The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind
She snorts at the mention of an incubus. ”There are worse things,” she says with amusement in her voice, though it’s clear it bothers him. Her joke is meant to soften his distaste, because despite their current situation, she doesn’t much care what others say or think. Though she has not known him long, she knows him well enough. They are not that different, really. Villians in their stories no matter what they do. Sometimes it is simply easier to become what everyone expects of them. Some would argue that they did it to themselves, their reputations, and that is true. But at least for her, she simply views the world differently than those that sit on their pedestals. ”Well luckily for you, I have no such vendetta, and I’m likely better than them anyway.”
He offers to show her the tongue, which would be less show and more feel and the heat at the idea, the displacement of her traitorous heartbeat...fuck. ”I am very tempted to say yes, Jata,” she says, giving up on his entire name because it’s too much work, too many syllables, to be bothered with at this point. ”I should not say yes.” But then again, they are both villains. Does it matter if they do the right thing?
At the mention of not being afraid of blood, she grins. ”What, do you want to be stabbed?” she teases, pulling her leg toward her hands and slipping a knife from somewhere down around her ankle. ”I can oblige,” she says, the knife casually rotating in her hand, the light of the dim fire glittering off the steel.
What stops her, from saying yes? It is not some fear of regret. No, in fact with him, it is so very uncomplicated that it would be easy. There are no expectations, no strings attached. They’d wake in the morning and talk and he’d be on his way, and they’d see each other again as if nothing at all had happened. Yet Maea flicks in the corner of her mind. So much love. A girl that deserved so much more. Did it matter now, that she was dead?
”And yet before they turn to shit, they are good.” Her voice is quiet, her fingers slipping up to trace his collarbone, his neck, his jaw. ”There is the VlamVloed. There is the Kraai. There are lovers and loves. There are family and friends. There are nights like tonight that do not matter but glitter in our memories all the same.” No matter what happens, there is nothing bad about tonight. They could fall asleep now, and it would be enough.
She chuckles at his last comment, sliding closer at his pull, burying her head against his neck, her lips almost touching his skin. ”I’d fucking hope so, or I will go home,” she says with a harder, still teasing, edge to his voice. ”As far as I’m aware your previous plan did not involve me.” He pulls his head back slightly, and she meets his steel gray eyes with her own amber ones, fire dancing in them. Her hand come up to his cheek, her thumb grazes his lips. ”I still might say no,” she whispers, uncertain how far she’d cross the line, though clearly, it has already been crossed. Her hand slips to the back of his neck and she leans forward to kiss him.
He offers to show her the tongue, which would be less show and more feel and the heat at the idea, the displacement of her traitorous heartbeat...fuck. ”I am very tempted to say yes, Jata,” she says, giving up on his entire name because it’s too much work, too many syllables, to be bothered with at this point. ”I should not say yes.” But then again, they are both villains. Does it matter if they do the right thing?
At the mention of not being afraid of blood, she grins. ”What, do you want to be stabbed?” she teases, pulling her leg toward her hands and slipping a knife from somewhere down around her ankle. ”I can oblige,” she says, the knife casually rotating in her hand, the light of the dim fire glittering off the steel.
What stops her, from saying yes? It is not some fear of regret. No, in fact with him, it is so very uncomplicated that it would be easy. There are no expectations, no strings attached. They’d wake in the morning and talk and he’d be on his way, and they’d see each other again as if nothing at all had happened. Yet Maea flicks in the corner of her mind. So much love. A girl that deserved so much more. Did it matter now, that she was dead?
”And yet before they turn to shit, they are good.” Her voice is quiet, her fingers slipping up to trace his collarbone, his neck, his jaw. ”There is the VlamVloed. There is the Kraai. There are lovers and loves. There are family and friends. There are nights like tonight that do not matter but glitter in our memories all the same.” No matter what happens, there is nothing bad about tonight. They could fall asleep now, and it would be enough.
She chuckles at his last comment, sliding closer at his pull, burying her head against his neck, her lips almost touching his skin. ”I’d fucking hope so, or I will go home,” she says with a harder, still teasing, edge to his voice. ”As far as I’m aware your previous plan did not involve me.” He pulls his head back slightly, and she meets his steel gray eyes with her own amber ones, fire dancing in them. Her hand come up to his cheek, her thumb grazes his lips. ”I still might say no,” she whispers, uncertain how far she’d cross the line, though clearly, it has already been crossed. Her hand slips to the back of his neck and she leans forward to kiss him.
Weaver
