capeandcowllogs | (no subject)

(no subject)

WHO: [Bad username or site: lilac_scented title=Kate_Bishop @ livejournal.com] and [Bad username or site: righttodissent title=Eli_Bradley @ livejournal.com]
WHERE: Casa del Beetle
WHEN: Thursday;
WARNINGS: None
SUMMARY: Eli comes home. The married couple finally meets
FORMAT: Up to my beloved~

Eli hates fighting.

Okay that's not exactly true. He doesn't hate it. He's too good at it, really, to hate it. Just just doesn't like it when fighting involved Kate. And this fight wasn't about anyone else, so Eli feels entirely valid in saying he hates fighting.

He's eating soup.

And liking it.

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To be fair, it's pretty terrible soup. But it has shredded carrots and Eli likes those, right? ~~She meant well.~~

Kate is also very good at fighting. Mainly she's terrific at sticking to her guns (or her arrows, as it were) as long as humanly possible.

But sometimes--especially when 'sometimes' involve Eli--she's willing to let go. Just enough to open that door and wedge a foot in. That, and the fact that Eli is eating her soup (even Mrs Altman wouldn't eat it and Mrs A is typically very accepting of Kate's cooking) makes for a happy Katie.

She puts a hand on his back and kneads gently with her fingers.

"You don't have to eat it, you know," she feels compelled to say. Apparently that super-soldier constitution is back on track.

Eli is scarfing it down because he loves Kate, damn it. And he's hungry. And yes, the super soldier immune system is back, along with it's demands for food.

"It's not that bad," he lies through his teeth. It's terrible, but then he can't exactly say that, can he? She's touching him and he doesn't want her to stop, so he just grins through the meal at her. "How are you?"

Kate appreciates his lying, she really does. At least it isn't burnt, or rotten, or anything like that. It's just an unfortunate mix of carrots, corn, tomato and way too much coriander.

She leans against his back, wrapping her arms loosely around his shoulders so as not to impede him too much. She tucks her face against the crook of his neck and smiles. "Been practicing my cello. I donated my unused boxers; I wish women's undies came in 24-packs. It would make my life so much easier."

He laughs a little, and shovels another spoonful into my mouth. "I can't say anything about women's undies, you know." He turns, finally, and pulls her into his lap. Maybe he's a little more affectionate today than usual. But he's missed her.

"So what am I doing to make up for being a jerk?" he asks, even though he feels, a little, like maybe he wasn't one. But that's not earning any points. This is as close to an apology as Eli can actually come without lying to her about something important.

She lets out a surprised giggle as he swings her around and onto his knees, and she loops her arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek. The feeling's mutual.

"Well," she proposes, string a series of light kisses along his jawline, "you could kiss me," a kiss to his chin, "and then not stop." She smiles against the corner of his mouth.

Eli doesn't mind the kisses, he just hopes that no one walks in because if they think he can't yell at them with Kate in his lap, they are dead wrong. He turns his head to press a kiss against her cheek, then against her lips, his hands tightening their grip on her.

"Wouldn't I have to stop eventually?" he asks, between kisses.

"Maybe," she admits, stealing some more kisses before breathlessly adding, "not right now." He tastes like coriander and it's not bad, at least she thinks so because she made the soup. She likes his smell and the feel of his skin and how strong his hands are against her waist, her hips.

"We should maybe," she says after a few moments, "move upstairs. Or something." She won't admit it, but she could probably yell at someone perched on Eli's lap. But she'd rather avoid it if possible.

Eli lifts her up and doesn't want to let go, because even though he is strong enough to carry her up the stairs doesn't mean that he should. So he grips her hand in his. It's so small in comparison, and the calluses are totally different, but he doesn't worry about it when he tugs her to follow him up the stairs.

"Better than someone walking in, right?"

She follows him up, grinning slyly. "Infinitely better." She likes this alone-time-with-Eli idea. She likes it very much.

As they climb, she uses her other hand to discreetly cop a feel. Somewhere in the world, she thinks, a piece of chiseled marble is weeping. If anything, Kate loves the white uniform pants because they do every advantage to Eli's cute butt.

"I feel that, you know," he says, but there's a definite amused tone in his voice as he pulls her into his room and shuts the door. "Is this part of me making it up to you?" He's grinning like crazy, which is a rare look for Eli. He gives her a kiss to the mouth again, and pulls her close.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's not polite to touch someone else without permission?" He's clearly joking. It's a terrible joke.

"That," she snickers, "would be the point." She snuggles into his arms, pressing a few kisses to his jaw. "That part of you is always making it up to me," she replies smartly, kissing him fully, her hands rubbing the back his neck gently, then gliding across his shoulders.

She breaks away from him when he makes his terrible joke, mostly to give him a 'oh-no-you-didn't' look. "Next time I'll make you sign a consent form." More kissing, less jokes, Eli.

His hands go back around her waist as she kisses him, and he lifts her up and onto the bed, because really, the bed is right there. He moves one hand, then, to reach around the back of her head, and it tangles in her hair. He kisses her on the mouth again, then nudges her a little, moving apart.

"We are strictly politically correct team, you know."

She settles comfortably against the sheets, feeling surprisingly comfortable with where this is going. She feels happy--maybe a little giddy--warm and safe. She presses their foreheads together, enjoying a very slow kiss just to feel the gentleness of his lips.

When he nudges them apart, she bites her lip to stifle a snicker. "We are, aren't we? One african-american, two homosexuals, one Jew, a robot..." one of her hands is playing with the top button on his shirt. One down, two to go. Mmmm, collarbone. "Pretty soon we'll just call ourselves the 'Avenging Individuals Who Are Below Legal Voting Age' because calling ourselves 'young' is too ageist."

He has one arm around her torso, the other up by her face, and he kisses her again while she plays with his shirt button. Normally he wears those things because it's what he was raised wearing - his grandmother was very proper - but now he's kind of pleased about his choice of wardrobe.

"And one alien. We're more politically correct than the actual Avengers." He presses a kiss against her chin. "Too long. Besides one of us can actually vote now."

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