[ she buys a dress. she buys an expensive dress, and the shop delivers it — right to illya's address, as daisy's at work and she knows he'll be home, neatly steamed and pressed and hung from a thick wooden hanger and covered in thin ecofoil to protect it from the elements.
don't look, she tells him.
she'd like the whole thing to be a surprise, really. an opportunity for him to look at her the way he had that recent afternoon in the vyonation lobby, to see her in something other than everyday wear or one of his shirts. he might not be a fashion consultant in real life, but she knows he still has taste.
so she makes him wait in the living room until she's ready, until her head peeks out the doorframe and calls him in, beckoning him to come and help.
[ he doesn't look. once the dress is delivered, he hangs it on the closet door for her to find when she gets back. with that done, he goes about showering and sliding into the suit he'd bought for the occasion.
everything is neat and tailored, fitted to his height and width so nothing sags or looks too tight anywhere. it's comfortable but it would still never be his favorite thing to wear.
but, he's at least ready by the time she gets home and thus, he stays in the living room, drinking water and idly scrolling through the network until she gets his attention. ]
Do I have to close my eyes?
[ well, she'd been so secretive about the dress that she might just want assistance for a moment before shoving him out of the room again. ]
How are you going to see the zipper if you close your eyes?
[ honestly, illya, use your brain. and your eyes, too, for that matter. if he does, he'll notice her expression in the mirror, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth as she peeks at his silhouette in the doorway through the reflection of the mirror.
by now, she's mostly ready. they'd set dinner late enough that she was able to come back from work without worrying about staying too late, and now that she'd had a chance to shower and dry her hair, all that was left was just zipping up her dress. then she'd be done, ready to go; they'd have a little time to kill, but she wouldn't have to rush. ]
I would follow your voice and then just touch your back until I found it. I do not think it would take me that long.
[ but it is easier to do it with his eyes open. he takes the zipper in his hands and pushes it upwards until the it rests against the top of the dress. that done, he lets it go and brushes his hands briefly down her shoulders. ]
Turn around so I can see.
[ he steps back so he can take in the full effect of the dress. it's absolutely on purpose that he puts his hands into his pockets. he knows what he's going to want to do and they're about to go to a fancy dinner.
I think you'd get distracted first, [ is her surprisingly diplomatic reply, but he does at least manage to finagle the zipper up as needed, so she can't rib him too hard. yet.
instead, she turns; it's not quite a model spin, not quite as smooth as the swooshing skirt flare she'd done in the dressing room. it's ... shier, almost, a slow rotation on bare feet as she turns to face him. she's not totally sure what to do with her hands. his are in his pockets, but she doesn't have pockets — should she hold them outright, scarecrow style? rest them on her hips? let them dangle like the ends of spaghetti noodles from limp arms?
who knows, really. she just... doesn't know, so she shrugs a bit, and tries to play it off as a pseudo vanna white impression. ]
It's too late for you to tell me you hate it, for the record. The shop's already closed and they don't give refunds.
[ he doesn't hate it at all. there is nothing to hate about this dress. he doesn't know what to say about it for the moment. instead, he stares, eyes widened slightly and desperately trying not to bite his lip.
when he realizes he's just been staring at her, he finally shakes himself free and steps back closer, letting his fingers trail down one of her arms until he can snag two of her fingers with his. ]
You look beautiful. [ of course she does. ] You're stunning.
[ well. she's glad he doesn't hate it. that much she can admit fairly quickly, if not to him then at least to herself. she's glad for the other part, too — the soft compliment, the gentle caress along her arms that drags goosebumps in its wake, the twining of hands even in a light touch — even if she can't quite verbalize it.
the soft flush on her cheeks does a damn good enough job as it is.
he looks good as well, though she doesn't think he needs her to tell him that. fashion consultants, even false ones, should know how to dress themselves, and the cut of his suit so perfectly done tells her that he knows damn well how to do it. but he does look good, and so it's reason enough for daisy to lean that much closer in, stepping up on bare tiptoes to brush her lips against the line of his jaw. ]
[ his razors were exactly where they were supposed to be. he just hadn't bothered to shave. soon, he was going have to at least trim it to make sure it didn't go from neat to unkempt but he was still good for now. ]
I'll shave tomorrow.
[ he wouldn't. ]
You're lovely. [ just in case she needed more compliments. ] I'm lucky.
[ couldn't find his razor? hmmm. weird how that would happen, considering they were just in the same spot they always were. since she'd been too lazy to actually follow through with throwing them away. ]
Me too. [ lucky, that is. it feels strange to say it out loud. like admitting this whole arrangement is more than just... convenient. practical. she'd given his address for the delivery of a dress that was more expensive than her last month's worth of meals, but she'd justified it as practicality. he was home, she was at work. it didn't make sense to have a dry-cleaned dress delivered to her office.
but... well. there was also the part where, when daisy thought about going home after work, she'd slowly stopped thinking of the flat she shared with two colleagues and more about the apartment whose key hung around her neck. ]
We have a little time. [ before they have to leave. ] What do you want to do?
[ what an absolutely loaded question that is when she's standing there, looking as she does. he gives her fingers a squeeze, trying to suppress anything too risque from passing through the empathy bond. he rubs his thumb against her knuckles and shrugs one shoulder. ]
Television?
[ it seemed like the safest thing to do, did it not? they could sit and watch one program while they were dressed up and no one would get mussed and then they would be off.
[ try as he might, there's just no suppressing memory. his touch might be gentle, but there's a familiarity to it, a near-possessive quality that makes daisy's mouth quirk at the corners. she knows what he's trying not to think about, if only because she's trying not to think about it too. ]
[ it was better than sitting on his bed. not by much but somewhat. so, he swallows and nods. ]
I'll even let you choose the program.
[ maybe it would be mindless enough to distract him from thoughts that should wait till later.
anyway, he gives her hand a tug and starts to walk them out towards the living room and the couch. it was a nice couch. a totally innocent, nice couch. ]
[ you know what you're probably not supposed to do before a Big Date with your best friend and her "not a love interest" (whose dick you've both seen?) and your own not-boyfriend? sit on said not-boyfriend's lap, for starters.
but that's what daisy does, because she's a grown adult who can make her own decisions. besides, she hasn't really seen him very much today, so it's okay if she enjoys the last few minutes of whatever time they have to kill up close and personal... right?
probably not, but she's doing it anyway. ]
I like your suit, by the way. [ it's gonna be wrinkled now. sad trombone. ] Very chic.
[ oh, she's going to...okay, this is fine. she settles herself right on his lap and he shifts the tiniest bit to make himself a little more comfortable. he rests one hand on her knee, resisting the urge to actually move his hand up and down her leg because that way lay trouble when they needed to leave soon. ]
Chic. I do not think I've ever heard that word applied to me before. But thank you. I am glad it works for a night out.
[ because it was the only suit he had at the current time and he hadn't wanted to buy a whole new one just yet if this one was appropriate. ]
It does. [ very well. she's pretty fond of the way he looks in it. very serious. ] You almost look like someone who knows a thing or two about fashion.
[ that horrible cover. she can't wait for someone to realize what a bad lie it is and call him out on it, but for now, she'll just tease him about it in private. ]
Maybe we could do this again sometime, and you can wear it more.
[ she's quiet for a moment, a hand reaching up to sweep the hair at the nape of her neck. it's not that she's uncertain — but they haven't talked about these things yet. haven't really defined if dating is a thing they're doing. if they're doing more than just spending time together and going out to have dinner with friends.
but she knows, sitting in the living room all dressed up before they have to leave, that this isn't something she'd only want to do once. so maybe she can be honest about this, and that'll be enough. it's not a push, really. not a demand. just a request. ]
Just the two of us. [ a beat, and yet another casually murmured disclaimer. ] If that's something you'd want to do.
[ always those disclaimers. they are, he knows, a protective measure of a sort, but he wishes she didn't feel the need to use them. ]
All right.
[ it's easy to agree to something he's never really done outside of a job. but, he's going out tonight and it is not for work so he thinks he can manage to do it with just her and not ruin things too badly. ]
I think we should. [ he nods and gives her knee a gentle squeeze. ] Whenever the mood strikes and schedules are open, we can go.
[ easy enough. maybe too easy. maybe alarm bells should go off about slipping into something that's comfortable and familiar between them, about unwrapping another layer of something that goes well beyond physical intimacy, but they don't. instead, daisy just smiles; she leans into the touch, her leg kicking a little from reflex alone, and her head tips to brush her lips against his cheek, trailing a path from jawline to the corner of his mouth before she greets him with a kiss.
she doesn't mean to. it just... happens. instinct, familiarity, muscle memory; call it what you like, but it's just the natural path of being so close, of being in a familiar place. somewhere, in some part of daisy's mind, where it's safe to let her guard down enough to close her eyes.
maybe they should get going, but this is what she's doing right now. ]
[ if they ended up late, he was going to blame her. after all, she'd been the one to sit on his lap and that, he would say, was the catalyst to all this. not that he's really doing much to try and stop it.
no, he'll take...partial blame. because this sort of thing is a two person job and as soon as her lips meet his, he responds, eagerness and wanting flooding through him. it would be wise not to let himself get too overwhelmed since they do have to leave and they are dressed nicely but...maybe a little overwhelmed?
a little would be all right, wouldn't it? he can straighten his clothes and she can straighten hers and nothing would be amiss. this was fine. under control. ]
[ she'd tried to make sure they had time to leave at leisure. she'd planned the reservation for late enough in the evening that she could get home and change, left enough time in between to walk to the groundtram and then a block or so to the restaurant, made sure she'd even have enough time to check in with rey beforehand to make sure nothing was amiss.
what was that they said about best laid plans?
best of intentions aside, daisy forgets all of her carefully planned scheduling all too quickly, her attentions sliding to focus on the warm give-and-take the empathy bond provides. these days, there's little surprise in it. warmth, more so than anything else; mutually given, the hint of desire that swells each time their mouths meet, but trust and contentment and comfort surrounding it. it's not desperate or needy, just. familiar.
it's only once a neighbor's car alarm sounds in the distance that daisy pulls away, eyes squinting at the clock on the wall only to flutter wide in recognition. ]
Oh, shit, [ a hurried press of her lips to his, and then she's scrambling to her feet, doing her best to smooth out the twists in the straps on her shoulders from his wandering hands. ] Come on. We're gonna be so late.
[ if they take the groundtram, that is. she's already flicking through options on the driverless taxi service they took last time, trying to see if the rates will work. it's pricier than she would like, but, well. she'd rather be broke than lose the reservation.
or worse, make rey think they left her there on purpose. ]
[ it ends far too soon. one minute her lips are pressed against his hand and his hand are on her back, thinking of tugging those straps down and the next, she's several feet away from him, fixing her dress and looking frantic.
he's never been the slow one but he's slow right now, trying to recover from the gradual slide he'd been taking into getting caught up and lost in touching her. it hasn't gotten to the point where he needs to excuse himself and adjust his pants but a few more moments and that would have happened.
no, he's only to the point of licking his lips, straightening his hair and eventually rising to his feet. his suit's a little wrinkled but he does his best to brush the worst of them out. ]
We will get there. Don't panic. [ he wasn't going to let her pay for it all on her own either. so, they could take a taxi and get there quick enough. ] If we leave now, we'll be a few minutes late. It happens.
[ and it wouldn't be worse because she'd been the responsible one and noticed the time. ]
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daisy & illya, pre-dinner.
don't look, she tells him.
she'd like the whole thing to be a surprise, really. an opportunity for him to look at her the way he had that recent afternoon in the vyonation lobby, to see her in something other than everyday wear or one of his shirts. he might not be a fashion consultant in real life, but she knows he still has taste.
so she makes him wait in the living room until she's ready, until her head peeks out the doorframe and calls him in, beckoning him to come and help.
she needs a zipper pulled, after all. ]
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everything is neat and tailored, fitted to his height and width so nothing sags or looks too tight anywhere. it's comfortable but it would still never be his favorite thing to wear.
but, he's at least ready by the time she gets home and thus, he stays in the living room, drinking water and idly scrolling through the network until she gets his attention. ]
Do I have to close my eyes?
[ well, she'd been so secretive about the dress that she might just want assistance for a moment before shoving him out of the room again. ]
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[ honestly, illya, use your brain. and your eyes, too, for that matter. if he does, he'll notice her expression in the mirror, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth as she peeks at his silhouette in the doorway through the reflection of the mirror.
by now, she's mostly ready. they'd set dinner late enough that she was able to come back from work without worrying about staying too late, and now that she'd had a chance to shower and dry her hair, all that was left was just zipping up her dress. then she'd be done, ready to go; they'd have a little time to kill, but she wouldn't have to rush. ]
What do you think?
[ about her dress. ]
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[ but it is easier to do it with his eyes open. he takes the zipper in his hands and pushes it upwards until the it rests against the top of the dress. that done, he lets it go and brushes his hands briefly down her shoulders. ]
Turn around so I can see.
[ he steps back so he can take in the full effect of the dress. it's absolutely on purpose that he puts his hands into his pockets. he knows what he's going to want to do and they're about to go to a fancy dinner.
that has to wait. ]
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instead, she turns; it's not quite a model spin, not quite as smooth as the swooshing skirt flare she'd done in the dressing room. it's ... shier, almost, a slow rotation on bare feet as she turns to face him. she's not totally sure what to do with her hands. his are in his pockets, but she doesn't have pockets — should she hold them outright, scarecrow style? rest them on her hips? let them dangle like the ends of spaghetti noodles from limp arms?
who knows, really. she just... doesn't know, so she shrugs a bit, and tries to play it off as a pseudo vanna white impression. ]
It's too late for you to tell me you hate it, for the record. The shop's already closed and they don't give refunds.
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[ he doesn't hate it at all. there is nothing to hate about this dress. he doesn't know what to say about it for the moment. instead, he stares, eyes widened slightly and desperately trying not to bite his lip.
when he realizes he's just been staring at her, he finally shakes himself free and steps back closer, letting his fingers trail down one of her arms until he can snag two of her fingers with his. ]
You look beautiful. [ of course she does. ] You're stunning.
[ and that's that. ]
rly cute faces at midnight thx
the soft flush on her cheeks does a damn good enough job as it is.
he looks good as well, though she doesn't think he needs her to tell him that. fashion consultants, even false ones, should know how to dress themselves, and the cut of his suit so perfectly done tells her that he knows damn well how to do it. but he does look good, and so it's reason enough for daisy to lean that much closer in, stepping up on bare tiptoes to brush her lips against the line of his jaw. ]
Thanks for not shaving.
[ since he threatened to. ]
G R O S S
[ his razors were exactly where they were supposed to be. he just hadn't bothered to shave. soon, he was going have to at least trim it to make sure it didn't go from neat to unkempt but he was still good for now. ]
I'll shave tomorrow.
[ he wouldn't. ]
You're lovely. [ just in case she needed more compliments. ] I'm lucky.
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Me too. [ lucky, that is. it feels strange to say it out loud. like admitting this whole arrangement is more than just... convenient. practical. she'd given his address for the delivery of a dress that was more expensive than her last month's worth of meals, but she'd justified it as practicality. he was home, she was at work. it didn't make sense to have a dry-cleaned dress delivered to her office.
but... well. there was also the part where, when daisy thought about going home after work, she'd slowly stopped thinking of the flat she shared with two colleagues and more about the apartment whose key hung around her neck. ]
We have a little time. [ before they have to leave. ] What do you want to do?
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Television?
[ it seemed like the safest thing to do, did it not? they could sit and watch one program while they were dressed up and no one would get mussed and then they would be off.
simple. ]
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On the couch?
[ is that really any better? ]
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I'll even let you choose the program.
[ maybe it would be mindless enough to distract him from thoughts that should wait till later.
anyway, he gives her hand a tug and starts to walk them out towards the living room and the couch. it was a nice couch. a totally innocent, nice couch. ]
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but that's what daisy does, because she's a grown adult who can make her own decisions. besides, she hasn't really seen him very much today, so it's okay if she enjoys the last few minutes of whatever time they have to kill up close and personal... right?
probably not, but she's doing it anyway. ]
I like your suit, by the way. [ it's gonna be wrinkled now. sad trombone. ] Very chic.
[ since when does daisy johnson say chic ]
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Chic. I do not think I've ever heard that word applied to me before. But thank you. I am glad it works for a night out.
[ because it was the only suit he had at the current time and he hadn't wanted to buy a whole new one just yet if this one was appropriate. ]
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[ that horrible cover. she can't wait for someone to realize what a bad lie it is and call him out on it, but for now, she'll just tease him about it in private. ]
Maybe we could do this again sometime, and you can wear it more.
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[ just not as much as he purports to know. ]
We can do it again. With the others? Or just you and I?
[ either one is fine. he's just curious as to what she's thinking about. ]
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but she knows, sitting in the living room all dressed up before they have to leave, that this isn't something she'd only want to do once. so maybe she can be honest about this, and that'll be enough. it's not a push, really. not a demand. just a request. ]
Just the two of us. [ a beat, and yet another casually murmured disclaimer. ] If that's something you'd want to do.
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All right.
[ it's easy to agree to something he's never really done outside of a job. but, he's going out tonight and it is not for work so he thinks he can manage to do it with just her and not ruin things too badly. ]
I think we should. [ he nods and gives her knee a gentle squeeze. ] Whenever the mood strikes and schedules are open, we can go.
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she doesn't mean to. it just... happens. instinct, familiarity, muscle memory; call it what you like, but it's just the natural path of being so close, of being in a familiar place. somewhere, in some part of daisy's mind, where it's safe to let her guard down enough to close her eyes.
maybe they should get going, but this is what she's doing right now. ]
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no, he'll take...partial blame. because this sort of thing is a two person job and as soon as her lips meet his, he responds, eagerness and wanting flooding through him. it would be wise not to let himself get too overwhelmed since they do have to leave and they are dressed nicely but...maybe a little overwhelmed?
a little would be all right, wouldn't it? he can straighten his clothes and she can straighten hers and nothing would be amiss. this was fine. under control. ]
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what was that they said about best laid plans?
best of intentions aside, daisy forgets all of her carefully planned scheduling all too quickly, her attentions sliding to focus on the warm give-and-take the empathy bond provides. these days, there's little surprise in it. warmth, more so than anything else; mutually given, the hint of desire that swells each time their mouths meet, but trust and contentment and comfort surrounding it. it's not desperate or needy, just. familiar.
it's only once a neighbor's car alarm sounds in the distance that daisy pulls away, eyes squinting at the clock on the wall only to flutter wide in recognition. ]
Oh, shit, [ a hurried press of her lips to his, and then she's scrambling to her feet, doing her best to smooth out the twists in the straps on her shoulders from his wandering hands. ] Come on. We're gonna be so late.
[ if they take the groundtram, that is. she's already flicking through options on the driverless taxi service they took last time, trying to see if the rates will work. it's pricier than she would like, but, well. she'd rather be broke than lose the reservation.
or worse, make rey think they left her there on purpose. ]
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he's never been the slow one but he's slow right now, trying to recover from the gradual slide he'd been taking into getting caught up and lost in touching her. it hasn't gotten to the point where he needs to excuse himself and adjust his pants but a few more moments and that would have happened.
no, he's only to the point of licking his lips, straightening his hair and eventually rising to his feet. his suit's a little wrinkled but he does his best to brush the worst of them out. ]
We will get there. Don't panic. [ he wasn't going to let her pay for it all on her own either. so, they could take a taxi and get there quick enough. ] If we leave now, we'll be a few minutes late. It happens.
[ and it wouldn't be worse because she'd been the responsible one and noticed the time. ]