"See, that's the problem, though--" Her teeth find the high point of his thigh before he has the opportunity to protest. "Never have the equipment on hand when I need it."

Short hair, scarred-up skin, the dull lights of the edge of the city (sheet paneling and rafters for maintenance staring back at them through the glossy reflection of her windows) it's foreign. All of it.

They're more strangers in a strange place at this point in time than they've ever been between jobs back home-- or they ought to be, at least. Because Chloe doesn't see it. Doesn't feel anything but the familiar warmth of his skin or the way he breathes out low little sounds when she finds the right spots. This could be Rio, or Prague or some dingy little hotel in Nevada.

This could be anywhere and it'd still feel like home.