hell_in_highheels | [oom] New Moon

"There are consequences for every action, some easily foreseen, others completely unexpected. Every pebble tossed in the ocean causes ripples."

She holds her glass up for a toast.

"If you're willing, I think I'm ready to makes some waves."

Even though the tone of her voice is steady, her scent ripples with a certain wildness.

He gets the feeling this conversation just turned rather serious.

He reaches for his glass, fingering the stem.

"Tonight?"

His hesitation calls up the sharp ache in her chest. The ache she's been holding onto since she first realized her way forward.

"Unless you have some compelling reason to wait..."

He doesn't answer at first. He eyes his wine glass, brows furrowed.

Is he really going to do this? He certainly believes what you lose is well worth what you gain, but will she? He knows she thinks she does and that she's done the research, but how can either of them be so sure this is what she wants?

He frowns a little more. She's done the research, more than he could have ever imagined possible. She knows as well as anyone can without being bitten what she's getting into. He can smell on her her much she wants this.

And the truth is, if it all works out? He wants this too.

He lifts his glass. "No. No reason."

Her eyes close for a long moment as the air fills her lungs again. When she opens her eyes, she smiles at him, trying to keep the mood light. Her heart is in her mouth. For all this is a serious decision, she doesn't want it to be a somber occasion. It's a joyous one.

My love, my mate. Make me yours.

She extends her glass to meet his.

"To us." The ring of crystal against crystal is as loud as a bronze bell in her ears.

He smiles at her fondly, but a lot of the earlier playfulness is gone. This is a serious decision, and he's glad she knows that.

"To us," he echoes, bringing his wine back to take a sip.

Please let this be the best choice.

She drinks, her eyes never leaving his. And then she sets her glass aside.

Her foot shifts alongside his, joined by its mate to capture him for a brief moment before she's pulling away, rising from the table and taking his hand.

"Dance with me?"

"All right," he says, smile turning a bit awkward as he trails along behind her.

It really has been a long time since he last danced.

She leads him a few steps into the study, where the lights are low and the music is a bit louder. Not much, but enough.

She turns and steps in close, guiding his hands to her hips. Dancing, in this case, is simply standing close, swaying in time to the music. It's easy enough to follow the rhythm of her body.

The backs of her knuckles caress along his jawline, and then her hands are stroking the nape of his neck, marking his hairline, urging him down to her. This close, he fills her senses, and she inhales his scent, her eyes closing as she rests her temple against his cheek.

This is simple enough that he remembers it quickly, hands and arms wrapped around her and holding her close. He presses against her, frowning at the feelings swirling through him, worry and anticipation and love and a little bit of fear. This can all go so wrong.

This can all go so very right.

He breathes in the very human smell of her, wanting to remember it.

She can feel the vague tension in his body, and holds him close, melting against him from shoulder to knee.

She wishes she could tell him it will all be all right, but she knows that's not entirely true. Things will go wrong, but they will be inconsequential in the long run. She knows, without knowing how and without needing to know how, that together, they are strong enough to weather any storm.

She sways to the music, nuzzling along his jaw to his chin, rubbing her lips over the scruff there.

She knows about irrational fears. All she can do is be there for him on the other side, and trust that he will be there for her.

Right now, all she wants to do is lose herself in how good he feels in her arms.

The latter, at least, he can accommodate, especially with her nuzzling hitting all the triggers to be an affectionate alpha. It's not something he has an issue with.

"I love you." And as much as he nurses the secret fear he might lose her over this, he does want to try. Because she asked him to.

He swallows. "Where?"

"I love you, too, Richard."

The truth of that is reinforced by her scent washing over him.

"You always stop yourself, when we're making love. I thought you might -- that we might..." Her voice trails off as her hands tighten on him.

"River..." He hadn't thought she'd ask for there.

"River, biting you there has nothing to do with drawing blood and everything to do with claiming you. I restrain myself because I don't want the blood smell...confusing me about what I'm doing."

She still smells like food. As long as she smells human, she'll smell like food. Drawing blood there when his control is already so thin is just asking for trouble.

He's not certain he's comfortable with doing it sober and at new moon, either.

"Well, then," she whispers against the hollow of his ear, still moving to the music. "Failing the presence of endorphins to dull the pain, where and how would you suggest?"

That, too, is a valid point.

Though, "How deep of a bite do you think it has to be?"

He had thought a simple nip would do it, but he supposes it would be better to be through the first time and not have to repeat it later should it not take.

"I don't know. I was hoping your instinct would guide us." She nips at the side of neck, breathing in his scent.

The whole discussion is making her tremble with anticipation. Her hands move over his shoulders, feeling the strength and power of him. She wants him, and she just wants it done.

He lets out a sharp whine (hey!) at the nip, jerking his head away. "I've never bit anyone," he admits. "And I'm rather not keen to repeat any of the methods I've seen." Then again, these are completely different circumstances from that. He frowns, trying to think of what might trigger the instinct to add to pack.

Perhaps she's right. Perhaps it is in the throes of passion and he's just misconstruing it because 'bite' has always meant 'food' before.

"You may have a point there, though."

She pulls back to look into his eyes, tilting her head at him a bit. "Listen to you, sounding all scientific."

Her eyes are bright and she smiles at him, her hand reaching up to touch his cheek.

"Instinct, love."

He gives her a dry little look.

"That's what I'm getting at. The only time I want to bite you is when I'm little more than instinct." He pauses. "I'd still rather nip your shoulder or sommat, though. For scarring reasons at the very least."

The other reason being in case he's wrong.

Her smile softens and her eyes search his face.

"I'm not worried about scars. And I'm not worried about you mistaking me for a bite of dessert. I trust you, Richard. With my life. And I trust your instincts."

And that's the difference between them, isn't it? He doesn't trust his instincts. Not that much, and she can see that on his face in the worry and doubt there.

At the same time, she seems to have her heart set on him doing it a certain way, and neither does he want to disappoint her. She only gets this opportunity once.

"Why don't we try and see what happens," he suggests at last.

She nods, her eyes closing for a moment. "And if it's not the right time, I trust you to know that, too. All right?"

She leans into him again, winding her arms around his neck and pulling him down to whisper against his cheek.

"I love you, Richard." I love you.

Love you. It occurs to him this would be easier if he didn't. He wouldn't worry so much, then. Or at all.

He focuses on her scent again, gently nuzzling the line of her jaw.

Love and longing, concern and worry, passion and desire and joy. The same scents he smelled on her that second night, standing at his door at midnight.

She dances in his arms, kissing his cheek, breathing him in even as her heart races.

He spoke of claiming her. She wants that. She wants to claim him as well, in her own way.

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