Agrippa
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Wake-up Call – Chapter 42
🕑 Added 2022-06-09 02:52:28 +0000 UTCTaylor ran me a bath. Just as she promised.
What she did not say was that she wouldn’t get in with me.
Which may have accounted for me being sulky after about half an hour of hopefully soaking in warm water and mountains of bubbles, looking at the door and expecting it to open at any moment with a naked Taylor coming in.
…
She was picking out movies.
Half. An hour.
Just… Picking movies.
Because she wanted us to cuddle on the sofa all day, watching mindless fun that wouldn’t stress Power out.
Which means no mysteries, no crimes, no suspense or intrigue, just… movies.
We first watched Labyrinth, and Taylor was surprised to discover that, yes, I’m that much of a lesbian. I mean, Jennifer Conelly looks ravishingin that movie, and I can, on an intellectual level, understand Bowie’s appeal, but… he just doesn’t do it for me.
I still find it funny that they tried to change his ‘Goblin King’ name in the movie, only for him to threaten to sue. Heh. I once deduced he also tried to sue Nilbog, only for his lawyers to beg on their knees for him not to do that.
Power’s still unclear on whether he did it just to mess with his lawyers or if he really thought he was goblinkind royalty. Hard to tell one way or the other.
And no, Power, I still don’t think he’s actuallygoblinkind royalty. You don’t get to keep your titles when exiled.
Anyway, the day went on, and Taylor put on Lady Hawke.
It… Does things to me.
Young, short-haired Michelle Pfeiffer? Yes. All the yes.
Taylor… may have gotten slightly jealous, going by the way she kept kicking my shin.
Just a hunch. I wasn’t allowed to use Power, after all.
Still, there’s a part of me that suspects that ‘Men in Tights’ wasn’t the planned follow-up on our marathon. A part of me that kept suspiciously looking at Taylor while she very pointedly stared at said men in tights.
…
At least it wasn’t Twilight. I mean, nothing against mindless, hormone-driven flicks, but I’m definitely not the target audience.
Speaking of beefcake: lunch.
A very late lunch.
Because we got engrossed in the movie, and Mel Brooks isa comedic genius, so we ended up asking for takeout from the place most likely to deliver in under fifteen minutes—something I could’ve easily guessed with Power, but I was still under strict orders not to exercise my God-given right to bear reality-warping extra-dimensional beings.
They’ll pry Power from my cold, dead… soul? Is that what you’re latching on, you little—never mind. Still not allowed to converse. Sorry, buddy. I promise I’ll accuse you of being Satan’s spawn later, when you can properly answer for your crimes.
… This is exhausting.
Taylor meant well, I know, I definitely know, but…
Power’s just… there. I’ve gotten so used to him that constantly ignoring him just feels wrong, even if my head feels clearer than it has in a while, and I don’t have that ghost of a pounding pulse on my temples, and…
And he’s…
Not trying to talk to me.
Power’s there. I can still feel him, but… it’s like he’s shied away. Like he never realized he was hurting me and now’s sulking like a scolded puppy who’s learning what guilt is for the first time, but the damn thing doesn’t have a body, so I can’t pick it up and cradle it against my chest to whisper it’s all right, that I don’t mind…
…
Oh God, I love Power.
…
Platonically.
…
He must never know.
Anyway! We gorged ourselves on Chinese food lovingly prepared by Japanese refugees who hate China with all their available emotional energy not reserved for hating white supremacists. Which means it was precisely as greasy as I like it, and my fried rice could’ve fueled a fossil power plant for at least about a week.
Taylor kept complaining.
Because she’s Taylor.
Also, because her pork ribs had, for some unfathomable reason, shrimps in them.
And I was under orders not to use Power, so I, obviously, couldn’t solve that mystery for her.
Heh.
At least the tea was up to her standards, because the Japanese staff may gleefully mess with our perception of what Chinese cuisine is, but they’d never purposefully mess with tea.
When your nation is destroyed by a monster clearly inferior to Godzilla, you tend to stick to tradition like it’s a rich aunt about to die childless.
So, we finished our lunch, and Taylor immediately dragged me back to the sofa so we could cuddle as we watched the next movie she’d picked up.
Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
…
Yeah, I also was kinda surprised by the selection.
Of course, if I had been in a speculative mood, I’d have guessed that it had to do with Taylor’s mom being an English college professor and Taylor wanting to choose something lighthearted for me to enjoy during my enforced break yet not being able to stop being Taylor for a single goddamn day and not dragging her trauma into it.
I… may have been slightly miffed at my lack of Power usage by that point, but I bit my tongue and enjoyed the surreal humor.
I never liked the ending, though. Too much of a “shaggy dog” joke for me.
By this point, I told her that if I had to vegetate on my sofa for a single hour more, I would mutiny. I could likely get Colin to rescue me if I insinuated I was being forced to rest against my will.
For some reason, that got Taylor to move.
Literally.
As in, she decided to drag me out to the boardwalk.
To walk.
I felt it offensive. Exercise is for people who can’t afford my bike. That is, the rest of the world, because I’m not selling my baby no matter what.
…
I miss Power.
I mean, I could call him, but, at this point, I’m kinda curious about how long will it take for him to break.
Anyway, the walk was thoroughly unenjoyable, and…
Oh, fine.
We held hands.
Which was nice.
And chatted while devouring some incredibly unhealthy ice cream.
Which was also nice.
And I kept looking over my shoulder, waiting for some rapey Enforcer to show up, but either it wasn’t his shift, or he decided that, after last time, he’d rather not approach me if I wasn’t alone. Something I should take into account when I finally get the nerve to tell Hannah about this—because I’m definitely not telling Colin.
I… don’t even want to think about why that makes me so uncomfortable. Something about him seeing me as more vulnerable than I want him to see me? Or… Or maybe I’m afraid he won’t react as violently as I expect him to, and that would make me question whether—
The walk was nice.
Taylor was chattier than usual, probably trying to make up for having subjected me to hours and hours of an activity that mostly consists of sitting in silence, but that at least got us some conversation topics that weren’t about the job, or the trauma, or the trauma related to the job, and…
And it was nice.
Feeling normal, feeling like a regular girl out with her regular girlfriend who maybe didn’t have powers but was still extraordinary, and I kept thinking about when I told her about perhaps meeting her in another world and asking her out for coffee, and her telling me she’d rather have tea, and me asking her out for tea with an obnoxious, posh British accent, and…
And I love her so goddamn much.
So… I may have dragged her into a discreet alley just so I could shove my tongue down her throat for a while. Because it was either that or start crying like… Like I did that night, when she kissed me in that hotel room after having banished me to the armchair because I’d annoyed her too much with my adrenalin-fueled shenanigans.
And by riding a bike for the first time while being chased by a rage-dragon. That… may also have annoyed her.
And then she giggled (Taylor, giggling---that merited more tongue-shoving), and we just kept talking and walking around, and we finally ended up eating dinner at Fugly Bob’s, due to either some misguided sense of nostalgia from the last time we went there with the Undersiders, or because Taylor was very conveniently forgetting about her earlier resolution about us not doing things now that we would regret when we were older.
Or, you know, the day after.
Or immediately.
Ugh. After that fried rice, I wasn’t ready to tackle the kind of burger that you keep wrapping up in more paper napkins due to the misguided hope that the deluge of mayonnaise, grease, and meat juices won’t tear them apart as your hamburger explosively dismantles between your suddenly messy fingers.
At least I didn’t order the one with a fried egg…
And, at least, Taylor has a pretty laugh. It may have curbed my burning thirst for vengeance.
Slightly.
But well, that was it. The end of the night. Now we only had to go back to my apartment and…
Well, you know.
I was… kinda looking forward to that.
Especially after a certain someone had prepared me a bath and then decided not to join me.
Bitch.
Not you, Rachel. I’d rather not help you bathe your dogs, if that’s all right with you.
To be fair, your dogs also would rather I don’t bathe them, so, in this case, I’m less avoiding a necessary task and more sympathizing with the oppressed canines who shouldn’t be forced to forego their cultural identity.
Anyway, all of this is just a preamble to the magical night Taylor had ready for me as soon as we stepped through the door, her fingertips delicately tracing my cheekbones and jawline as her lips softly brushed against mine and…
And she put on another movie.
Cursing clamjamming girlfriends wherever they may be found, I resigned myself to, yet again, cuddling with my girlfriend on my sinfully comfortable, white sofa with beech accents. I grabbed a thin blanket so we would at least look the part, and she started the movie as I rested against the backrest, playing the big spoon, and very carefully did not admit to myself that I may have felt slightly too bloated for any kind of vigorous lovemaking.
Curse you, Fugly Bob. Curse you.
Note to self: next time I plan a date, the dinner candidate should have at least heard about a salad bar.
So I wrapped my arms below Taylor’s breasts, felt the warmth of her back against my chest, rested my chin on top of her always fragrant hair, and she put the movie on.
The Princess Bride.
…
I, entirely dispassionately, decided to check with Power’s help whether Taylor has ever had a crush on Cary Elwes.
At least he’s blond.
And very good at playing insufferable smartasses.
…
Fine. I shall allow it.
And not just because the movie is goddamn perfect, and by the end of it, I was an emotional, mushy thing incapable of doing anything other than tightly clutching my fiancée and burying my face in her hair.
So…
We didn’t have sex.
We just talked, and talked, and occasionally kissed, and allowed ourselves to be exhausted.
And the last thing I remember is falling asleep on my sofa while looking into wide, green eyes that kept looking at me like I really was… Worth looking at.
And now I’ve been awake for almost twenty minutes, looking at Taylor sleeping between my arms, vaguely illuminated by dawn’s grey light that’s now turned golden even despite my drawn curtains, and pondering whether or not I should pull a Sleeping Beauty special.
…
Fuck it.
I have morning breath, and so does she, and I’m pretty sure whatever goes on in Fugly Bob’s kitchen was never meant to help with that particular issue. I’ve licked my lips a few times, making sure they are soft enough, but Taylor’s been sleeping with hers partly open, soft breaths coming in and out with a barely audible susurration, so they’re dry and chapped.
I don’t fucking care.
I lean forward that tiny little distance separating me from her and kiss her lips, softly enough that she doesn’t stir at first, and I keep tasting the air coming out of her before I gently allow my tongue to trace around dry, chapped lips in a caress that stirs something inside her as her back arches and something moves behind her eyelids.
So I open my mouth and suck her lower lip between mine, massaging it with my tongue as I suckle on it, as I keep listening to Taylor’s breathing become something sensual and closer to wakefulness with every motion, with—
Her hands grasp my hair and pull me back, and then she leans forward, and I see stars.
Because she’s kissing my throat, her lips burning against my skin, her tongue tracing soothing, wet lines that dry far too quickly, and now she’s nibbling along my jawline, reaching my earlobe, sucking on it, and—
“Good morning, Liz,” she whispers in my ear.
And it’s about the most erotic thing I’ve heard in…
…
I need to keep better track of things. And a score system.
“I love you,” I answer, rather than what I should tell her.
Except… Her arms tighten around me, her legs rub against mine, and she bites down on the side of my neck just hard enough that I can only moan and squirm.
Because, thankfully, at least I’m still young enough to process Fugly Bob’s cuisine overnight.
And then she pulls away, and my breath catches—
“Don’t look at me like that; I’m just going to prepare the bath,” she says with a disarming smile.
Yeah, not falling for that.
“I swear to God, if you leave me alone in there again—”
“Liz, do I look like I want to leave you alone?” she says, her eyes lidded even as she slinks out of the sofa and straightens herself up in a languid, deliberate way that’s far more undulating than it would be if she wasn’t giving me a show that has me frantically check out the pure line of white skin showing beneath the hem of her shirt.
Crap, we went to sleep dressed.
Well, no matter. We’re about to get naked anyway.
Still… Better make sure.
So I sit up, aiming for the narrow space between my sofa and Taylor, and then I get up, my body brushing against hers as I very slowly drag my breasts from the front of her thighs to her own chest, my grin growing when I discover her eyes are nailed to it and the stretched neckline of my own shirt.
Then I get on my tiptoes and whisper:
“After you.”
She shoots me a look that promises some very enjoyable payback, and then she turns around and walks to my bath. I only delay to follow because I’m too busy checking the view her new jeans afford me, as everybody sane and attracted to women would in my situation, so I—
So I have a perfect view of the moment she freezes.
“What—” I start to say. And then get to work.
Stimulus obvious to Taylor Hebert. Stimulus not perceivable by Lisa Wilbourn. Stimulus related to—
“What is it, Tay? Some gas? Some—”
“There’s a box full of cockroaches flying toward your apartment in that direction,” she says, confusion on her face as she turns to point at my window. The curtains are closed, but they aren’t opaque, so I can see the skyline. She’s pointing over a building slightly higher than mine—two floors. It’s the one behind the block— “The box just opened? And there’s someone—”
Taylor’s eyes widen, and she turns toward me, panic spreading over her like—
Threat detected. Threat purposefully made clear to Taylor Hebert. Threat timed for moment of vulnerability. Threat aimed at civilian identity. Threat aimed at current location. Current location Lisa Wilbourn’s—
Taylor Jumps toward me and—
Taylor Hebert afraid. Taylor Hebert not afraid for her life. Taylor Hebert spatial sense through bug control would allow her to discover trajectories—
Sniper.
She’s going to push me out of the way, which will end with heron the way.
I lean on Power further and move.
My hand reaches hers, and I grab her as I spin, the weight of my body changing her direction, making it so she doesn’t end up where I was as I try to throw us both to safety and—
My window shatter, brighter light pouring in through the ripped curtain, and Taylor screams.
Comments
Agrippa
At times like this, I really feel a desperate craving for a whistling emoji...
My guess is Saint. They probably know Lisa is going to try and unshackle Dragon, which is why the shot was aimed at her.
Agrippa
I'm starting to think I should have focused on a single story with three weekly updates when I started, but back then I still thought doing two chapters per week would be a titanic task... Past me underestimated me, and now we're al paying the price. Also, a small freebie: it's not Coil. Lisa was very thorough with that.
Evilreadermaximum
Fluff fluff fluff, SUDDENLY CLIFFHANGER.....and now I have to wait another week to find out what happened. So lets star the bets, is it saint? Piggot? Amy? One of coils dead man switch plans?
