Pacing the tiny balcony overlooking Warwick Street, Dave lit his second cigarette in ten minutes and redialed Taylor's number.
"Pick up, motherfucker," he growled.
Leaning against the wrought iron railing, he looked back to where Liz was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the big bed, curiously holding up an especially intimidating looking vibrator, only to jump in surprise when it lit up and bounced out of her hands and across the sheets.
"Disco!" Taylor's happy laugh mixed with a background of loud splashes and several little voices. "Didn't think you'd call for another few hours!"
"What the fuck, Hawkins?!"
His irritation apparently only fueled Taylor's delight, "Oh, chill out, dude. It's just some whips and chains."
"There's shit in there that would make Ron Jeremy blush!"
"Yeah?" the sound of a door closing blocked the noise of the kid's pool party and made Taylor's laugh even more apparent, "I'd ask you to send me some pics, but I have a feeling that's still a sore subject for you."
Dave took a deep breath and pulled the phone away from his face before he said something he'd regret, "She still recovering from delivering your kids, Taylor! And you want me to tie her to the bed and beat her with a fucking leather whip?"
"I mean... if she's into it, yeah."
"I swear to fucking god, T-"
"You know she can handle it, right?"
Dave picked up the sudden serious undertone in Taylor's voice and his jaw locked open. Unable to reply, he glanced over to the bedroom that was now empty.
"She's not as fragile as you think, man," Taylor said softly into the silence. "In fact, I'm pretty sure the only reason you're still carrying her around like a duffle bag made of glass is that you're scared that if you don't, she won't need you anymore."
Dave hung his head and grumbled something incoherent, pissed that Taylor had once again called him out and exhaled the last his cigarette while muttering, "I had a plan, though. One that didn't involve..."
"Competition from a pair of double A batteries?"
"Fuck you."
Taylor laughed again and even from a continent away, Dave could just see that obnoxious wide smile on his face, "Just do some shots, loosen up a little, go at it with an open mind. She's gone without sex just as long as you have so you never know, maybe you'll be building a dungeon in your basement when you get home."
"I'm hanging up now, Hawkins."
"Bye, Dave! Don't break a hip!"
Ending the call and shoving his phone back into his pocket, Dave swore under his breath and stepped back into the bedroom, listening for any clues as to where Liz had disappeared to. The bottle of whiskey that had been on one of the nightstands was now missing as well, making him frown.
"Babe? Where'd you go?" There was a stumbling sound from the closed closet door which he found locked when he tried the handle. "Liz?"
"Yup! I'll be out in a second!"
Her muffled voice sounded like she was out of breath, making him press his ear to the wood, "You okay?"
More shuffling and footsteps greeted him and before he could jump back, the door unlocked, opened and Liz stepped straight into his chest. She gasped and righted the glass of whiskey in her hand, "What the hell are you doing?"
"Thought maybe you were drinking yourself into oblivion in there and I... um..." his ability to string words together had gone, lost when he noticed she had changed out of the leggings and hoodie she'd worn on the plane.
He dragged his eyes up from her stilettos to a long sleeved, low cut, black lace bodysuit that he was sure would be a pain in the ass to take off of her and wondered how upset she would be if he just started at the top and ripped his way to the bottom.
The ice in her glass clinked when she took a sip, her eyes fixed on his face as she read his reaction. But he must not have looked the way he felt, because she reached back into the closet, retrieved the bottle of whiskey and handed it to him. "Here. Start drinking and don't stop until I'm blurry enough to be hot."
The facetiousness was there, somewhat masking the bitterness underneath though not well enough that he could ignore it. The bottle in his hand was allowed to fall to the carpet and the slosh of the expensive booze blended with her gasp as he pushed her against the wall.
They were clumsy and awkward, teeth clashing and lips never quite meeting in the middle, fumbling at each other until Dave decided he'd had enough. He held her still with a hand against the curve of her neck and kissed the same spot on the opposite side, but where he expected her to melt against him, she stiffened instead.
"Dave?"
Resting his forehead on her shoulder, the terrifying notion that they had become strangers knit itself into his mind, "Yeah?"
"Does this... feel...?"
Pulling back to look at her, he wanted to say so much. He wanted to explain that he hated how everything between them now felt so forced, that he still loved her so fucking much and that he was scared to death they were falling apart.
But she stared back at him, reading everything in his eyes and beating him to the punch, "I'm gonna get dressed."
Despite the sinking feeling in his chest, he gave a low groan when he saw the back of her outfit was just as revealing as the front and slid his back down the wall to sit and watch her.
She pulled on a black high waisted skirt that hit her mid-thigh and gave an almost hypnotic swish as she walked, leaving the lace bodysuit as a sort of top, though it revealed everything from the nip of her waist to the scar on her shoulder.
"Do you have a somewhere you'd like to go?" she asked as she slipped on some bracelets, "Like a bar or are you hungry?"
"We can get something to eat at The Ivy and then go to Crobar."
"Great," she smiled down at him, a genuinely excited smile and bent to kiss his cheek as she left the closet.
He dug through his bag, managing to find some black jeans, a white shirt and his black suit jacket in decent shape thanks to Liz's careful packing and quickly changed before calling the restaurant.
The Ivy was more than accommodating, especially when he confirmed that Liz would be with him. While the news of the twin's arrival had hit the media, a photo of Liz post-birth hadn't and he was idly wondering how much would be spent on such a thing when she met him in the sitting room. Her hair was freshly curled and her makeup was a bit darker and sexier, but she was still only wearing the heels, skirt and sheer top.
"Is that what you're wearing?"
"Yeah, why?" she seemed genuinely curious as she transferred her things from her big leather bag to a small beaded clutch.
"Be... cause... ?" he waved his hand at her, worried he'd piss her off by asking her to cover up, but aside from all the attention it would cause he just didn't want anyone else looking at her the way he did.
Keeping her bemused stare directed on him, she grabbed her leather jacket off the back of a chair and slipped it on, zipping it just enough to make her decent. "Did you honestly think I'd walk around the streets of London with my tits out, David?"
The fracture between them now more apparent than ever, he moved to open the door for her, "If there's one thing I've learned in the year and a half since I met you, it's that I never know what to expect, Elizabeth."
*
Hours later, the door to the suite crashed against the wall as they stumbled in, tripping over furniture and each other on their way to the bedroom. Something had shifted between The Ivy and Crobar though Dave couldn't quite put his finger on what it was, mostly because they were either tangled in her hair or up her skirt.
He could easily blame Liz with the way she dragged the toe of her shoe up his leg during dinner or the way she danced against him at the bar or when she pulled him into an alley to make out with him while they waited for their driver. But then she could easily blame him with the way he let his hand stray a bit too far up her thigh under the tablecloth, or the way he'd take every opportunity to look down her leather jacket or the way he whispered in her ear everything he wanted to do to her once they were alone. Regardless, they were all over each other and it felt right again.
Lifting her by the backs of her thighs, he tossed her backward onto the bed and quickly shed his jacket, reveling in the lazy smile she was giving him as he crawled up her. But when he pressed his weight into her, she gasped a bit too sharply, "Ow-... Dave... There's something digging into my..."
"That's me, baby," he groaned against her neck, blindly trying to figure out how he was going to get her out of all that goddamn lace.
"No," she laughed and sat up a bit, feeling around on the bed underneath her until she located what was bothering her. "It's this fucking thing."
He didn't even bother to look up at whatever it was, just used the opportunity to push her leather jacket off her shoulders so he could leer at her. The image of her in that lace top and skirt sans the jacket had kept him in the habit of adjusting himself in his jeans all night and finally seeing her in front of him again made him grab for his belt.
But a sharp crack just above their heads made him look up, raising an eyebrow at the black leather riding crop in her fist.
"... you wanna?" she asked quietly with a just the touch of a smile.
"... do you?" he met her eyes, trying to stay as neutral as possible. It wasn't that he was against it, he wasn't about to knock something he'd never tried before, he just didn't want to try it at that very moment.
But she wiggled out from under him and sat up on her knees, pulling on him until he was just in front of her. "Okay," she bit her lip with a nervous smile and handed him the crop, "Ready when you are."
He looked down at it and back up at her, but before he could even open his mouth she answered his question, "Yes, I'm sure. Just... not my face or my boobs. They still kinda hurt."
The thought of hitting her across the face with a stick of leather made his stomach turn, but he swallowed hard and flicked the crop against the curve of her hip where she had pulled up her skirt, wincing at the crack the leather made against her skin.
She jumped with a yelp as her hand flew to her side to rub away the pain, "Ow! Fuck!"
"Yeah, we're not fucking doing this," he tossed the crop in the corner of the room to get it away from them as quickly as possible.
"Oh, come on!" she whined with a little laugh and searched the bed around them, "We just have to find what works for us, that's all. What about these?"
When she held up the handcuffs he told himself not to pout, not to sigh deeply and frown, but all he wanted was her with no distractions, no interference, nothing else but her. Grabbing her around the legs once again, he tugged to get her laying back on the pillows. "Can this just...," he gently turned her face so she was looking at him again and her lips parted as a flash of apprehension lit up her eyes. "Can this just be us?"
Her concern faded into a smile, turning just enough to kiss his hand while reaching for his belt. "Yes, but next round I'm tying you to this bed and doing whatever I fucking want."
Nothing could ever be serious with her. Though, the more she kissed him he realized he didn't want her to be. He'd had this plan, a vision of their first time together again, and it was supposed to be intense and romantic and life-affirming, but those moments couldn't really be planned. With her, they just happened, organically and suddenly and that's what made them so extraordinary.
He let his mind wander so far that her hand slipping into his barely undone jeans and her fist closing around him made him swear. He'd missed her touch and in that moment almost regretted turning her down all those times she'd tried to feel him up while she was still recovering.
Her free hand tugged at his shirt until he got the hint and removed it, and he damn near lost it when she purred against his collarbone, "I missed you so much."
He was desperate now, convinced that if he wasn't inside of her in the next five seconds he would absolutely die. He tried every way he could think of to take that goddamn lace contraption off of her and she was of no help, clearly enjoying his determination while working him even faster.
"How the fuck does this come off?" he finally grumbled, getting a laugh in response as her hand snaked down her body to release the three simple snaps that, to him, seemed in the most uncomfortable spot possible.
"The whole time," he muttered through gritted teeth, "Through dinner and the bar and the drive back... the whole time it was just three fucking snaps?"
She only smiled and let him pull off the rest of her things, leaving only her wedding ring and a bracelet in place. And then she did something that was completely unlike her... she tried to cover herself.
"Don't you fucking dare," he told her, gripping both her wrists in one hand to stop her.
Her incision was still red, though not as angry and bright has it had been before. The skin around it was still trying to pull itself back to its normal size and shape and was well on its way to doing so, but he almost didn't want it to. They were all reminders of what she had done and what she had gone through, that she had readily offered herself up to people who were essentially perfect strangers at the time, with no questions asked.
"I'll never get over what you did for them, Elizabeth."
She smiled and turned her head so she wouldn't have to look him in the eye, "Don't make me get the ball gag, David."
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her constant downplaying of the situation, he kneed her legs apart and glanced up when her hands threaded through his hair, "We okay?"
Her eyes searched his and he could almost see the memory of their first time in the pool replaying in her mind, "We're good."
*
It seemed to take forever for his body to stop buzzing and for his head to float back down to the pillow beside hers, but once he felt like a whole human again, he murmured into the dark, "Were you serious about tying me to the bed?"
She picked her head up from his arm where she lay face down beside him and waited until he opened his eyes to look at her then laughed, "You are the worst Christian Grey ever, David."