Chapter 3: Stuff of Daydreams
The cool air hit Jonas’s skin like a splash of water. He snapped awake, disoriented. The oppressive, soup-thick heat was gone. A low, steady hum vibrated through the floor – the AC, mercifully resurrected. Silence, otherwise. Deep, graveyard silence. The emergency light under the door was the only illumination, casting everything in shades of murky red.
Then, sensation registered. Warmth. Soft, yielding pressure along his entire right side. And weight. A head resting heavily on his bare shoulder, blonde hair tickling his collarbone. Rita.
She lay curled against him, her body molded to his from shoulder to knee. Her face was turned towards his neck, her breath warm and even against his skin. One small arm was flung carelessly across his chest, her hand resting lightly near his sternum. The crinkly blue isolation gown had slipped down, barely covering her hips. Her bare back pressed against his ribs, smooth and incredibly warm against the chill of the reactivated air. The scent of her – sleep-warm skin, lingering hospital soap, and something uniquely female – filled his nostrils.
He froze. Utterly still. Every nerve ending screamed. The cool air raised goosebumps on his exposed skin, but where she touched him, it burned. He could feel the swell of her breast against his arm, the curve of her waist beneath his elbow. Her scrub pants were thin cotton; he felt the sharp jut of her hip bone through the fabric. And lower, pressed firmly against his hip… the unmistakable heat radiating from her core.
Christ. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. Memories crashed in – the stifling heat, her breathy questions about his life with Mary, the way her eyes had devoured him when he described Chloe on her knees, the shocking fullness of her breasts freed from the scrubs, those small, hard circles beneath the bra fabric.
The feeble red glow painted her in stark relief against the deeper shadows. Jonas’s eyes, adjusting, traced the details the dimness revealed. Rita’s blonde hair was mussed, strands stuck to the sweat-damp skin of her neck and cheek where it pressed against his shoulder. The thin, practical nursing bra she still wore strained slightly over the full curve of her breasts, the pale fabric darkened with sweat between them and clinging to the distinct shape of her nipples.
He could just make out the small, hard circles beneath the material near the peaks – the piercings he’d noticed earlier. Her scrub pants, a faded blue cotton, were rumpled, riding low on her hips where the isolation gown had slipped down. The waistband dug slightly into the soft flesh of her belly, emphasizing the dip of her navel. One pant leg had ridden up, revealing the delicate curve of her ankle and the smooth skin of her calf above her sock.
Her breathing remained deep and even, a soft rhythm against his neck. Then, a small murmur escaped her lips, a nonsensical whisper lost in the hum of the air conditioning. Her head shifted slightly on his shoulder. Her lips, soft and slightly parted in sleep, brushed against the skin just below his jawline. It was feather-light, almost accidental, the barest pressure of warmth.
She sighed, a soft, sleepy sound. Her lips pressed again, a fraction more deliberately this time, lingering for a heartbeat against his neck. Then she nestled deeper against him, her arm tightening just perceptibly across his chest, her breath resuming its even rhythm against his damp skin.
The cool air prickled Jonas’s skin, a stark contrast to the furnace heat mere hours before. Rita’s soft breath warmed the hollow of his throat, her body a solid, comforting weight against his side. He remained utterly still, afraid any movement might shatter the fragile peace of her sleep or unleash the coiled tension humming beneath his own skin. Her scent – sleep-warm skin, antiseptic soap, and something uniquely her – mingled with the sterile odor of plastic and dust.
Her head shifted minutely on his shoulder. A soft sigh escaped her lips, brushing damp skin. Then, with the unconscious instinct of seeking warmth, her face tilted upwards. Her lips, soft and slightly parted, grazed the corner of his mouth. It was feather-light, the barest whisper of contact, almost dreamlike.
Jonas held his breath. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the sudden silence broken only by the AC’s hum. Her lips lingered for a suspended heartbeat, pressed gently against his own. Warmth bloomed where they touched, spreading through him like slow-moving honey.
Her eyelids fluttered. Then opened. Wide, startled brown eyes met his, mere inches away in the dim red gloom. Recognition flickered, followed instantly by confusion, then dawning awareness. Her gaze locked onto his, searching, questioning. The arm draped across his chest tensed slightly, but didn’t pull away.
Silence stretched, thick and charged. Jonas saw the rapid pulse beating in her throat, the slight dilation of her pupils swallowing the brown. He saw the flush creeping up her neck, visible even in the low light. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His own breath felt trapped in his lungs.
Slowly, hesitantly, Rita’s gaze dropped to his mouth. Her lips, still so close to his, parted slightly. Jonas felt the faint puff of her exhale. The air crackled, alive with unspoken questions, the memory of her sleep-soft kiss hanging between them.
Then, with infinite slowness, Jonas tilted his head down. An inch. Less. His lips brushed hers again, a deliberate echo of her unconscious touch. Gentle. Testing. A question posed without words.
Rita’s breath hitched. Her eyes flickered shut. She leaned in, pressing her lips softly against his in answer. It wasn't hungry or demanding; it was tentative, achingly sweet. A shared breath mingled in the scant space between them.
His hand, resting awkwardly on the crinkly isolation gown beside him, lifted slowly. He cupped the curve of her jaw, his thumb tracing the delicate line just below her ear. Her skin was impossibly soft, damp with lingering sweat. She sighed against his mouth, a soft sound of surrender and discovery.
They kissed like that for timeless moments, lost in the red-tinted dark. Lips moving slowly, exploring the contours of each other with unhurried reverence. Jonas tasted the faint saltiness of sweat, the lingering dryness of sleep, and something uniquely Rita beneath it all. Her hand slid from his chest to cradle the side of his neck, her fingers tangling gently in the short hair at his nape.
There was no urgency, no frantic grappling. Just the slow, deep exploration of lips meeting, parting slightly, meeting again. Jonas traced the fullness of her lower lip with his tongue, a silent request. She granted it, her mouth opening softly, welcoming him with a warmth that seeped into his bones. Their tongues touched, a gentle glide, tasting, learning the intimate terrain.
He felt the slight tremor run through her, a vibration against his palm still cradling her jaw. Her other hand slid up his bare arm, fingers tracing the muscle, then settling on his shoulder, anchoring herself. The kiss deepened infinitesimally, a slow, swirling dance of tongues, yet remained profoundly gentle. A silent communion in the sterile dark.
The crinkling plastic beneath them, the distant hum of the hospital, the towering shadows of medical supplies – it all faded into a distant hum. There was only the soft, wet sounds of their mouths moving together, the shared warmth of their breath, the electric current flowing where skin met skin. Jonas’s thumb stroked the hinge of her jaw, feeling the subtle movement as she kissed him back.
Rita’s fingers tightened slightly on his shoulder, pulling him fractionally closer. Her leg shifted, brushing against his thigh beneath the thin isolation gown. The contact sent a jolt through him, a reminder of the heat still simmering beneath the surface sweetness, but the kiss remained tender, a slow-burning ember rather than a wildfire.
They broke apart slowly, reluctantly. Lips parted with a soft, wet sound. Their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the cool air. Jonas opened his eyes. Rita’s were already open, gazing back at him, dark pools reflecting the faint red glow. No words. None were needed. The shared look held everything – surprise, tenderness, a profound intimacy forged in the strangeness of their confinement, and a silent agreement that this, for now, was enough. Her thumb brushed the stubble on his cheekbone, a silent punctuation mark to the unspoken truce. The air conditioning hummed on, a steady counterpoint to the quiet thunder of their hearts.
The cool air prickled Jonas’s bare skin where Rita wasn't pressed against him. Her forehead rested against his, breaths mingling, a fragile calm after the slow, deep kiss. He traced the line of her jaw with his thumb, the skin impossibly soft. Her eyes, wide and dark in the red gloom, held his with a mixture of tenderness and something hotter, unspoken.
The silence stretched, thick with potential. Jonas’s gaze drifted downward, pulled by the memory of damp fabric clinging. The pale bra stood out starkly in the dimness, the outline of her nipple piercings clear as bruises beneath the thin cotton. His thumb moved lower, stroking the taut curve of her shoulder, then drifted inward, tracing just above the swell of her breast. He could feel the small, hard circle beneath the fabric.
"Those," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep and something else. His finger lightly circled the area through the bra cup, feeling the distinct shape beneath. "The piercings." He met her eyes again, a slow, questioning smile touching his lips. "Are they... barbells? Rings?"
Rita’s breath hitched, a soft gasp escaping as his finger grazed the sensitive peak. A flush spread across her chest, visible even in the low light. A knowing, slightly wicked smile replaced the tenderness on her face. "Curious, Dr. Evans?" she whispered, her voice husky. Her own hand slid down, fingertips brushing against the hardening outline beneath the bra. "Want a closer look?"
She shifted, one hand moving to the center clasp at the front of her bra. Her eyes never left his, holding his gaze with a challenge. Her fingers found the plastic hook. Jonas watched, mesmerized, the hum of the AC suddenly deafening. He leaned forward slightly, anticipation coiling tight in his gut.
"Christ, yes," he breathed, the words barely audible. Her fingertip flicked, releasing the clasp. The bra loosened, the fabric gaping slightly. Jonas caught a glimpse of pale, sweat-damp skin, the darker areola.
Thump. Thump-thump. Thump.
The sound was muffled, heavy, coming from the other side of the metal door right behind their heads. Voices followed, indistinct but close. Male. Frustrated.
"Fuck! The goddamn key’s bent!" one voice grunted.
"Just ram it, Steve! It’s jammed good," another replied.
Panic slammed into Jonas and Rita like ice water. Their eyes locked, wide with sudden, sharp fear. Recognition dawned – Maintenance. Trying to force the door.
"Shit!" Rita hissed, scrambling backwards off the makeshift bed, her hands scrabbling to refasten her bra. "Shit, shit, shit!"
Jonas was already moving, clumsy in the near-darkness. He grabbed his discarded scrub top, yanking it over his head, the fabric catching on his glasses for a frantic second. "Tops! Now!" he barked, his voice low and urgent. He snatched up Rita’s damp blue top and thrust it towards her.
Rita fumbled with the bra clasp, finally securing it just as her fingers closed on the scrub top. She pulled it on hurriedly, the damp cotton sticking to her skin. Jonas was pulling up his own pants, which had sagged low on his hips. They both scrambled to their feet, heartbeats hammering against their ribs.
Outside, metal screeched against metal. KER-THUNK. The door vibrated.
"Almost got it!" Steve yelled.
Rita smoothed her top, her hands trembling slightly, trying to look composed. She glanced at Jonas, her eyes still wide with adrenaline and the abrupt severing of intimacy. A faint, reckless smile ghosted across her lips despite the panic. She leaned in close, her breath warm against his ear, her voice a low, conspiratorial murmur filled with promise. "Later, Jonas. I’ll show you later. Properly."
The heavy door groaned open with a final, grating shriek of metal. Stark fluorescent light from the corridor flooded the storage room, blinding after hours in the dim red gloom. Steve, a burly maintenance guy with a dented toolbox, and Paul, thinner and scowling, stood silhouetted in the sudden brightness.
"Christ on a cracker! What the hell?" Steve boomed, blinking at them. "You two been locked in here all night? The whole damn hospital’s been lookin' for ya!"
Jonas squinted, pushing his glasses firmly up his nose, forcing a semblance of professional calm. Rita pasted on her brightest, most innocent nurse smile, though her cheeks were still flushed. "Minor inventory mishap," Jonas said, his voice miraculously steady. He gestured vaguely at the rumpled pile of sterile pads and isolation gowns behind them. "Got a bit... sidetracked. But we really," he shot a quick look at Rita, who nodded emphatically, "need to get back to work."