[oom] Room 417

[hell_in_highheels]

[cont'd from here]

He runs through his mental check-list one more time while wondering if he's missed something or if he could add something else. Fireplace. He turns the flames on, setting them to low and casting faint shadows across the furniture.

Perfect. He heads for the door and puts one hand on the knob before he smirks and leans against the wall instead.

"Who is it?"

She remembers the first time she stood here, her heart in her throat, wondering just what it was she was going to say to convince him to let her stay.  A smile spreads across her face.  She lays one hand flat on the door, and rests her forehead against the frame*. 

"Three guesses, first two don't count."



*The other hand has been claimed by a certain obstinate doberman.   His dog, indeed.

Comments

[hell_in_highheels]

Oh pouting is double cheating. She wants to crawl in his lap and feel the rumble of his voice against her breast bone. She wants to run her hands over his hair, wants to feel his own hands moving on her body, wants to feel his teeth in her skin. She wants to unwind him with pleasure, wants to surrender to the power of him.

But she holds back, wanting the thrill of the chase. Letting the tension build, slowly. Instead she tries to breathe, the wine already doing its work, making resisting all the more difficult.

"So tell me, Captain Ryan," she purrs, using her words to blunt the instincts she feels drawing her along like a deep, dark current. "What is a wolf like you doing in a joint like this?"

It might be working. Possibly.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He blinks a moment, then barks out a laugh. He can't believe she just asked that.

"I live here," he rumbles, tracing the seam of her shirt. That's harmless enough, right? Extremely harmless when compared to what he'd rather be tracing. He should have a little more wine, perhaps.

"What's your excuse?"

[hell_in_highheels]

She grins, thrilling to the sound of his laugh, the teasing touch at her side eating away at her resolve.

"Oh just a little research, that's all." Her own voice drops into its low register, sultry and dark. "I read somewhere that wolves mate for life. Wondered if you'd ever heard the same thing?"

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

His broad smile turns softer as he finishes off his glass.

"Perhaps."

He'd worried about that. But what hasn't he worried about? It's just another concern to add to the pile. Though he could probably take it off now. They were in the same boat.

He pours himself another glass of wine and tops hers off. "I never gave it much thought," he says a bit wryly, knowing it'll smell of a lie.

[hell_in_highheels]

She watches him move, watches as he looks away from her even as he smiles. The untruth is a new scent among all the others and she tilts her head minutely, her brow furrowing as he fills her glass.

"I did," she confesses. "Before I accepted the change."

love, truth, devotion

"I hope you know, I've never wanted anything less. Not for a moment."

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

His brow furrows, Atlantean starting to take its toll.

touched, love, relief, confusion

"Less? Or more?"

[hell_in_highheels]

It is, indeed, making her say things she'd normally keep to herself. Her cheeks colour as she looks down into her wine glass,

"Never wanted anything less than -- all of it."

trepidation, vulnerability, passion

"Without knowing how, or when, or from where," she quotes, without looking up. "Straightforwardly, without complexities, or pride."

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He nods, the movement a bit exaggerated. "That makes sense." He bumps her then, reassuringly.

love, contentment, amusement

"The first bit, not the poetry bit. Poetry is..." he rotates his hand side to side, "poetry." Then he laughs because he knows that didn't really make sense.

He tilts his head, grinning. "You're cute when you blush. Should make you do that more often."

[hell_in_highheels]

She's blushing even brighter red now, holding a hand over her face. The bump is returned and she leans against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

frustration, embarrassment, amusement, love

"It may be poetry, doesn't make it any less the truth."

Her fingers grasp a handful of his shirt, pulling him closer.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He may have to put his glass down soon, he realizes, but that's okay. There are worse fates.

anticipation, amusement, love, desire

"Be that as it may, I'm not certain Atlantean and poetry mix." He isn't terrible concerned about it, though. There is snuggling going on. And perhaps in a moment, snogging.

[hell_in_highheels]

"Fine, have it your way." There is a mock huff of exasperation. And then she has an idea which sparks a little bit of a babble.

"Someday," she says, very seriously (so seriously in fact, he might begin to realise, she's rather tipsy). "Someday, I am going to sit you down and ask you all sorts of impertinent questions. Like where you were born, and how many brothers and sisters you have, and -- what's the strangest place you've ever made love and no making stuff up, I really want to know."

She catches herself, eyes wide, smirking up at him, the blush in her cheeks not fading in the slightest.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

There's a hint of grief in his scent before he pushes it away. Not tonight.

"You'd know if I was making it up," he chides merrily, touching his nose with his wineglass before taking another sip.

[hell_in_highheels]

She takes another sip too, and then takes his glass from his fingers, leaning forward to set them both on the coffee table.

longing, desire, curiosity

Turning back, she takes him by his shirt front and does what she's been wanting to do since she first sat down. "I want to know everything there is to know about you, Richard Ryan. Everything. I'm not just in this for the amazing sex, you understand." That said, she's crawling into his lap, straddling him so she can look him in the eye.

"I am in this for the long haul. All of it. For better or worse, sickness and health, all that bloody sentimental -- poetry," she stammers, her hands running over his cheeks.

Don't hurt, love. I'll take care of you. Please don't hurt.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He gazes up at her a long moment, blinking slowly.

Finally, and in drunken seriousness, "I believe marriage rates a good sight higher than mere poetry."

Beat.

"I'm not sure where the amazing sex stands, though."

[hell_in_highheels]

She looks down into his face, laughter in her eyes and her scent, well aware that her alpha is letting her push the boundaries. She takes advantage, not challenging him, but certainly revelling in the privilege of being this close.

"Well, that can be answered with a simple enough question: if you had to chose between amazing poetry and amazing sex, which would you prefer?"

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

"Mmm, decisions, decisions," he rumbles with half-slitted eyes as he strokes her thighs and ass. Being this close does have its advantages.

"Am I allowed samples to compare?"

[hell_in_highheels]

"If you so desire." She rocks forward a bit, her body instinctively moving in time with his touch. Her gaze, on the other hand, moves to the ceiling as she chews on her thumb. "Hmm, let me think."

Her eyes fall shut and she exhales quietly, "Oh yes, my love." Her chin tips down again and she's looking at him as she recites, low and precise, speaking the words as she had written them herself.

"I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps..."

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He arches an eyebrow, looking a shade dubious.

"Are you certain you didn't just make that up? It's terribly suited to us."

He continues to work at distracting her and being distracted by her. It's a lovely ass, after all.

[hell_in_highheels]

"No, I didn't make it up. And there's more." Her hands rest against his chest, her fingers kneading gently. She leans forward, whispering the words against his jawline, not giving him a chance to interrupt the rest of the sonnet.

"I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face," Her lips follow her words, brushing across the features of his face.
"I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

And I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue."

The last is just a breath against the shell of his ear.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

Which means he can now interrupt her. He thinks. He's not really sure if that's the end or not but her throat is right there and the urge to nibble on it is strong.

"It's a-" nibble "good poem." Nip. "But you've" nuzzle "made me hungry."

[hell_in_highheels]

She tips her chin up, baring her throat to his mouth, a hard shiver running through her body and the steadily rising arousal in her scent spiking high and wild at the feel of his teeth.

trust, love, surrender, need

You're always hungry, she observes, not really complaining.

Her hands hold tight to his shirt, and her spine arches beneath his hands.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

His fingers slip underneath her shirt, searching higher, holding her in place. He continues to nip at her throat, worrying the edge of her collar bone.

determined, desire, love, need

You're always tasty, he answers with a playful growl.

[hell_in_highheels]

Goosebumps rise beneath his lips. Her eyes close and her lips part. There's a low whine in answer to that growl, and another shiver, this one travelling down her spine. Each brush of his incisors sends tiny shock of pleasure, coursing through her skin, the Atlantean amplifying all of it.

Then you should feast, love.

my mate

The scar at the side of her neck shimmers with the memory of his bite.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

There was no need, nor desire, to bite that deeply this time.

He still drew blood, though, as he bit at the base of her throat. Red slowly swelled out of the holes he made, like tiny glossy flower buds, and he just as slowly licked them away again.

Mine.

[hell_in_highheels]

Her voice hitches in her throat, and her hands encircle his head, the muscles in her arms trembling as she holds to him. Cradling him against her, a shuddering gasp caught in the back of her throat as his tongue moves.

Yours.

Everything about this feels sharper this time. The feel of his skin beneath her palms, the feel of his arms around her. She can smell the blood, smell the effect it has on him, can smell her own musk rising, mingling with it all.

The gasp becomes a growl, an inhuman sound coming from her chest.