Inamorata

Chapter Thirty-Five - The Delicate Issue of Monogamy

Chapter Thirty-Five - Author's note: did you know this story has a sequel? It's titled "Immortality" and I update regularly (I promise I do!). Want to see more of Nightingale and David? Check it out on my profile!

Nightingale awoke some time later to feel someone entering the room. Though the footsteps were quiet, her heightened senses did not miss their approach. Opening her eyes, she looked up to see Robin standing above her.

"Well, this is awkward," said Nightingale, her words an echo of Robin's from what seemed like so long ago.

Robin chuckled and sat down on a chair next to the bed. He dragged it close so that he could pat her forehead as she rolled onto her side so she could see him better.

"Here I am, in one of your beds, talking to you after I've fucked one of your friends. How terribly awkward," she said, voice turning sardonic at the end.

"Only awkward for me, Miss Nightingale," said Robin. "You've got no understanding of the sexual norms of humanity. So, for you, your...promiscuous behaviour is not...deplorable."

Nightingale looked up at Robin, propping herself up on one elbow. She was curious about what he meant. Never had he seemed so at a loss for words. Usually, Robin was overflowing with bombastic verbosity. But he'd struggled with the last sentence.

"Has my behaviour been deplorable?" she asked. From no one else would she have accepted such a judgement of her character, but from Robin she would accept it tamely.

"Perhaps by human standards. But we cannot judge you by human standards. Not about this. Not yet," said Robin. "Sex has been your currency for five years, Nightingale. So it's understandable that you'd use it in ways that seem mystifying to us humans."

Nightingale nodded. As always, Robin's voice rang with wisdom. "Besides, you encouraged me into this," she added. "This...promiscuitity."

"I did. But I'd no idea you'd get so far with David so quickly," laughed Robin, his delightful laugh rippling like a sweet song. "The poor man must've been practically dying from lust to have been so enthusiastic."

Nightingale snorted. "Tell me about it," she muttered, more to herself than to Robin. "Where is the dear detective, by the way? He did what Bobby would have not-so-affectionately called a 'fuck-and-dash'."

"What a charming turn of phrase," said Robin, sarcasm heavy in his voice. "And David's downstairs, by the way. And in quite a foul mood, too. When I got in, I hadn't even opened my mouth before he turned his back and flipped me off rather rudely."

Nightingale rolled her eyes. "He's emotionally challenged, that one," she snapped. David, even after he'd fucked her with his attraction to her all too clear, could not even confess to his feelings for her. Indeed, he had not even spoken to her since.

"Like you, perhaps?" ribbed Robin with a delicate humour.

"Not like me. I'm rather proficient at showing my feelings, Mr. Brightley," she returned.

"So I can see," he said, gesturing with one hand to her body, which they both knew was stark naked under the sheets.

Nightingale and Robin sighed in unison.

"What were your reasons for chucking yourself at so many men?" asked Robin.

There was another pause, during which Nightingale heaved another sigh, this one seeming to come from the bottom of her soul. Her eyes wandered downward, following the line of Robin's jacket to the smooth, dark pattern of the bedspread.

"I went after Clarence because when he touched me in the lab, it had felt good. All my life, men had touched men and it had felt horrible. But he...it was different. So I pursued him," said Nightingale. She looked down, unable to look up into Robin's face. "I was originally going to seduce you, you know. But since you refused me, I went after the next best option, which was Clarence. But you were always my first choice."