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Gravitate

by Northlight

Title: Gravitate (1/1)

Author: Northlight

email: temporary_blue@yahoo.ca

Summary: In which Krit and Syl don't manage to keep things light.

Characters: Krit, Syl.

Rating: R (sex, language).

Distribution: Sure, ask.

Disclaimer: Cameron and Eglee.

Date: Aug. 22, 28, 2001.


Behind her back, Syl gripped her left wrist with her opposite hand. Her fingers were threatening to twitch. "You need a haircut," Syl said and fitted a smile to her lips.

Krit touched his hair where it brushed the collar of his shirt. "You don't like my hair?" he said. He moved forward, slow, steady. He wasn't surprised to see her. Syl always ended up back here at some point or another. He had waited, this time.

"I didn't say that. I said you need a haircut," Syl said. "I can do it."

"Let you near my head with a pair of scissors?" Krit said, mock-terrified. His hands found their way to Syl's shoulders. He could feel the heat of her, the tiny movements her muscles made even as she held herself still.

"I'll have you know I was a hairdresser," Syl said. "A damn fine one at that."

"Okay," Krit said. He leaned forward until his breath brushed Syl's face. "Have we discussed my hair long enough yet?" he said and kissed her. It had been a long time. There was a jagged edge to one of Syl's teeth that hadn't existed before. She'd chipped a tooth.

Syl's hands were bunched in the material of Krit's shirt. "That's awfully presumptuous of you," she said. Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted.

Krit lifted an eyebrow. Smirked. "You lust after my body," he said.

"Wouldn't be your sparkling wit," Syl muttered. "You're full of yourself," she said.

"Not me," Krit said. His hands moved to Syl's hair. They sunk into her hair, familiar. Blond strands tickled at the back of Krit's hands. He didn't mind. She let him shift her head back. Syl liked his mouth. She liked his mouth better when it was on her. Krit aimed to please. he nibbled at the soft flesh at the base of Syl's throat.

"Oh," Syl said. "Krit."

"Mmm," Krit answered, mouth busy. "Anyone see you come in?"

"Kriiiit," Syl said. "What do you think?"

"Yeah. Right. Yeah." He pulled back, tugged at Syl's hand. "I don't think anyone believes you really exist," Krit said.

"No?" Syl asked, smiling.

"They all just think my hand and I are enthusiastic partners," Krit shrugged. "You're quiet."

Syl narrowed her eyes. "You're criticizing me," she said.

"No. I'm not an idiot Syl. I don't pick on a woman before I've gotten her into bed," Krit said, light.

"You're saying there's something there to be picked upon?" Syl asked. Syl pulled her hand free from Krit's grip. She crossed her arms under her breasts. She kept her eyes narrowed and tilted her head.

"You're playing hard to get?" Krit said.

Syl shrugged, smiled. "Wouldn't want you to start thinking I'm easy."

"I won't tell if you don't," Krit said. He rounded his eyes.

Syl waved off the pitiful look. "No. No. Forget it. You've wounded me. I expect vast amounts of flattery to make up for your grievous commentary." She paused. "And I'm not quiet. You're loud."

Krit huffed. "Okay. I can do flattery," he said. He bit his lower lip. Furrowed his brows. "You're perfect?" he offered hopefully.

"Details, man. Details," Syl said.

"You're a cruel woman," Krit said.

"So I've been told," Syl answered.

"Flattery. Flattery," Krit said, thinking.

"It's not that hard to come up with some compliments," Syl said. She sat on the arm of the couch, crossed her left leg over her right knee and swung her booted foot. Syl shook her head, clucked her tongue.

"Most women aren't so picky. They simply give into my undeniable masculine appeal," Krit said, smirking again.

"You are such an asshole," Syl said, fond. "Go ahead, Krit."

"Okay. Sure. You're beautiful."

"You're superficial," Syl accused.

"I wasn't finished yet," Krit protested.

"But my looks were the first thing you brought up."

"Fine. Fine. You win. I'm superficial," Krit said.

"I know. I said so, didn't I?"

"Right. Okay. You're. . . charming, and intelligent, and funny and you really turn me on when you're in ass-kicking mode," Krit said.

Syl laughed. "I don't know why I bother with you."

"Because I'm a perfect specimen of manhood?" Krit offered.

Syl shook her head, slow, thoughtful. "Nah. Not hardly."

Krit held a dramatic hand to his chest, widened his eyes. "I'm wounded."

"Mm hmm. You've always had such delicate sensibilities," Syl agreed.

"If things were different, we'd have been living in sin together for years," Krit said.

"Living in sin?" Syl snickered. "You're saying I'm not marriageable?"

Krit arranged his features into a suitably serious expression. "I just don't know if I like you that much, Syl."

"Was that part of the flattery thing?" Syl asked.

"You mean I didn't win you over already?" Krit said.

Syl considered. "You think you can do any better?" She looked at Krit and shook her head before he answered. "Okay. No. Let's go." She held her arms out to him.

"I don't know," Krit said. "All this talking really killed the mood."

Syl slid her sweater over her head. She let it drop on the cushion behind her.

"Okay. The mood is back." Krit prowled towards Syl. She grinned, wide.

"That's what I--"

"Shut up, Syl."

"Yeah. Yeah. Okay. So long as you keep on doing that," Syl said. They tumbled over the arm of the couch and onto the cushions.

"This?"

"Fuck."

"Yeah."

...~*~...

Tomato sauce had dried on Krit's kitchen table. Syl absently scraped at it as she watched Krit's back. Her gaze shifted to his rear as Krit rattled around various dishes in his fridge. Syl smiled lazily. Her feet were bare. The floor was sticky. Syl wriggled her toes in protest before hooking them around the legs of her chair. Krit's places were usually kept cleaner than this. She didn't think any of them knew how to be messy long-term.

Krit emerged from the fridge. He nudged the door shut with his foot. He was wearing socks. He'd obviously already experienced the sticky floor. "Voila," Krit said. He settled a chipped plate heaped with cold slices of pizza on the center of the table.

"Yum," Syl said, not more than semi-sarcastic.

Krit grinned, wide. "Only the best for you, Syl." He snagged a chair and settled down with normal grace. "Only a day old," Krit said and took a piece. He took a large bite, closed his eyes and chewed. "Bliss," he said around a mouthful of half-chewed pizza.

"Pig," Syl said and took her own piece.

"Dallas. '15," Krit said.

"Hey," Syl said.

"Pot and kettle, Syl baby," Krit said. His eyes were amused behind half-slitted eyes.

The pizza's crust left Syl's hands slicked. She bit down. She concentrated on chewing. They finished off the pizza in silence. Syl swiped her hands across Krit's borrowed t-shirt. She stretched her feet out under the table, landed them on top of Krit's.

"Krit."

"Wha'?"

"I," Syl said before stopping. She rolled her shoulders. "Hey. How about that haircut?"

Krit sucked at the edge of his thumb--tomato sauce. His eyes were dark, suddenly cautious. "Sure. Okay. You know what you're doing?"

Syl rolled her eyes. "Any more cracks about my hair cutting ability, and I'll leave you with bald patches. Krit. Baby." Syl kicked lightly at Krit's shin before rising. "C'mon," she said.

"Yeah. Coming," Krit said. He followed Syl into the bathroom. It smelt like perfume. Syl wrinkled her nose. "George," Krit told her. "He brought a date over last night."

"Mmm," Syl said. "On your knees," she said, pointing to the bath-mat on the floor. She caught the beginning of a leer. "Shut up. Asshole." Krit leaned against the edge of the tub. Syl paused, touched the faint scar running across his left shoulder. "That's new."

"Uh huh," Krit said.

Syl twisted at the taps. She tested the temperature with an occasional dart of her hand beneath the flow of water. "What happened?" Syl asked.

"There was this kid, maybe fifteen, sixteen. The others were older, bigger. He was shaking so hard I could hear his teeth clacking before I even saw him." Krit shrugged, glanced at Syl over his scarred shoulder. "No one else was going to help, so I did. One of the guys got lucky."

"Oh. That's. You're a good guy, Krit."

Krit looked away, towards the tiled wall. "Nah. I did it to impress the woman I was with."

"Idiot," Syl said. She filled the container at the edge of the tub with water. "So was she impressed?"

"She was too terrified to be properly impressed with my heroic feat," Krit answered. "And you? Your tooth?" Krit spluttered as Syl dumped the gathered water over his head. "That how you treated your clients?"

"Fuck. Fuck," Syl said. She yanked at the taps, turning off the water.

"Syl?" Krit wiped water from his face. Syl moved from the bathroom, into the living room. Krit sighed and rose. He didn't bother drying his hair. "Okay," he said when he found Syl slumped in his favourite armchair. "Talk."

"Don't want to."

"If you didn't want to, you wouldn't have put on that little display in there," Krit said.

Syl let out a long breath. "I'm moving."

"Okay."

"Away."

"So I figured. Did Zack--"

"Fuck Zack."

"Probably not."

"I can make this kind of decision without--" Syl stopped. "Probably not?"

"Well," Krit said, shrugged. "We were talking about you. Moving. Away."

"Yeah. Right. Me," Syl said. "I'm moving."

"And?" Krit prodded. He nearly fell into the couch.

"Away."

"Right. Sure. How far away is away?"

Syl drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. "Oh. Far." She narrowed her eyes, cocked her head. "Yeah. Far about sums it up."

"Christ," Krit said. Water was dripping down his neck and back. He leaned back into the cushion anyway. "Syl."

"It's just," Syl said. She stopped, breathed, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm not very happy with myself right now," she ended, finally.

"And moving," Krit said.

"Doesn't mean fuck all, really." Syl leaned forward. Her forearms rested on her legs, her hands hung loosely between her knees. "I messed up, Krit. I had this friend."

"A friend," Krit echoed when the silence began to drag.

"Right. I kinda. No. I did fuck her husband," Syl said.

"Oh," Krit said. "Syl."

"I wasn't at my best at the time. Out of my mind. Crazy with all the fucked up shit they did to us." Syl rubbed her hands over her eyes. "It's hard, facing everyone after slinking around while I was in heat. But I've never really done anything bad before. I mean, in the grand scale of things, who gives a damn, right? But, well, damn it."

"You could--"

"I almost did. I don't want you to see me like that."

"It's okay."

"No. Not really," Syl said. "I like you, Krit."

He found a smile. "I'd hope so, Syl."

"This. Us. This isn't about Manticore," Syl said.

"No. This is a Krit thing. And a Syl thing."

"A Krit an' Syl thing."

"Yeah."

"If things were different," Syl said.

"If things were different," Krit agreed.

"But they aren't."

"No."

"It hurt," Syl said. "Bad, Krit."

"Syl." He went down to the floor between her knees, lay his hands across hers. "Syl."

"I like you, Krit."

"I'm glad."

Syl's smile was twisted. "I'm not." She pulled her hands away from Krit's.

"Fuck," Krit said.

They were still for a long time. Syl was the first to stir. Her hand was soft against Krit's cheek. "It's okay, Krit."

His eyes rose to met hers. Krit's smile was as twisted as the one Syl had worn. "No. Not really."

Syl rested her forehead against Krit's. One hand rested on his shoulder. The other crept behind his neck. "We don't do happily ever afters, Krit."

"I know," he said.

"I have to go."

"Away."

"Yeah."

"Far."

"Yeah."

"We'll run into each other again. We always do," Krit said.

"Maybe. Probably."

"I like you, too, Syl."

"I know."


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