bakerstreet | Smut Picture Prompts Meme: Full of Ragrets Edition

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Smut Picture Prompts Meme: Full of Ragrets Edition

the smut picture prompt meme
SIMILAR TO THE PICTURE PROMPT MEME ONLY FOR NSFW/SMUT PROMPTS INSTEAD

i. COMMENT WITH CHARACTER
ii. OTHERS LEAVE A PICTURE (OR TWO OR THREE....)
iii. REPLY TO THEM WITH A SETTING BASED ON THE IMAGES.

THIS POST WILL BE IMAGE HEAVY AND NSFW.

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It's been a couple of years (or it feels like it, anyway) since the world started to come apart at the seams. It all feels like something out of a television show or fantasy novel: the dead come back, hungering for the flesh of the living and civilization collapses around everybody's ears. Luke's aunt and uncle both died early on and ever since then, he's been on the move. Running south from upstate New York, trying to stay away from the major cities, hoping to find something or someone that can help set things in order. He's been lucky: he found Alexandria. It was pure chance that put him there. He was trying to scavenge through a picked-clean supermarket when a pair approached him and offered him a deal: life in a community. Structure. Safety.

Luke jumped at the chance. He'd have to have been crazy not to. To his relief, it hadn't been some sort of strange plot to jump him. There really was a walled community in the suburbs of Alexandria and they really had wanted to recruit him. Luke had flashed that boyish smile of his and thanked them profusely for giving him a chance. He wasn't going to let them down, they'd see. And he'd managed to fit in. Life still wasn't easy, but it was safer. There was more to do. There were people to talk to.

Even so, Luke still found himself sleeping with the door locked and everytime he walked into a room, he checked for escape routes. Habits are hard to break, especially when they've kept you alive for a year or two. Regardless, life had found a rhythm. He contributed by going on supply runs and contributing to repair work. The future was bright.

Especially when she showed up. Beth Greene.

There'd been talk of bringing in a whole group of survivors and Luke had been as excited and apprehensive as everyone else when they showed up. They looked like he had a while back - ragged and exhausted from running and fighting and trying to live. One of the had stood out to him, though, even as they all made introductions (he recognized the wariness and caution, the edginess that came from being burned too man times). Beth Greene. Young (maybe about his age), very pretty, as far as he was concerned, and with a glint of determination in her eyes.

He finds out a bit more about her after that first meeting when he flashed his boyish grin at her and welcomed her to Alexandria. She's got a good heart and she's lived a hard life (who hasn't at this point) and she seems just as determined as he is to make the world a bit of a better place. If they don't, who will? They've spent some time working together and over the last week or three, he's started feeling a flutter that seems to grow every time he's around her. A nervous energy with no outlet. He wants to see her, thinks about her when he's lying in bed at night and can't sleep. Which is better than thinking about rotting corpses and death. Luke's always been relatively optimistic, but Beth? Beth gives him another shot in the arm. He wants to talk to her, hold her (touch her), live for her and he feels as if he'll burst unless he does something about it.

So he does. Because their world has gone to Hell and there's no point in holding back anymore. He finds a moment when they're both in Alexandria's makeshift infirmary, sorting through medical supplies, double-checking inventory supplies. They've been making quiet small talk (not that small-talk is really important anymore; it's just there to fill the silence) when he decides to speak up. He pauses as he checks off another tally mark (they need more bandages) and glances up at her with that lopsided smile of his.

"You ever think about the future? What you want to do now that you're here?"

Here in relative safety. It's not the greatest lead-in, but somehow he doesn't think, "I can't stop thinking about you all the time" is the best way to get her attention for this conversation.

Beth's spent the last few weeks telling herself the other shoe isn't going to drop. Everyone's a little edgy about it when they arrive; they're filthy, three steps away from dying of thirst, and she's pretty sure nobody really believes Aaron's promises.

And then they walk into the suburbs. It's so clean in Alexandria that it looks like Disney World used to, like everything's a little more than real. Too normal. She'd never lived in neat little rows of houses like these, with everything a two-second walk away from the driveway. But she has lived under a woman who looks at people and sees the bottom line, and that--along with the eerie unreality of Alexandria's streets--makes her skittish and guarded.

It's been almost a month later, though, and no one's said anything about owing or repayment. Deanna really seems to believe in making a community for its own value, not for what she can get out of its citizens. Beth wants to believe in it, especially after she takes a shower so long and hot that she comes out prune-fingered in a fogged bathroom. After they cut the stitches from her face and the scars start to look almost like normal, not Frankenstein's monster. After she spends a whole week in clothes without bloodstains and someone offers to show her where the washing machines are, like her blouse is anywhere close to filthy.

And she wants it a little more when she meets a smiling-eyed boy whose hair flops into his face when he's focusing on other things. He's around the same age as her--too old to fall awkwardly in with the teenagers who play video games (seriously) and complain about homework like either of those things are normal anymore, too young to mix easily with all of the middle-aged attendees of Deanna's house parties. More importantly, he's kind; there's a gentleness to what he says and does that makes it easy to laugh with him when he tells a joke.

"Deanna wants me to teach school," she says, glancing up from the bottles of medicine she's counting. It still seems weird--as weird as Deanna wanting Carl going to school again, even though she knows he missed out on way more than two years of high school. She's relieved that no one's going to expect her to sit next to fourth-graders and pretend she's still a kid. But teaching them? "Not...you know, everything, but the lady they have doing it now wants to split the work."

It occurs to her that it's not really what she wants to do, but when she tries to imagine that, she comes up with a blank. I want this to work. I want us to live here for the rest of our lives and never have to worry again whether the baby has enough to eat. Wanting something just for herself seems selfish in comparison. But she tries to come up with a real answer anyway, summoning up a little smile to meet Luke's bright grin. "I just wanna be happy. What about you?"

Feeling "normal" is the weirdest thing about living there. He always expects that when he wakes up, Alexandria will be a dream. That he's still sleeping in an abandoned house somewhere. Another part of him almost expects that everything else will have been the nightmare. Maybe there aren't actually flesh-eating corpses wandering the countryside. Of course, he's reminded that there are every time he helps with a supply run. So instead Luke tries to focus on the "new normal". On that fact that there's hot water and lawns and (usually) enough food to keep them going. "In here" is better than "out there".

Especially now that she's here. Even if he's not sure how to approach this. The apocalypse came right in the middle of that age where he was still figuring out how to talk to people he likes, so his approach isn't refined. But he's earnest and he's kind and he believes in the fundamental goodness of people, despite everything that's happened to him and around him. He makes another tally mark on his piece of paper as he sets another piece of equipment aside, eyebrows shooting up. He could honestly just be happy listening to her. Or being near her.

It is, after all, that sort of initial puppy love where everything the other person does seems to be amazing and you want to hang on their every word.

"I guess someone needs to teach them. We don't want the next generation to miss out on everything. They deserve a chance at life," Luke replies with another grin. That doesn't exactly answer his question, but before he has a chance to press further, she turns the question on him. She still seems a touch nervous and on edge, but he recognizes that. So was he when he first showed up.

"Me? I don't know yet. Help out, I guess. Help make this place work. Get a chance to actually live rather than just... you know... worry about surviving."

It's a nod to the rather brutal world that's outside their walls. He doesn't really want to dwell on that, though. Luke continues quickly, trying to be the smooth operator that he totally isn't.

"Hopefully find someone I want to spend time with, you know?" He laughs and it's not completely free of nervousness. Damn, Luke, stop beating around the bush.

"Try to be... normal again."

If anything can ever really be normal again.

Beth only has a bland yeah for his thoughts on teaching future generations of children, because everything else is...well, how do you teach music to a half-dozen children when you have a toy piano and a kazoo to draw from? (If that's all you have, does that mean it's even more important to try?) She still can't believe this is even an option, that she's the closest thing anybody has to an art teacher, music teacher, science teacher...if she dwelt on it, they'd be here all day.

And then her eyes couldn't light with recognition as Luke continues, a vague, uncertain sensation blossoming warm in her chest. It's something she's felt before, but not in a long time--that moment when she thinks Maybe he wants what I want. Maybe what I want--

"Yeah," she says, and again, smiling less guardedly. You never stop thinking of death, these days, but you can't think of death alone. There's a bottle of aspirin in her hands, and she can't stop toying with it, turning it around and around between her fingers. "Yeah. This place, it's--I thought there'd be a catch." Maybe there is, and I just don't know it yet, but-- "But if you wait for everything to go bad, that's the only thing that ever happens."

For now, they have walls and generous neighbors. And nice boys who talk about spending time with somebody when you're the only one in the room. She takes a step toward him, her eyes still on his. Waiting, judging his reaction.

Woop. That reaction is a bit better than he'd actually hoped for, especially since he was sort of being vague (well, as vague as someone barely out of his teens can get). Luke's heart skips a beat when she smiles at him in a way that he hasn't seen her really smile before. Does that mean something? It means something, right? His own smile widens in response as he turns to face her, fiddling with the clipboard and pen in his hands, one end tap-tapping against the wood.

I'm imagining things, right?

They're stuck in a world where normal means just living day to day and trying to forget that everything past the wall is a zone of death and decay. But in here, maybe they can actually try to live for a little while. He drifts in her direction with a nod, sounding a touch distracted when he replies, "Yeah, that's what I thought too, but... it feels like they're actually trying here. It's been... good."

He pauses, meeting her gaze, tries to think of what he should say next. They're lingering near one another, feeling out the orbit, and for whatever reason he feels as if the air has gotten thicker, that there's an energy in the air that he can't quite put his finger on. The tap-tap finally stops as he tucks the pen against the clipboard and runs his hand sheepishly through his hair as he comes up empty on words. Then he laughs, cheeks flushing, mouth spreading in that grin of his, "I mean - oh, damn it - I'd like to spend more time with you. If you'd be OK with that, I mean. You seem - I've enjoyed getting to know you."

It blurts out in a bit of a rush.

Sometimes you just know the way things are going to go--or, at least, you hope you know. Figuring out if someone's interested, trying to hint without losing too much face if it turns out you misunderstood, is delicate work, but it's worth the effort.

And anyway, sometimes it's not actually that hard. Beth looks at Luke, and she thinks she can feel electricity thrumming under her feet. He's watching her, too, looking for all the world like he wants to say something but can't seem to remember how to speak. Moments like that, he doesn't look like he's ever distrusted anyone in his life, whatever he says. She likes that about him--the way he looks for the good in things, the fact that he finds it.

(And right now, he's looking at her.)

"Me, too." Her skin heats until she's pink-cheeked, her voice light and soft. One hand closes tight around the pill bottle, the other reaching out to brush against the backs of his fingers. She's not always this shy, but there's something about standing here, in the sunlit infirmary of this weird, walled city, that feels special. Luke's flustered explanation isn't something she'll forget any time soon. "We're almost done here, anyway, if you aren't doing anything after..."

Oh.

That's much better than expected, honestly. Luke wasn't sure what would happen, if she'd even be open to him, but the way she looks at him and the way her cheeks flush (and the way her eyes seem to dance and light up when she looks at him) tells him so much about her. It tells him that there's something and then there's a little jolt that runs through him when her fingers brush his. It starts in his hand and shoots straight to his chest. His heart feels like it skips a beat, the world stands still, and then it's all moving again.

Luke sucks in a breath and he can't help the fact that the grin on his face is wider and he certainly can't help the nervous, excited, ecstatic energy that feels like it's humming just underneath his skin. He lowers his hand catches her fingers with his, curling against hers in a little gesture of affection, a little squeeze that says thank you and so much more.

Life is a crazy, stupid, deadly, terrible thing, but he's living in this moment. He's taking a chance, because even if he stays here, even if this little bubble of life manages to last, he's not taking anything for granted. Now he just has to answer her. It takes him a moment to get the words out (he almost babbles).

"Doing anything? Are you kidding-? I mean - no. No, I'm not doing anything. I'd really like - I'd love to spend some time with you."

His thumb brushes over her knuckles as his mind races and he tries to figure out what to say next.

"Uh - what do you want to do? You want to just go sit - hang out? Talk?"

His hand is as callused as anyone's, but there's nothing hard about the way he reaches for her hand. She squeezes back, his grin encouraging hers.

"Sure." There's not a lot to do in a place like this, when you come down to it. Not like a real, before-the-world-ended kind of date. Of course, someplace like Alexandria, they probably have board games and DVDs, but game night seems more like a family thing than a date thing. Taking a walk or sitting down someplace quiet is about as good as it gets--and that's pretty good, she has to admit. They could go anywhere in Alexandria and never have to be on their guard. "I'll just..."

Letting go of his hand, she reaches for the pen and leans in toward him. As she scratches down the count she took of the aspirin bottles, she hardly breathes. This close to him, the air feels charged--if she turns her attention away from the list, she'll want to kiss him. She knows it with a creeping, not unpleasant certainty. "Do you think Dr. Anderson'd be mad if we did the rest of these tomorrow?"

Luke's been here longer--she thinks he probably has a better idea of what they can get away with.

It's a bit of a feedback loop; her smile makes him smile and the energy starts to bounce back and forth, ratcheting the not unpleasant tension that's started to fill the room a bit higher. Luke feels a bit nervous, but in a good way. Not the nerves that come with trying to avoid walkers or more intelligent, crueler people. This is something warm, something that settles in his gut and makes everything a bit tighter. It makes him want to reach out and touch her again, to brush a hand through her hair, to press lips against her skin.

But maybe he's getting ahead of himself.

Luke hold the clipboard for her, breath catching in his throat as she leans in, gaze locked on her face, admiring the way her hair falls over her eyes and caches the sunlight filtering in through the windows. There's a certain sense of inevitability, as if they're both aware of what's happening, but that they're also powerless to fight back against the current that's carrying and spinning them both around and around.

It isn't a bad thing, though.

When she speaks to him, her eyes carefully fixed on the list, he has to wet his lips with his tongue before he can find his voice again and there's a touch of nervous laughter in his tone, "I think we can get away with playing hooky for today."

That wasn't always true, but as far as he's concerned it's true now. Especially with that electric charge that feels like it's coursing just underneath the skin, down his arms and legs, making his heart beat faster and faster in his chest.

"There are couple quiet corners I know about," he continues after a moment, almost stumbling over the words, "So - we could just... walk. Get some privacy."

They both know that they're very quickly spiraling into more than just "walking". Then again, if the tension in the room gets much higher, it'll probably snap (and a part of Luke would be horrifically mortified if Dr. Anderson walked in on them kissing in the store-room).

This is what she likes about him, among other things (his kindness, his impossibly blue eyes, a lot of other things): she can get into his space a little, and he doesn't do anything except let her. He stands still and holds the clipboard, and if she walked away, he wouldn't be a creep about it. Disappointed, maybe, but not--it doesn't matter right now, leave it where it is.

Slowly, she turns her gaze toward his, and he's looking at her already, like he's never actually seen a girl before...but he likes what he sees. Her breath catches in her throat, her pulse pounding right alongside it. They're only a few inches from a kiss, and God, she wants to close the distance.

And get caught by the doctor. Who she barely knows, who they're supposed to be helping out. If they're going to play hooky, they should probably do it somewhere else.

"That sounds great." Beth straightens up. The temptation to kiss him lessens, but only just--he's still close, still smiling so invitingly. She sets aside the pen and pill bottle she's still holding and takes his hand again, lacing her fingers with his and giving him a light little tug.

For that brief moment where their eyes meet, Luke is positively, absolutely sure that the distance is going to close and that there's going to be a kiss. His throat works in a swallow and he can feel the tension start to peak -- and then she pulls away. Just a bit. He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and tamps down the twinge of disappointment. He was the one who suggested they go somewhere else, right? He flashes a smile (just a bit nervous) and sets the clipboard aside, their task not quite finished.

He'll do it tomorrow and deal with the stern talking to he'll probably get. This place is safe. Worrying about a few numbers on a spreadsheet won't change that.

Instead, Luke allows their fingers to intertwine and he follows her insistent tug as they duck out into the office and then the front door. There are a few clouds in the clear afternoon sky and the shadows are just starting to lengthen. Despite the change, he still feels agonizingly (amazingly) on edge and can't quite believe that this is happening. He nods to the right and gives her hand a tug of his own (he can still feel the electric charge that seems to spark where their skin touches), "This way. There's a house that no one's using yet. It's pretty quiet..."

And empty. Hopefully empty.

Still, part of Luke feels like he's either going to wake up or something is going to go horribly wrong.

Maybe if somebody was going out on a run for supplies tomorrow, she'd give a damn about letting this go today. But it's beautiful outside, warm and not too humid, the sun starting to take on a more golden glow. It gives shine and to Luke's hair until she wants to run her fingers through it the way he does when he's nervous. Everything about him seems a little softer, somehow, even with the light pouring down on him.

Beth gives him a little smile, the slightest hint of a nod, when he suggests an empty house. It's not a moment that needs words, especially not from a girl who's spent too long traveling the wilderness.

The door opens easily enough when they reach it. The kind of neighborhood where nobody locks their doors--it's still crazy to her. But right now, it's a good crazy, because she calls a light hello? into the clean, empty kitchen and doesn't get a response. The house is silent, as only one of these pretty, modern houses can be; after a moment, she realizes she's waiting to hear the creak of walkers upstairs.

She gives his hand another little squeeze as the door closes behind them, her smile widening once more. It's maybe a little teasing, just like her question, "You come here often?"

The air inside smells clean, although it's a hint musty. They only come through and clean these places out every so often. They mostly just keep them... empty. It's a little surreal. There's still a refrigerator and wood-paneled cabinets and a gleaming, stainless steel sink. Through the doorway to the living room, a couch sits next to a coffee table. Despite the stillness, it still feels like someone else might come down the stairs. But that's not going to happen. Whoever used to live here is long gone and any walkers that might have been lingering cleaned out.

So Luke takes a breath and returns the little squeeze against his hand as he turns to look at her. He's laughing again, hair tousled and a bit of a mess. She looks amazing, as far as he's concerned. True, she has a scar here and there, but don't they all? Haven't they all been through their own private hell? She's full of vitality and life and he has to admit, he's a little amused and enamored of the fact that they share a similar hair color. Golden and sandy, the kind that catches the light in just the right way (and when she smiles, it makes him want to everything he can to keep that look on her face, especially when she's smiling at him).

"Every so often," he says, "Just to clean up and find some time alone to think-"

Oh, wait, that wasn't entirely serious. His grin turns a bit sheepish, but there's still that undercurrent of energy in the room, a silent jolt and crackle that passes between them every time their eyes meet. He drifts into the living room, leading her by the hand. The tension ratchets up again and he wants to do... something. He turns back again, trying to think of the right words and finds himself staring at her, hovering. It's only a few inches and he's staring into her eyes and he makes the choice to throw caution to the wind.

"Is this...?" He starts to ask. Then he kisses her. It's warm and soft and tentative, feeling out what she's comfortable with (what he's comfortable with) and it's the first time in a long time that he's kissed anyone, let alone a beautiful girl.

Edited 2017-03-22 18:27 (UTC)

She breathes out a laugh. Even if she hadn't meant it seriously, his answer is sweet. There's something admirable in the idea of keeping an empty house from getting too rough. It's the same thing that makes all of Alexandria beautiful--a little piece of normalcy still standing, held together because people want it and are willing to work for it. She remembers the funeral parlor they'd found out in the middle of nowhere, with its carefully embalmed walkers. This is the same idea, of dignity and hope for something more, but it's living.

They head into the living room, with its neatly kept furniture and sleepy, shaded windows, and silence overtakes them again. She looks up at him, wondering if this is it, the moment she'd pulled back from in the infirmary. They could kiss here, and it wouldn't matter. No one has any reason to try and peer past the blinds cutting the sun into little slashes of light--this house is empty.

She can hardly breathe, looking at him. A question's waiting in his gaze, the same one she thinks she could ask if she could recall the words she wants, and there's no time to finish his sentence before he's dipping his head toward hers.

It's the first time she's wanted anybody since Zach died, for a kiss or anything else, and it's all of Luke's kindness wrapped up in one gesture. Stretching up a bit to meet him, she's hesitant to begin with, but she's wanted this longer than the few moments they've been in the house. She breaks the kiss a moment, nods--that's you answer, Luke, this is--and presses her lips to his again, her free hand finding its way to the nape of his neck.

In another time and another place, Luke would've been worried about his aunt or uncle coming down the stairs or through the front door. In another time and place, he never would've met Beth Greene and he'd likely be off at college or (likelier) helping his uncle with the farm. But the world ended and it changed things and so here he is, a few hundred miles from home and kissing a beautiful girl in a strange, empty house, that he never would've laid eyes on otherwise. He tries not to dwell on that (and it's easy not to, especially when she returns the kiss).

There's a brief moment of heartbreak and worry, heart jumping as she pulls away, but it's replaced by exuberance and excitement and anticipation when she gives that one little nod and then they're kissing again and there are gentle, tentative fingers against his neck, making the skin pebble and tense, hair standing on end. There's the deep thudthud of his heart, which he's sure she can hear, because it's so loud and he doesn't quite know what to do with himself, so he settles for wrapping an arm around her middle and holding her close, so the warmth of their bodies can soak into one another through their clothing.

His other hand hovers for just a moment and then he carefully, cautiously cups her cheek, still feeling his way through the kiss. His teeth scrape over her lip in a bit of a clumsy motion as he deepens the kiss slightly, the breath easing out of him in a sigh. There's a world outside (and outside Alexandria, yet another), but he forgets all of that for right now. There's just her, the feel of her lips and hands and body and the rollicking, rolling swell of his emotional high as Luke desperately tries to figure out where he's going to go from here.

Then again, does that matter? He wants her, she (apparently) wants him. They can just... stay. At least for a while.

God, it's nice just to hold him. He doesn't grab at her, and she's grateful for it; the way he draws her in close, until there's only a few layers of fabric between them, is tender enough that she can relax into his touch. Nothing grasping about it, nothing hard or demanding. It's like wrapping her arms around the sunshine outside. Even without a kiss, she thinks she could let herself disappear into this embrace for the rest of the afternoon.

On the other hand, she's not about to give up kissing Luke for anything.

Her other hand settles near the small of his back, curling into a fist around his shirt when she feels his teeth graze her lips. It sparks a light little noise from her, something instinctive and not at all displeased. Accidental roughness, that's what it feels like, heightened by how gentle he's been before this, leaving her chest tightening around an unnameable affection for him.

That he wants more from the kiss, she catches, and she does, too. A moment's surprise isn't enough to put her off, especially today--especially now, when it's been months since she's been able to kiss anyone like this. Wanting it, wanting him. Tentatively, her tongue flicks out at his lips, her fingertips sliding up through the soft strands of hair at the back of his head.

The little noise she makes sends shivers down his spine. It's intoxicating and enticing, even if it wasn't really meant to be. To him it is and that's what matters. It drives him, tugs at him, invites him deeper -- and then there's the tongue against his lips. The energy in the room hasn't vanished, but it has changed. The tension has just about snapped, but now there's an electric sort of urgency. The feeling that something needs to happen, has to happen soon. So Luke indulges in it and allows his lips to part and his tongue to meet hers, deepening the kiss.

His fingers curl against her cheek in a gentle caress, urging her closer (if it's possible), trying to fit their bodies together, as if he can match some of his angles against her own. He breathes in, out, presses closer, thumb tracing a line over her cheek. If this all they do, he could be perfectly content. He hasn't kissed or touched anyone like this in - well. A long time. Even if a part of him wants more (needs more), he's not going to push. Not now. Even if it's tempting, because they could all end up dead sooner rather than later.

Luke finally breaks the kiss so he can smile breathlessly at her, almost laughing, "Wow."

Her toes curl when their tongues touch. The kiss is warm, hungry, but nothing too demanding--just this side of enough. Especially with the way he strokes her cheek, his touch so light and yet so lingering. The thump of her heart speeds up to a quick, not quite steady patter, her arms tightening around him a little.

And then a breath, as the kiss ends, and then Luke's brilliant smile.

"Yeah." She grins back, a giggle bubbling in her throat at the sight of his face. He looks like someone could run him over with a truck, and he wouldn't notice until he was under the wheels. It only makes her want to pull him right back down to her. (And I could. Looking at him, she has the sensation that she could ask him to do just about anything at that moment, though she has no intention of testing that theory.)

But standing here isn't ideal, not when they have an entire empty, furnished house at their disposal. Dragging him upstairs is full of implications she's pretty sure she's not ready to make, but this room seems like fair game. Her hands slide over him--along the shivery skin of his neck, down over his collarbone--as she nods over toward the couch. Letting him go means ignoring every nerve in her body (God, it's really been a while since anyone made her feel this way, and she doesn't want to give it up), but it's not for long. She crosses the room, so she can flop down on the sofa cushions, and reaches a hand out to him. Come here.

Beth's response is everything he really wanted. That sound of her voice, the giggle that threatens (even if it is at his expense). Luke still feels a bit starstruck and bedazzled. She's not wrong - it would take a lot to snap him out of the funk he's in. Not that it's a bad thing. He thinks it's great. He's acutely aware that they're alone and equally aware that they both set it up this way. No one is going to come out here looking for them. No one is going to interrupt. They have - well. They have time.

That's something that he couldn't honestly say he had a few months back. So he wnats to enjoy it.

Which is why he's a bit disappointed when she pulls away, even with the ghost of her fingertips leaving goosebumps along the nape of his neck and against the curve of his collarbone. He follows her across the room and without much hesitation slides onto the couch with her, fingers interlacing with her's as he settles in against her. He tries to make it comfortable for the both of them, matching their bodies as best he can. Legs slide together and intertwine and even through cloth he can feel how warm she is and it makes every part of him want more. He slides his other hand up her side and then braces himself against the couch, holding himself above her as he dips down for another kiss.

It's just as electric as the last one and he can feel his toes clench and curl inside of his shoes.

It feels normal, stretching out on the couch together. It's something they could have done before, if he'd found his way down to Georgia, and that makes it feel like home. (And in the soft sunlight, inviting him over to a soft couch with a raise of her eyebrows, it's about as far from the hospital as it gets. It's nothing like being backed up against a desk in a dark room.) The sight of Luke following her is one that's full of tension, but only the nice kind. She's all bright anticipation, making room for him beside her.

She lifts her head to meet him halfway, the fingers of one hand stroking over his cheek as she kisses him. It's one she takes slow, letting it build until she's breathless and aching a little for something she hasn't wanted in months.

This time, when she pauses to catch a breath, it's with his lower lip trapped between her teeth. She pulls, gentle, and lets her teeth raze lightly over his skin as she lets him go. It doesn't occur to her until that moment to try it--but it feels right, playful and a little eager.

This does feel almost normal. Like something that might've happened back home with her (in another time, in another place). It pushes out all the thoughts of death that still hover perilously close, even in this little walled community, and allows him to just be. It's a good feeling, even if it's not a choice or something he brings up consciously. Instead, all of his attention and all of his actions are on her and the way she kisses him and the way her fingers slide against his skin. The kiss is breathless, sweet, and agonizing all at once. It builds, making his spine arch just slightly, hips dipping against her as they press closer.

Then there are teeth against his lip and he makes a low noise as she tugs against him -- part laugh, part noise of desire. His eyes flash as he stares down at her and then he leans down and kisses her again. It's harder, a bit more possessive, eager. His skin seems to be too tight to hold in all of the energy that wants to escape, that wants to find a way through him and into her. It's been -- well, a very long time since he's actually kissed to tried to hold someone like this and it means he's a bit clumsy about it.

His eagerness hopefully makes up for it. His hand finds her hip and then slides over the denim of her jeans and just under the hem of his shirts, moving cautiously, as if he doesn't want to push anything. His fingers ghost over bare skin where he finds it, fingertips curled as he starts to draw tiny little circles.

Beth doesn't mind clumsy--not when it's accompanied by that intent look in his eyes, never mind the sound he makes when she's got him trapped between her teeth. She smiles up at him, satisfied and a little proud of the reaction she got. The kiss is consuming, determined, the kind of thing you daydream about for a week after. Her fingers tangle in his hair, drawing him closer.

It's the hand on her side, pushing under her shirt, that makes her start, tensing up unpleasantly. And it's stupid, she's sure in retrospect that it's so stupid, but for a moment, all she can remember is Gorman's grasping touch and his breath in her ear. She turns her head away instinctively, her eyes squeezing shut, and tries to take a breath.

This isn't the same. This isn't him. This is somebody he likes, somebody she has no reason not to trust. Nothing about this is the same--he wasn't even touching her the same way, he was gentle. And she just freaked out over it, which she's pretty sure means they're done here. She gets a Too Weird To Make Out With label, and they try not to think about what happened next time they say hi to each other.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, risking a glance back Luke's way, trying to gauge just how embarrassing the end of this is. How do you explain look, I want to keep going, just not with your hand right there without sounding crazy? "I'm--um. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--" Screw all of this up.

For a moment, all is right with the world and Luke breathes in her scent, drinks down the taste of her lips. They're pressing closer and there are fingers twisted in his hair. He returns the all-consuming kiss, deepening it as they press closer - and then things spiral a bit out of control. He can feel the change in her before she says anything. The way her body tenses up and the way her hands move are different from before and then she's turning away from him.

Luke sits up and leans back to give her some space as the moment snaps and reality comes flooding back into the room, a mixture of confusion, shame, and disappointment all running through his head. He's blaming himself, mostly. He should've asked. He did something wrong. But she hadn't-

Well. She's not happy now and that's the important part, right? He's flushed and red-faced, partially in embarrassment, partially from all of the (ahem) activity. He watches her, brow furrowed as he tries to figure out what's going on and he almost runs into her apology with one of his own as they both speak up.

"No, it's fine - I'm sorry - I should've asked before I tried doing anything like that-"

He sounds sheepish, very much like the farmboy that he is (was). Why is she apologizing to him? She didn't do anything wrong, at least in his mind.

"I just thought - well, I wasn't thinking. Not with my head, anyway," he continues, face going even brighter red, "It's not your fault."

And here they are, tripping over one another's words.

Edited (Minor spelling) 2017-04-07 15:15 (UTC)

"No! No, it wasn't--it's not you--" God, she really doesn't want to get into it. The last thing she wants is to go through that agonizing time again, let alone in front of somebody she wants to kiss. More than kiss. They have all afternoon to themselves, and she wants to enjoy it however they end up using it. Digging all this up isn't going to make things more comfortable. "It's...complicated."

She's huddled herself against the arm of the sofa, her cheeks pink with embarrassment, arms crossed around her stomach. Looking at him, seeing the abashed way he stumbles over an apology, only makes this hard. The last thing she wants is for Luke to blame himself.

You could just explain part of it. He's smart, he can put two and two together. She just has to find a way to say it.

"I really...like you," she starts, then realizes it probably sounds like she's dumping him before they've even really been anything. "And I want to...to be here. With you. I was just--"

Surprised? Scared? Every word she can think of seems too small or too large, too melodramatic, to explain it. Beth sighs, trying to get someplace close enough to the truth that he doesn't have to guess. "It made me think of something else. It wasn't you, I swear."

Luke's found himself settled on the sofa. Not quite out of arm's reach, but giving her some space while they figure this out. He's nervous, more than a little embarrassed, and still kicking himself because he still figures he's done something wrong. He doesn't like that. He's found someone special and then something has to go and turn it into a complicated mess. He already has a complicated mess of a life. Why can't something be simple for once?

He rubs an arm, trying to think of what to say as he listens to her and they both stumble through the awkward moment, "Complicated...?"

Complicated sounds... not great. He's already running through alternatives and possibilities in his head, but then she says that she likes him and that just makes him a bit more confused, emotions seesawing between an emotional high and the emotional low of thinking he did something wrong.

"I really like you, too-" He starts to say (it's a teenage thing to say, too; specific enough to be safe and simultaneously not enough committal to be a threat) and then pauses as she goes on. He blinks and something finally clicks. It's not him. Something happened to her. The world outside is a nasty place. His expression wrestles with itself and then he scoots down the sofa to get a bit closer and he holds his arm open, offering a side to lean against and a shoulder where she can put her head.

"Hey, it's OK. We'll figure it out."

He knows they will, because that's the kind of person Luke is. He sort of wants to ask questions, but that's not his place, is it?

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sorry for the slight delay

np, friend, take your time

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sorry for the delay

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