Fractions_ The First Half of the Fall Revolution - Ken MacLeod [70]
Moh, later, found himself surprisingly ignorant of the details of the actual course of the War of European Integration. At the time he picked up the assumption that the news was all propaganda, and only caught glimpses of it on television. German tanks rode battering sleds of air, carrying the star-circled banner into Warsaw and Bucharest and Zagreb. German MiGs cleared the skies.
The Peace Process. No, not that. He jolted himself awake, gulped cold coffee and thought about something else.
Jordan was explaining to Janis the distinction between Dispensationalism and Pre-Millenarianism (which seemed very important but difficult to grasp) when he heard Moh’s mocking laughter and saw him stand up, looking as if he’d had a good night’s sleep.
‘It’s time I went to bed,’ Moh said.
‘I think it’s time I did,’ Janis said. She yawned, stretched, and jumped to her feet.
‘D’you mind just crashing here, Jordan, just for tonight?’
‘That’s fine. That’s great. Thanks.’
‘Okay. See you in the morning, Jordan.’
‘Goodnight.’
Janis waved, smiling. A moment later they were gone, like birds through a hole in the roof. Jordan sat still for some time and then took most of his clothes off, wrapped himself in blankets from the back of the sofa, and stretched out on it and stayed awake for a long time.
‘Well?’ she said, leaning against the door of his room.
‘Well what?’
‘Have you found a place?’
‘Yeah,’ Kohn said.
‘Good. Well…I feel like another joint before turning in.’ She raised her eyebrows and looked at him. He still seemed wide awake, and he grinned back at her as if this were the most unexpected and delightful suggestion he’d heard in a long time.
‘Yeah, why not?’
She turned and opened the door, watching him. His arm came into the room, past her shoulder; he did something with a switch. Small lights glowed on in the corners as she kicked off her shoes and sat down on the edge of the bed. He sat beside her, leaned an elbow against the pillow and offered her the now depleted and battered pack. She took one out and lit up.
‘Do you want to share?’
‘No, thank you,’ he said. ‘Lipstick tastes.’
She caught him just as he reached for the pack, with her right hand suddenly behind his head. Her fingers dug into his curls. She drew in the smoke to her throat, held it, and grudged the breath that escaped as she whispered, ‘Taste this…’
She brought their mouths (hers open, his opening) together and breathed out while he breathed in. They both broke away, gasping. The second time she gave less attention to fire and more to water, darting her tonguetip against his.
‘You took me by surprise,’ Kohn said.
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve been wanting to do this for hours.’
‘Wanton woman.’
‘Abandoned,’ she agreed. ‘An outcast of society.’
She stubbed out the filter roach. Kohn kicked off his boots, shrugged out of his waistcoat, then leaned forward and drew her on to him. She trailed her hair from his shoulders down to his hips, then did the same with her lips and tongue, discovering as she did so that it was time to get his trousers off. She straddled him and took her time with the belt and zip. She moved on her knees down over his thighs, tugging the trews and shorts away, and then suddenly it got urgent and she pulled them fiercely over his feet. She sat on his bare thighs, facing away from him, while he pulled the silk top over her head and unlaced her basque. She slipped her own trousers and pants off. She leaned forward, letting her hair tickle his toes, until the pale opalescent shell of the basque fell away from her chest, and his arms slid around her waist. His erection pressed against the small of her back. She turned over on her knees and put her hands on his shoulders and he lay back and she moved forward and up and Moh rose to meet her and she moved, slowly up and swiftly down, and so they continued, the cannabis in their racing blood stretching time.
She did not