hell_in_highheels | [oom: Dinner with captainryan]

Ryan tracks her, not following just yet. He cants his head, just watching.

She looks good. She smells good. His head moves forward a bit, seeking...something. But he rights his posture as he takes a step forward. There's nothing to hunt here.

Not yet.

He follows her down the bridge, steps smooth and silent against the wood.

She waits for him, letting him close the distance between them a bit before turning on her heel and leading the way. He can hear her heart beating quicker.

She cocks her head so she can listen to his footsteps as he follows her deeper into the mist. Soon they've gone far enough that the mist closes in between them and the portal. Birds call in the distance, and there is running water somewhere below. Rain drips on the leaves and she's trying to breathe normally, knowing he can hear her agitation.

He's not hunting her. He's not.

It might be fun, though. He can hear her, skittish, somewhere in the mists ahead of him. The rain's wetting him, turning his dark shirt black, making her scent harder to catch.

This isn't a game, he tells himself even as he slips forward. He can't- he just met her for fuck's sake. It's not even training warring with instincts, it's experience. This won't end well. It never ends well.

It's been a long time.

River keeps walking, knowing he's behind her, listening to him. Being in the bar has sharpened and awakened senses she long thought dead.

She feels light headed, and focuses on keeping her steps even. There's a bit of sway in the bridge as she passes the middle, and she can tell when the first support is coming up as it firms up beneath her feet.

There's also a dry spot under the awning, perhaps five feet square. She pauses there, waiting for him, leaning her hands on the guide rope, looking out into the canopy.

He moves with the sway, barely noticing. He's keeping his pace controlled, neither slowing nor hurrying after her. He's not stalking, only prowling a bit, searching for her.

Her profile appears in the mists before him, not quite where he expected it to be. He hesitates, standing out in the rain, blinking water from his eyes. He can't smell her from here.

What is he doing?

He doesn't know.

She doesn't need to turn to know he's there. Watching her.

She holds her breath and lets it out as a long sigh. Patience, she thinks.

Something catches her eye in the foliage. There's a spot of orange on a broad leaf. She shields her eyes, and points.

He blinks at her, slowly, before turning his head to look. Small, bright, and orange, the frog sits in the rain. His head tilts caninely as it croaks and Ryan blinks water out of his eyes again.

It's a bit silly to stand out here in the rain, isn't it.

He turns back to River and steps under the canopy, circling around behind her, breathing in her scent that fills the small dry space over the wet wood. He settles into the space on her other side, carefully not touching, carefully close enough to lean on.

If she wants.

Edited 2009-02-17 05:32 (UTC)

She does. Very much so.

But he's pulled away from her twice, and she thinks she couldn't bear it if he pulled away again. No, this time is different, she thinks.. This time he came to her.

She closes the distance, her chin lowered, hiding her smile. She leans against him, lightly at first, giving him room to pull away if that is what he wants.

He doesn't move, shoulder steady and firm under her weight. He turns his head from looking out over the trees to looking down at her. This close, she's all he smells.

He shouldn't lead her on like this.

He shouldn't lead himself, either.

He doesn't move.

She leans on him for a moment, and then turns, drawn by the scent of him. "You're all wet," she whispers.

She lays her cheek on his shoulder and closes her eyes, breathing him in while she can.

"It is raining," he points out softly, voice edged with amusement.

He's wet, yes, but he's warm, too, body heat radiating through his clothes. His head lowers to hers, stopping just above and memorizing her hairline. The feel of her cheek through two layers of clothes.

He moves his hand down on the rope, gently brushing against hers and stopping there.

She lays her hand on top of his, interlacing her fingers with his. The heat of his body is penetrating her skin, warming her blood. She's breathing a little quicker, her heart jack rabbiting in her chest.

River raises her head, her eyes still closed. He is so close.

She wants him closer still.

He breathes in deeply, then exhales shakily through his nose. The turn of her head has put her face just below his own.

She smells of so many things, an emotional cocktail of hope and wondering and want, of the dinner she's just finished on her breath, of the human base of prey that he's used to ignoring, of the desire he's finding he can't.

It's bewildering. He's used to other people smelling like this, other couples (other?) in the bar, but it's never been directed at him. Maybe before he died, but he wouldn't have noticed it then.

He's noticing it now. How can he not with her face just below his own, nothing but their breath between them? He closes his eyes, trying to clear his head.

It doesn't work quite so well when your brain can build pictures off of scent.

She inhales again, drawing his breath into her mouth. Still too far away. She hums quietly in the back of her throat, frustration, want that is starting to feel like need.

She pulls away just enough to gently draw their clasped hands between them, turning her body into his like a dancer, drawing his captured hand to her waist.

He isn't any less formidable this close, but she's never been easily intimidated. And she's come too far to turn back now.

Her free hand comes up to touch his cheek and she's rising on her tip toes.

It's not that simple, he thinks.

It is that simple, the rest of him answers.

Ryan- Richard leans into her hand even as he tilts his head to meet her partway. His free arm winds around her back, hand pressing into her shoulder blades.

It has been a long time since he kissed anyone like this.

She sighs as he nuzzles her hand. Her eyes close and time stops as his mouth meets her own.

He is gentle, almost too gentle, and that's okay. She's feeling more and more fragile with every passing moment. Whatever this is coalescing between them, it demands more than a moment's consideration.

Any lingering doubts about his presence here dissipate with the strength of his embrace. She melts against him, shoulder to knee. Such a primitive thing, a distant part of her observes, how the hard masculine lines of his body make her feel even more feminine in contrast.

Both of her hands snake around his neck, urging him closer still. Her lips part against his mouth.

He's not just smelling her any more, he's tasting her, too. A chill runs down his spine as he presses against her, hungry in a way that has nothing to do with food. One hand curves around her ass, supporting her weight, while the one at her shoulders starts moving up along her neck and into her hair.

She rises to meet him, her kiss answering his hunger, mouthful by mouthful. Any trepidation she might have had quickly fades as she feels his hands moving on her skin. She pulls him close, her hands revelling every detail, the strength of his head and neck, the prickle of his hair against her palms. The heat of his skin.

He fills her senses. She arches against him, the kiss growing more heated by the moment.

His brain is just...off. All his fears and doubts and suspicions have been overwhelmed by this moment.

Overwhelmed, but not washed away.

He can feel his own heat reflected back at him by her mass, can use it to detect every single part of him she's touching. He doesn't even mind that he's being petted.

River savours his mouth, her tongue teasing along his. He is a furnace against her, and her desire spikes, wanting to feel his bare skin against hers. Her hips press forward instinctually, and she can't contain the low moan in the back of her throat.

He's panting now, quick short little breathes as he pulls her in tighter, closer, adjusting his centre of gravity so they don't both fall. He kisses her harder at the whine, wanting to hear it again, wanting to cause it again.

How did he ever go so long without this?

River obliges him, a low hungry sigh on her lips. But he can feel her hands coming back to his face, coming down to fist in his shirt. She pulls away just enough to rest her forehead against his, her breath ragged. Everything about her screams receptive female.

"Richard," she whispers, but true language is beyond her. She closes her eyes and leans in to whisper against his ear. "Bed."

He shivers again, an eager whine in his throat, but he doesn't let her go.

Not until he knows, "Where?"

"Not here. Not in the machine." Her hands are clenching and unclenching on his shirt front and she leans in to capture his mouth again, her whole body shivering. Praying to herself, please let him know a place, please let it be close.

He'd nearly forgotten they were in a computer.

He forgets again as they kiss once more. The kiss becomes a nuzzle as he shifts his head to follow her chin up to her ear.

"There's my room," he manages, giving in to the urge to gently nibble.

[oom: Dinner with captainryan]

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