bakerstreet | Can we maybe get this back on the designated one-day-a-week thing?

[With the beating his mind and his memories have taken in the last few hours, Booker's not surprised to find that he can't remember for the life of him how they've ended up back in his PI office. But here they are, him and Elizabeth, the woman he knows nothing and everything about, depending on how his recollections are working at the moment. Even though her back is to him once again, he can feel a dozen different emotions all aimed at him like pistols.

He rises from his chair and closes in on her. Booker doesn't know if he wants any more answers, not after the ones he's gotten this far, but he has to ask. No, he has to demand at least one thing.

Booker's hands close on Elizabeth's shoulders, but instead of shaking her, he pulls her against his body, a body that begins to respond to her lithe, smaller frame with surprising readiness.]

What do you want from me?

[ It doesn't matter how they got back here. Though traveling between times and spaces doesn't have the negative effects on her that it has on Booker and Comstock, there are still blanks in the questions and answers section of her mind. She isn't sure what she wants from this man, isn't always sure who it'll be when she steps through the door. She's often pleased and comforted to see the protector, the savior. Just as frequently, she's loathe to deal with the man who stole her away.

Elizabeth isn't even sure who it is this time, because it could be any of them, any of the Bookers or Comstocks, stuck now in Rapture. She's seen them all. Which is why she has her back to him, staring out at the sea, debating just restarting this whole experience before it even begins. But, then... then, he's up behind her, pressing against her back, and a fire ignites under all of her memories and feelings. ]

That depends; [ she speaks, finally, not turning to face him, though not pulling her body away, either ] It depends completely on you.

[ He'll notice her hips, pressed flush against his, though she's a bit shorter. She isn't shying away from the contact; quite the opposite. ]

Who are you this time, and what do you want?

[ There are absolutely right and wrong answers, here. Ones she's looking for to either take her revenge, or... something completely different in nature. ]

[When she presses to him, Booker feels that single move light a fire inside of him as easily as the plasmids allowed him to literally burst into flame. Elizabeth is a match, and while he knows those are just as dangerous as they are alluring, he stays close. Moves closer.]

I want to know why from the moment you walked through that door, you're the only thing in my head. Why I'm willing to follow you to Hell and worse because all of a sudden, there's nothing I won't do to keep you safe.

[As Booker speaks, his hands aren't idle. They're sliding over Elizabeth's hips, wrapping around her waist.]

I want to know how I can barely know you and still need you. Fear you. Love you. Want you.

[ She considers this. Feels his body against hers, knows what her very presence, what their position is doing to him. As something brews within herself, Elizabeth knows that it won't matter how the impending conversation goes. The result will be the same either way. Constants, and variables. ]

It all depends. [ Depends on who he is, on what he remembers. Her breath hitches slightly, ripples of want like waves, coursing through her system. She lifts her chin a touch higher as if in invitation. He could be anybody, needy at her back and enticed by the cosmic mystery that surrounds her. The fact that he isn't just anybody is the reason she's turned on, herself. This man is a thousand and one different things to her: some positive, some negative. Some very negative. ... Some very positive.

Elizabeth turns slowly, still keeping her body up to his, moving ever so slightly to get a rise out of him, daring him to make the first move. ]

Let's try and jog your memory.

[When she turns, Booker's hands automatically come to rest on her trim waist, just short of pulling her against him but then she moves and it's a moot point. She'd be a fool if she couldn't feel him rising against her and he'd be a fool to miss her signals as well.]

I hear a shock to the system might do that.

[The first instinct in him is to slowly pull Elizabeth towards him, but he said a shock to the system, so instead it's a sudden explosion of movement on his end, head dipping down and mouth covering over hers with a hungry sound from his chest. One of Booker's hands slides up to rest between her shoulder blades and the other finally does pull her hips hard against his.]

[ Elizabeth is far from the girl in the tower of years ago. She's the woman of one, two, a thousand worlds, and this isn't the first time she's gotten tangled, wrapped up in Booker DeWitt. Always, though, she finds herself silently praying that this is the one she knows, the one that knows every inch of her in return, and even if it isn't, she's willing to teach. To jump-start his memories and bring back the man she's drawn to, like a magnet, each and every time.

When he presses his lips against hers, almost rushed and needy in his deliverance, she returns with a patience, albeit a fierce one. Her movements against his kiss are slow, drawn-out and tantalizing, rather than soft and innocent. She allows herself to be held flush against him, shifting her hips intentionally to grind against him. All the while, her hands wander up, pressing to his chest, slinking around the back of his neck to dig her nails just so at the nape. ]

[Her reaction to this is just as frustrating and exhilarating as every moment around Elizabeth has been. The heat is there, but it's like she's permanently set to slow burn, making him more and more desperate for her with every passing moment, needing to feel her explode.

Booker's arms wrap around her body, touching and holding all at once. He hisses quietly when her nails bite into his skin. Booker replies by squeezing soft flesh-- her rear through the taut skirt, a breast through the sharply-tailored blouse.]

[ She won't explode, not yet; it'll take a lot more than that. This is a young woman who has traveled the universes, who has had to re-learn the nature of time itself. She can wait-- though, she wonders, can he? Elizabeth moves her hips in a tantalizing wave, feeling him hard against her in return. There's a little breathy noise against his lips as she continues to work against them, painted lips not daring to curl into a satisfied smile, not yet. Not until she knows for sure who it is she's entangled with. ]

And is this the real face of your business, Mr. DeWitt? [ Of course, she knows that his investigative services were legitimate; at least, as much as they could be in a borrowed world. She teases him, inches from his lips, drawing back only to quirk a taunting brow. To accompany the words, one hand trails down his front, painted nails picking lightly at the buttons, though not yet removing them. Her fingers brush over his midsection, curling with just enough pressure at where his pants have tightened at the crotch. ]

[Booker shivers. He seems to do that a lot around Elizabeth, both physically and in his mind. Whoever she is and whatever she is to him, the woman can strum her fingertips right across his soul. That she knows more about him than he does is plain enough to see. That she knows more about everything than almost anyone is starting to come clear. And so he shivers, because it's frightening to look into the eyes of someone like that and have no other thought than wanting to be with them.]

I'm a P.I. and have been as far back as I can remember. I've helped people. Protected some. Hurt some, but mostly ones that needed it.

[He still clutches at her, but it's half to keep himself from falling to his knees.]

But you... you I have to help. To protect. To do whatever I have to so that you don't go away. And I don't care if you tell me why or not.

[ As drawn to her as Booker is, Elizabeth is pulled to him as strongly, though in a different way. He senses the enormity of what she knows, but she has a need to know who he is, which he is-- If this is DeWitt she loves or loathes. Her sharp eyes skate over his features, looking for some sign. Just because he's in Rapture and with those memories doesn't mean he's the latter version, the stranger who ruined so many lives. No, in fact, this sounds more like her savior, the protector and hero she'd come to admire. ]

"Whatever you have to?" [ Her chin is lifted, mouth still so close to his. She draws one hand up to his face, runs her thumb slowly along his lips. ] I'll hold you to that, then.

[ What else can she do but move on? The other hand is still occupied below, clearly trying to get even more of a rise out of him. This is the active sensuality she first showed when trying to distract some of Rapture's shop owners, though it's all focused on Booker, now, and all decisive points of action. She would see, at least, if she could get the needy reaction she's looking for. ]

[Need and attraction are all but boiling over inside of him, as are the frustration and confusion, but the compulsion to have her and be there for her trumps all.]

Then hold me to it. Ask something of me. Anything.

[It's like tinder begging for a spark or worse yet, a fuse calling for a match-- and Booker has no idea what will happen if and when he gets it. The fire could be warm and inviting, crackling and passionate, or explosive. But he needs it.

Heedless of any pretense of being proper, his lips touch hers.]

Just don't leave me.

[ Constants and variables. She scoffs lightly at the "just don't leave me"-- as if she had a choice, as if he wasn't as integral a part of his life as she was to his. This man was everywhere, in each universe she was a part of, in each that her counterparts existed in. Anything-- Ask anything? If only she could go back, she thinks, to when they were dashing around Columbia, when there was a hero and a villain and everything was simple. Of course, she knows that it can't be that way ever again. Maybe with another Elizabeth, one who doesn't know, but not with her.

It isn't fair, cries a small, young voice, but she knows there isn't any point in that at all. ]

I'm not going anywhere. [ Her hand curls around the knot of his tie, sliding down the fabric, tugging him in close to meet his mouth again. It's more forceful, more rough around the edges than her past advances have been. She's patient, yes, but she's human, and her desire for him matches his own fire. Elizabeth presses to him, then moves to turn them so he's back to the wall instead. For as dominant as Booker and his personality are, this Elizabeth has no problem fighting for control. ]

[When she responds so strongly, when she deepens the kiss, it becomes the moment when Booker careens over the edge. He's in the middle of reaching for Elizabeth to pull her tight again when she turns them around, and it doesn't stop him. If anything, it pushes him further, his fingers slipping into her hair and tightening, tilting Elizabeth's head so he can taste even more of her.

His other hand slides down her back, even as far as to caress the firm rear under the tightly-fitted skirt.

After a minute, though, the burning pushes Booker to assert himself again. He spins Elizabeth around until her back is again against to his chest. He reaches around her and begins to unbutton her blouse

[ When he rubs his hands over her body, pulls her right against him, a breathy sound involuntary escapes her lips. She's almost frustrated to have been pulled from his mouth, but now that she had feel him hard against her, she's perfectly content to let him work, to circle her hips firmly against his, spurring him on. Her fingers sweep down her blouse, too, where he hasn't already finished, and she starts unbuttoning from the bottom up. Before too long the shirt is hanging loose on her shoulders and she has no issue in shrugging it into an ungraceful pile on the floor.

Leaning her head back slightly, she hisses: ] Now you.

[Booker's not about to delay another moment if he can help it. When Elizabeth shrugs out of her shirt, he's pulling his own out of his waistband and unbuttoning it hastily. He almost fumbles with it, but gets it open and tosses it aside, following it with his undershirt.

Soon, he's scattering kisses over Elizabeth's bare shoulders and neck, his fingers suddenly much more deft as they undo the clasp of her brassiere. Making short work of that, his hands slide around her waist and up, cupping her firm breasts in his hands. Booker lets out a sigh at the contact.]

[ Elizabeth, too, isn't hesitating anymore. Though she doesn't turn to face him, she aches to run her hands along his exposed chest, to feel his skin against hers. She presses her bare back to him, running her slender fingers along his hands, encouraging him as he toys with her breasts. She, too, sighs contentedly as things begin to gain steam, leaning into his mouth for each kiss and brush of his lips. The hand that isn't skirting over his, that isn't assisting him, is moving again behind her to where they're pressed, slipping between them to grasp--and firmly this time--the hardened cock at the crotch of his pants. ]

[Booker's kissing just grow in hunger with each one she returns, and when she's not, his mouth ranges over her neck and shoulders, as though part of him wants to devour her. And maybe it does.

Whatever it is, he's getting high on the taste of her skin and the way she writhes under his touch and how her nipples pebble and tighten against his palms and her rear grinds against his growing shaft.

And when Elizabeth grasps that shaft, he groans.]

[ She gets that impression, letting him explore her while she arches into it, breaths slow, steadied, but also deepening in hunger as they continue on. She tilts her neck, lifts her shoulders, brushes fingers across her breasts, over his hands as she moves. She's glad to get a rise out of him, lip curling in satisfaction at the reaction, pleasure spiking at the low moan he makes against her ear. ]

What do you want, Mr. DeWitt? [ Her voice is quiet, just audible enough as she leans back to catch his ear. Her body still presses firmly, undulating slowly like a wave against him. ]

[Patience and rationality are dwindling commodities on Booker's side of things, not with the way Elizabeth moving so sinuously against his body. Finally, he spins her around, hands abandoning her breasts to clutch at the waistband of her skirt, searching for the zipper.]

First, I want this off. I've been staring at you all day, wanting to tear it off.

[He dips his head, pressing his mouth to hers, demanding a kiss.]

And after that, I want all of you I can have.

Hm. [ There's a little noise, and it's hard to tell whether it was out of some kind of judgment or appreciation for what he's said. Either way, her hands guide him around to her back where the skirt's zipper is located, after which they slide up his arms and then down his front, dragging across every arch and ridge of his body. ]

You have no patience. [ Of course, that's something she's grown to love about him: the rough and tumble, shoot first, ask questions later way he does things. Elizabeth lets the skirt fall, revealing a slip and one last undergarment below. She takes the kiss, crimson lips having left quite a few marks around his face and neck by this point. Claiming him in return. ]

We'll see. [ Again with the indecision, the mystery. But she eyes him with interest, waiting to see with what fervor he acts. ]

[He gives a little growl once she's down to the slip and the hint of the knickers he can see underneath. Booker continues to kiss her hotly, hips tilting again and again toward her.]

No, I don't. Life hasn't often had much to give me that I've cared to have, so when it does, I don't like to wait.

[Booker wants to ball his fists and cry out in frustration. She's waiting for him again, weighing him, testing him. He thinks desperately for the answer, for the response that she wants.

All he knows is that he won't take. The world hasn't broken him that completely. Life hasn't stolen so much from him that he would force himself on her.]

Please... [A plea, a request, but one said with desperate and furious need barely contained behind it.]

[ She meets his mouth each time with the same fire, withdrawing only to listen to what he has to say, to consider it. She knows almost everything about him, knows the things he's done and suffered through in his life. Her expression softens from the hardened smolder to something a little more understanding, though he might not be able to detect it given what he believes to be their "brief" time together.

Then, at the softened plea, it strikes her. This is the man she knows, the one who would wait and ask her first, who would always put her own well being above his own. Who wouldn't take advantage of her-- not anymore. This isn't Comstock. She swallows hard, the realization of it all soaking into her expression, into the light in her eyes. And she smiles finally, in a much more genuine way than before, though still only slightly discernible in the fading light. ]

Yes. ... Mr. DeWitt.

[ And that's it, then. She claims his mouth with something deeper and more honest than before, hand rising to snake around his neck again. The other moves down to begin to undo his pants, simultaneously sliding her hips forward against his completely in encouragement and permission for him to remove what's left of her clothes. ]

[Something changes, of that Booker's sure, even though it might be the only thing about Elizabeth with and kind of surety involved. But he'll take it. He'll revel in it, because he's spent every moment of their time together needing to get through to her, somehow. He doesn't know how or why or what exactly he did, but it changes.

The kiss is different and he falls into it unreservedly. His hands slide down Elizabeth's back to undo the slip and tug it downward. Booker steps out of his trousers, leaving him in boxers, before he pushes down Elizabeth's panties at last.] I need you...

[Booker lifts her off her feet and carries her to the bed.]

[ The move doesn't change what she's doing as she nips at his skin, trailing kisses across his chest while her arms wrap securely around his neck. Elizabeth traces red lines with her fingernails down the slope of his back, arches her own neck to exhale roughly in the throes of her own desire. His words don't fall to deaf ears; she certainly needs him, too, body hot and left wanting for more with each touch.

When they make it to the bed, once she's set down, Elizabeth stretches out, arms laid over and above her head, hair fanned, expression coy. She turns the dark-lined eyes to him, crimson lip curled invitingly. Fiendishly. ]

Don't make me wait another second. [ She says, the smoky voice low, but fond. ]

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Sorry! Going to the ER really puts a damper on your RP time.

Oh my gosh, hope everything's alright!

Clean bill of health for now, thanks! :)

♥

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