[ for a moment, he can feel her closer, the mutual shift that shortens the distance even faster, and when she parts her lips, he isn't sure if words will leave them, but the soft gloss against their smoothness calls to him like an invitation, wondering how much whiskey he might taste there, if she'd taste more like the liquor or carry a taste all her own.
but those thoughts halt the moment the voice rings out loud enough to put a stop to whatever wandering fantasy he'd begun to chase. all at once, he's back in the saloon, back to listening to the loud band play out the annoying tunes he so often hears well into his sleep from the other side of his room upstairs. once marta moves away from him, it's truly over, and he rubs a hand over his face, fingers firm against his own lips like he's trying to rub away the desire right off of them.
he barely even catches marta handing off the bottle once her touch is withdrawn from his, instead focusing on realigning himself from the momentary standstill of his self-control.
it's only when the waitress sudden substitutes the vacant space marta's left behind, his own body straightening uncomfortably as fingers slide against his shirt. it's not as if he hasn't returned hints of the flirtation before, but for a moment, he almost forgets how he's supposed to behave, before he remembers the role he's supposed to be playing. ]
Well, you know — long hours, Sally. [ he tries to give her a casual smile, the kind that always ends up looking more smug coming from his lips, fighting the urge to turn his eyes back to marta. ] Mysteries don't run on a nine-to-five. Work never stops.
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but those thoughts halt the moment the voice rings out loud enough to put a stop to whatever wandering fantasy he'd begun to chase. all at once, he's back in the saloon, back to listening to the loud band play out the annoying tunes he so often hears well into his sleep from the other side of his room upstairs. once marta moves away from him, it's truly over, and he rubs a hand over his face, fingers firm against his own lips like he's trying to rub away the desire right off of them.
he barely even catches marta handing off the bottle once her touch is withdrawn from his, instead focusing on realigning himself from the momentary standstill of his self-control.
it's only when the waitress sudden substitutes the vacant space marta's left behind, his own body straightening uncomfortably as fingers slide against his shirt. it's not as if he hasn't returned hints of the flirtation before, but for a moment, he almost forgets how he's supposed to behave, before he remembers the role he's supposed to be playing. ]
Well, you know — long hours, Sally. [ he tries to give her a casual smile, the kind that always ends up looking more smug coming from his lips, fighting the urge to turn his eyes back to marta. ] Mysteries don't run on a nine-to-five. Work never stops.