Solace, my love.

[Kagerus]

1:58am... 1:59am... 2:00am.

Smiling to myself, I allow an extra few minutes to pass (we've never been sticklers for timeliness) as I finish the scene in my latest binge-worthy Netflix show. The laptop whirrs its displeasure at this, warm as it is against the gunmetal gray bed sheets I rest upon; There, there, noble compatriot, I think to it, giving it a little pat on its smooth end. You will live to see another day.

I heave to. On my feet, I slip on an oversized hoodie Sol had gotten for me god knows how long ago; on its black canvas, the outline of a white finger snaps, a heart above the action. A gift from back when we dated and worn almost through now. High-waisted white bottoms (sweatpants, of course), some lacy bits beneath, a black ballcap and a pair of spotless white sneakers complete the look. Satisfied with my nightlook, I dash out of our bedroom with keys, wallet, and phone in pocket, through the living room, and out the door of our high-rise apartment.

Down the elevator and into the parking garage. There, I pop into the Mercedes. 

On my way, lover.
Sent 2:11

The streets flash by without interest. Against the steering wheel, the white gold of my wedding ring tap tap taps to the rhythm of the indie-rock music I put on. Shit, did I? But no, I didn't forget; with a smirk, I tilt my head to look into the hollow console which rests before the gear stick and am pleased to see that, yes, Sol's preferred pack of cigarettes lay there. Mine, too. Habits often merge in marriage, I've learned.

Around 2:36am, I pull up outside of the venue whose address Sol sent to me earlier today. The place lights up the dark sky above like a beacon. A pretty high dive.

Here babe, out front.
Sent 2:37

Snagging the keys, I slip from the vehicle and walk to sit against the passenger door, arms crossed and hair blowing into my mouth as I await the arrival of my drop dead gorgeous wife.

[Solace]

"Look at you," he says by way of getting her attention, "what's making you smile like that?" His elbow rests on the bar, annoyingly close to the place her hip is pressed. Solace cocks an eyebrow, still focused on finishing her text before looking up to meet his searching eyes.

"My wife," she answers, matter-of-fact and pretending not to savor the look of pure confusion that registers on his face.

He floor-length dress, silky and black with nothing underneath (she had stopped bothering with the lacey things after Kag took just about all of her nicest pieces) rustles as Solace pushes off the bar to walk towards the tall glass door that opens onto the street. It takes more effort than she would like to admit, walking with some semblance of grace with the level of alcohol she has in her blood-stream, but she manages.

Once outside she halts for a moment, reaching down to free her feet from the four-inch heels she'd been in all night. Shoes in hand, Solace pads across the fresh-swept mosaic where a sidewalk should be. While most of the other patrons were exchanging hotel details and contact info, she spots her wife leaned back against her car. Within the moment, she picks up a silly little trot, forgetting the facade of elegance she had perfectly maintained throughout the night. With a sigh, Solace falls into the arms she knows will open for her, unable or unwilling to squash a little giggle that escapes her as she nestles into the comfort of her wife's hoodie and the curves below it.

"Intolerable," she answers before the question is asked, leaning in to leave a blood-red lipstick stain on her wife's cheek.  "Absolutely intolerable," she repeats with a laugh that would seem to imply her words were mostly for theatrics.  "It was a horrible night, and I would like to go home, but I did secure five more donors..." she adds the last phrase with a hint of satisfaction "... so I guess it was worth it."

[Kagerus]

My wife, for the first glimpse I get of her today, removes her shoes. I laugh at the sight, my fox-grin reaching all the way to Solace as she makes her way through the crowd of drunk and horny elites (it doesn't take long to figure out the routine involved in events like these; it walks like a duck, it quacks like a duck, it's a duck. In this case, the duck is a club with some big names attached, more or less). A similar expression beams across the cherry plains of Sol's lips when she spots me, a flick of her bare heels as she trots towards me enough to send a woman to her knees.

I stow that thought away for later as Sol falls into my arms, that airy way she has about her filling my lungs anew.

"How --" but I do not have to ask, for Solace provides the answer in her silken, sultry voice. Fuck, do I love you. That thought and the corresponding feeling resonate through me as I listen to her lamentations. Is that tequila? I wonder as I inhale near my wife's neck, much as she inhales near mine; I  grin and place a contemplative kiss at the site of the smell. You must have been in a good mood to pick that poison.

But I did secure five more donors... So I guess it was worth it.

"God damn are you hot when you do your job," I mutter in mock surprise, placing my hands on my wife's silk-clad waist such that I can lean back and give her an approving once over. As though she would ever need anyone's approval besides her own; she's been head honcho since long before the day I met her. The fact that I'm now her partner in crime -- and, ahem, business -- and not just her pet is a blessing she bestows on me of her own volition. After all, I'd happily lounge in Solace's radiance forever, given half a chance; it just so happens that our skill-sets and careers compliment one another, leaving just a little bit less room for that lounging I mentioned. "We might just have to keep you on as the CEO of Triple-H after all." Breaking, I laugh and bring my lips to Solace's, tilting my chin up just a touch to do so.

With a few more titters and a not-so-sneaky pat on her ass as she slips into the Benz, door held open by yours truly, I get Solace into the car and then tumble in myself. I throw my auburn hair up into a bun and then reach into the back seat. In my hands, Solace's favourite non-alcoholic, night-before-the-hangover hangover-cure beverage rests.

"For you, my lady," I say, handing her the drink. I don't point out the cigarettes in the console for now, wondering just how long it will take before Sol finds them herself. "And while you sip, be a good girl and DJ, won't you? And also tell me more about the donors you bagged." My phone finds its way into her lap as I say this. Then, hands to wheel and eyes to road, I peel away from the venue, excited as my wife to once again be home. 

@[Solace]