Think I Want to Twist the Plot This Time

Part 3

Barbie purses her lips, looking out of the corner of her eye to observe his subtle moves. He's running his thumb over the ridges of the key; his eyes stare straight ahead. Instead of being glazed over, however, they're keenly focused on the elevator doors, waiting for them to open. Maybe he's a little nervous, too?

When the doors open, Oppenheimer allows Barbie out first, and she patiently waits for him to lead her back to his room. Again, she falls in step with him, fidgeting with her hands so much that she just takes off her gloves and stuffs them in her coat. They're getting a little sweaty, anyway.

Room 805. He fidgets slightly with the key, fumbling it open. Barbie can't see past the doorway in the darkness, but she steps inside, taking slow, deliberate breaths. Once the door is closed, he switches the light on, and Barbie takes in her residence for the night.

"It's a standard room, but it should suffice," he sighs, putting his coat and hat on the rack next to the door. He places his warm, sure hands on her shoulders, gently removing her coat, too, to hang up next to his.

"Thank you," she utters, still enthralled by this low, golden lighting. The view from the window isn't much, just of the street right outside, but at night it's crisp and calm. It doesn't look sterile in white sheets and fluorescent lighting like most modern rooms, with the air being too cold from the AC being turned way too low. Each side of the bed holds a wooden and marble nightstand with desk lamps. Barbie wants to run her fingers over the designs on the wood headboard, and relax on one of the two armchairs on the foot end of the bed. It even has one of those modesty foldout walls for changing. And she's guessing the only other door in here leads to the bathroom, which is probably just as nice. Just in front of her lays a marble coffee table, its only decoration a cup filled with a bouquet of flowers, mostly roses and lilies. "For a standard room, this is pretty luxurious."

He smiles, reaching over to cup her jaw and leads her into another kiss. She melts into it, into him as her hands instinctually move up to his shoulders. Barbie always wanted to pop her foot during a kiss and this time she actually does it, quickly and quietly to keep committed to memory.

"Lights on or off?" he asks when he pulls away, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Hm..." Her forehead presses to his, contemplating. Really, she has nothing to hide that she's ashamed of, absolutely confident in the way she holds herself. But there's something about the temptation of the dark, the shadows hiding any imperfection of action she might perform. She wants to be illuminated only by the streetlights outside and wants him to remember her with at least a slight aura of mystique. "Off."

"Okay." And then he's switching the lights off, and before she knows it, he's literally sweeping her off her feet, bridal style. And Barbie laughs as he picks her up, mostly because it's completely unexpected and she's still so, so nervous—but it's light and happy, and she wraps her arms around him and kicks her heels to the floor with a couple of clunks.

She slaps a hand over her mouth as if that covers up the sound of her shoes. "Oh, shoot—am I being too loud?" she whispers in between chuckles.

"You do realize it's probably only going to get louder?" Barbie can hear the smile in his voice, and God, is she already messing this up?

It's okay to be awkward, she reminds herself of Dr. Cohen's words. You're allowed to be awkward.

Oppenheimer deposits her on the bed rather gently, and Barbie sighs, tilting her head back against the soft blankets and pillows. Oh, if she were tired, she'd fall asleep immediately. Instead, she leans up on her elbows, eyes adjusting to the dark as she watches his outline toe his shoes off and toss his jacket aside before kneeling onto the bed. Barbie reaches for him, grazing his cheek—no, not that, she needs to go lower—and when she finds his tie, she wraps her hand around it and pulls him in for another kiss, a little more forceful than the last one. He opens her to it and she feels a groan from the back of her throat. He tastes like faint bourbon and cigarettes, two things she normally can't stand, yet she's feeling that pulse in her gut as she moves into him.