moritat | Victorian weenie au

He kisses her chest idly, not wanting to think about how close it may or may not be. It's nice here. Even monsters want to cuddle sometimes!!!!!

"Hmm..." He pauses, seems almost to fall asleep again, but, "Home, I suppose." His home, not Jekyll's. Or maybe Jekyll's. He doesn't know. It depends. It doesn't matter.

Detecting no licentiousness on his part, Paloma relaxes completely in his presence for the very first time tonight. He can kiss her wherever he likes.

"Close your eyes," she murmurs.

He's glad to do as he's told, he thought she'd never ask!! "All right." Please cradle him forever. And bite him when he gets out of hand to subdue him into being a damn teddy bear.

Behind his head she tugs off one glove, then the other, dropping them with her fallen hat. A turn of the cab leads her to tighten around him until they're safe from rolling off the cushioned seat.

When they are, little touches begin to linger at a variety of points on Hyde's face. His brow, to start. Beneath his eyes. A thumb creasing, tracing the line below his hip.

That is a good way to have him snoozing once again. There's a small sigh, a wild beast tamed in her lap. Eventually the effects will wear off, but for now Hyde is weak.

The cab stops too soon.

Far too soon for them to have arrived, actually. Paloma's ears pick up a ruckus somewhere in front of their fancy box and the voice of their driver after a brisk knock at the window.

"Apologies! Collision ahead on the bridge! They're cleaning up, it'll be just a bit."

"This is fine," she calls back, and winces, hoping it didn't startle her tamed wild thing. Her palm sketches over his cheek.

He stirs, "what?" lifts his head, drops it, and nothing more. Once again, this monster of a man is innocent as anything, no evil present in the young face that should, by all rights, look so sweet. Does look sweet on Jekyll.

Because it won't last, she determines to enjoy his harmlessness while he's as snuggly as a favorite teddy.

(Harm to her self-control counts as a danger, just not bodily.)

Paloma brushes her knuckles against the hair at his nape, chin tucking to make a study of him. "We are to wait. I protect you for now."

It helps too that he has slept so little in the weeks gone by, his body can't continue to run on fumes.

And in losing blood, he has also lost traces of the potion. While they wait, after some time, he begins to change. It's not instantaneous, but it is also not a slow transition. Within thirty seconds, he's grown a little taller, aged a few years, and if she could see it, the real give away would be the eye colour. But still he sleeps.

His growth is simple enough to disregard. It only feels like he's adjusting their positioning, which, well, that's reasonable!

She doesn't continue to watch his sleeping face after drinking-- ha-- her fill. When his 'adjustment' stops, she trails more paths absentmindedly over his back ...

The sigh that comes is that if a softer voice, not so deep or gruff. But surely that's easily passed off as well. His eyes blink open slowly, calm and content at first, before he realises his own awareness and the feeling of his body. It is not the same as when he slept, he is himself again, and he can't be seen here. His heart skips a beat, and eyes darting about the carriage, he scrambles to grab his hat to hide his face as he dashes for the door, into the street.

To his magnificent misfortune, Paloma catches a glimpse of his face the instant she feels tension pass between them. With their bodies coiled around and intertwined like so, there's no way for her not to feel the difference.

"Harry," is the only surprised observation she's given enough time to make before the wayward doctor hightails it out of the cab.

What in the name of God's going on?

Nope what is she talking about, he isn't Harry!!!

Of course, he has to be sure to write the driver a note for his services before taking cover. But it's a hurried thing that might not be entirely identifiable, between that rush and his shaking hand.

Better run, since he can't explain!!

But what's this? Paloma leans a little ways out of the door, head and half of her torso hanging in the wind with the look of a bewildered puppy. "... Doctor Jekyll?"

I CAN'T EXPLAAAAAAIN

In that moment he is half child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, half prey caught in the grasp of a predator. He inhales sharp, clenching his jaw together. What will he do.

The answer is, try to keep his eyes obscured and lower his voice, to about Hyde's pitch. As best he can. "I apologise, Mrs. Vasquez, I suddenly remembered something."

"Harry."

Don't be stupid, man, she can tell he's grown taller, can hear the difference in voice. Saw his damned face.

"Come back inside. Please."

"Edward," he tries to insist, stammering it, "I know that we hold some resemblance, but really now!" This isn't supposed to happen. How can he change around someone, only mere days into his new, second life.

Now he's hurt her feelings.

Again.

She retreats only partially into the cab, to hide half her face even as she refuses a full retreat. "You insult me."

No, no. That's all the worse, to see that he's hurt her, and to hear it. Anger would be one thing, but that it is pure cruelty on his part...

But no one can know. If only he had the potion on him, Hyde wouldn't hesitate to kill the driver and Paloma to keep his identity safe. But for that thought to cross his mind at all horrifies and disgusts him. Everything this evening has happened because of his own longing for her, it would be terrible enough to have such a thought about anyone, but especially her in this moment.

He goes back to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle, wide open, staring into the carriage. His legs are jelly, he can't step in.

Certainly, there is anger mired in her confusion. Is this a betrayal? Can she call it that? Perhaps, because even if she's no right to lie with him again, they exchanged a kind of trust. A kind of freedom in that trust.

She avoids his eyes for lack of any concrete idea of what her feelings are doing.

"It was you. All this time, what happened, it was you."

"No--" he searches for the words to explain himself, but finds only that desperate plea. "No, that is not - it was not me."

He can feel his mouth drying out, throat tightening. What can he do. Finally he steps back inside, closing the door behind him. But is sure to sit on the bench opposite, bands folded in his lap, held tight together.

She doesn't believe a single word.

His distance stings as much as the dishonesty. The hat, veil, and gloves remain on the floor between their feet in testimony to what occurred with herself and Hyde. Paloma looks nowhere else.

Once he's sat: "What changes, that you sit so far?"

"Shame," he says it plainly at first, but, no, that isn't quite it - "I have." He still wants to kiss her, he still wants her, that might be the worst part of all.

"I am not myself." More than anything, though, he doesn't want to talk about this or look at that evidence on the floor.

Paloma opens her mouth and realizes she cannot ride the high horse here. Not with what almost happened. Not after what did happen. She tastes blood.

"And I am a sinner. As you saw tonight." Shaking hands smooth over her rumpled skirt. Something he helped with. "I wish you had not lied about where you are."

"I told no lie - not until a moment ago." Which was...also not entirely a lie, technically? As for whether she is a sinner, if so he already saw it before when they slept together. Certainly worse than a kiss, no matter how...intense.

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