a Las Vegas story
by dirty diana
for Yahtzee in the Las Vegas ficathon. She requested a first-time meeting, and friendly sex. The gratuitous Brit-isms were my idea.
Nessa eats in bed. She pulls the chips down off the highest shelf in Danny's kitchen, makes herself tea, and then brings all of it back to bed, sitting cross-legged with the television turned up too loud.
"Careful," Danny says. He tries to wipe away the crumbs with his hand. "You're making a mess."
"I'll clean it up." Nessa waves him away. "Relax. You Americans are so uptight."
He scowls, and pinches her, and a minute later she's laughing breathlessly, pinned underneath him.
"Hey," she says indignantly. "Where'd you learn that move? The army?"
"Marines," he corrects her absently, with his mouth close to her skin. Inhaling, restless.
"Whatever." She swats him, hard, and she's got a surprisingly firm hand. "Let me up."
"Not until you take that back."
"Oh. Okay." Nessa rolls her eyes, behind curly hair that's falling down over her face and brushing the edge her mouth. "Guess we'll just have to stay here then."
"Guess so," Danny murmurs, before he kisses her. Her tongue in his mouth is heavy, sweet and warm from the tea.
"Hey," Nessa asks suddenly, "when are you going to show me the sights of Las Vegas? Ed promised that you were going to show me around."
"Yeah, Danny, he did. You were there."
"Oh." Danny remembers. Nessa had been just off the plane that day, in a fuzzy blue sweater too warm for the weather. Now she's wearing a shirt she'd found at the back of his closet, the red and black and white of UNLV. Danny had forgotten he even owned that shirt.
"When were you at the university?" she'd asked, as she eased out of bed and pulled it on. Danny had just shrugged.
It looks better on her. He smiles, and runs a hand up her bare thigh. "Are you sure you're sticking around, though? I'd hate to plan some great trip, only to have you run back to Jolly Old What's-It..."
His mouth quirks upwards. "Is that where you're from?"
"You're not funny, Danny McCoy. Anyone ever tell you that?" And she hits him again, lightly on his bicep, but he's still not letting her up. He can feel her breathing, trapped underneath him. In. Out. Warm, and steady.
"Ed says to let him know when I want to start work," she admits, finally. She's no longer looking at him, squinting over his shoulder at the TV. ESPN news, where the soccer highlights are just beginning.
"Right." His fingers play with the edge of her shirt - his shirt, pushing it up to expose her flat, brown belly, hips bare in slim red underwear. "How do you know Ed anyway?"
He pulls away hesitantly. "I was just asking."
She hasn't heard him, reaching for a handful of snacks as she focuses her stare on the TV. "What was Beckham bloody thinking?"
Danny reaches for the remote, half-hidden underneath a pillow, and shuts off the TV.
"Oi." Nessa makes a face in protest. "I was watching that."
Danny shrugs. Her skin is smooth, against the tips of his fingers, and he hooks one finger inside the edge of her panties and begins to drag them down.
"If you think you can distract me with that," she says, "you're a bit more full of yourself that I thought."
He kisses her to stop her talking, a rough and messy kiss, his tongue seeking heat inside her mouth. Nessa arches up into his hands, and laughs.
"Five minutes, Danny. Seriously. I want to see the scores."
He smiles down at her. "And then you're all mine, right?"
"Sure, whatever." With one hand stretched across the sheets, Nessa finds the remote control. "I was thinking," she says, as she pulls away from him, "that I'd like to see the Grand Canyon."
"Grand Canyon?" Danny repeats slowly.
"Yeah. The Grand Canyon, Danny. I hear it's really nice. You can go up in a hot air balloon and drink champagne. Will you take me?"
"Sure," Danny agrees, as she settles into his arms, and turns up the volume on the TV. "Whatever you want."