2020-01-16 - Legal Tender & Negotiations

THURSDAY, JANUARY 16, 2020

(TXT to Geoff) Harper: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FM7MFYoylVs
(TXT to Harper) Geoff: I have something for you.
(TXT to Geoff) Harper: That's what he said?
(TXT to Harper) Geoff: That is why he said, you free babe?
(TXT to Geoff) Harper: Let me check my busy social calendar.
(TXT to Geoff) Harper: Looks like I have a few minutes.
(TXT to Harper) Geoff: I'll swing by, need me to pick up anything on the way?
(TXT to Geoff) Harper: Bring my boyfriend.

Harper emerges from down the hall, still tying the belt of her kimono robe. Her hair is damp. Her brown eyes dance before he can see her as his words precede him. Someone was still in her bubble bath when she sent the first text. "How eager?" She closes the remaining space down the hall to the space where the entry leads to the options of the great room or the bedroom hallway. When she takes in the pajamas that he braved the cold in and her brows drift upward to accompany her bemused, warm laughter. "Do you need some warming up? I could make some spiked hot chocolate." She only stops when she's in front of him, lifting her hands to either unbutton or unzip his jacket helpfully. She smells like the sweet bath salts she uses; her skin is still warm and faintly moist from the steam of her bath.

And Harper is. Warm, that is. She'll play along with the third person for awhile. "That's definitely my boyfriend. He likes his pajamas." A greeting kiss has her grabbing on to the unfastened jacket to perhaps demand it linger a little extra. "An overnight? How scandalous of him. Fortunately for him, I am definitely that kind of girl." Warming up. She opens her mouth to offer spiking options and he presents an entirely different brand of warming. "I do. I have all the warmth. And the biggest bathtub." Well, the bigger of their two abodes, at least.

She releases her hold to let him hang up his jacket and looks over the ensemble he's wearing with a thoughtful expression. And then she, too, drops out of third person. "What lit a fire under y--" A small, wrapped package. "Is this the Geoff-tradition I was teased about?" Delight. "I wondered if I'd have to wait until July to experience it." She lifts a hand to wiggle grabby-fingers at it. But he's not handing it over yet. He can enjoy the way her brown eyes sparkle with curiosity and barely tamped down anticipation. "It's too small to be a stocking. Unless it is stockings." Hmm. She honestly doesn't think he bought her hosiery, does she? "Baby Jesus has complicated blessings. Are you sure you want to count on something that started in a manger? With lowing cattle. And pokey straw?" Geoff's wink teases her smile to a quivering-almost-laugh. "I thought after Christmas, Santa's lists were all thrown away and we started fresh. You'll have to inculcate me to the ways of Jesus." Pronounced hay-soos.

She nudges at him a little. Is there at tee shirt atop the pajamas? A sweatshirt? Something even slightly warm? "To the sofa. I have some Geoff-warming to do." There was a point very late in the summer when Harper suggested they make Christmas a twice-yearly thing to make up for the years he was in prison. Don't think she's forgotten that little option. "Have you eaten dinner?" Because she'll fetch him food. It's part of the Harper Charter. Though selfish-Harper just wants him on the couch.

Harper is easily tugged atop Geoff-lap in her silky robe that is clearly all that she's wearing. Her skin is actually still pink and quite warm from that bath. The water might still be draining from the tub, even. Ending up sideways across Geoff's pajama'd lap, her shoulder leaning into one of his, she unveils the parcel and then starts to look through it, delight writ all over her face. "I can redeem these for Geoff-cessities!" It may be that aside from the creativity of the options, she's very much enjoying the illustrations from his talented hand. She looks through them slowly, mmhmm-ing here, and noting how much she'll like that one there, glancing up sidelong at him along the way with a small, devious smile teasing at her lips. "Are these redeemable more than once? Because -- I mean, shirtless mowing? I could use that over and over. And movie nights? I was hoping for something like fifty-two of those." Mixed in with dinners and wrestling, and other weekly adventures. "And the kisses? I think those actually need to be measured in a daily minimum allotment. And that's for my health and well-being."

Her skin is so warm it would be considered feverish if he didn't know she'd been bathing. Everywhere their bodies touch she shares that heat with him. "The wood-chopping, though? That one is a hazard to my health. I can't quite breathe right when I watch you do that. But the campfires are worth the oxygen deprivation." She drifts in slowly for a soft, lingering kiss that tells him she was drinking peppermint tea while taking her bath. One hand holds onto the homemade coupon book and the other roves over his chest slowly, unhurried. "You make me happy. What you do make me happy. I may be so happy that I'm intolerable to be around. Certainly Easton and Bennie were bemused, and I'm not sure they actually liked my influence on their dear friend." Though, this is Harper we're talking about. She's never let what others think drive her motives. Ever. And Geoff is currently sitting with a lapful of her, so that's saying something.

She reluctantly draws back from that kiss as if something has just occurred to her. "Wait. I need to check to see if there are any stargazing vouchers." And while she flips through the gift that is perfection, she murmurs, "Have I told you how much I hate Valentine's Day? Let's not do anything for that so-called holiday, okay? I mean, if you wanted to draw me something that's not a poorly executed penis tattoo, I might accept that. But no candy or flowers or perfunctory dates. I'd honestly rather wash your hair, than celebrate a Hallmark holiday." Yes, she said wash his hair. "And you!" She begins, lifting her eyes to him once again and tapping a few times on his chest to punctuate the importance of what she has to say next. "You called my dad ... 'Dad'." It's taken her a week to have that epiphany. "Did you mean to do that?" Her gaze skates over his features, lingers at his mouth before drifting up to contemplate the possible reaction behind his green eyes.

Certain allotments are established and Harper seems pleased with the confirmation. "No. 'Cruel' is definitely not a part of my Geoff-lexicon. Next year's. How is it that those words are breath-taking for Harper? She certainly doesn't have thoughts of there being anything that would change their current trajectory. But neither has she been contemplating things beyond (if Valentine's Day is any indication) a month ahead. "No. You have full ravishing rights. Day or night. Rain or shine. Twenty-four seven. Three hundred sixty-five. I'm not sure, but there might even be quotas."

That may be at least part of why Harper became abruptly obsessed. Half of it was the thought that Geoff and Tom Price would have seen eye-to-eye quite easily; the intimacy of the shared name for the man is almost as significant as the ring which is apparently all she is now wearing on its silver chain. The other half being Geoff's less-than-stellar formative years with parent-figures and what Harper wants to try to retro-actively give him now. If only. "He liked it. He called you 'son' before he left to dance with Mom." It begs the question, really. How much dialogue does she keep to herself?

Shockingly disrobed, Harper shifts atop Geoff's lap to face him and slides her fingers under his undershirt to drag it up and over his head so she can randomly drop it somewhere behind herself and slide her heated skin against his. Soft and feminine curves, and deliciously warm. "You feeling warmer now?" Her wet hair trails against his skin.

SATURDAY, JANUARY 18, 2020

After a night when their multiple collisions only seemed to intensify in magnitude, the sleep was heavy, tangled, close, and deliciously warm. When Geoff exits the shower, Harper has rolled over and dragged his pillow up against her chest, bare, long legs tangled with the sheets evocatively, the remaining pillows akimbo around her as if she dug blindly through them in an effort to find the warmth missing after he left the bed. Her raven hair is a pretty muss around her face. There are hints of the rough way they came together on her bare, fair skin. Marks. Faint bruising.

The coffee maker must be on a timer because the house fills with the rich aroma of brewing java. She made a fruit salad and tucked it in the fridge before they set out on their coupon-movie date the night before. (And there will always, always be some iteration of hash browns that can be heated up in her refrigerator.) Will she wake up when he exits the steam shower in the en suite? That depends what he does afterward. There's a scrawled piece of torn-off paper on the bedside table from the night before on which she hastily scribbled two 'counterfeit' coupons for his book.

This coupon entitles the bearer to a ride on GAT's bike that doesn't involve turning the engine on at all.
And,
Geoffrey Arthur Turner will provide Harper Annabelle Price with one elaborately designed, sharpie-inked tattoo on the occasion of her choosing.

She'd insisted in bed before allowing herself to fall to sleep of scrawling those out, using Geoff's back as an impromptu writing desk. Laughter seems to echo from the night before in the late morning sunbeams illuminating shafts of bright dust motes in Harper's bedroom. (Harper's? Maybe that possessive has changed.) They'd played at cheesy pick up lines, trying to see who could out-terrible the other. But mostly, last night, they could hardly keep their hands off one another. Rough. Punishing. Tumbling. Sex. Likely the shower stung some spots on his body where her scratches tore at his skin. The morning is the perfect afterward.

Harper pushes up in the bed -- pillows toppling, sheets sliding -- and looks around, blinking behind the mussy fall of her hair at the sunny room. Is Geoff gone? There's a panic she hasn't quite rid herself of that she keeps well hidden. No. There's still the humid warmth in the air of him emerging from the shower, the scent of his shampoo. Her shoulders relax. The smell of coffee hits her awareness next. Then the faint sounds of movement in the kitchen down the hall from the great room.

Harper is torn. Does she simply go out to help with the pretty-much already prepared breakfast (he might want potatoes!)? Does she shower too? She's sore. A bath would be nice. But baths are for times when there's no Geoff around at all. She extricates herself from the tangle of white sheets and rolls to the side of the low bed, and smiles to herself. The mornings when Geoff is here are so much better than the ones when they're apart. But she still shuts her brain down when thoughts about fixing that problem start to bubble up in her mind. As usual, being close to Geoff wins.

She heads into the en suite attached to the master bedroom that now contains a hand-carved bookcase with a heart in the back, that's recently been filled with books. Morning musts include teeth brushing, hair taming (at least into a simple ponytail for now), and a face washing. She exits the bathroom and moves into her walk-in closet to grab her dad's old hockey jersey and pulls it on; it hangs down to mid-thigh. That's good enough. Harper heads out and down the hallway, looking into the other rooms, but fully expecting to find him in the kitchen portion of the great room.

There's still a trail of clothing that's heaviest by the front door and leads to the hallway, stopping abruptly where he took her up against the wall, then finishing with a few straggling items of underclothing far before one reaches the bedroom. Harper doesn't pick them up on her way toward the kitchen.

Harper stops and simply watches Geoff humming and navigating himself around the kitchen. By the time he catches sight of her, her lips are parted and she has a slightly dreamy glint in her eyes. She opens her mouth to tell him how hot it is to wake up to a man making breakfast, but he beats her to it with his whistle and observation. "Dad was a Rangers fan," she finally answers, after doing a little twirl for him. The implication is that the jersey was his, given that the jersey is a NY Rangers jersey. "I'm glad you like it."

And that's long enough to stay across the room from him. She pads barefoot into the kitchen. "Someone gave me a reason to sleep well last night." Speaking of resting peacefully. "But I'd be a fool to ever be disturbed by being woken up by you." She tsks softly. But his intention -- making breakfast and intending to bring it to her in bed -- is revealed. Her gaze roves over his half bare body in the low-slung pajama bottoms. "I take that back. I think I'm getting disturbed."

She dimples a smile and pushes up to her toes to wind her arms slowly around his neck, leaning into his bare chest with her smaller, jersey-clad frame. "Thank you for making breakfast. I'm starved." She drops several kisses to his mouth, his bearded face before dropping back down to her flat feet and letting her hands slowly slide downward over all that bare skin. "I'm trying to feel remorse for not actually making it through our date last night, but I'm not having much success." A beat. "Next time." In the morning. "Maybe if you wear lots of clothes and don't smell so good after your shower, and when I'm good and tired of you, then I'll stay in bed and wait for you to deliver breakfast to me and complain that the eggs are cold." A teasing smile drifts over her face.

There's something monumentally significant to breakfast and kitchen embraces in the morning. Harper murmurs an encouraging sound in her throat when he pulls her close up against him. And it's not just the proximity, it's the feel of his hands on her hips. "You can try," she replies, her words more husky than playful until he releases her. A kiss. A kiss is exactly what she wanted.

"It was absolutely successful," she has to admit about the date. "Maybe someday when we can keep our hands off each other we'll go to a bar." She doesn't sound like she's in any rush for different date outcomes. He speaks about the movie and laughter sparkles behind her brown eyes. "I really liked it. Until that part at the end when it lasted about twenty minutes too long. But, even that part? That part was original. I mean, I've never seen a movie end that way before." Reluctantly, even as her gaze glimmers with the memory of it, she steps back so he can finish the breakfast.

Cold eggs. Clearly they agree about that topic. She'll help him carry any extraneous items to the table if he lets her. Settling into her chair in a curl in that jersey she lifts her coffee cup to toast him. "Thank you, Chef Turner. You distracting bastard." Walking around her house with no shirt on. He knows what he did! A sip of coffee, then Harper sets down the cup and drags a napkin across a bare knee and picks up a fork. "This smells delicious."

Harper levels a Look at Geoff. Did he think she was serious about the 'someday' comment? "I'll always want to put my hands on you, Geoff," she spells it out for him. "My hands and everything else." She starts in on the eggs and 'mmms' her appreciation. Ruining the coupon economy. Harper lifts her hand to her mouth and quickly swallows her bite, before laughing. "If you want me to be aware of the economic equilibrium, we'll have to have a philosophical conversation about the appropriate occasions for coupon usage. I mean, do I only use them when they're things you don't want to do? Poor Bennie and Easton. That whole backrub-blowjob line item." Quarterly? "I want a helluva lot more of both of those than quarterly. And making them prerequisites? I don't even understand ..." She waves her fork. "Or it was a joke. But I don't joke about blow jobs. What can I say? I love my work."

Speaking of coupons, "Do you accept forgeries? Because I have to plan out timing for my sharpie-tattoo. And I won't want to take any long baths for a few days after you've worked on me." And Harper loves her long baths. Her commentary drifts off. Did she not notice that homemade french toast was part of her breakfast in bed? "Well why didn't you say so? That changes everything!" Harper has another forkful of eggs lifted as Geoff wiggles his fork accusingly at her. She actually looks down at her bare legs as if there might be some proof about how distracting they may or may not be visibly written on her skin. "Is that so?" She lifts her gaze back to Geoff with a pleased bit of a smile. "I've had them my whole life without any problems. Tell me more." She takes the large bite of eggs and awaits his reply with uptipped brows, eyes sparkling.

"It's the clearest drunk memory I've ever had," Harper agrees, roundabout, missing the fact in the moment that Geoff is referring to the dance junior year of high school; she may ask him about it later. "That night -- every time you touched me it felt like -- " Intensified awareness. "-- lightning. I kept thinking it was the tequila. And then you pulled me close and --" She shakes her head with the memory. " -- I thought I should feel guilty. I was so worried I'd inadvertantly broken us." And then he kissed her. Her smile is soft and reminiscent. She could go on about the topic at some length, but she refocuses on Geoff at the table and lowers her fork so she can rest her elbow on the table and her chin atop the backs of her knuckles to stare at him. "Yes. You said I could. I think you said something about honing them for next year. Baby Hay-soos will be pleased."

As starved as she was this morning, she's now content to watch Geoff make his hash browns disappear. "How horrible. Rubbing is one of my favorite things." She smiles. "You do a pretty good job of telling me what you want. At least it seems like you do. Tell me I'm not missing a whole level of subtext." She goes on to add, "There are definitely times when I like making you want things. It's such a delicious and dangerous game."

Bennie and Easton. Harper thinks a moment, then inquires, "Do you think things are going to work out for the two of them? I don't know them that well, but I get the impression they like a bumpy ride." There is no criticism to the words. Harper is genuinely curious about Geoff's thoughts on the matter. At the same time, she lifts her closer bare foot and presses the sole of it against Geoff's nearer, pajama-clad thigh. There. She's touching him. She lifts her chin and reaches for her fork again.

Harper's memoir. There's a frightening thought. "Ask me anytime." He speaks the L word in this context and instead of screeching everything to a halt, it tangles some warmth in her stomach. Harper's not used to that visceral response: he can read startlement in her brown eyes. "Dangerous, yes," she replies slowly. "-- but I am quite smitten with that side of you." He's got no shame. She's learning this lesson first hand. It's thrilling, and perhaps their version of Bennie and Easton's rough edges, depending on how you look at it. "Only two more boxes, hmm?" Her brows tip upward and she takes another bite of her breakfast, nearly finished at this point. "I don't know about you, but I think I can come up with several dozen iterations. And that doesn't even count me finding a way to make you wait." He could argue that she's made him wait over a decade.

She listens to his thoughts on the matter of his best friend and his girl. "That ... sounds on point. Easton crashes on your couch when they're together, too. I think it's sweet. And special." And it may be one of the reasons she hasn't suggested moving in. But there are several of those. "Are you as sore as I am today?" Harper reaches for her coffee cup.

Harper rewards Geoff's thoughts on making more bingo cards with a smile and a rub of her foot against his thigh beneath his hand. Easton and what he needs. Harper has some questions about that, but none that she feels it's her place to ask about. "He's growing on me," she finally states simply. This has been quite clear since she took the basket of goodies over to his place, using Geoff's key. Vegas II. "I was surprised about that, too. But I'm thinking the 'coffee' she was talking about was going to be the catch-up for them. I hope that went well. You'd have heard by now if it didn't, I think." She lifts her napkin from her lap and sets it on the table, then draws back her foot from his hand and leg only so she can stand up and switch to sitting atop his lap. Something about close contact with him makes her world right itself. "I hope for all the best things for them, including finding their together-center." Harper's hands play over the skin of his chest, shoulders, arms, skimming lightly. "Do you think that there's anything he could tell her that will be a break point?"

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 22nd

In the great room at Harper's house there is a large fireplace with an ornate mantle that matches the exposed beams across the vaulted ceiling. Harper called earlier in the day to invite Geoff over. She had to run the evening read-aloud for children at the library. But she'd be home by eight. Would he bring something for them to drink? More specifically, Harper promised Geoff a hot evening. She wasn't forthcoming about the heat being a literal, fire-borne heat.

By the time Geoff arrives, Harper has -- on her own -- acquired firewood, carried enough inside for an extended evening, stacked it neatly by the hearth, and she has started a fire quite handily all on her own. It crackles and warms a twelve foot radius in that large room significantly more than the rest of the house. The scent of a wood fire inside is the perfect winter experience. Add to that the fact that Harper made a beef stew earlier in the day and that scent lingers as well, evoking a homey feel. It's an olfactory feast of winter-coziness.

Because the warmth of the fire is significant, Harper is able to wear a simple white tee-shirt -- that doesn't quite hide the fact that the bra beneath is black -- with black yoga pants with wool socks bunched at her ankles. Her hair is pulled back on either side of her head with barrettes. She's pushed back the furniture to make it nice to lean back against from the floor as well as having gathered a comfortable circle of pillows.

She's settled with a book on her back close to the fire, contentedly reading when he arrives.

From her a recline on her back on the floor in the midst of the pillows in front of the fire's illumination, Harper calls back dryly -- before he comes into view -- "Oh wait. Let me sneak my other boyfriend out the back door. Farewell, Jorge (hor-hay), I'll miss you! Okay. Clothes back on," she's pushing up from her recline by the time Geoff removes his shoes and moves down the step from the entry hall into the great room. The firelight reflects in her eyes as she watches him with a hint of that avid gaze she gets when they've been apart. A sigh lifts her shoulders and she vocalizes it softly on the exhalation. "Look at you. All delicious and handsome." She twists to watch his path lead to the kitchen where he easily finds the corkscrew, then the glasses. "You brought wine --" Her words trail off as he manifests the fiery orb. Her lips part and her eyes widen. "What is -- how did you -- my god. I can, um, put out the fire if you want." Because she wants to see him play with that. Pyromania induced.

Harper twists around to roll from a seat on her rear to her knees, watching Geoff with fascination. She doesn't move to put out the fire. Instead she watches Geoff and his fireball. "My billionaire latin lover? I'm sure he's gone already. With that helicopter in the back yard." She curves a playful bit of a smile. "I think I like jealous-Geoff. I think I like him quite a lot." She crooks a finger invitingly. "Bring that fiery glimmer over here and show me some tricks. How long have you known how to do that? And what else can you do?" Harper's mental abilities seem so very mild in comparison. "A touch more," she echoes dryly. "Will it burn me if I touch it?" Because he's doing fine with it floating there with him.

Looking simultaneously disappointed and fascinated, Harper watches Geoff approach and extinguish the Glimmer-fire. Something about the way he worded that strikes Harper as amusing: her brown eyes dance. "Wouldn't want you to play with it." She reaches up for her glass of (red, white, rose, sparkling?) wine. "Thank you." He sinks to his knees in the flickering light of the fire and she rises to her knees to meet him, touching her glass to his with a clink. "You can do all the things," she muses. "It makes me want to play with things I should leave alone." She takes a sip and settles back into the pillows on her hip. "Can you light /anything/ on fire? Do you have to touch things? Do you have to say 'lumos'? How did you even figure out that you could do it at all?" The dangers of making Harper curious.

Geoff's caution is wise. And Harper silently concedes that fact. But information follows and she listens with more of that avid expression, trying to imagine his 'practices'. She nods slowly and hmms. He figured it out in prison. Why did Harper not consider the fact that he'd have honed and used it there? Maybe it's the fact that visits to the prison never felt like home to her. They were visits that felt like a Dream: visits that made her feel helpless and angry. "I can imagine," she begins slowly. "... that there might have been some freedom in being able to do those things in prison. Power of a sort?" Maybe? It reassures her after the fact in some small way. "How often did you have to deal with violence like that?" The fire's warmth surrounds them. The movement of the flames sets shadows dancing around the periphery of the room. Harper's book is abandoned off to one side.

Harper listens, her glass of wine forgotten in her hand, her weighted gaze measuring everything she can from his expression, the cadence of his words, his body language. Her eyes tighten the faintest bit as he talks about those first two years. But talk of infliciting violence? Strangely that receives a fierce bit of a nod. Take that, would-be antagonists. She opens and closes the fingers on the hand not holding the glass of wine where it rests atop her knee. Harper tips her head into the light touch from Geoff. "It shaped you. We've established that we wouldn't change our pasts." She allows a smile to drift over her features. "I think it's time for your quarterly backrub." A beat. "Unless you'd rather watch a horror flick or toast some marshmallows. Or I'd read to you if you asked nicely." She glances to her book and back to him. "Your call, Turner." Harper finally takes a second sip of her wine.

Harper sees that gentle bump and raises him by lifting her free hand to slide it around behind his neck while she drifts closer to murmur against his lips, "All the touching. I'll take it." Slowly, and using up some willpower to do so, Harper draws back. "I like how wine tastes on you." Her hand slides back over his shoulder and drops to her lap. "Now take off your shirt."

Harper's wishes when it comes to Geoff are boundless. But the three words earn him a slow smile. She lifts her glass to sip, her gaze never leaving him as he teases her with the shirt removal. Apparently that fascination hasn't ebbed. She watches him like a cat watches its quarry. Now and again, randomly, it strikes her that this is Geoff. And he's somehow chosen her. And then the wonder settles all over again. "Well, I'll make sure to drink some more, then." Sure enough, another healthy sip, before she stretches over to set her glass on the stone hearth. He lays himself out, face-down, on the pillow-strewn floor in front of the fire. "Have mercy, it's another present all open and waiting for me to play with it." She trails a fingernail from the back of his neck all the way down his spine to the small of his back, only stopping when she meets the barrier of his beltline. She grumbles quietly, but settles for what she can have for the time being. "With lotion or without?" she asks, her voice soft and full of so many thoughts.

In a flash Harper is up and down the hall, returning with a bottle of lotion and somehow having flicked some music on to play some ambient jazz (not the unlistenable kind!). Returned to the firelit space, she settles to a lightweight perch atop Geoff's rear and fills one palm with lotion that is faintly scented like lemons and fresh basil. After rubbing her palms together she presses her hands both at the base of his back, perhaps getting a bit of lotion on his jeans, and slides her hands slowly up along either side of his spine. It may be that Harper is the winner in this scenario. Once she reaches his shoulders, her hands slide laterally across them and down the lines of each arm before sliding back up, leaving a smooth trail of lotion that she plans to take time slowly massaging into his skin. While leaning forward and stretched over Geoff's back she murmurs closely, "Hard or soft, Turner?"