Fin was already there at a table in the back, near the abstract sculpture which pointed the way to the restrooms. He glanced at the wall clock and looked around furtively as she watched through the window. Rook smiled. Such a doof. Why had she made this date? She didn’t know, but looking forward to it helped her through the week. That he’d shown up made her inordinately happy.
He wore jeans, clean ones, and an endearingly peculiar shirt. Short sleeved, shiny and made of an entirely unnatural fiber, it was covered with a confusion of stylized tigers in shades of green, purple and blue, and unbuttoned about halfway to expose a gray t-shirt. His shoes were matte black leather loafers with rounded, dull metal caps over the toes. He had dressed up.
A gray wool trench coat hung over the back of his chair. His hair looked recently brushed and was almost behaving itself. The thick, dark curls hung well past his chin and he didn’t seem to mind when they fell in front of his face. Too bad. His features were fine, but sturdy. He had shaved, presumably on her account. His eyes were deep green and very expressive. They told her a lot the other day at Talisman. She liked his voice, too. Low, but not menacing the way Marcus’s so often was.
Rook watched Fin fiddle with his brow piercing and his lighter. His hands were large. They worked well on a bass player. She wondered how calloused his fingertips were and how they would feel on her skin, laughing quietly at how she was getting ahead of herself, even as she regretted leaving her diaphragm at home.
The door beside her opened, its little bell jingling, letting out a customer and the heavenly aroma of roasting coffee beans. Fin looked up expectantly and his face brightened when he saw Rook. She caught the door before it closed and walked to the back where Fin stood to greet her with an awkward half-hug that made them both blush.
*** *** ***
The tattoo on Rook’s collarbone was a four-inch long black feather so detailed Fin was tempted to reach across the table and claim it, then caress her pale skin with it. The ones on her wrists were matching chess rooks, solid black on her left, an outline on her right, and not so prone to inspiring lustful thoughts. A fourth image spanned her right arm from elbow to shoulder. Fin sensed a theme. This one was a black quill in a rook-shaped inkwell, stippled and crosshatched like an Edward Gorey illustration, utterly fascinating down to the ink drops splashed around its base.
Fin smiled as Rook reeled off an elaborate justification of Blue Velvet as her favorite movie. The smile broadened as he listened to her saying all the things he thought about his own personal favorite, True Romance. He basked in the freedom to be himself.
“The best thing is,” Rook confided, “I can really be myself around you.”
Fin shook his head, then quickly nodded instead when Rook’s expression clouded. He downed his imaginary last gulp for the third time, to get his bearings. She’d been reading his mind for much of the past hour, apparently without knowing. What would it be like to play chess with her?
“Listen,” Rook said, “if I have any more caffeine I’ll start vibrating, and we both know how difficult it is to play chess under those conditions.”
Fighting the urge to hold her hand, Fin led her the few blocks to his house. On their way to the third floor, Fin and Rook met Bishop. Of all his housemates, this was the one Fin trusted not to make a pass at Rook, so he introduced them. “This is Tom Bishop. He’s in the room next to mine. Bish, this is Rook. We’re gonna play some chess.”
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” asked Bishop with a laugh. He bowed to Rook, kissed her hand and continued down the stairs.
Fin hurried Rook to his room before they could run into anyone else.
“Cool lava lamp,” Rook said.
“Me and Vesuvius — we go back a long way.” Fin cleared off the two cafe stools. “Why don’t you set up the board while I get the beers.”
“You’re in the middle of a game.”
“Bishop will remember where everybody was. Always does.” Fin unlocked his nightstand mini-fridge. Rook, busy with the chessboard, wouldn’t notice him hide a bottle behind the milk carton. “Last one. I guess we’ll have to share,” he said holding up a lager.
“You don’t have cooties do you?” she asked.
“No, but I do have this.” He held up a baggy of weed.
“Cool.” Rook had the board set up and claimed the seat farthest from the door, Fin’s favorite, but he decided not to kick her out of it.
Fin handed Rook the beer and began a search of the floor near his mattress. By the time he located the pocket bible under the ottoman, she had the beer uncapped and had made her opening move. One delicate eyebrow arched when she saw what he held.
“They’re always handing these out on campus. Cheaper than rolling paper.”
“I suspect they’d hope you soothed your soul some other way.”
Fin tore a page from Genesis, the only part of the bible that he knew featured naked people, and moved a pawn out.
Rook took a swig of beer and contemplated the board while Fin rolled and lit the joint.
***
“Who taught you to play so well?”
Rook glowered at him before speaking, and with the voltage her gaze could generate it had the same effect as a raised club. Her eyes twinkled though, as she saw she had scared him. “I read the inside of the box. You know, under the lid. The rest I managed to figure out myself, despite being a girl and all.”
Fin made his move sullenly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know. I take it as a compliment, really.” She glanced at the board.
“Really,” Fin said flatly.
“Guys usually try to take it easy on me and... well, I’m used to a wee bit of condescension.”
Fin sat up straight. “Please don’t tell me you think I’m going easy on you!”
“You’d like to kick my ass, I can tell. And you still might. But your surprised tone must have triggered my latent feminist streak.” She was staring at him, but smiling.
“You don’t go in for having a big strong hero around to protect you?” Fin relaxed back into a slouch.
“Oh please. I get enough of that shit from Marcus.” Rook leaned forward to make her move while she spoke, “If you ever try to rescue me, I’ll tear you a new one. Babe.” She held Fin’s gaze and he was helpless to fight it. “Check.”
Fin yanked his eyes down to the board and saw she had pulled a knight out of nowhere. He sighed and gave a rueful half-grin as it dawned on him why her playing style was so exasperating. It was like playing against a mirror.
He had no choice but to move his king, and she would just check him again with the same knight. After that, hard to say. Fin brooded for a few moments, plotting unrelated counterstrikes.
“Do you mind me doing all the talking?” Rook asked.
Fin made the king move. “You’re not. I mean, sorry I’m not saying much.”
She checked him as expected, and he moved his king another space before she could say, “Check.” To continue with the knight now she’d be sacrificing it.
“Well,” she cooed, “what is it you might say, were I to encourage you?”
He reflected for a moment. “I guess first I’d say I admire the integrity of your monologue. I don’t get tired of your voice, or weary of your wit.”
“Your fault. You listen. You get sick of your own voice when you don’t think anybody cares what you’re saying.”
“Mr Hero isn’t attentive?” Fin made no effort to disguise the opportunistic nature of the question.
“He has his hands full with himself.” Rook moved the pesky knight again, but this time in retreat. “Check.”
Fin laughed, because he had no idea what she was talking about.
“It’s her rook,” droned Vesuvius, and Fin saw she’d suckered him into a reveal.
“You stay the hell out of this!” Rook growled and pointed at the lamp.
Vesuvius bubbled furiously for a moment and squeaked. The lava all settled to the bottom a
nd quivered.
“How’d you do that?” Rook asked in a flustered voice. “Are you a ventriloquist?”
Fin laughed, a too loud thing that ended abruptly. He tried to collect himself. Mostly succeeded. He looked to the lamp for help, but Vesuvius remained impenetrable. “You heard Vesuvius speak,” he said with wonder.
“Well, yeah.” Rook looked concerned, eyebrows drawn down. “Where’d the lava go? How are you making it do that?” She picked up the glass capsule and peered down into the base, causing Fin a moment of nigh-parental anxiety that she would break something. Not finding anything suspicious, she reassembled the lamp and looked back at Fin, accusing.
Fin stammered, “He doesn’t like to be yelled at.”
She eyed Fin shrewdly, the icy blue smoldering through her thick black lashes. “Sorry. I’m sure I didn’t mean to offend your lamp.”
He could tell she thought he was playing some sort of practical joke when in reality he was stunned. No one else had ever heard Vesuvius. No one but this remarkable woman. Fin was both afraid and aroused. He couldn’t let her get away, had to make her see this connection they shared.
“Say something ‘Suvius,” Fin said. He pressed Rook’s hand to his mouth so she would know he wasn’t throwing his voice. She tensed, but allowed it. Her fingers were hot.
“I would prefer not to,” Vesuvius said, quoting Fin’s favorite Melville character.
Fin watched Rook’s eyebrows rise and her eyes widen. She looked around the room, searching the corners for cameras or who knew what. Keeping her right hand clamped over Fin’s mouth she gave the lamp the finger and said, “All right Bartleby, how many fingers am I holding up?”
“One,” said Vesuvius, unfazed. “But my name is not Bartleby.”
Rook looked back at Fin. “Is this a trick?”
Fin shook his head.
“Your lava lamp talks?”
Fin nodded. She studied his eyes for almost a minute before deciding she trusted him enough to remove her hand from his mouth.
“Can other people hear him?”
“They’ve never let on. I’m pretty damn sure they can’t.”
She shrugged. “I am aware talking light fixtures are not part of consensus reality, and you could easily have a little speaker hidden somewhere and a friend with a Mr Microphone, but I don’t see how you could possibly be controlling the lava like that, so I’m inclined to accept this. For now. I reserve the right to decide you’re full of shit later, or flip out.”
“It remains an option.”
“I’ll keep it in mind. Did you freak the first time he talked to you?”
Fin felt sheepish. “No.” He thought back. “I got Vesuvius when I was into my own little late-60s world. You know, Hendrix, the Doors, acid. I suppose I had been assuming Vesuvius was a residual pharmaceutical effect.” The glow from the lamp became notably redder, but he said nothing. “I thought I was insane,” Fin concluded.
“You are, I’m sure, but your offended friend here is something different.” She reached for the sullenly undulating Vesuvius. “He’s quite special.”
Fin felt a surge of jealousy as Rook approached the lamp.
“If I rub him, will a genie come out?”
Vesuvius erupted in a series of embarrassed plumes, his glow modulating into its customary gold. Fin ground his teeth.
Rook smirked. “Okay, then,” she purred, “you are still in check.”
Fin rolled his eyes and hunkered down to study the board. Rook slunk over to his side. “Unless,” she exhaled into his ear, “you want to distract me from the game for a while... think up some moves... since you can’t cheat now...”
Fin looked at her sidelong while interposing his bishop, backed up with a knight, to get out of check. “I never take his advice when it comes to chess.”
“Or anything else,” Vesuvius deadpanned.
“Now, you can plot your next move,” Fin said. He slid down off the tall chair and snaked his arms around her waist. She looked up at him with a sardonic expression and swayed a little, then extricated herself and twirled over to the stereo to peruse a heap of old CDs.
“Can we put this on?” Rook asked, handing him Talking Heads’ Remain in Light.
“Sure.” Fin inserted the disc, adjusting the volume to a modest level so they could converse over the lush jungle foliage of the opening track.
Rook rolled her eyes back in her head, her mouth partially open, head lolling from one shoulder to the other.
“Always nice to meet someone with a true appreciation for music,” Fin quipped.
She smiled and made her eyes return. “Certain albums feel like they were found, not written. You know? They’re too perfect.” She turned back to the chess game, standing with her back to Fin and one knee on her chair. This pose tilted her hips quite far to starboard.
Fin nudged the volume up a notch.
Rook began to sway slightly. Fin resisted the impulse to reach for the volume control again and leaned on the edge of the table. “So anxious for endgame?”
After a few seconds of focusing on the game pieces, she made a move, and looked at Fin.
Her gaze caused a jump in his heart rate, but he couldn’t read her. He glanced at the board, while Rook slid fluidly up onto her chair. Fin’s attention moved to her crossed ankles and the most thoroughly broken-in pair of Doc Martens ever. Her shiny red skirt had ridden up on her thighs. An embroidered black dragon ran from the square neckline to the hem, which crept higher yet. Her collarbones were delicate, fragile-seeming. Fin wished to brush his fingers along them, kiss them, taste the feather tattoo. The pulse throbbed gently in her neck. Fin watched her tongue slip across her slightly parted lips. Finally he met her eyes again. She appraised him, seeing what his next move would be.
At each turn in the game, energy passed across the board. They baited each other, surrendered pieces to one another; feeling a tingle, a shiver, when the other would make the anticipated move.
They reached a point of diminished options. Many pieces had fallen, and neither player held a strong strategic position. They spent long stretches of time looking at each other’s eyes. The CD’s closing track cast deep, hypnotic shadows. At last Rook bit her lower lip and made a move.
Check, with the queen, but no backup. Fin could capture the piece with impunity. A sacrifice. Something told him to look deeper, the outcome of the game suddenly important again.
By moving the queen she left her rook unprotected. Of course, he was in check... Fin took the rook with his knight and watched Rook for a response. She voiced no objection.
They were locked on each other’s eyes again.
The stereo advanced to the next disc. A bright and jaunty drum riff snapped the tension, and Rook let out a long-pent breath. Smiling slowly, she slid her queen onto the square with Fin’s king and leaned across the table. He met her and they kissed.
Fin stood, still kissing Rook, and moved around the table. She was warm and pliant as he slipped his arms around her waist and lifted her. With her fingers twined into his hair, she pulled him ravenously into the kiss.
Rook landed in Fin’s lap as they fell into the armchair. He kissed her neck, throat, smooth shoulders, collarbones. Rook arched her back and breathed in slow, shallow gasps. Her hands roamed along Fin’s shoulders, arms and neck.
Fin came up for breath. Rook looked at him and smiled. She wiggled her hips and her skirt rode higher, displaying green panties under black fishnet stockings.
“Oops,” she said, but made no move to cover them.
Fin leered.
Rook’s left hand crept under Fin’s shirt and slid across his belly, exploring, leaving a tingling trail across his skin. Eyes closed, he relaxed and enjoyed her touch.
After a short time the need to kiss her again overwhelmed Fin. He held her face in both hands and drew her to him. As they kissed, she straddled him, rocking her hips and running her fingers over his chest.
Finally she pulled back and smirked. She slipped his
tiger pimp-shirt off and yanked his tee over his head leaving him naked from the waist up. She licked her lips, but didn’t touch him. Fin relished the feel of her gaze as it swept over him.
He lifted her by the hips and stood, placing her before him. She looked up at him and locked eyes. The blue was so bright, like something from a drug trip. Fin moved stealthily to the right, stalking her. She turned her head to follow him. Pouncing from behind, he wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck. Pressing against him, she sighed.
Fin ran his hands over the slippery fabric of her dress, cupping her breasts. His hands glided over the smooth, bare skin of her arms, over the quill tattoo, up to her shoulders. He moved her hair off her neck. She had another tattoo there. It excited Fin to think about what other surprises awaited him.
He got a better look at her neck and whistled low through his teeth. A tower, like from a tarot deck, starting at her hairline and extending the length of her neck. Black flames leapt from the arched window. It was both intimidating and arousing. Fin licked it.
Slowly Fin unzipped Rook’s dress, his eyes devouring each inch of flesh he uncovered. His cock throbbed when he discovered another tattoo in the small of her back. He slid the straps off her shoulders and let her dress drop to the floor to get a better look. But she twirled and pressed against him, flesh on flesh. They kissed.
Fin unhooked Rook’s bra. Stepping back and smiling devilishly, she shimmied out of it and dropped it with the dress. They embraced again, kissing each other’s mouths, necks, and moving down. Gracelessly they tumbled onto the mattress on the floor. Rook took off her boots while Fin kicked off his steel-toed loafers. She pulled off her fishnets, then helped Fin with his pants while he took in her body art, all of which fit the theme he’d detected earlier. The girl was obsessed. A flock of tiny ravens encircled her right ankle. The top of each foot sported a large chess rook, exquisitely shaded, one light, one dark. Most impressive, though, was the masterpiece that started on her left hip and continued all the way up her side to her underarm. It depicted an entire parliament of rooks erupting from a dark stone castle tower, reeling up and away across her slim waist, soaring over her ribs, and continuing up, a few boldly swooping onto the voluptuous swell of her breast. While removing her panties, Fin discovered no unexpected piercings and one more tattoo. A small raven silhouette just above her pubic hair.
Miss Brandymoon's Device: a novel of sex, nanotech, and a sentient lava lamp (Divided Man Book 1) Page 5