02-03-2014, 05:09 PM
A beautiful woman in his kitchen. Waiting to offer him fresh coffee. He could get used to this. He took the cup with a smirk. At least in theory.
The warmth exuded from his throat outward. Damn it felt good. He felt good.
He arched and stretched, eyes pinched with the glorious pain of a morning-after. He savored the coffee. And as he leaned against the counter alongside Oriena, the spoils as well.
"Morning."
His answer swirled with the hiss of siphoning hot coffee across his lips.
He was all kinds of prepared to arrange for a taxi to bear the burden of taking her somewhere. After the shock wore off that she was still here, at least. So he folded his arms over his chest and stared blankly into the view. The horizon was peppered with buildings, but from the height, the city sprawled squat and insignificant beyond. Except for how fucking much of it there was. Part of him yearned to dip his fingers in water. Or squash blades of grass beneath his back. Mumbai - with its smog and shit up to his ears - had been hell for the sixteen year old kid he used to be. Hell, but still better than military school.
Her comment tarnished the taste of cold, damp air from the tip of his tongue.
He looked to her, then to his shoulder. The skeleton was there as always, but soaked in morning sun, seemed to glitter and curl all the more perverse. A serpent dipped in honey.
No shit, Sherlock.
"That's kind of the point."
A snarl curled his lip despite himself, until Jaxen smothered it with a long drink of coffee. He didn't ask why she'd pointed out the obvious. Perhaps it was the topic of conversation. Maybe the muddling direction his mind sought in the horizon. But the tension clashed like iron bars snapping inside, and he needed gratification not to come from pillow-talk.
When he put the coffee aside, a radiant circle of heat glowed the white marble a pale pink beneath the cup. It would keep the temperature perfect while his hands were busy elsewhere. He may be eager, but there was no point wasting a cup of good coffee by letting it grow cold.
He turned on Oriena, picked her up and popped her on the marble - her dress pushed up the length of her thighs, and when he pressed into her, hunger quickened his heartbeat. He chased his palms around her waist, and easily held her against his.
Short as it had been, the sleep had freed his mind from last night's bleary deceptions. Last night, he was teasing and flirtatous; his fingers graceful and generous. Now, all the electricity he held back surfaced. His grip stung, his mind turned, sharp and intent as the eyes locked onto hers.
<small>((Oriena moded with permission))</small>
Edited by Jaxen Marveet, Feb 3 2014, 05:10 PM.
The warmth exuded from his throat outward. Damn it felt good. He felt good.
He arched and stretched, eyes pinched with the glorious pain of a morning-after. He savored the coffee. And as he leaned against the counter alongside Oriena, the spoils as well.
"Morning."
His answer swirled with the hiss of siphoning hot coffee across his lips.
He was all kinds of prepared to arrange for a taxi to bear the burden of taking her somewhere. After the shock wore off that she was still here, at least. So he folded his arms over his chest and stared blankly into the view. The horizon was peppered with buildings, but from the height, the city sprawled squat and insignificant beyond. Except for how fucking much of it there was. Part of him yearned to dip his fingers in water. Or squash blades of grass beneath his back. Mumbai - with its smog and shit up to his ears - had been hell for the sixteen year old kid he used to be. Hell, but still better than military school.
Her comment tarnished the taste of cold, damp air from the tip of his tongue.
He looked to her, then to his shoulder. The skeleton was there as always, but soaked in morning sun, seemed to glitter and curl all the more perverse. A serpent dipped in honey.
No shit, Sherlock.
"That's kind of the point."
A snarl curled his lip despite himself, until Jaxen smothered it with a long drink of coffee. He didn't ask why she'd pointed out the obvious. Perhaps it was the topic of conversation. Maybe the muddling direction his mind sought in the horizon. But the tension clashed like iron bars snapping inside, and he needed gratification not to come from pillow-talk.
When he put the coffee aside, a radiant circle of heat glowed the white marble a pale pink beneath the cup. It would keep the temperature perfect while his hands were busy elsewhere. He may be eager, but there was no point wasting a cup of good coffee by letting it grow cold.
He turned on Oriena, picked her up and popped her on the marble - her dress pushed up the length of her thighs, and when he pressed into her, hunger quickened his heartbeat. He chased his palms around her waist, and easily held her against his.
Short as it had been, the sleep had freed his mind from last night's bleary deceptions. Last night, he was teasing and flirtatous; his fingers graceful and generous. Now, all the electricity he held back surfaced. His grip stung, his mind turned, sharp and intent as the eyes locked onto hers.
<small>((Oriena moded with permission))</small>
Edited by Jaxen Marveet, Feb 3 2014, 05:10 PM.