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"You're easy to deal with." Again, there was a lack of pretense in Loren's voice. Cheeks still flushed, he smiled. "Plus I like you."
Letting out a huff of laughter, he nodded. "That's a first for me, actually." Grinning, he tilted his head to one side. "And lucky me, you're all hot, no mess." Underneath the lightly teasing tone, there was a genuine admiration and appreciation for Weaver.
Laughing outright now, he just gave her an endlessly amused look. "Absolutely." As she moved closer, he leaned into her a bit, though their bodies weren't quite touching. Their hands were another matter: his slid around to the back of her neck, running through her hair as he did. He used his new grip to deepen the kiss, his teeth nipping at her lower lip.
Keeping his hand there, the other rested on her hip. Raising his eyebrows, he smirked and gave her a considering look. "And how do you suggest we go about corrupting you and ruining my sterling reputation?" As he waited for her response, his fingers explored the parts of her he could reach without moving his hands from their positions.
Eyes crinkling with amusement, he shrugged. "Good thing I've got a lot of experience recovering from stab wounds." Tone wry, he met her gaze, wondering what she'd make of that particular claim. "And no offense, I'm pretty sure I could take him in a fight if necessary."
Not quite sure how to respond to her compliments, he looked away again after the kiss ended, cheeks now a furious crimson. "Well then." He cleared his throat a bit awkwardly. "We both think the other is wonderful. So...uh, don't take this the wrong way but um, now what?" Giving her a sheepish look, he lifted one hand to scratch the back of his head.
So precious is this life, this gift, this temporary blindness.
She nearly snorts at his words, and the laugh that escapes her is a bit choked. ”You must be a saint, because I don’t think anyone has ever said I am easy to deal with.” Though they might call her easy (she was not, except when she wanted to be). ”Mmm, I like you too, even though that sounds like something a schoolgirl might say. I’d make a sexy schoolgirl, though.” She grins, mischief sparking behind the look.
”No offense, but I am not entirely surprised. You are the type of hot that would have to try a little harder,” she says, a slight purr in her voice, like she doesn’t really care. It’s not an insult, just a fact, because she does not lie unless it’s truly necessary. ”Or maybe I am just very good at pretending.” She was a different sort of mess. A calculated mess, who didn’t care about the things most others cared about. She had her messy moments, too, drunken debaucherous nights, but they didn’t bother her and so perhaps, that helped her to hold it all together. She left those nights in between the sheets and never looked back.
He leans a little closer, and the space between them almost hurts. She wants to close it, wants to press herself into him and yet something stops her. Maybe because she likes him in a way she very rarely likes anyone. In a way that is more careful (as careful as Weaver knows how to be), in a way that is willing to be patient. Endlessly patient. Some things are worth waiting for. So she leaves the space, relishing his hands in her hair, his lips on hers.
”I have long since been corrupted, so hopefully you don’t mind. You are an Outlander and a Launceleyn related to Zariah, so you have no sterling reputation anymore anyway. I don’t think we need to do anything besides be, and we will scandalize the whole damn town.” To be honest, it might work in his favor. It might lend him some credibility. More likely though, it would do no such thing. He’d get shit for dating taking a Halovian Natural out of their limited pool (if that is what he wants, she does not know yet), and she’d take shit for letting him.
Her fingers trace lazy circles on his back, unsurprised at this next comment. ”That fits with your past.” Though as he mentions beating Korbin in a fight, she can only laugh, nodding her head in agreement. ”Oh absolutely. He can’t beat me, and while I at least might be a challenge for you, you will win.” It’s not a question. She’s outmatched against him, though she’d at least put up a fight.
She leans forward to kiss his neck when he looks away, not shy, not embarrassed. Unafraid, as she always is. She chuckles slightly at his words, looking anything but sheepish. ”You mean outside of kissing you, or perhaps undressing you?” She slips her hands down the collar of his shirt, just for emphasis. ”I suppose that depends on what you want. I am rather flexible with the details. I have only three rules, if you want to try something.” She says something in a way that suggests it doesn’t need to be a label, that it doesn’t need to be as the world might expect. She would try it for him though, if that is what he wants.
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark, then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
Loren smirked. "Hardly a saint." Reaching up, he tucked a strand of hair that had escaped her braid behind her ear. "I'm simply used to dealing with far more difficult people than you." The statement was equal parts fond and bemused.
Letting out a huff of laughter, he gave her a pleased look. For a moment, he very much looked like the cat that got the cream. "I didn't mind hearing it. And I won't tell anyone if you don't tell them I sounded like a fumbling schoolboy." Despite the teasing words, there was something unabashedly happy about his tone and expression.
"Good thing I'm a try-hard." This came out with his characteristically wry and self-deprecating tone. However, as she mentioned being better at keeping things under wraps, he gave her an understanding look. "You don't have to, you know." Speaking in a soft voice, he cleared his throat. "Hide the mess from me, I mean." Rubbing the back of his head for a moment, he gave her a sheepish smile.
The kiss went on, and he found himself not quite satisfied by the little taste. Indeed, he let out a little demanding growl, though he didn't ask for more. Not yet. Instead, he just grinned as they surfaced for air and she brought up his kin. "Here I was thinking getting disowned would spare me the sins of my relatives. Silly me." He brushed his lips across her cheek and nibbled on her earlobe. "But I can certainly be myself. Commit my own sins, so to speak." The words came out in a wicked whisper.
"Hey now, not just my past! My present too." Chuckling a bit, he nodded at her assessment of Korbin and her chances against the Launceleyn. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that. I can think of things I'd much rather spend my time, energy, and passion on." His thumb brushed against her hip as he spoke.
However, his slow and careful touches ceased as she answered his admittedly poorly conceived question. Pulling away slightly, though keeping his hands on her, he searched her features. "Yes, outside of that. I like to think I know what we're doing on that front." Laughing briefly, his expression grew more serious as she went on. "Just three, huh? Why don't you tell me those rules, then?" His voice was quiet, though not hesitant.
So precious is this life, this gift, this temporary blindness.
She chuckles at that, nodding slightly. ”I don’t even have a witty comeback to that. I’ve met your family.” She reaches up to her braid, tugging the band off. It was falling out anyway, and with deft fingers Weaver frees the rest of it. It tumbles down past her shoulders in tangled waves, and she realizes it’s the first time he’s actually seen it down. It feels like baring her soul to him, in some small way. Well, now it’s his to play with.
”I won’t tell,” she says with a conspiratorial wink. ”Though I admit, I do not care what anyone thinks, either.” Though she means it in reference to the schoolgirl comment, she also means it more broadly. Korbin would throw a fit. Half of Caido would probably wonder what the fuck she was doing with him, but still, she just doesn’t care. It is their loss that they cannot see who he is, who he wants to be, rather than who he was.
She gives him an amused, skeptical look at the mention of a try-hard, a Mona Lisa smile on her face. ”With everything but your appearance, it would seem,” she says, plucking at his hair for a moment before simply tangling in her fingers in it. ”Ah, but still,” she says, grinning, leaning forward to kiss the stubble on his cheek. At his next statement though, she meets his eyes, her arms tightening around him slightly. ”I have been this way for so long, I couldn’t tell you where the mask stops and I begin. Perhaps I have simply become my mask.” At some point, if you tell yourself the lie long enough or hard enough, even you begin to believe it.
They come up for air from the kiss, and she hates the space between them. She aches to be closer, to simply curl up in his embrace and stay there. It could be that simple, and she would be happy. She wants to simply be with him, whatever that means, but she forces herself to find patience (and damn is it hard). ”You still have their last name,” she points out. ”Most of the town doesn’t know you’ve been disowned.” She shivers as he nibbles on her ear, his breath warm as he whispers. ”Oh, I don’t doubt it,” she says in a breathy whisper back.
She chuckles at that, giving him a very unsurprised look. To be fair, she is not exactly a stranger to getting stabbed, but she almost always trains with sharpened blades. Though she is often the one doing the stabbing. ”Mmmm, there is something to be said for a good fight though. All that adrenaline, sweat…” she rolls her shoulders in a shrug, but her look is suggestive. ”Though I’d vastly prefer it is me you are fighting and not my brother.” It would be fun. She turns her head, snapping gently at his thumb with her teeth, trying to catch it and nibble.
He pulls away slightly, which is the opposite direction she wants him to go, but it’s the serious part of the conversation so she doesn’t fight it, though her arms are still around his shoulders. ’One. I don’t really care about monogamy, though I am willing to try it should we decide that at some point. Mostly just don’t sleep with everything that moves and come back to me.” Human hearts were fickle things, and sometimes they needed to be free. She didn’t really mind, so long as she was the most important one in his life. Yes, she is selfish in that way, but not in all ways. ”Two. Do not lie to me. There are very few things you can do or say that will upset me as long as they are true. If you fucking lie to me though…” The threat in her voice is clear enough. She will cut off something important. ”Three. Regardless of what happens with this, you are stuck with me as your friend.” She wasn’t losing him in her life if this didn’t work out. In the end, she just wanted him in whatever way she could have him. ”And of course, I will do the same in return. Acceptable?”
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark, then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
Letting out a huff of laughter, Loren grinned. "You don't have to have a witty comeback to everything." As Weaver released her braid, he reached up with one hand. Tangling his fingers in it, he stroked it, almost entranced by the feeling of it.
His eyes were drawn to hers soon enough though. "Me neither." Tone pleased, he kissed her forehead gently.
Smirking a bit, he shrugged. "My appearance never really mattered to me." Flushing, expression sheepish, he continued playing with her hair. When she mentioned masks, he smiled sadly. "I know what that's like." Shaking his head a bit, he gave her an understanding look. "For a long time it felt like I had lost myself in trying to be someone I wasn't. Someone I thought other people wanted me to be." The words came out quietly, but at least there wasn't any guilt or shame in them.
Sighing, he inclined his head and acknowledged the point. Then his lips twitched with amusement. "Maybe I should post on the Notice Board. 'Not a real Launceleyn.'" It was a completely ridiculous suggestion.
Thankfully, her reaction to his suggestive whisper was everything he could've hoped for. As her teeth nibbled at his thumb, his breath hitched a bit. His lips moved down to her neck and he bit down just short of leaving a mark. "I'd prefer that too. And I'd be glad to get sweaty with you." Lifting his head, he winked at her.
As she listed her rules, he listened patiently and closely. However, when she asked if he could agree to them, he actually barked out a laugh. Moving forward again, he finally pressed his body against hers, any doubts banished. "Extremely acceptable. In fact, it would be my pleasure." With that, he captured her mouth for another hungry kiss.
So precious is this life, this gift, this temporary blindness.
”Are we sure about that? It’s what I’m good at.” Which is somewhat true, but really just because it is vastly easier to be witty than real. Not that she isn’t real too. She certainly can be, and she is always truthful. It’s just easier to bookend these things with witty comments.
She closes her eyes at the gentle kiss to her forehead though, simply enjoying his touch. Though as he says he never cared about his appearance, she just shrugs. ”I can understand that,” she says, because she has never really cared about her appearance that much either, though it was vastly different in her case. She was beautiful without trying, perhaps beautiful because she didn’t try. Perhaps some of her beauty was the scars on her skin, the dirt beneath her nails, the tangles in her hair. ”And I am perfectly happy with the way you look.” Because that too didn’t really matter.
Her hand cups the side of his face gently as he talks of masks, and she simply places kisses on his face in response for a moment; his cheeks, his nose, his forehead. ”Is it bad that I like my mask?’ she finally asks. ”After my brother died I was a mess, but I couldn’t be. Not with Korbin. So I learned how to hold it together. I learned to be stronger than everything around me. Not that I don’t feel, but I don’t break, and I do not want to break.” She meets his gaze, wondering what he thinks of that. She wants to be made of fire and steel, and so she is. At least, most of the time.
She chuckles at his suggestion though. ”Change your last name,” she says bluntly. The choice is his, but he does have one. She rolls her shoulders in a slight shrug, to tell him she doesn’t care what he does, but he always has a choice.
But then he’s whispering suggestive things in her ears and when he bites her neck, her breath hitches slightly. The space between them hurts just a little bit more. She simply hums in pleasure at the suggestion of them sweaty together, tightening her grip on him. But first the rules, and he laughs in acceptance of them. To be fair, they are not very hard rules to follow, so she’d be surprised if they hadn’t been agreeable. Though he speaks, she’s already lost as he presses his body against hers, as his lips find her own. She wraps her legs around his waist, her hands slipping into his hair, pulling her tight to him. She meets his hungry kiss with her own, falling into him.
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark, then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
Loren grinned at Weaver. "You're good at lots of things." The words came out teasingly, but there was a honest truth to them as well.
Letting out a huff of laughter, he lowered his hands from her hair to rest on her shoulders. "Lucky me." And no, he wasn't just talking about the fact that she didn't mind his appearance.
Pausing for a moment at her question, he finally shook his head. "No. Of course not. But...then it's not really a mask anymore, is it?" He smiled a bit sadly, before reaching up to cup her cheek. "I hope you know there's no shame in breaking. And there are those who would be more than happy to help you put yourself back together again." Then his lips twitched in amusement. "Not that I think you'd need help."
Chuckling, he shrugged. "People keep telling me to do that. Perhaps I should finally listen to their advice." Tone wry, he raised his eyebrows. "Got any suggestions?" His voice was joking and his eyes glittered mischeviously.
When her legs wrapped around his waist, his arms dropped down so he could wrap them around her lower back. Then, without any hint of trouble, he lifted her off the counter. Although his frame was thin, he was deceptively strong, the long limbs disguising lean muscle. Still kissing her deeply, his tongue darted forward, hoping to taste her properly again.
So precious is this life, this gift, this temporary blindness.
”Name one, outside of fighting and being a pain in the ass. I am definitely good at both of those things.” She is good at more too, but still, there’s so much they don’t know about each other, and so much they maybe don’t realize they know. She is curious what else he might have picked up about her.
She chuckles slightly, her smile feline and sly. ”You are kind of lucky, aren’t you?” Her voice is teasing, because she’ll never admit that maybe she got a little lucky too. Well, maybe she will, but not yet.
She nods. ”As I said, perhaps I have become my mask. Though maybe it would have been more accurate to say my mask has become me. Either way.” She leans into the touch, her eyelids closing slightly before exhaling a breath, looking into his eyes again. ”It makes me feel so weak. There is nothing wrong with it, I know. I have told you as much in your own life. And yet I hate it when it’s me.” Well, if he wants to know her, she will divulge some secrets.
She chuckles though as he asks for suggestions. ”I admit, I do not have any good ones, though I will ponder it for you.” After all, what use has she ever had to think of other last names? She has never seriously dated anyone, has never seriously thought of leaving Korbin in that way. Weaver has never been the kind of girl who stuck her name next to some boy’s last name to figure out if it sounded good. Besides, Hale was a good last name, and she was rather fond of it.
But then he’s against her, and she doesn’t care about last names. Not his, not hers. It seems very irrelevant. He scoops her up with ease, though she isn’t surprised. He may not be traditionally muscular, but she has seen what he can do and has felt the muscles beneath his skin in at least some places (though she would be more than happy to discover them all). Her legs find purchase on his hips, and she holds herself against him, opening her lips as she feels his tongue. She is his to explore, as she explores him in return.
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark, then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
Loren grinned at Weaver's challenge. "I'll do you one better: hunting and bartending." Winking at her, he raised his eyebrows as if to ask how well he did answering.
"I am." It came out in a much simpler and more sincere tone than he'd intended. Still, he smiled, even if he did flush a bit at the same time.
However, his expression grew more serious as she continued, albeit in an entirely sympathetic and understanding way. "I get it. Believe me I do." He let out a huff of laughter. "But needing help every once in a while doesn't make you weak." Still smiling, he met her eyes, his own gaze soft. "It makes you human."
With that, he kissed the corner of her mouth. "And I very much like the idea of you being human right now, if you can forgive me for saying so." His tone was equal parts teasing and suggestive.
All thoughts of last names left his mind as well. The kiss was simultaneously everything he wanted and not nearly enough. Breaking it off with a growl, he began kiss and nipping his way down her neck. However, with a groan he wrenched his mouth from her skin. Holding her effortlessly, he smirked. "I don't know exactly what you had in mind, but we probably shouldn't scandalize the cooks. At least not too much." Voice and expression wicked, he bent down again to kiss down the other side of her neck, devouring every inch of skin he could reach.
So precious is this life, this gift, this temporary blindness.
She rolls her eyes slightly. ”How predictable,” she says with a groan, as if his answer is not impressive. ”And yet, entirely true, so I suppose you got me.” Perhaps she should have eliminated those two from the game instead, but in the end, it’s not like she cares all that much what he answers. He knows her better than most, particularly given that they are still relatively new friends.
Besides, as he agrees that he is lucky, his tone earnest, that flush still adorable, her heart melts just a little bit. She leans forward to kiss his cheek in response.
Though the conversation grows more serious as he tells her it makes her human. She scrunches her nose up in mild disgust at the notion, even if she knows it’s true. There’s nothing more for her to add though, because he’s right. She knows he’s right. It just doesn’t make her hate it any less.
He lightens the mood with his next comment, and she chuckles, turning her head to catch his lips full on briefly. Some comments come to mind, but she decides to leave them alone, thinking that she might be taking it too far if she opens her mouth.
Besides, there are better things to be doing with her mouth. He growls, and she loves the sound of him. Weaver tips her head back a bit, giving him better access as he kisses and nips his way down her neck. He breaks away though, and she lets out a slightly disappointed breath, even if he’s right. ”Do you mean did I wander into the Palace planning to rip your clothes off in the kitchen? No, I can’t say I came here with any such intentions. Though I would agree that we should not taint the place where baked goods are made.” Even she had some standards. He continues to kiss the other side of her neck now, and she runs her thumb over his ear, tightening her fingers in his hair. ”You are the one who lives here. What do you suggest?”
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark, then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
"I am nothing if not predictable." Grinning, Loren gave Weaver a smugly pleased look. "And it's not my fault you don't set stricter rules." Tone amused, he winked at her.
Letting out a huff of laughter, he shifted his grip a bit so they were both in a more comfortable position. "Why do I get the feeling I should never make you choose between me and scones?" Obviously he was teasing her.
Bring his lips back to her skin, he kissed his way up to her ear once more. "Well," pausing to nibble on her earlobe, he spoke in a suggestive whisper again. "I do have a rather firm mattress upstairs." He pulled back a bit so he could see her reaction to that.
So precious is this life, this gift, this temporary blindness.
”And yet you manage to surprise me far too often,” she says, slightly teasing. His surprises always seem to be good ones, some new layer of him she hadn’t quite expected. Like baking scones. Like saying he might actually be ready for something a little more serious.
She lets him shift her, using her legs and arms to hold herself as well, pressing herself closer to his chest as she laughs in return. ”No, because you may not like the answer,” she agrees, giving him a playful smile and nipping at his nose. It was possible she’d pick him...but it was possible she’d pick the scones.
She shivers as he nibbles on her ear, eyes closed against the feel of it. He pulls back at his comment, but he will find only a pleased little smile on her face. ”Are you going to carry me all the way there?” she teases, but it is very clear she is saying yes. It’s different now, when she is not simply a rebound, a drunken mistake. She has no intentions of walking away this time, of missing the opportunity of him. ”As long as your bed isn’t made of rocks, I do not really care. Hell, I might even tolerate rocks.”
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark, then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
05-11-2020, 11:10 PM (This post was last modified: 05-11-2020, 11:10 PM by Loren.)
The white sheep of the family
Grinning, Loren winked at her. Leaning forward, he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "The trick is to successfully lower people's expectations for you. That way, they'll always be surprised." Rocking back on his heels, he gave Weaver an amused look.
As she nipped at his nose, he let out a little mock growl. "I'd choose the scones, if I were you. Just saying." With that, he balanced her on the counter for just a moment. Reaching out, he broke off a piece from the scone he'd made for her and fed it to her (hopefully).
Her question caused his grin to turn into a smirk. Shifting his grip so that he was holding her bridal style, he raised his eyebrows. "I could." Tone teasing, expression mischievous and challenging, it was clear it was up to her. Snorting, he shook his head, beginning to carry her towards the nearest staircase. "I think I can give you something a little better than rocks." The statement came out more than a bit suggestively.
So precious is this life, this gift, this temporary blindness.
She laughs at that, shaking her head slightly at him. ”If that has been your plan all along, you have done a wonderful job of it then. Maybe I ought to be concerned you are craftier than I thought.” Not that she would mind, so long as he wasn’t craftier than she was. A girl had to be better at a few things, at least.
He breaks off a piece of the scone and offers it to her. Of course, she is more than happy to oblige, leaning forward to catch the scone in her mouth, making sure to linger on his fingers for a moment. ”I would probably choose the scones too,” she says as she swallows the bite, her smile playful. ”But preferably I can just have both.” He did taste pretty good too.
He flips her to the bridal style of carrying and she starts to squirm like a child trying to get down. ”Oh no. Nope. Definitely not.” She was not going to play at a bride being carried over a threshold. No thank you. Even if she did get married someday, that seemed like an unlikely custom she’d agree to. ”You can show me the way to this firm mattress and demonstrate how you are better than rocks, but I will walk myself there,”, she says, finding her feet and following (if he puts her down).
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark, then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
