One of the few things she can keep in her head when Luther releases her at the same time as she's trying to make anything like a graceful shift to the other seat in this dress is being torn between wanting to push too fast and hard for as far over into the seat against the door as she can get and not looking like she's actually running from anything. Allison Hargreeve does not run. From anything.
(Except.)
Even if her nervous system, still all green lights and lightning, strung high on the too-tight awareness of the breath that had just been on her neck and shoulder, the hands that lingered before letting her go, legs and chest, pressing her everywhere else, left the strangest hot sear in her skin. Too awake, too aware, too many things she wasn't supposed to be feeling, too much like it was still happening.
Even when she was only saying, "Thanks," and rearranging the excess fabric of this dress into the actual foot space, she had between not having two pairs of legs or Luther's height to take into account for any longer. Everything is still a buzz at too high a key in her skin, in her head, her teeth. Like it won't stop. Like if the passing streetlamps, singing in briefly through the windows in patterned every few seconds, focused on her too long pink-red would show straight through the color of her skin somehow.
Everything still felt warm, which made the whole idea of coffee suddenly seem deeply ludicrous, like the last thing she wanted was to be even further overheated by her own idiocy. She'd rather almost anything else. Something else like. Allison's head titled as the idea struck her. Lips pressing. She knows it's frustration and guilt (and two-three things she doesn't want to name but can't ignore), but it's maybe not a terrible idea either?
She doesn't ask. How often did she ever? Her brow furrowed in thought when it struck, and less than fifteen seconds later, she was leaning forward, slipping toward the front of her seat and leaning into the center console area, addressing the driver. "I've changed my mind. Can you take us to the intersection of--" Allison described the location with a few other notable landmarks but not the chosen change.
He pointed out it was the opposite direction, but Allison could pay for it, and that was all that really mattered.
no subject
(Except.)
Even if her nervous system, still all green lights and lightning, strung high on the too-tight awareness of the breath that had just been on her neck and shoulder, the hands that lingered before letting her go, legs and chest, pressing her everywhere else, left the strangest hot sear in her skin. Too awake, too aware, too many things she wasn't supposed to be feeling, too much like it was still happening.
Even when she was only saying, "Thanks," and rearranging the excess fabric of this dress into the actual foot space, she had between not having two pairs of legs or Luther's height to take into account for any longer. Everything is still a buzz at too high a key in her skin, in her head, her teeth. Like it won't stop. Like if the passing streetlamps, singing in briefly through the windows in patterned every few seconds, focused on her too long pink-red would show straight through the color of her skin somehow.
Everything still felt warm, which made the whole idea of coffee suddenly seem deeply ludicrous, like the last thing she wanted was to be even further overheated by her own idiocy. She'd rather almost anything else. Something else like. Allison's head titled as the idea struck her. Lips pressing. She knows it's frustration and guilt (and two-three things she doesn't want to name but can't ignore), but it's maybe not a terrible idea either?
She doesn't ask. How often did she ever? Her brow furrowed in thought when it struck, and less than fifteen seconds later, she was leaning forward, slipping toward the front of her seat and leaning into the center console area, addressing the driver. "I've changed my mind. Can you take us to the intersection of--" Allison described the location with a few other notable landmarks but not the chosen change.
He pointed out it was the opposite direction, but Allison could pay for it, and that was all that really mattered.