[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]

She mirrors his smile, blinking languidly. She quirks an eyebrow at him, and silently lifts her glass in toast, touching her rim to his before taking a drink.

desire, intrigue, intense curiosity

Her eyes close for a moment as she tastes the blend of wine and Atlantean for the first time. When she's done swallowing, she exhales in contentment.

"Do werewolves get hangovers?"

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

"We can." He's found that out first hand.

pleasure, amusement, wryness

He takes a small sip of his glass, barely tasting the Atlantean against the wine.

"Water helps."

[hell_in_highheels]

"Mmm, well then. I'll just have to remember to drink deeply."

She leans closer, nuzzling his cheek before brushing her lips over his.

Want to taste you.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

He lets his eyes shut, simply enjoying the sensation.

Tell me how it is.

[hell_in_highheels]

Her eyes close, too, and she continues her delicate explorations, quiet for a long moment as he fills her senses. Wine at the forefront, with a hint of paradoxes, a hint of champagne, and perhaps a hint of deer blood, all woven with the taste of him. There might be a quiet whine in the back of her throat as she takes it all in.

longing, desire, love, need

She pulls back, resting her forehead against his, still breathing his breath.

Good. Very good.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

Just 'good'? He's teasing and he takes a turn leaning forward to taste her, a low rumble in the back of his throat.

love, want, need, play

[hell_in_highheels]

Cheating.

The sound of his voice sends a shiver down her spine, and his scent. Somehow she manages to keep her wits about her. Only just.

Another long moment, drinking him in small mouthfuls, hunger making her almost tremble, and then she's leaning back again.

love, longing, hunger, teasing, hunting

More than good. She meets his gaze, blinking as she takes another sip of the fortified wine. Her pupils widen as she looks at him and her irises darken.

[captainryan.livejournal.com]

That's a little better, I suppose. He pouts a bit, meeting her gaze from underneath his eyebrows. He wants to find that pocket of scent behind her ear.

desire, want, love, amusement

He takes a long drink of his wine instead.

[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..."