The Butterfly and the Tornado, Part 2/3

Summary: MC (Colbie) finds herself getting impatient. A continuation of Part 1, where MC (Colbie) finally made her move with Hunt and got him to open up.

Note: This is no longer canon.

“This dress is too tight.”

Colbie announces it when she’s nearly finished with her second glass of scotch. Her dress isn’t really too tight. It’s fitted and gorgeous and she loves it, but…it’s definitely feeling too tight at this particular moment.

Thomas looks at her in confusion. Despite the (partially) alcohol induced giddiness coursing through her, she’d be blind not to notice the way he drinks her in. His eyes linger over her curves and the plunging neckline on her dress. When she clears her throat with a smirk, his eyes dart back up to her face.

“It looks perfectly fine to me,” he remarks, and Colbie rolls her eyes.

“Seriously? ‘Perfectly fine’?”

“I learned long ago not to provide overly detailed commentary on a woman’s appearance unless it’s excessively favorable,” he says.

“So…my appearance isn’t favorable?”

She delights in how flustered he gets.

“No. That’s not what I meant.”

Colbie takes a slow, deliberate sip of her drink and sets the glass down on the coffee table. She’s pleasantly warm and happy, both from the alcohol and from having finally kissed Thomas and being curled up against his side.

“So what did you mean?”

She leans into him when she asks, tracing a finger down the line of buttons on his shirt. He’s shed his suit jacket and his hair is deliciously mussed. They’d ended up sitting on his couch, pressed impossibly close together. Colbie couldn’t stop kissing him. He tasted like scotch and smelled good and she still couldn’t believe she was sitting on Thomas Hunt’s couch and kissing him. Most of all, she couldn’t believe that he was kissing her back.

Who had suggested the second glass of scotch escapes her now, though it doesn’t really matter. What did matter was that her dress was seriously impeding her.

“You look incredibly beautiful,” Thomas says honestly. “You are incredibly beautiful. I simply meant the dress appears to fit you well.”

His words are all the more flattering because of how genuine he sounds.

“Thank you. But it really is too tight.”

“Colbie,” he sighs.

“It is,” she insists. “How am I supposed to straddle you in this?”

She doesn’t mean to laugh when he nearly chokes on his drink. But she can’t help it. Thomas coughs once, then sets his glass down next to hers.

“That wasn’t funny,” he says sternly, but he’s trying not to smile.

Colbie shrugs. “I know CPR.”

She fiddles with the top button on his shirt when they kiss again. One of his hands burrows into her hair and his tongue dances over hers. He’s a fantastic kisser, which doesn’t surprise her. Every touch of his lips to hers, the gentle nip of his teeth, sends heat shooting straight to her belly and makes her moan quietly.

They’re both breathing harder when he murmurs, “You’re drunk, Colbie.”

“Am not,” she protests.

She’s not. She’s buzzed, she admits, but she’s not drunk.

“I want you,” she pleads, trailing her hand down over his stomach. “So much.”

He groans deep in his throat, an almost pained noise, which just turns her on even more. He kisses her again, but this time it’s slower. Softer. Gentle, almost.

“I’m not making love to you when you’ve been drinking,” he says against her lips.

This time Colbie groans. “If you’re expecting me to somehow not want you right this second after you say that, you’re very, very wrong.”

Thomas snatches her hand up before it can wander even further south.

“I didn’t say no,” he says, keeping their fingers tangled together.

“It sounded like no,” she grumbles.

He promises her it’s not a no, just a ‘not right now’.

“You’re such a gentleman,” she sighs.

His brow furrows at her words, as if he thinks she’s disappointed.

“No, no, I love that about you,” she reassures him. “Just maybe not right at this second.”

She flops back against his couch with an exaggerated sigh. “I really, really want you. Do you know how long I’ve wanted you? This isn’t fair.”

She’s rambling and almost whining and doesn’t even care at this point. Thomas doesn’t say a word, and Colbie glances over to find him watching her with mild amusement.

“It isn’t funny,” she insists.

“I never said it was funny,” he retorts.

“You’re smiling,” she accuses him.

“I don’t smile,” he deadpans.

Her frustration almost leaves her at that, the stern, flat quality of his voice in direct contrast to the humor she sees in his eyes. She ends up almost in tears from laughing so hard.

In the end, she somehow manages to persuade him to let her stay over.

“It’s late. And we’ve been drinking, remember?” she teases him.

Thomas scoffs. “I’m not intoxicated, Colbie. I’m capable of driving you home.”

“But do you want to?” she asks.

She’s lost track of how many times she’s made him nearly stumble over his words tonight, but he does it again.

“Not necessarily,” he admits, “but I should.”

Still, he sighs in resignation and leads her down a hallway and into what looks like a guest bedroom. It’s not a terrible idea, she reluctantly admits. There’s no doubt in her mind she’d be too distracted to do anything resembling sleep if she was in his bed.

That, and despite her protests and teasing, she really does like how much of a gentleman he’s being. Thomas Hunt is certainly not just some one-time hook-up. She wants more than that. It does funny things to her stomach and to her heart, that realization. He disappears down the hall for a moment and returns with a soft t-shirt for her to sleep in. Before he heads back to his own room, Colbie snags his sleeve.

“Thank you,” she says.

His expression is one of curiosity and a little confusion.

“For asking me to stay,” she clarifies, then cheekily adds, “This back and forth went on far too long.”

“There was no back and forth,” Thomas insists.

Colbie shrugs. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

She shoots him a grin, then sighs when he leans down, one arm banding around her waist, and kisses her deeply.

“Chaos,” he murmurs against her mouth. “You are complete and utter chaos.”

“You love it,” she murmurs in response.

His only reply is a noncommittal noise low in his throat. Colbie smiles slowly. Thomas presses one last, lingering kiss to her lips, then bids her goodnight.

~~~~~~~~~~

She doesn’t start to really regret the second glass of scotch until a few days later. It’s not because of some abnormally long, vicious hangover. The hangover had been nonexistent when she’d woken up the next morning. But now her days are so swamped with flights and interviews and appearances that she has almost no time for anything else.

Most of the time she loves it. She enjoys talking about the film, about her role, about what a pleasure and a privilege it had been to work with everyone involved. This was what she had wanted, all those months ago when she’d boarded the flight to California. This is what she still wants.

But late at night, when she’s alone in her bed or some lonely hotel room, her brain insists on replaying that damn second glass of scotch, and imagining what might have happened if she wouldn’t have had it.

She has a feeling Thomas still would have said “not right now”. Not on the first night they’d finally crossed the line past innocent touches and lingering glances.

So she settles for texting him, about everything and nothing. Sometimes she calls. Once, she’d managed to convince him to FaceTime. She’d refused to admit that she’d purposely planned it for right after she’d gotten out of the shower and was in nothing but shorts and a tank top.

“It’s hot,” she’d told him with a grin.

“You’re in New York,” he’d retorted. “It’s not that hot there right now.”

But she could see, could almost feel, his desire and intensity, even just through a phone screen. It made her all the more impatient for both of them to be back in LA. She couldn’t decide if it was the sweetest kind of torture or her brain trying to just outright torment her when she had unbelievably vivid dreams about him almost every night after that.

Of course, when she finally gets back to LA for more than just a night, Thomas is out of town.

“This is very unfair,” she announces to Babou.

He meows at her in what she tells herself is a very sympathetic manner and butts his head under her chin.

“It does suck,” she replies. “From now on, only one glass of scotch for mommy.”

In what Colbie decides is the universe being decidedly less sympathetic than Babou, Thomas’ flight is delayed the night he’s supposed to get back to LA. Repeatedly. She calls her sister to complain.

“Jesus, you need to get laid,” her sister laughs.

Colbie scowls. “That’s not why I’m annoyed.”

She pauses. “Okay, that’s not the only reason.”

Thomas texts her later that night, just as she’s about to get in the bath with a glass of wine.

This airline is atrocious. Remind me to never fly them again.

Another delay?

They insist we’ll be in the air by six o’clock tomorrow morning.

Colbie tosses a bath bomb into the tub.

Are you wishing you’d ravished me that night of the party now? she sends him.

For what seems like a ridiculously long time, there’s no reply. Colbie finally slips into the tub. The steaming, fragrant water is soothing on her travel-weary skin. Her phone pings with a reply as soon as she gets in.

Is this your attempt at getting me to sext?

She smirks and shoots back, Is it working?

No, Thomas responds almost immediately, and she huffs out a sigh, though a grin crosses her lips.

He texts her again.

I am not sending suggestive texts full of spelling errors and ridiculous emojis to convey that I want you.

Ha! So you do want me.

Yes. Was that in question?

Her stomach flutters and she shifts restlessly in the tub at the matter-of-fact words. She hadn’t doubted that he wanted her, but having him actually confirm it makes it so much more real.

No, she answers. But it’s nice to hear it.

She stares at the phone for a solid 30 seconds when all he sends back is a smiley face emoji. She calls him.

“Hello?”

“Did you just send me an emoji?”

“I’m regretting this already,” Thomas sighs.

“I’m not. Send me more,” she says with a grin.

“I am not-”

He stops abruptly and she hears a muffled announcement in the background.

“Thank god,” Thomas mutters, then says, “This horrific airline has managed to repair their plane. I have to board.”

“Oh my god, finally,” she says without thinking.

Thomas coughs. She suspects it’s to cover up his laughter.

“I should be in LA early tomorrow morning.”

There’s a brief pause before he wishes her good night. It’s full of warmth and makes her smile.

“Good night, Thomas,” she murmurs.

See you tomorrow? she texts him almost right after they’ve hung up.

I’d like that.

You should come over, she types in response. I have a private pool. 😉 She almost doesn’t send it, but can’t help herself.

On a rooftop. Where far too many people can see you.

He makes it too easy sometimes to tease him or turn his comments into dirty ones. She makes herself resist.

True, she sends instead. So what do you suggest?

I was going to suggest dinner.

Like a date? she asks.

Yes, Colbie, a date.

A few seconds later he sends, That is, if you want to.

Of course I want to. I can’t wait.

He sends another smiley face emoji. This time, she doesn’t tease him for it.