Hey Moon, Please Forget To Fall Down - Chino and Eliza
Who: flying_squirrel - Eliza Dushku, remanufacture - Chino Moreno
Where: Chino's condo
It is a full moon, and while Eliza doesn't believe in that crap where it affects your mood or whatever, she does find herself lying in her bed staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. She tosses and turns and each time she moves, she imagines Chino.
It's really fucking lame, but she can't help it. He's gotten to her. She thinks about him all the time, now. That little smile he has, the way he touches her, when he stutters and when he doesn't, all of it. The whole package. It's dangerous to feel this much. But she isn't willing to fight it, not right now.
And the more she thinks about him, the hornier she gets. She imagines she can feel his hands on hers and she groans, sitting up. Unable to remember the last time she was this worked up, she stands and goes to the window, naked. It's a clear night. He's a few miles away.
Moving quickly before she can change her mind, she pulls on a coat and sweatpants and boots. That's it. Then she's out the window. If he didn't unlock his window, like he said he was going to, it's going to be a quick trip.
As luck has it, the window's open and she slides it open, slipping inside and closes it. He's sleeping on his back, an arm over the covers. Watching him, she strips down and crawls into the bed next to him, then over him, kissing down his chest. He tastes like sweat-- he must've been skating, she thinks.
Sleep may come easier now than it did, say, four years ago, but that doesn't mean Chino sleeps deeply. A frown creases his face at the cold brush of wind through the open window, and he stirs when Eliza touches him. "Hey," he says, eyes still closed and voice heavy with sleep. "What t- time is it?" A hand comes up to touch Eliza's hair, to skim along her (bare? Isn't she wearing clothes?) shoulder. "You okay?" It's been a long day, working on the integrated dashboard in Mr. D's car, and hooking up the touch-sensors for the windshield. Eliza was right; he'd hit up Krush after work and matched his physical exhaustion to his mental. The bowl he'd smoked when Chino had gotten home pretty much did the trick. But Eliza's here, come in through the window, and she's curled up with him. Cannot complain.
"Like 2:30," she whispers, hands running down Chino's arms until their hands are laced together as she flicks at a nipple with her tongue. "I was thinking about you." I missed you, she doesn't say. She can't, as she works her way down his chest to the hollow of his stomach right over his hipbones.
"Kinda late to be thinking about- about me," Chino chides quietly before stretching taut and yawning. "What've you g- got on your mind there, huh?" The light from the moon casts enough of a silvery glow that she can see the way Chino smiles at her. "Y'leave in the morning and sh- show up in the middle of the night..." He doesn't want to tell Eliza that the box that's in his bedside table is empty.
"Are you complaining? Cuz I can stop," she offers, blowing a puff of air over his hardening cock still in his boxers. "I don't want to force myself on you."
Chino's smile, as sleepy as it is, broadens into a grin. "Force yourself on m- me. Sh- sure." The warmth of her breath has him shifting his hips, the outline of his cock clear against the thin cotton of his boxers. "Where are your clothes?" Chino tips up Eliza's chin so he can touch the bow of her mouth, the height of her cheek. "It's t- too cold to fly naked. Even as b- b- beautiful as you are."
"They're on your floor," she laughs in answer, opening the slit of his boxers so she could fish out his cock. "You'll just have to warm me up, like you promised to." She licks up the underside of his cock.
Chino pulls a deep breath, tipping his head back into his pillow, nodding loosely. "Yep. Y- yeah. Okay." He hooks his thumbs into the elastic of his boxers and pulls them down. "You're all the- all the way down there, though..."
"You want me to come up there?" she asks, smirk in her voice. "What if I like it down here?" Another flick of her tongue over the slit of his cock.
With another held breath, Chino's hips move again, and his hands find her hair. The feel of her mouth, her breath, even the tactile sensation of her words, are dreamy, twilit. "You c- can come wherever you- you want."
In the light that seeps in, she's pale, all creamy-skinned, with hair like silk and sin and eyes as dark as the night itself. It doesn't really come as much of a surprise to realize how badly he wants her.
With a soft gasp, she nuzzles against his groin, kissing skin, inhaling musk before she kisses back up his chest and straddles his cock pressing down on it so he can feel how wet she is. Her nipples are hard and her hands still in his as she bends down to whisper over his mouth, "Hi."
"Oh, shit." She's right there, and that's what Chino realizes first, even before Eliza speaks. "H- hi." His hands squeeze hers and he arches up to feel her body on his, cock brushing against her pussy.
Her breath catches and she gasps, heat ratcheting up like twenty degrees with that little slight movement. "I think we need a rubber," she purred against his mouth, before tracing his lips with the tip of her tongue.
Chino gets lost in kissing her, desperately wishing one of them will evolve fast enough to develop telepathy. Then he won't have to talk, to tell Eliza be doesn't have any. But that doesn't happen, so Chino pulls back to breathe, "I don't- I don't."
"You don't--" More kisses before it clicks. Groaning, Eliza lets her head fall to his shoulder. "Shit." Fuck, he feels so good. Fuck. She's on the ring-- she's not going to get knocked up, but if she suggests that-- would... he'd probably freak out. And it might blow her mind, too, to feel Chino like that. To be that close. Fuck. "Fuck."
But she can't stop, she needs him (and that terrifies her), turning her head to kiss his neck. "I want you."
"But I d- don't-" Yes, Chino. She knows. He looses a hand from hers, to drag his fingers down her spine, down the crack of her ass, and back up. "I know, I n- know... we can- I can do other stuff." God, as long as it involves touching her, it'll be just fine. "Whatever you- you want."
Whatever I want. She rocks against him one more time before lifting off and throwing the covers back completely, looking down at his body in the filtered light. "Damn," she whispers. He's amazing. Then, with a cock of her brow, she twists her hips and moves her body, bringing a knee over his head to straddle his face. Then she takes his cock in hand to angle it toward her mouth, tonguing over the head again.
Immediately, Chino's hands come up to the backs of Eliza's thighs, and his breath catches against the inside of her leg, and there's that word, hushed and almost awed. "Oh."
He tips his chin up, his exhale hot on her skin, and what starts as a caress to her leg turns into Chino bringing his hand in, slicking his fingers over Eliza's pussy.
"Don't tease," she warns-slash-pleads. "Fuck, Chino, your hands...." His hands make her crazy. She mouths up the side of his cock, kissing it, fucking practically worshipping it. It isn't fucking, but you can't get much more intimate than this, she realizes. And that makes her shiver.
But he does tease, just a little bit, just enough that her reaction startles a gasp from him, all give-and-take, and when Chino pushes two fingers into her, he groans, soft and broken, against the inside of Eliza's thigh. He wants to tell her to turn, to move so he can see her face, see reactions flutter over her like the wind through leaves, but all that comes out is a hushed, warm husk of her name. If they can't have that, then this will be good enough. More than good enough. Again, Chino tips his chin up, licking at where his fingers disappear into Eliza's body, then down to press the flat of his tongue against her clit.
"Oh, fuck," she gasps, hand moving over his cock because it's too good what he's doing-- it's all too good. When she can breathe again, only barely, she licks at him again, catching the tang of precome as it makes her mouth water, angling his cock so she can take more in, palming over his balls.
Again, Chino turns his face against Eliza's leg, panting in time with the push of his fingers, and when her hand cups him, he twitches against her tongue. "'liza. Eliza." He's tugging at her hip, trying to get her attention, trying to turn her. This is good, it's so fucking good, but it's distracting and a little awkward-angled, and- "E- Eliza?" All the while, still working his fingers in her, just to touch her, to feel her, slick and hot and wanting.
"Oh, my god, what." Panting herself, Eliza rests her forehead against his hip. "Chino, you're fucking making me crazy. Jesus Christ." Her hips are rocking, too, wanting more, wanting just how he touches her. "What?"
"Turn." He pulls his fingers out of her, still rubbing them between the folds of her pussy as he tries, one-handed, to get her to face him. This doesn't even feel real, even with the steep ache in his guts and the decadent curve of Eliza's body under his hands. "I want to- to." To be in you. To feel all of you.
With another, throaty, fucking needy groan, Eliza swings around and hovers over him. Her lips are slick with spit and precome and swollen and her hair falls around his face too. "What do you want?" She asks, and it's not harsh, but hopeful, nearly pleading. "Chino, don't tease me." But she doesn't give him a chance to answer, falling into kissing him, her mouth pressed to his in an way that is almost like fucking, her tongue plunging into his mouth where she can taste him and her. Her nipples brush his chest and she whimpers.
He may only have two hands, but they work quick and confident and sure, brushing her hair back, cupping her breasts, lightly pulling her nipples for a moment before moving down, to hold her hip, to hold himself, to guide his cock up and Eliza down. "Th- th. That." And then he's got his arm around her waist (tiny waist, she still feels like little more than air above him), holding her body to his, desperate for it, for skin to skin and nothing else. God, God, she's hot and wet, tight, and he feels it that much more with nothing between them. Finally, after drinking in the feel of her around him, he moves his hips, palm flat on the small of Eliza's back, guiding her down.
"Chino, FUCK!" Eliza marvels at how she doesn't lose her fucking mind at how good this feels. Her head feels loose on her neck and falls back, then forward so when she lifts up, she can watch his dick --just his dick -- disappear inside her and she can't help the breathless inarticulate noises she makes before she turns her gaze back on his face. "Chino," she whimpers. "Oh, fuck." Her expression is plaintive -- is this really happening? -- and searching, for what she doesn't know. "Oh my god."
Chino doesn't know what to say, how to put words or even sound to how she feels around him, and when Eliza's hips hit flush to his, he steadies her, rolling them on the bed so he's on top, looking down at her, breathless and flushed.
Staring up at him, ankles hooked around his hips, her chest heaving as she tries to breathe, she is terrified of all that she feels, of all this means. "Move," she whispers. "Just... Chino. Move." And don't ever stop.
He does, head bent forward so the shadows hide his face, flexing his hips slow, slow, measuring the way her body takes him, holds him, before drawing back, and in again. The only sound Chino makes is little rushed pants of air, and bracing his weight on one hand, he cards Eliza's hair back from her face so he can kiss her, as slow and deep as his hips move. This demands time-taking. This means something. It's not a casual fuck, it's not casual anything.
Cupping his face -- she didn't like it when he hid -- she kisses back, unable to keep herself from moaning and wanting, clenching around him as he draws out only to welcome him back in, curling her body up to take him deeper. He's got her in places that haven't seen light in more than ten years, in the parts of her that believe that people can be good and things can be right and real and good between two people, that there can be these feelings that exist that aren't horrible. Where it's okay to think that love can exist. She'd thought it was dead. But this, just maybe can feel like love.
As sure as the night will eventually brighten into day, the pace of Chino's body steps up, speeds up. It's so much, too much, but he's too far lost in Eliza to find himself, and god, he's gone so willingly. She's slipped into him somehow, into his thoughts and his words, and he takes her sounds like a gift, storing them away as he puts all his focus on her, how she feels, how she reacts. He pushes his hips, searching, reaching, breath humid and soft on her throat a moment before lips and teeth suck colour to the surface of her skin.
There's a tight sound that comes with that, as if pulled out by his mouth and Eliza shudders, hard, fingers tightening in his hair now. She can't catch her breath, only getting enough to make her slightly dizzy as she lets go with one hand to reach between them. One touch will do it-- one barely-there touch and she will scream, equal parts terror and longing and yes.
"Are you o-okay?" A hand extended, warm to help her up from the rough pavement. The light in her eyes and his head haloed by it. "Yeah," she'd said, staring, wide-eyed.
"Chino," she wails, her body going impossibly tight before unraveling under his like so much wire too tightly bound.
But Chino still holds Eliza to him, chasing his pleasure through hers, through the sound of her voice, silver-bright and slicing through the dark. He wants to tell her, wants to warn her, but it's on him too fast. He barely gasps out a sound before jerking his hips back, coming hot and slick and hard against the cut of her hip.
It's cold against her, and she's so empty, she pines for him already and she can't stop shaking and is still feeling light-headed and what they did. What it meant. She can't. It's too much. A hand in the middle of his chest, she pushes at him, turning to get off the bed, to get away. She's got come dripping down her leg and it's cold in here. She was a fool to come to do this. Rising to her feet, she sways, reaching for the wall to steady herself.
Too easy, she can imagine curling against him, the covers drawn up, sleeping, so sweet, so peaceful and good. "I gotta go," she mutters, taking a few staggered steps. To stay? Emotional martyrdom. To go, suicide. Either way, she falls on a knife. Best to do it alone.
"No. No- what? No." Chino's up as soon as she is, trying to gather the shattered bits of his brain back together so he can make her stay. "What- wh- why do you have to go?" It's him, he's sure of it. He should have been careful, they shouldn't have gone without, and now she's regretting it. Now she wants nothing more to do with him. Chino's hand finds Eliza's wrist and holds it, and he turns her toward him. He searches her face, something like hurt and unconscious betrayal lying on his features. "That was all y- you wanted, wasn't it."
"No, " she moans pulling at his grip. "Let me go!" If she doesn't go now, she won't ever until he rejects her for what she is. "No," she pleads so she won't cry and look so fucking weak.
She doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to be with him, Eliza has made that much crystal clear. That what they did had to have been some kind of monumental mistake, for her to be this upset, for her to push him away. "Why did you c- come here, then? Just to- to leave? D- do what you wanted w- w- with me, and leave?" His stutter trips him up, but the way it ramps up at her reaction goes to show how he feels, too.
Giving another brutal yank, trying to get free, Eliza can't help but meet his eyes and fire flares. "Fuck you if that's what you think!" It comes out shrieky and harsh. "Fuck you! You don't even fucking remember me and you fucking say that to me!" Her face is contorted, ugly feeling. "Fuck you!" Is she crying?! Fuck! She needs to get out.
Chino lets her go abruptly, and he states at her in the dark. "I don't know what to think!" He shouts back, stepping back from her. "You h- hide yourself from me!"
He scrambles for clothes, finding his discarded boxers on the floor. "I was t- twenty-two. I'd juh- just moved here." Chino's voice is low, shaking. "I was skatin' home from work... might have b- been March, it was still dark." Just like his eyes as he watches Eliza, the way she shakes, the tears that streak her skin like liquid metal. "I heard a crash." He sits on the edge of the bed, looking away from her, now. Chino's done a lot of very, very hard thinking about her, it seems. "You- you had a scrape on your- on your arm, and you l- looked so scared..."
Eliza goes still, eyes wide, heart thudding loud enough in her chest to be audible to Chino for sure. The roll of the wheels coming up, the sharp pain in her elbow, her knee, her hip, the scrapes on the palms of her hands from skidding to a stop. The way he helped her up, half-smiling, eyes warm, holding her hand as he touched her elbow.
It's her most precious memory. The one she's held on to since then, through everything. She can't speak, a small sound coming out through a throat that feels closed up tight.
He just looks at her, waiting for her to either leave... or stay. Chino doesn't say anything else. He's done talking.
"There were... some ...guys. Chasing me. I was trying to get away and tried to fly and ... I wiped out and that's when you found me, and you scared them away, by being there and..." A sob hiccups out as Eliza scrubs at her eyes with the back of her hand. "You s-saved me," she manages, and she's crying and should fucking run and she's so fucking exposed and vulnerable and shit. Fuck. Her hands stay over her eyes. She can't bear it.
"Sit." Chino contradicts himself by standing, gathering Eliza into his arms, resting his cheek on her hair. "You're s- safe. You don't- you don't have to leave." He has no idea what the connection is between what they've just done and her all but flying away is, but Chino's got her, he's holding her. He pulls her hands down from her face so he can pull back and look at her. "P- please don't go."
Weakly, she pushes at him, her muscles feeling like mush, her hands shaking. Vaguely she's aware that they're smearing come all over each other and how gross that is, and how crazy all this is. "Chino," she finally whispers, unable to look up.
That's what showers are for, even if right now they're both a little gooey. "What did I do? Eliza, you- you've gotta t- tell me." Confused doesn't quite describe it - she shows up in the middle of the night (a worknight, at that), wakes Chino up (and god, that was awesome), and then... this. All happening so fast that it feels like some kind of dream.
"You saved me." Eliza whispers it, head ducked so she can hide her face and wish to run away or curl against him, inside him, deep inside where she can't get out. "Please stop asking." The sound is harsh and broken.
He lets her hide, lets her do exactly what he said she does, but doesn't say anything. Chino only pets at Eliza's hair, snarled and disheveled from bed. "We need to clean up," he says finally. "C- co-op shower?" Please, please let her say yes. Don't let her run.
Rubbing over her eyes again with the heels of her hands, Eliza lets out a wet laugh. It's all so fucking absurd. Her arms come around his neck, mouth nuzzling his face until she finds his mouth. She's on her toes again and her hands are fisted and she can't let go, finally breathing over his lips, "okay."
She tastes like tears, fear simmering barely below, and Chino wraps her up in his arms to walk them both to the bathroom, which is oddly neat in comparison to the rest of his place. "Was- was what we d-did... was it okay?" Hushed, as if other people are still sleeping nearby.
Eliza nods, eyes still down. "Yeah." Glancing at him only out of the corner of her eye, she adds, "I'm on something. The ring. I'm safe."
Chino nods, pausing to kiss Eliza, just the slightest bit hesitant. Of all the things he's good at, that he excels at, understanding women is not one of them. He's afraid to set her off again. Chino cranks his shower on, thumbing down his boxers in silent invitation.
Standing on the cool tiles for a moment, Eliza chews on her lower lip.
Then she steps into the shower behind him. She traces her fingers down his back from the tattoo and down, before resting her forehead against his spine.
There's not much that's more surreal than a shower in the middle of the night, let alone after- after, god. Eliza coming in through the window, doing things unthought, yelling... and now they're here. Under the skim of her fingers, Chino automatically straightens, chin tucked down. But when she couches up to him with her head against his back, he turns in the spray to catch her, like a fragile bird, in his arms. "You s- scare me," Chino murmurs, lips sticking to the damp of Eliza's hair.
The sound she makes is somewhere between a laugh and a sob and she lets her head fall against his chest. Should she apologize? "I don't want to," she says instead. You could destroy me with a few words. "This terrifies me," she admits and the words are out there and she can't take them back.
It's exactly what Chino tried to say, and he's relieved to hear it come from her. "It's okay," he soothes, or tries to. "If you- if you trust me, I w- won't hurt you."
That is the most that Chino could ask for of Eliza. The biggest thing. She shivers with it, despite the heat of the water and his body. She can't say anything, she can't say she'd try, she can't say she'll work hard at it. All she can do, eyes closed, is cant her chin up and unerringly find his mouth with hers, kissing him as if it's breath that she needs to live. This isn't that far from the truth.
His hands tangle in Eliza's hair, lips parting against hers; if this is what she wants, then he's all but helpless to deny her. She's got this quality, this softness hiding beneath the brittle veneer of being tough, and Chino flicks his tongue against Eliza's, his body, warm and water-wet, held to hers.
Still, she doesn't open her eyes, but whispers the words against his mouth. "I'll stay. If... you want me, I'll stay." Her hands are pressed to his chest and she fancies she can feel his heart beat. Maybe, just maybe... if she has this -- this sweetness -- for however long it lasts until he casts her away. Maybe that will be worth it. Maybe it'll be a lifetime lived in however long. She holds her breath, poised, for his answer.
"Y- yeah. Please." He knows there's more to her, things she won't say, won't tell him, but now isn't the time to act, ask, push. No, what Chino wants is for Eliza to be safe, to drop her pretenses. To feel as exposed as she makes him feel. He backs her up against the wall of the shower, a hand on the back of her neck. "T- trust me."
Gasping at the push, she finally opens her eyes, staring up at him. Eliza opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. So, she nods, instead, feeling the steady pressure of his hand. "Okay," is all she utters and she holds his wrist. "Chino," she whispers, a prayer, a wish, an incantation.
He tips her head back, kissing the water from her throat. Chino wants to make promises to her, but there isn't anything he can say, he can give Eliza, that would change what's happening between them. The only thing that seems to give any reassurance is... him. A hands slips easily down her body, skin on wet skin, holding her hip for a moment before moving down again, back, to cup the curve of her ass on his palm. I can give you this.
It's so much, this. It's more than she ever dreamed she'd get. More -- emotions, anything like that -- is something she can't even wrap her head around for fear that it would become real. Whimpering softly, Eliza pulls her arms around his neck, head back against the tiles. The idea of stay with me would scare her for how much she wants that. I'm yours, even if true, would be her standing on a gas stove and handing him the lighter. Even please carries with it a vulnerability that makes her shudder. So she speaks in a way in which neither of them stutter, her own hands planing down his sides, his hips and ass, pulling him closer, too.
It's as if Chino understands what she's trying to say, because he nods, lifting her up just a bit, so that her legs can circle his waist. There's this that's between them, like a pilot light, always ready to be borne into full-blown flame, and it's a resort when words don't work, or just tangle them both up. Held between the wall and Chino's body, Eliza weighs nothing; she feels like he could hold her just like that, all on his own. He pulls back from kissing her, eyes heavy and dark and tired, but he's been tired before, been up late before, for things much less meaningful than this. "Back to b- bed? Or here?"
"Here." To keep the web they've somehow woven intact, to keep the bed dry if they do sleep. She touches his face, thumb brushing under his eyes. She's wet, ready. She wants him with a force that makes it hard to breathe. "Chino... do it."
It doesn't take much, little more than adjusting her weight in his arms, and Chino's pushing into her, forehead to forehead, breathing her breaths made humid by the heat that surrounds them. She isn't a machine; he can't touch her, feel her, and be able to fix her or make her better. She's a woman, curve-soft and reactive, and with the wall behind her to give Chino some leverage, a hand on the back of her thigh and the other caught between the small of Eliza's back and the cold tile.
"Oh, fuck," she pants out, an arm hooked around his neck. All she needs to do is move a couple inches and she's kissing him as he moves in her so good, so fucking right that it makes her tremble again. Soft kisses between shared breaths, between groans where she arches her back when the pleasure is so strong. So much. So much. Fear is there, too, wound in with everything else.
The angle's difficult, even with her being as light as she is, but Chino rocks up on the balls of his feet to keep traction in the shower, whispering "H- hold your legs up," as he presses the pad of his thumb against her clit. The only thing that's keeping her up now is Chino's weight against Eliza's front and the wall at her back, and the wrap of her legs around his waist. It's okay, he wants to tell her. You scare me because you make me feel things. You make me want to keep you safe, you make me want to- "Nnh-" At once sharp and soft, drawn out on the bow of Eliza's mouth.
Her legs tighten, the muscles cording, her elbows digging into his shoulders as her body goes tight at just that touch. "Nnngh!" Eliza is panting into Chino's mouth, breath audible as she clings to him. "Fuck! Lower." Just a little bit lower. Just a little bit-- "FUCK!" Right there. Oh, fuck. She can't stop shuddering as she comes, so fast, so hard as to have her seeing stars.
He doesn't slow, doesn't let up the pressure on Eliza, just kisses her, mouth tense on hers, and from here it's impossible to see where they'd raised their voices before, with her shrieking "Fuck you!" at him. He'd made her cry. But those thoughts aren't even here as Chino whispers hoarsely, "Can- Can I-?" Even with her being on the ring, that's still intensely, deeply personal, and he's not going to go there if she doesn't want him to.
"Yeah," she whispers back, lips against his. "Do it." Her hands tangle in his hair and she opens her eyes to see, to watch him, to feel him when he comes in her. She's still terrified, no doubt, however, the desire for this-- for this moment-- is so great as to have her clenching around him, drawing him deeper-- holding him as tightly as she can.
It takes him a minute, a minute that's full of heated kisses and frantic fingers, desperate to touch Eliza, before Chino has her pinned between the wall and himself when he comes, his lips barely a breath from hers, eyes closed, shivering in time with the way his cock twitches in her. He breathes in little sips, little gasps, not trusting his knees to hold up their weight. He doesn't even trust himself to pull back yet, even if he feels the water starting to go cold on his back. By the time he finds his voice, the water's very definitely on its way to being cold, and Chino's words are voice-driven kisses to Eliza's mouth. "D- dry off. Bed. S- sleep."
Eliza nods and loosens her hold to touch the floor again. But she can't bring herself to be far away from him, any more than a foot away is too far and her hand hovers near his even if she can't look him in the eye. She dries her body and twists a towel around her hair and still she's not far from him, watching their feet with stolen glances at his face.
Alternately, he touches her whenever he can: fingers run down the line of her back as she twists her hair up, a hand on the back of her neck once he's got a towel around his own waist, a kiss breathed onto the back of her shoulder as he leads her from behind back to his bedroom. From there, Chino digs out Eliza a t-shirt of his, worn to the point of being rag-soft, and pulls on a clean pair of boxers of his own. It's... past four now, and there's almost no way he's going to be up in time for work. On one hand, it's worth it, just to have her here, that she's agreed to stay, but on the other hand, the project he's working on is far too important for him to be late.
Slipping the shirt over her head and pulling off the towel, Eliza hovers for a moment, waiting for him to climb in before she does. But when she does, she curls against him, her head resting on his shoulder, a hand splayed on his chest. She can feel the cold of his nipple ring against her palm. How can she sleep? How is she going to sleep? How will she not wake up and find this has all been a dream, even if she is still damp between the legs from his come? She feels like she'll never sleep again.
Chino makes a low, satisfied, tired sound, getting his arm around Eliza's shoulders to hold her to him. He'll be there if she wakes up, if she falls asleep, if she wants to leave or chooses to stay. If anything, he's reliable. And now his own feelings are involved, entrenched in the girl that's in his arms. This is delicate, this is dangerous. This is entirely unknown territory. But she's not alone in it, and neither is he. Chino starts to tell Eliza this, starts to turn his head to whisper it against her hair, but by the time he gets there, he's asleep.
Feeling him go limp under her, Eliza doesn't move, then only to raise her head to look at him, at his face, peaceful in sleep. He looks younger, and gently she kisses him before laying her head back down. It's a long time before she sleeps -- she doesn't know how long -- but finally, she does, and she doesn't move except a few inches lower, to hear the beating of his heart.