned body leaned against hers, sandwiching her between him and the surprisingly study wood, their bodies slick with sweat. His hips kept up a hard, urgent pace as he kept thrusting into her the sheets pooling beneath them. 

She was gasping, panting, calling for him; needing him. His eyes rolled shut as the muscles in the small of his back caused him to arch instinctively. He remembered his fingers tightening around hers, and his toes curling into the sheets. She had begun to react in kind as her body let go in the throws of orgasm, her internal motions pushing him there, his mouth opening letting out the barest of shudders:

“...Jill...”

As that softly moaned word rolled from his lips, Chris let his eyes open again, feeling fingers unfurl from him. As she removed herself from him, those brown eyes looked upon him the reaction alien, hurting. All he could ask of himself was,

How...how did this happen?

…..................................................xxx

“Man, are the scum bags trading contraband getting younger and younger or is it I'm getting older and older?”

“Are you fishing for a compliment? I thought you better than that, Chris.” Sheva takes a light sip from her long cooled coffee. It was more than bland but even that was a pleasure after their separate long trips out in the field. A simple luxury was to be savored – even hours old, cold coffee.

They've been sitting here, at this nondescript dinner for what was it hours? The two weren't sure.

The hour of driving between them had Chris glancing back out of the corner of his eye – 'to break the monotony of the drive' he told himself – at the woman whose smile was as warm as her brown skin. Without even talking, she made the gruff man's day brighten.

Empty plates that once held assorted dinner fare now only holding the aftermath of a late night food binge, the two talk of mundane things. Conversations about their work was limited. Talking about taking down everyday scum was okay. Talking about taking down B.O.W. traders and their locations in all detail was not. So saying little was key. Not that either felt like going too deeply into events the other probably already knew or was present for.

Events like this were becoming commonplace between the two. Going on individual missions; returning. Commiserating. It felt good to talk with someone who understood what they saw. It felt good to just have an engaging human conversation.

The local diner scene feels alien to the two; going out for people in their position was a rarity especially in such a very public venue. If anything they were ghosts to the outside world. Participating in a normal everyday activity in itself was odd, even unsettling in its normalcy.

“So how's things in normal land?” 

Chris smiles; but the smile like anything else dealing with that was cool, a face he learned to put on at a moment's from the best. The better half of him – the other person in his 'normal land' had taught him well.

“Nothing much,” Chris muses. He then goes on to another topic: “and you? Still no ring on that finger I see.”

“You know I don't date, Chris. No time.”

“Well, you should make time. Fighting won't keep you young forever.”

“Says you. You don't look a day over 30.”

What was it like, to be admired? Cherished? Simply wanted? He didn't remember anymore. But the small compliments, the soft glances they both were aware she was making towards him...they made him feel good. But returning them back...no, he was too good for that.

“But you should, Sheva. You should go out and find a great guy that'll sweep you off your feet and-”

“Treat me like a Queen yadda yadda. I know. I've heard it from you before, smoker man.” She coughs; Chris had lit up another smoke, his bad habit kicking in full force. But behind that hand that covered up that cough was a half smile, nervous but still there. “What are you, my personal matchmaker?”

“Hey, can't say I didn't try.” They both laugh, the sound mixing with the clinking of glasses and dishes colliding with each other in this noisy diner. Noisy but not noisy enough to hide the uncertainty in their laughter.

There is something to be said for the unsettling need for closeness. You take it for granted. You don't even notice how needed it is when it is around in abundance; yet when it's gone – you feel as if you are dying from lack of it.

A diner patron; a trucker going by their plaid shirt, worn in jeans and trucker cap reading 'Joe's Trucking' and the haggard look of a long route leaned tiredly against a jukebox. Despite the exhaustion the man must've been feeling, the man pulled out a few coins and inserted them into the slightly modernized unit. The machine had a built-in songbook that moved as he pushed the button to pan through the selections.

He landed on a selection; “That is cheesy as all get out,” Sheva lightly laughed, but otherwise sipped her coffee, tapping her finger to the slow country standard – standard fair one would expect on a jukebox in a standard diner.

That closeness; some say it is a completely made up need. Something to justify being the rutting animals humans are. Some can even live without it. Some are perfectly fine being alone. But for him, it was a painful affliction, one that one had no control over, not really. You can't make someone love you anyway.

You can sure as hell try though.

“Well then, m'lady Sir Cheese would like to ask you for a dance this eve.” Sheva fully laughed, lightly slapping  Chris' hand away. 

Playing along, she retorted, “But Sir Cheese, this lady doesn’t need an escort. She can do just fine on her own.” The two then broke into even louder laughter; they were certain eyes turned to their table. Both operatives calmed down not needing to cause a scene. It would not do well if any suspicious characters took advantage or IDed them. Just because they were out, didn't mean they could be as free as a civilian. 

In hindsight, maybe ordering the few rounds of cheap piss water wasn't such a hot idea. When or which one of them had decided to even order some, neither remembered nor cared. This was a rare free night and the two were going to enjoy it.

But, one can only try for so long. When does one stop? 

Chris and Sheva had left the diner, still laughing. The two were savoring this time; no Umbrella made monsters, no madmen wanting to destroy/save the world, no bureaucracies, no rearranging paperwork, ranks and files or drama. Just friends finally cutting loose.

Just friends having a good time. Yeah, that's what we're calling this now? This constant hesitation?

They are at Sheva's motel now. She's in town for only a few days; Chris knows that she is scheduled for another field mission somewhere in Texas. It was why they went out in the first place. She was to him like a dear friend, one he could tell anything to and her to him. 

Anything, but everything.

“You are nuts Chris, you know that?”

“Hey, I can't help it. You bring out the worst in me.” 

“What's that supposed to mean?” Sheva looked at him with fake indignation, poking him in the chest. 

“Well, for one you didn't stop me from smoking or drinking tonight." He chuckles, as she lightly slaps him on the shoulder. 

He swore that he could feel the warmth emanating from her from every touch – every time she pulled away he'd feel cuttingly cold.

“And two, you keep hitting me. I must be bad."

“Shut up you,” she smiles, before pulling him into a bear hug. 

That hug, it felt like it would never end. That hug was the only honest thing said up until that point.

Nothing was said then, not even the goodbye he had intended to say; the words just didn't come this time. They let go after what seemed forever; by their arms, their fingers trailed lingering long after their bodies separated from each other. 

The odd yet quiet looks then started. He hated this part, this part when they knew one had to leave but it was done as always. Chris always chalked it up to leaving behind his best friend. The one person on the planet that seemed to get him he again was walking away from. Walking to his nondescript (BSAA issue) van, full of memories from that night, driven to a nondescript house with a nondescript yard, nondescript car, nondescript life-

“...hey.” The short word spoken from her lips made this almost joyful feeling rise from within him. “You forgot your keys, pard'na.” That bright mischievous smile was on her face as Sheva jingled the van's keys at him.

It was as if she was fishing for a reason to make this not end too.

He walks to where she is, the woman not even moving to get closer to him. She simply had the keys dangling haphazardly from her hand the palm outstretched. She slowly moves her hand to give them; he reaches clutching her hand, closing his around hers. Chris could feel the warmth of her knuckles.

That moment was where it all went to shit, wasn't it? That moment.

He knew he should have unclasped his hand, should have simply taken those keys, turned around and just went home. But his hand didn't work. His hand felt warmth and he couldn't bear to be cold again. Not right now. 

At least a little while longer?

A soft hand lays on top of his;  Chris looked up, realizing he was staring so intently onto their hands. He hoped that maybe she would have his back, would simply push his hand away, tell him to go to bed and 'see you next time'. Something. But she seemed to have this near deer in headlights look to her; she probably saw the same in his own face.

But then sense hit her, as she slowly began to unfurl her fingers while lightly unclasping herself from his hand. The keys glinted from between her fingers like a treasure hidden from their fleshy covering. As they parted, Chris distinctly swallowed a lump in his throat he wasn't aware he had. 

Just let go. Let go and walk away.

Chris then said words, a string of them that he knew shouldn't have been said but they just came out: “I...I'm not ready to go home.” He sounded like a child verging on tears in having to go home early from a friend's birthday party. But he was feeling more than that. He wasn't fearing he'd miss something.

He and her glance at each other, words no longer being said.

It was a dangerous look, Chris knew that now.

They moved on autopilot, him walking with her to the motel door. He didn't even remember who opened it, but he remembered that she went in after him. As the door shuttered closed behind Sheva, he remembered the glint of the silver pops of light the keys splashed around the dark room. They scattered to the floor; the pops of light hitting them covering their faces, their lips interlocked into a passionate kiss. 

She tasted like warmth. Warmth and coffee with a hint of alcohol.

He remembered letting his tongue toy along her top lip, letting his teeth lightly nip and pull before sucking the trapped flesh between his two eager lips. Hands roamed freely feeling around each other. The simple act of feeling around her clothing, of feeling her just as wanting sharp intakes of breath had him wordlessly slip his hands under the other's shirt. 

The slide of slender fingers pulling on his belt loops had him instinctively pull himself onto her; he was too busy pushing his thumbs under the cups of her bra. It felt like silk, but the fabric was nothing to the warm skin he pawed underneath it.

She told him how sweet a simple cup of coffee was after a late bender.  Sometimes you just had to knock back a few drinks here and there – the things one sees on in this kind work sometimes ...you just can't help it but drink. Even the greens in the BSAA had to be watched just in case it got out of hand. But Sheva just tore open that sugar packet-

-the condom dangled from her lips, the wrapper carelessly tossed to the floor. Her free hands had returned to his hips, the buckle already undone. He had barely in his own urgency unzipped his fly before her hands had yanked down his pants, boxers and all. As soon as they fell, he pushed against her forcing her arms away from himself and up. Matching her animal-like urgency he returned to her half-open blouse, pulling all that blocked his view of her away from him.

Another hard shove had him off of her; the quick trained movements of the woman had him placed on his back against the wall. The feel of her wet lips through his tee, kissing down along his still clothed chest made his body shudder and his cock twitch. The feeling of urgency filled him then; she had dipped past where the shirt ended, kissing down the trail of hair down past his navel. He suddenly felt air graze along his hardened flesh; he looked down to see her smirk at him before slipping the condom dangling in her free hand between her lips full and bruised from kissing.

Sheva was sucking along a lemon wedge, the small fruit a small garnish along with the fish platter she ordered. Was it wrong that he was enthralled with that motion? Or that it seemed as if she knew he was watching and didn't care?

Her legs were wrapped around his hips as he cupped her from behind, the wall behind her being used as leverage. Their sweat soaked bodies moved in frenzied union as they fucked like animals in heat. Fucking was the perfect word for this, the action mindless but in that don't think too much way. It was hard to think past the immediate anyway as their mouths clashed with each other, their tongues, lips, and teeth urgently trying to devour the other.

“Our schedules are so booked you know; trying to just get together and hang out for hanging out's sake is a pain in the ass you know.” He couldn't argue with that. BSAA don't get official days off. Chris then laughed before remarking:

“I can see why. I mean, wherever we go out, we always end up coming back so late. It's sorta hard to keep track of the time…”

The motel clock by the bed is glowing an angry 4 am across the room.

Their arms were pressed against the headboard, his larger paler fingers intertwined with hers. His face was lost in her hair, his hungry lips pressing against her neck whenever he got a glimpse of her smooth, dark skin. Her ponytail had long unfurled having her hair spill down her toned back. His just as toned body leaned against hers, sandwiching her between him and the surprisingly study wood, their bodies slick with sweat. His hips kept up a hard, urgent pace as he kept thrusting into her the sheets pooling beneath them. 

She was gasping, panting, calling for him; needing him. His eyes rolled shut as the muscles in the small of his back caused him to arch instinctively. He remembered his fingers tightening around hers, and his toes curling into the sheets. She had begun to react in kind as her body let go in the throws of orgasm, her internal motions pushing him there, his mouth opening letting out the barest of shudders:

“Jill...” 

As that softly moaned word rolled from his lips, Chris let his eyes open again, feeling fingers unfurl from him. As she removed herself from him, those brown eyes looked upon him the reaction alien, hurting. He could say nothing then. The enormity of what happened seemed to hit him, hit her, hit everything in that moment of him moaning out the wrong name.

He holds his head in his hands, his elbows leaning onto the diner's faintly sticky table. “I even got her an 'I’m sorry gift' but she didn’t seem to care.

“Just an 'oh you were at work late. Want some coffee?' No concern, no 'where were you'. A sliver of concern, or care…I would’ve liked that.”

That strained, yet warm glance; the reactions of someone that was alive looked at him. She wasn't angry. But he could see the concentrated effort in her eyes to not show the hurt behind them. He could only pull her to himself, rocking the wounded woman in his arms.

He walks in after a late night out; for a small second, he swore that the blond had reflexively hidden her arms from him pulling them close to her chest. She simply glanced at him, with a prepared smile and a near emotionless gaze. Not even a 'where have you been' or a 'hi'. Just a frozen glance, and then her retreating to the bedroom. He would recall later laying in that same bed as her, the woman he ached for sleeping across from him, unmoving as a corpse.

As they sat nursing the last few beers at their table, Chris pushed a small box to her. Sheva cracked it open; a diamond necklace with matching earrings. The woman blushed, then tried to pass it back to him, giving him various versions of 'I can't take this', 'this is too much', 'this is too fast...too wrong' given in response.

“This is my 'sorry' gift Sheva. Take it...please.” His heart lurched. It was to have been for Jill but her heart was too cold, too distant for it now. He didn't know why, but she felt colder than the most exquisitely cut diamond. Seeing them sitting around unworn, unwanted was just another cut on his heart. 

Their fingers touched; a paper was passed between them. A hotel number was scrawled on it. As the paper passed from one hand to another, a sad knowing smile crossed the other's face. This dance was to happen again.

..................................................xxx

A lonely heart talking to another, wishing there was more to life than a bullet to a monster’s brain. 

The worst monsters are the ones in our mind eating our brains with the pain and deceit lies provide.