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She was sitting by the window when he opened his eyes again - cigarette clasped firmly between two fingers. The sunlight pouring into the darkened room framed her silhouette like the haloes he’d seen in the pictures his Gran kept of saints and the Virgin. He could make out every bump of her crooked nose - a sharp contrast to the near-perfect smoothness of her recently-brushed hair. Even unable to perceive the fine details, he knew she’d already styled it back - the tapers of her bob curling seductively over her jaw-line.
“You’re beautiful…”
A stream of smoke billowed from her nostrils and she turned to regard him.
“Bugger off with yer flattery, ya fuckin’ drongo.”
He chuckled, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “No… I mean it. You are.”
“Was…” She tamped the end of her cigarette down against the wood - crushing out the fire and setting it aside to save it for later.
The blinds folded shut, and it took his eyes a moment to refocus on her image moving back towards the bed. He waited for her to settle back in, and once she reclined against the pillows, he rested his head against her side and wrapped an arm around her thin waist.
“Are.”
She snorted, and he could almost hear her roll her eyes. “Wotever… Clingy bastard.”
She didn’t pull away, however, and rested a hand in his hair - carding it gently. For several minutes, they remained there in silence until, finally, she spoke again.
“Thinkin’ ‘bout gettin’ my teeth fixed.”
“What?”
“Wot?” she parroted. “I said I’m thinkin’ ‘bout gettin’ my teeth fixed. An’ ‘fore ya go thinkin’ I’m doin’ it fer yer arse, I ain’t. Been givin’ me trouble lately. Think I’m gonna get some implants.”
“Make sure they stain them yellow to match.”
“Go fuck yerself, Monty.” She laughed anyway.
He shifted a bit to lie on his back and look up at her. “That’s good, though, if they’ve been bothering you. Do they do implants for rows, too, or just individuals?”
“Rows, too. Stick two titanium pegs up in yer gums an’ then string a row ‘tween ‘em so ya don’t gotta have all them pegs next t’ each other. Kinda neat. Better’n them partial dentures I’ve seen, an’ I reckon they’ll fit better considerin’ the placement. They run expensive-like, but they oughta last me til I kick it.”
“You aren’t thinking of doing anything reckless again, are you?”
“Nah. Jus’ sayin’ livin’ like this, I don’t reckon I got a long life expectancy. An’ even if’n I did, an’ I got the implants, I’d mebbe need t’ replace ‘em like once, tops, in the next couple’a decades. But that ain’t likely t’ need happenin’, though. Don’t ya know flappers never get happy endin’s?”
Lamont scoffed. “Doesn’t have to be like that, Lucy…”
“Is, though. ‘Pandora’s Box’... ‘Piccadilly’... Marylin M’nroe in that movie ‘bout the crossdressers. Shite, even like Clara Bow an’ Zelda Fitzgerald. They were so fuckin’ beautiful~ When I were a girl, I wanted that glamour… Thought it’d be worth all the tragedy, yeah? Cos they were always tragic beautiful. Everythin’ always went South in the end. Got sucked int’ prostitution or went loopy or got mean husbands or got killed… My life, I jus’ skipped all the glamour an’ went straight t’ the tragic bit,” she muttered.
He frowned. “Monroe didn’t wind up bad-off at the end of that movie, though. She ran off with her fella.”
“Yeah, but she offed herself at thirty-six, so she still counts.”
“You’ve beat her by a stretch, there… And you’re still beautiful.” He sat up then, just enough to roll over a bit and press a kiss to her lips.
She grunted in surprise - breath taken away before she could chastise him again. It was a fleeting embrace, and when he’d pulled back, she tilted her head to offer his chin a nip. “Wot’d I tell ya ‘bout climbin’ on top’a me? Yer too fat an’ yer gonna muss me hair,” she snickered.
“Hehe… Not even for a ride?”
She narrowed her eyes and smirked, then reached out to cup his face in her hands. “Aw, Monty baby~ Ya want me t’ fuck ya proper, or ya want me t’ milk them big, heavy balls’a yers?” Already, she could feel the growing heat on his cheeks; she didn’t need what little light there was filtering in to know she was getting under his skin.
He brayed out a compulsive laugh - nervous and almost shy. “Well, I thought...maybe if I didn’t ride hard...I wouldn’t hurt you…”
“Lazy milk, it is,” she chuckled. One hand fell from his cheek so that she could slide forward and wrap an arm around his shoulders. “Listen t’ ya titter… I like watchin’ ya take a fat cock…’specially when it’s one’a mine. Now, be a good lad an’ go fetch one outta my dresser. Harness oughta be there, too.”
Before he could respond or snark back, she leaned into his ear and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Get me wet ‘gain an’ I’ll ride yer face~”
He brayed once more, and was off of her - heading across the room within seconds to do as he’d been bade.
Any man could call her beautiful, she thought - watching his dark skin ripple in the dim light. That was just a word too often used to placate. It wasn’t every man, though, that would jump at the chance to get fucked, and to her, that was worth more than all the money or yachts in the world.