WHO: Martin Boot & Nicole Bardera
WHAT: His birthday, and the 'us' talk
WHEN: November 14, 1978
WHERE: His flat
Every year on his birthday, Martin would go to his parents' house. His sister and sometimes even his brother would show up, and they'd have cake and he'd open his gifts and all that fun stuff that goes along with it being your birthday. His mom would even blow up balloons every year, and even though Martin protested ("Ma, that stuff is for little kids!") she still did it, mainly because she knew he secretly loved it.
But this year, none of those things happened. Because his parents were gone.
It was something that Martin had come to terms with, even if he didn't fully accept it. His personality was his own again, though he had been humbled considerably since the ordeal took place. But not so humbled that he was against requesting Nick's presence at his house that night and demanding that she be naked. when she got there.
He was currently lying across the living room couch, his head in her lap, staring up at her thoughtfully while his mouth worked around a hunk of chocolate cake (courtesy of Rosalind, that goddess of a woman) that was entirely too big. It was obvious that he was strategizing... he'd been trying to get her clothes off for the past hour, and so far he'd only managed to get her out of her shoes. Even his well-planned cake sabatoge hadn't worked. It'd only gotten them (and his apartment) covered in cakey goodness. His eyes were narrowed, his throat visibly working to swallow the ginormous mouthful of baked goods when he finally pushed up into a seated position and faced her.
"C'mon! It's not fair. It's my birthday. I make the rules. Clothes. Off."
This argument had been going on for what seemed like forever, and everytime he voiced it it only got whinier. He himself was down to only a pair of jeans and his socks, since he'd taken his robes and shirt off before in an attempt to get her to lose hers.
"And you SAID you'd get naked. So far the candles are blown out, but you're still decent. Get UN-decent, damnit." And he lunged at her across the cushions.
"Is that all you really care abou--"
Nicole, unfortunately, was cut off by a mass of person throwing himself at her, and found that she had to abandon speech in order to dodge him properly--which didn't work out all that well, after all, because he was not only fast, but more and more determined by the second to get her to go through with her promise. Instead of managing to perch herself on the top of the couch's armrest, her top half made it to the armrest and the bottom half... well, was pinned underneath him, officially restricting any useful movement.
She arched an eyebrow down at his cake-smeared face (although with the reception she'd gotten, she was sure she didn't look much less chocolaty) and gave him the ghost of a smirk. "Haven't you ever heard that the fun is always in the chase?" Nick asked, punctuating her point by attempting to wiggle out from underneath him. "If I hold off for long enough, when you finally get me to do what you want, it's going to be better than if I just gave it to you."
"Yes!" was his enthusiastic reply to her first inquiery as he wrestled wither to to get her to stay in place, managing to snag her socks from her feet in the process. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless! It was a step beyond shoes, anyway.
He scowled up at her as she attempted to squirm away, pouncing once again and wrapping his arms around her waist to keep her from sliding over the arm of the couch. "If you keep holding off, I'm gonna need a nap by the time I get what I want," he muttered, though a good-natured smirk was curling his lips even as he pressed them against her neck, nibbling aggressively at her ear. "I don't believe in any of that shite. Gimme now. Now now now."
Nick laughed, squirming even more now that he was trying harder to stop it. She noted that her socks had come off now (he probably felt pretty good about that), but didn't have much time to think about it with the way his breath was tickling the fuck out of her ear. She scrunched her shoulder and turned her head away from him, laughing louder now as she used her hand to push his face away from her neck. "You talk to me like I'm your girlfriend. You do know I don't have to listen to you, right?"
To be honest, she hadn't thought at all about that before it came out, even though it was a question that had been on her mind in the past couple days. Nicole hadn't really been concerning herself over the issue of not knowing what they were until the rags had come out claiming them to be a couple. Because it wasn't just them in on this secret anymore (augh, she was going to castrate a couple of photographers, what the fuck) and... what did she tell people when they asked? She was hardly going to tell them the truth of what they were, because that was rather embarrassing, but... well, what could you say?
He grunted when her palm shoved suddenly against his face, her words causing him to go still suddenly. Huh. Well that was certainly a mind-boggling subject, now wasn't it. He puckered his lips thoughtfully to the side and then pushed himself up on one elbow, looking down at her, quirking a brow. "Well, yea. I guess. But uh... you know, speaking of that... what exactly are we, anyway?" He blinked at her expectantly, no trace of mockery in his brown eyes. Just curiousity.
"I mean, we kinda need to figure it out. Don't we? Now that everyone knows that we're 'doing it' and stuff." He smiled cheekily as though pleased with himself over it.
"'Doing it'? What are you, ten?" she mocked lightly, in truth only making the jab in order to buy a bit of time before she approached the subject at hand. Didn't help. Two extra seconds left her just as clueless as she had been before, however, and all the more frustrated. Not... at him, per se, but at everything. If they had known what was good for them, they would have figured this all out after the first time they'd had sex, not weeks later when the whole world was wondering about what they were too. That was far too many minds and questions to deal with.
Nicole propped herself up on her elbows and looked down at him thoughtfully. "Hell if I know," she admitted. "But I agree that we need to find out, or we're going to have even more trouble on our hands than we do already over this."
"No, actually. I'm twenty-five now." He stretched and propped his chin in his palm, now effectively spooning her, his other arm draped over her hip. Now this was where the conversation could get messy. Neither of them had even gone into... whatever this was... expecting it to happen more than once, and now here they were, discussing a potential relationship. Or were they? Damnit. This stuff gave him a headache.
"Well. The way I figure it is... you're great in bed... and I'm great in bed... and, let's face it, you just can't get enough of this body," and here he flexed and made a manly grunting noise, "so... why not? We've already covered the fact that you don't entirely hate my guts."
There. He'd said it. And it was probably the most uncomfortable moment in his life.
Obviously despite the fact that she didn't find his behavior to be completely immature and idiotic these days, there were still these moments when she remembered why she used to hate the way he talked so much. Okay, not everyone could be romantic (she had a hard time with it herself), but honestly, he--Nick took a deep breath and forced down her annoyance (well, most of it). It was just part of his personality, and it wasn't worth it to start a screaming match.
"Because I happen to find this a little more serious than that, I'm going to ask you once before I throw you off this couch if there's any other reasons that you think we should date," she told him, keeping her voice carefully measured. "Because while I don't hate your guts right now, the best way to get me to hate them again is to repeat what you just said."
He chuckled and pulled her closer against him; he just couldn't help himself. While her sense of humor (or, more appropriately, lack thereof) was still baffling to him, he just couldn't help but pick on her. She seemed to think he was serious, and the fact that she got genuinely pissed every time was amusing to him. "Because I'm ridiculously good looking," he rumbled against her hair, the smirk on his face evident in his voice, "probably the best looking guy you'll ever date. Don't let this opportunity pass you by, Nick."
He braced himself for the physical pain that would no doubt be inflicted on him shortly.
It was a pain well awaited--she couldn't throw him off the couch like she would have liked when he was behind her, but she didn't have any qualms about punching him in the shoulder. She knew he was joking, but honestly it was just so--he was so frustrating. And so bloody confusing. One moment she was laughing at him and the next she wanted to kill him... this was so much easier when she just wanted to kill him all the time.
"Okay, fine," she said, moving to sit up straight. Nick leaned over the side of the couch, grabbing a sock off the floor. She glanced back at Martin as she slowly moved the fabric over her right foot. "I'm going to get a little more decent for every second that you can't convince me that wanting to date me doesn't have everything to do with sex for you."
He grunted as her fist made contact with his shoulder, sulking even as his eyes smiled at her. However, that mirth quickly dissipated as she leaned forward and threatened to... put more clothes on. He shot into an upright position and promptly snatched one sock from her, tossing it well across the room before turning back to her, exaggerated patience written across his features.
"Frigid as ever, aren't we? Well then. Since joking around is clearly out of the option... Stop that!" he whined, watching with narrowed eyes as she continued putting on that damned sock. Growling under his breath, he heaved himself back against the backrest of the couch and sighed, rolling his tongue across his teeth as he viseably struggled to find the right words to say.
"Ok... Ok. I want to date you. And not just because of the sex, even though that is..." he gave her two thumbs up. "That is great. Better than great. Stupendous. And it's not just because you're a class A hottie, either." He ran one big hand through his hair like he always did when he was nervous, rubbing back and forth until his hair poofed out. "I want to date you... because... I dunno. You were there for me. And you proved that you're not a complete psycho bitch 100 percent of the time. And. I dunno. I could learn to put up with your stuck-up behavior if I get to see more of that side."
That was about as romantic as it was gonna get.
Okay, so that had been a pathetic, insulting excuse for a speech even by her standards, but as far as Martin went, she didn't know if she could ask for much else. Despite not liking to make a habit of being lenient... he'd tried. Which, to be honest, was more than she'd expected of him--it's not like she'd thought it was totally about the sex, but Nicole had at least figured that he would have trouble coming up with (or communicating to her) reasons that didn't have something to do with wanting yet to fuck in many more locations and positions.
She had to give it to him, he'd done okay. Well enough to elicit a sigh and get her fingers to uncurl from around the sock she was currently holding over her toes. Nick let the fabric drop to the ground and pushed herself back into the couch beside him.
"You know, apart from calling me a psycho bitch, I think that was almost... partially... in some highly obscure manner... slightly sweet." Oi, this was nuts, she realized--but what could you do? "So... yes. Okay. I'll date you."
Nicole smirked and pressed her lips against his neck, trailing kisses up to his jaw, to his cheek. When she spoke again, it was hot breath in his ear. "But I'm still going to make you wrestle me out of these clothes."
