bakerstreet | /muffled make out noises

[open to canon and cross-canon.]

[Study hall in the library since Alaric was out sick (not leaving Jenna alone basically) meant working on a report he'd assigned the previous week. Or in some cases, disappearing into the stacks to look for a relevant book.

And if Stefan was helping, well, he'd know the most relevant sources.]

[Relevant sources, and the darkest corners of the library where none of their classmates or the faculty would be able to see them. Same difference.

But if Elena had planned to actually get any work done ... well, Stefan was going to pull her back toward him before she got too lost in the reference section.

It's not like a little kissing in the library would hurt anything. Granted, the report might end up being a day or two late, but they had their priorities.]

Would it be irresponsible of me if I told you that I wanted to kiss you right now?

[Like Elena is going to stop him. She shifts her weight slightly and settles back against him, turning her head to look at him.]

Maybe a little, but I'm not going to stop you if that's why you're asking me.

[Roof would be the most likely make out spot, but other locations are possible.]

(Rooftop of Steph's house would be fine.)

[Hell yes. Starter post coming soon, unless you'd like to start.]

(Toss in a mention or two of Cass lap dancing and I wouldn't mind waiting for the post.)

[Well, if Steph has a lap to offer, Cass would probably cuddle in it. She wouldn't lap dance unless she's seen footage of someone performing it -- which isn't out of the realm of possibility.]

(Steph would definitely have rented a few videos of two girls together in that format, a lap dance most likely one of the more serious scenes they'd watch together.)

[What I'm getting from this is that Steph reeeeeally wants a lap dance from Cass. I can arrange that... ;)]

(A lap dance, making out, maybe going further...)

[So maybe this comes about during a movie night between the two, and Cass is inspired by a f/f lap dance scene in one of the movies, which leads to the rest. Would that work?]

(Yep! That works just fine with me.)

[Want to start us off? I'm at work at the moment.]

You're sure you like the movie? It's not your typical...martial arts film.

(Stephanie was enjoying the movie night she had with Cassandra very much, the other girl originally showing up to crash and sleep whenever she was in her part of town. The blonde had convinced her it was best to turn it into a movie night so that way, they'd have a better chance of falling asleep.)

Different ... but good.

('Different' was an understatement. While it was indeed a martial arts movie, it also happened to feature two female action heroes who had a romantic subplot with each other. One of the main henchwomen was also a woman, and one of the heroes' plans involved infiltrating a night club frequented by the villains and providing a distraction by dancing seductively and grinding in the henchwoman's lap.

A fight scene abruptly ensued, but the dancing ritual intrigued Cass. It kind of looked like a kind of mating dance performed by birds in the wild, and the scene combined three of her favorite forms of physical expression: dancing, sex, and martial arts. She even took note of how jealous and turned on the other female protagonist was upon seeing her partner (pretend to) seduce the enemy. The scene also seemed to have an effect on Stephanie.

The rest of the movie continued, leading to more action scenes and a kiss at the end between the two female protagonists. As the screen went black and words started crawling upward (by far her least favorite part of any movie), Cass pondered what she had seen.

Standing up from the couch where she had been cuddling Steph, she caressed Steph's cheek, gazing meaningfully and teasingly into the blonde's eyes. She stepped a few paces toward the television. Her hips began to sway more than usual, and she looked over her shoulder at Steph as she unbuttoned her overshirt, sliding it down her shoulders and arms. Using the movie's end-credits music as a beat, she replicated the dance routine as she began to undress.)

Um...Cass?

(Steph's face was slightly flushed, if only due to the sudden movement of Cassandra strip in front of her, but her attention was solely focused on the other girl as she danced and moved around. She could already feel her panties get slightly moist between her legs, even beforehand when she stared back into her eyes and saw her quiet, but very verbal response without her saying a word.

She wanted her. In the bed. Eventually. But as for now, enjoy yourself.)

You want me...don't you?

Cassandra's button-up shirt hit the floor, and she very slowly slid her black tank top up to her underarms before peeling it off completely. A multitude of scars along her back and arms were visible, some of them recent, some of them deep-seated and present since childhood.

She moved like a completely different person than herself, very much like the actress on screen as she sauntered back toward Steph, topless. She straddled Steph, rubbing her lower body -- covered in sweat pants -- on her lap in a sensuous manner.

Cass didn't have to reply in words. Her body language was very clear in conveying yes, I want you.

She leaned forward and gave Stephanie a nice sloppy wet kiss, for the moment abandoning her movements as the actress. This part wasn't an act. She moved and kissed like Cass.

Stephanie moaned into the sudden, but very welcome kiss as her arms moved to wrap around Cassandra's back and hold her close. She eagerly thrusted her tongue past her lips to deepen it, to show Cass what a French kiss was like and how to enjoy it just as much.

She wanted her. Her, a regular blonde girl from Gotham who had a C-lister villain for a dad...her heart almost skipped a beat at the realization.

She didn't mind the scars that ran along virtually all of her back and body, knowing she had a few injuries that would most likely be just as visible. What she wanted was to make her feel good, but seeing her dance in that way was ecstatic.

Panting softly into the kiss, Steph held it as long as possible, not wanting to pull away or break it until they absolutely needed air in their lungs.

Cass finally broke the kiss and stared at Steph, panting for air. Apparently she'd read Steph's body language correctly: the blonde girl was indeed receptive to her advance. The seductive dance had been the perfect way to break the tension between them, but apparently Steph still found it hard to believe that Cass wanted her this badly.

It was a fair point. When they'd first met, Cass hadn't known what to do with Spoiler; she'd found the other girl's constant chatter. It had been even worse when Spoiler showed up, begging Cass to teach her martial arts. And kept showing up. And kept coming back. No matter how much Cass had beaten her up, Spoiler wouldn't give up. Soon enough Cass had begun to miss Steph when she wasn't around. She found herself liking Steph's relentless optimism, and it didn't hurt that the blonde girl was very attractive.

So here they were. Best friends, watching movies together. And making out like there was no tomorrow, because it only seemed right that they share this as well.

Cass held Steph's hands, guiding them up her scar-marked belly to her bare breasts. Touch them.

[ y/y?]

Matt rarely visits Danny at work. That's because Danny rarey actually works (as far as the company is concerned - he certainly puts in more than enough hours at the dojo). But seeing as Matt's quite literally in the neighbourhood thanks to a meeting of his own, and he knows Danny's been locked up in his tower in an effort to force him into being the owner of the company, why not drop in? At least to try and cheer up Danny from what is probably a miserable afternoon.

Matt is forced to sit and wait in an uncomfortable chair for the better part of an hour before someone finally tells Danny he's here. Unnaounced visits are frowned upon, apparently. Matt's ushered in quickly enough, and after he hears the door click behind him, his lips quirk up.

"It smells very ... Clean in here." Which is the nice way of saying it smells expensive and unused. "Are you wearing a suit?"

He has his chair turned towards the too big window behind him. Top floor and all that, and his office is way too big for the amount of work that gets done in it, which to say is really none. He sits through meetings and signs a lot of paperwork, occasionally irritating his peers when he actually reads through the fine print and doesn't agree with the proceedings. Sometimes he gets the last say in stuff-- sometimes they just go over his head and deal with Jeri or Joy instead.

The hinges in the chair squeak in a way that says it gets a lot of use like that (Danny may or may not spend some time just barely spinning around in it.)

"Oh, Matt! Hi--." His secretary had informed him there was a lawyer here to see him (background checks and all). But he hadn't been expecting his boyfriend. ... He should probably get him a clearance card or something.

"Oh, ugh... yeah." He's up and over the desk in an easy motion. "Tell me you're here to spring me."

"Sorry, but no. I don't think Jeri likes me very much as it is. But I did bring you some donuts. They smell pretty good."

Matt produces a paper bag from his shoulder bag - sorry it's a bit smushed. But before he hands them over, he closes the space between him and Danny so he can press a hand to Danny's chest. He wants to know how his boyfriend looks when he's all cleaned up.

"Ooh, fancy," he says, grinning. He feels the lapel of the jacket, then the cut of it, then runs the soft tie through his fingers. "You know, I do appreciate a man in a well fitting suit."

It's a very expensive suit too, tailored to fit and... Danny hates it of course, though it does make him feel a bit like a secret agent. Though it wasn't at all convenient to fight in.

His own hands drop to Matt's hips, and maybe he can agree a little bit because the other man always looked pretty damn sharp when he was all dressed up for a case.

"You know my other suit is pretty well fitting." You know... skin tight and all.

And if Matt's going to be this close, AND bring him donuts, he should at least get a kiss for his efforts.

"I know. I've had to help peel it off you before."

Matt's grin softens into a smile as he kisses back, sliding his hands to rest on Danny's shoulders. "If you can find the time to come over when you're done here, I probably wouldn't mind help peeling this one off, either," he adds, giving Danny's bottom lip a light nibble.

That gets an honest groan out of him, fingers curling into Matt's belt loops to pull them closer together as he leans back just enough the backs of his thighs rests against the desk edge.

Danny bumps their noses and grins against his mouth once the kiss breaks. "Is dressing up all it takes?"

Matt happily falls against Danny, though he does laugh and step back for a moment. "Sorry -"he says, taking his bag from his shoulder and setting it on the floor nearby. He resumes his place, slotting himself up against Danny and kissing the corner of his mouth.

"It helps. I like the feel of working open the buttons, or untying a tie. I'm easy to please."

His hands return to Matt's hips, slipping around to the small of his back, petting up under his dress jacket to smooth over his shirt.

He likes to kiss him, so he does it again, turning his face to nudge their mouths together again. This is a very good break in the day.

"Well now I need to stop changing when I get home and wait for you instead."

"I'm inclined to agree."

Matt likes the feel of the textiles under his fingers. There's not foreign to him, but something about them being on Danny makes them more enjoyable. As evidenced by his hands running over Danny's chest.

"I hope you don't have anything important you're supposed to be doing."

"Nah, I got everything done before eleven. Now I'm just here to look important-- apparently I just need to be a presence." He'd rather be at the dojo honestly, but usually it runs fine during the day between Misty and Colleen taking over some of the classes.

Danny smiles against his cheek, ducking his head to press a soft kiss along the line of his jaw, against his neck above his shirt collar. "Why do you always smell so good?" it's sort of murmured, and he probably doesn't need to say it outloud, but his brain sort of goes there.

That gets a light sigh from Matt, a pleased exhale of breath as his fingers flex against Danny's chest.

"Because I can't stand smelling bad," he answers, teasing. He presses a kiss to Danny's ear while his fingers untuck Danny's shirt. If Danny has no work to do, and they're here with some time to kill, Matt may as well be a little indulgent. He also just enjoys touching Danny, fingers pressing against the warm skin of Danny's stomach.

Lean muscle tenses under Matt's exploring fingers, sending a thrill of heat coiling in the pit of his stomach. His own hands drag up, one still at the small of his back while the other brushes over his shirt collar, then up along the nape of his neck to cradle the back of his head.

He's careful not to muss his hair too much, it's still early enough in the day that he's not sure if Matt has more work to do later.

... not that his mouth isn't going to end up kiss bruised when Danny turns his head again to steal another, pressing in deep, tongue following his lower lip to press and beg entry.

Matt parts his lips readily, leaning his weight into Danny as he squeezes Danny's hips. This isn't really what Matt had intended on doing when he showed up, but sometimes being around Danny just riles up. All the time, being around Danny riles him up.

There's something intoxicating about making out with the head of a major company in his high rise office, too.

Matt catches Danny's bottom lip between his teeth before going in for another kiss.

And this isn't really how he expected a surprise visit from Matt to go-- not that he's complaining.

This is totally the silver lining to an otherwise shitty day, and he appreciates it more than he can say. Well, the donuts were a nice touch, but there's something delightful about having Matt in his arms when he should be otherwise predisposed. Almost like an unexpected reward-- it left him light headed with pleasure.

He enjoys the catch of teeth against his lip, slanting his mouth up against Matt's own to press back more firmly, yielding at first before edging on demanding, until it's almost hungry.

"Mm."

Matt's protest is muffled and, let's be honest, not really all that insistent. By this point he's fairly far gone between the feel of Danny underneath him and the way Danny's kissing him like it gives him life.

"Gonna get you in trouble," he manages to tumble out, between breaths and kisses.

He laughs against his mouth, and it's sort of a rumbling full body thing that leaves his chest vibrating pleasantly beneath Matt's palm. He catches at his boyfriend's own bottom lip with a teasing nip, then presses another kiss to the corner of his mouth, then jaw, before nuzzling in affectionately.

"You can't get me into trouble, i'm the boss, remember?"

"Public image." Which is a pretty bad excuse, especially since Matt doesn't care. The point is, as soon as Matt walks out that door, everyone who sees him is going to know just what they were up to.

And that's not actually so bad.

Matt tugs at Danny's tie a little and noses at his ear. "I like visiting you."

"Fuck public image." Language! He hangs around Jess too much. "Most of the public don't even know who I am." He can thank Tony Stark for that, the general population only seem to be enamored with one billionaire playboy at a time, and Stark was a super hero.

His hands pass down Matt's hips, curving around to his ass to pull them together so he can duck in, nipping his jaw again. "I'm really.... really okay with you visiting me any time." Danny thinks about visiting Matt too, but doesn't want to be a distraction. Though sometimes he manages to lure him out of the office for a lunch date.

"I think you're hanging around bad influences."

Says the man who's practically straddling Danny against his desk. Matt loosens Danny's tie a little, so it's not quite so constricting. "Maybe I'll make it a weekly thing."

He'd be more than happy to lose the tie altogether, but it was hard enough to put on in the mornings (he's never quite gotten the hang of it). "Present company included?" Danny kisses him again, groaning into his mouth-- because it's just too easy to get him going, especially for Matt.

"Especially present company."

Matt's starting to think that, if he had it his way, Danny would be losing a lot more than just his tie. He quells the thought by giving Danny a kiss that's almost all tongue, fingers pressing into the skin at Danny's waist.

This is almost as good, but he gets a lot out of just having Matt touching him. Danny drops back to perch on his desk, practically pulling Matt into his lap (it's solid oak and can hold their weight).

He only breaks the kiss once they're nearly breathless, panting against Matt's mouth as his own hands pull at soft fabric, tugging his shirt up so his hands can slide along bare skin.

"I think I can manage a half day." Their mouths clash again before he's even finished speaking.

"Does that mean it's time to go home?"

Matt has nothing else to do today. Nothing pressing, anyway, certainly nothing that can't wait until later. He rests their foreheads together for a moment while he catches his breath.

"Yes." He says too quickly, running his hands back up Matt's back, waiting until their breathing evens out before gently catching his lower lip between his own again, trying for something softer... even if he could probably just devour him right now.

"When'd you become the bad influence?"

"I think," Matt says, pausing to hum while Danny teases his lip, "you bring it out in me."

One more kiss, for the short road home. Two more, maybe. Then Matt is reluctant to start trying to readjust his appearance.

Danny sits back on the edge of his desk, trying to even out his breathing, and it's a shame Matt can't witness the entirely too fond expression he has while watching him-- though his heart, as always, betrays him with that racing little flip-flop that only he causes.

He gives him a moment before reaching to pull him forward again, just up to adjust his collar and run his thumb across Matt's lower lip, it's a little swollen but not as bruised as he's left it before.

"I can call us a car."

Matt can hear Danny's fondness in his voice, and, yes, in that little skip in his chest. It makes him smile, and he lets out a breathless laugh before catching Danny's thumb between his teeth.

"I love you."

That doesn't help his heart.

Danny's kinda just... doesn't know what to do with all these damn feelings, besides just hum out a sound that borders between laughter and quiet delight as he leans in to kiss him again, echoing that sentiment wordlessly.

See what you started again?

Matt's not even sorry. He could spend hours kissing Danny if given the opportunity. He bumps their noses together and smiles against Danny's lips.

"Car?"

"Huh?" Yup it's already out of his mind, at least for the moment it takes for him to restart his brain and he leans back again, tongue flicking across his lower lip.

"Oh, yeah, lemme make a phone call." Which he'll do as soon as he steals one more quick kiss.

"All right."

Matt's going to not kiss Danny again, because they should get home, right? This would be so much better to do on any number of surfaces there, including a couch or a bed. But he can't quite help himself when he presses a kiss to Danny's neck instead.

He tips his head for it, one hand curling against Matt's hip as he reaches behind him to feel around on the desk for the phone. It's weird to still have landlines, but they needed them for conference calls or phone shaped paperweights or whatever.

Besides, it has a button for speaker that can buzz his secretary. She greets him in an overly cheerful voice and his... is kinda too- deep when he replies, informing her that he'd be leaving soon and needed a car brought around. CEO perks and stuff.

Matt's breath is hot against Danny's skin when he silently laughs. He noses his way up, following the strong line of Danny's jaw and peppering it with kisses.

"I can't wait to get you out of this suit."

Damn Matt knowing all his sensitive spots, and it sends a shiver up his spine. "Figure you'll like it better on your floor?" he rumbles back, running his hands back up under Matt's own suit jacket.

There's a belated cough and he realizes he's still on speaker phone before cursing out an apology and quickly reaching back to make sure he hits the right button this time.

Oops. Matt laughs in earnest this time, pressing his face into Danny's neck. Now he knows every time he shows up, people will be giving him that look, and it's too bad he won't be able to see it.

"Busted," he teases.

"Good thing they already know i'm dating some hot lawyer, this means they can get the gossip out of their systems." He pushes his fingers through Matt's hair, now it just means they don't really have to care about how they look coming out of his office...

Sure, Jeri will have a hayday, but--

"Or they'll gossip more."

Foggy will be mad. Embarrassed by the association, probably, but. Well. That sounds like a Franklin Nelson problem. Matt can't care too much given his current circumstances.

"We should head down."

"Yup... wait." He grabs him around the waist and kisses him a last time, harder, pressing in with a little more teeth (and a little more tongue) until he's out of breath.

"Okay." At least so his secretary isn't disappointed when they come out.

Matt's not complaining. He feels pleasantly dazed by the end of it, and busies his hands by redoing Danny's tie (so he doesn't touch him anymore).

"Sorry you have to wait to eat your donuts."

"I think I can survive." He resists the urge to throw Matt over his shoulder and carry him out that way, amusing at that would be, he doubts his boyfriend would appreciate it.

He does make sure Matt has his satchel and that he has his own (eh, he can finish any work there is at home... probably.) Then loops an arm around Matt's waist as they exit to catch the elevator.

"Forward my calls to my cell." His secretary watches them leave.

((fin?))

[rah :B ]

[ 21+, ota. mostly interested in playing high makeouts ]

[Shayla, for her part, is definitely flying high as a kite, but tonight that means that the bed just won't do. Ignoring Elliot's soft, half-formed murmurs of confusion, she just takes his hand and drags him to her window, perching on the sill and then swinging her legs out with surprising grace so that her feet hit the fire escape.]

C'mon. [His continued sounds of dissent just make her giggle, shaking her head at him.] It'll be worth it, I promise. Come on!

[With that, she turns away and starts up the ladder, feeling a deep swell of satisfaction when she finally hears his feet clang-clanging rhythmically behind her. Once they're both up on the roof, she throws her arms out at her sides and starts to spin in circles, staring up at the sky with eyes almost completely blacked out by her massive pupils.]

Isn't it great up here?

[ it's sometime around midnight on a friday night, and elliot's pupils are the size of dinner plates. he can hear the clanging of her feet on the metal staircase like music, and the resounding echo of his following her up to the roof like an answering call. you shouldn't make decisions while high off molly, but she could take him anywhere right now and elliot would probably gladly follow.

the air up here is crisp, cutting through the heavy humidity of new york in the summer. seeing the stars is impossible because of light pollution, but the moon hangs luminously in the sky, illuminating her as she twirls.

elliot doesn't give a shit what people look like, not really. he's more comfortable on the net than he is in his own skin, so that's not surprising. but right now, he thinks that shayla looks fucking beautiful because she's free.

and he smiles, big and bright and maybe a little manic. that's the euphoria kicking in. ]

It's really good, Shayla. Shit.

[ he starts to spin, too. next to her, his arms reaching out. the tips of his fingertips maybe brushing against hers. ]

[This has been one of her secret hideaways for as long as she's lived in their run-down, sad little building. A space of her own is a space of her own, so she hardly begrudges the apartment its shabby finishings, occasional unpleasant smells, or unwanted visitors in the form of rats and insects; within its walls, she's eked out a cozy little home, somewhere she can truly say she's earned the right to live and exist as she pleases. It's usually a source of happiness and pride.

But there are those other times, the ones when she's not at all in control of what happens in her space, regardless of whether or not it's hers. The times when she's made to earn what she will eventually earn for herself as a reminder that it does come from someone else in the beginning. The tightly-wrapped, luminous core in her chest that she pictures as her unbreakable inner strength can only ward off so much before she's left with no choice but to find a way to shine through the encroaching darkness.

Which is when she looks to the moon, almost close enough to touch from up here, and the sharp, sweet whistle of the wind. Freedom is exactly what Elliot sees in her as she keeps turning and turning, hair whipping around her face and into her laughing mouth, until she finally stumbles and lands on one knee. That'll leave a new hole in her already shredded jeans, but she doesn't care, still giggling away when she tilts her head up and sees the beaming smile still on Elliot's face.

Good. Good. He feels it, too. She'd hoped he would; that's why she finally made the decision to open up and share another secret with him, because it makes that core of light in her shine brightest when she can share something more than drugs with him.]

When you look up from here, you could be anywhere. [It's true that there are no stars, but Shayla makes the best lemonade in town from the lemons life throws at her, and that means she sees stars wherever she wants.] The sky's always the same. All the shit going on under it... doesn't matter up here.

[ Their knees are touching. Maybe it's Romero's weed kicking in, but she feels so incredibly aware of it, the thin layer of her long skirt and his black denim the only things separating skin on skin contact. It's distracting her enough from the laptop that she should pull away, but the tingle-thrill of it stops her, so instead she just keeps forgetting where she is in a string or typing the wrong number, stupid little mistakes that Elliot must be able to notice if he looks at her screen at all.

They're on the roof of her apartment block. She works up here a lot if she isn't at the fun-fun-fun-society building, because she lives with about six other people squeezed into two bedrooms, and there's never any privacy anywhere. Privacy is important to Trenton, little walled places within herself where she can plant secret gardens.

One of those is growing a crush, little pink buds slowly blooming. On both the Aldersons, really. Darlene is rough and raucous, always on the edge of a car crash but still so in control of the wheel. That captivates Trenton because she doesn't understand it. Elliot is the opposite, self-contained and quiet and in control of nothing and angry about it. Just like her.

Thinking of him causes her to glance across at his profile, the square of his jaw, and smile a little. She offers the joint over before she can get caught staring, sweet smoke curling hazily between them, blue in the light of their laptop screens. ]

(No modern settings. Medieval fantasy type equivalents of modern prompts fine. Cross canon or cross medium welcome as are castmates and other vidyas.)

It wasn't often Carver got leave from the Wardens. But it wasn't often that the Warden camp was infiltrated by assassins trying to specifically kill one of their own, either. Nothing had come of it, aside from some dead assassins, but learning the troubling reasons behind his sudden popularity with hired hands was enough to inspire the Wardens to send him to get to the bottom of things. That meant returning to Kirkwall.

That of course also meant running in with his brother and all of his ragtag friends, many of whom Carver hadn't seen in years. Isabela, for instance, probably hadn't seen him since he'd bulked up and taken on a few new scars and mellowed out his old pissy attitude that she used to tease him for. She certainly hadn't flirted with him in earnest the last time he'd been in town.

A few hours, a few games of cards and a few drinks later, Carver was starting to wonder if she was going to put her money where her mouth was. Which was currently about three inches from his, as they stood very, very close in a back hallway of the Hanged Man, treacherously close to actually getting somewhere.

Maker. Good thing he was older and wiser now. This situation would have probably given him a fatal heart attack back in the day.

"Did you have something to say to me?" he teased her under his breath. "You could have just said it out there, you know."

"Funny. I didn't think you were all that interested in anything coming out of my mouth." Always with the suggestive tone. It had been a long time since she'd had the opportunity to tease him like this. Much to her delight he was more fun now and had grown into his face. Strapping. Handsome.

She had to wonder if what they said of Warden stamina was true.

"Would you have truly wanted to express your interest in public?" In front of Varric and his brother? She blinked at him in mock innocence. "We can always go back to the common."

"I didn't think you were interested in sparing my dignity," he replied. "But it's awfully sweet of you, now that you mention it."

It was always a damn contest with her, wasn't it? She couldn't just be direct and ask people when she was interested. It had to be a tease, a game. Carver was still terrible at playing the game, though compared to his younger self he'd had a miraculous reversal in talent at it.

"Now what was it you said about riding griffons, again?"

"You have dignity?" Her eyes sparkled humor, mouth curving in the further teasing. He smelled good. Different. Something she couldn't put her finger on. She slipped her hand up between them to grip the front of his tunic beneath his armor and drag him in for a better whiff. "Dignity and better hygiene. New recruiting slogan?"

She purred under her breath and made sure some of it tickled the side of his neck. "Are you saying you can make me fly? Or is it just that you're hoping I still have that feather collection?" After a pause, she lifted up on her toes to whisper, "I do still have the feather collection."

"More than I used to."

Now they were even closer, close enough where he could just barely feel her breath ghosting across the bare skin around his neck. He neglected to mention to her that his better hygiene was only a result of being in town for a day and having the time to pursue such a thing.

Feathers. Honestly, she was baffling at times.

"I don't know about flying," he replied. "But I can certainly keep you up in the air, if you'd like that."

A beat. "Or on a wall. I'm easy."

"Mm," she said, a little noncommittal noise that still somehow managed to carry implication. "Let's test that. How easy you are." She kept her hand hooked in his tunic and rolled a sinuous turn to put her back to the wall and drag him in her wake. He may have been bigger and more strapping than the last time she saw him. She still understood leverage in a way few others did.

She caught him against her and snaked a hand into his hair. Her mouth on his was warm and welcoming, whiskey tainted and sure of itself. Her labret was a hard little knob against his lower lip that rolled and shifted easily. She set her tongue behind it to sweep it with more control across the center of his lip, suggestive of what else she could do with it given the chance. Releasing it, her tongue sought his mouth instead, a teasing invasion that promised more than it immediately delivered.

Drawing back, she leaned her head against the rough wall to eye him, to see if he'd follow. Her grip eased on his tunic, and fingers danced lightly across the front of his breastplate.

It would probably be a lot easier if he was just able to relax and go with the flow here. If he would stop thinking about this as a competition of some kind, or feeling like he needed to prove himself to her. Of course, Carver wasn't the type who could really ignore those kind of urges when they happened. His years in the Wardens had at least taught him to take control of them, rather than letting them push his temper and his actions.

That was almost certainly what let him keep up with her now. He leaned in at her guidance and kissed her, undeniably clumsy at first and particularly as he felt the firm rub of her jewelry against his lips. Carefully, he let that frustration and urge to impress out in a physical form, the eager way he returned her kisses.

Sure enough, as she backed off, he moved in. It was difficult to do while still in his full armor, but he leaned in and tilted his head to push for another kiss, pressing her back against the wall with his weight. In gauntlets, it was difficult to do much more than rest his hands on the wall behind her. He was already looking forward to being able to ditch them in a private room somewhere.

Because damned if he was going to let her taunt him this far only to have him cautiously back down at the last second.

Clumsy she could handle, as long as there was enthusiasm behind it. He truly had changed over the years, grown up enough now that this long game she had played with him bore worthwhile fruit. It was rare she stayed in any one place long enough for a such a thing to come out so well. That ran the risk of turning depressing if she let it.

She wasn't about to indulge that when she had such a tempting distraction pinning her against the wall. He was heavy, and she was sure all of that wasn't just plate mail. She felt the chill of the metal through her rough tunic and part of the griffon design biting into exposed cleavage. Rather than trying to escape it, she sank into the discomfort and relished it as a sign of enjoyable things to come.

Her mouth was hungrier now, a wave of growing arousal she rode and controlled. She could taste the ale on his tongue, Fereldans and their love of piss water, not that she had much room to talk. She wrapped both arms around his thick neck and hopped up to wrap her legs around his waist. Armor pinched her inner thighs above her boot cuffs. She ignored it and tightened her squeeze to cross her ankles over his lower back.

"Carver." She murmured directly against his mouth, the words muffled and distorted. "You're like a stale sausage. How do we get you out of this casing?" She gave it a hard thump against his back.

There had to be more than just armor behind his weight, given the way he caught her as she jumped up into his arms and barely wobbled beyond finding his balance. He really hadn't expected her to leap onto him like that, but fortunately managed to avoid any embarrassing gaffes like straight up dropping her.

Carver managed to hold her steady as she continued to kiss him hard, feeling almost dazed by the time she let up even a little.

"You could start by finding a room," he muttered back. He imagined the staff and patrons of the Hanged Man would be annoyed by tripping over a full set of plate armor in the middle of the hallway, Grey Warden or no.

"Where's yours?" Maker, please let it be upstairs here. If he had to get downstairs carrying her, he was never going to live it down.

She'd probably be into that, really.

"Two doors down that way," she pointed vaguely down the hallway to her left. "Just don't hit Martin's by mistake. He'll want to join in." Was she joking? Who could ever tell with her?

She didn't intend to make getting her there easy. She raked her teeth at the cusp of his chin and bit harder at the underside of his jaw. She grinned around the hold of teeth. The clack of them when she pulled fully back was loud enough to carry over the ambient din of the tavern downstairs.

Instead of lowering her legs, she tightened them. Were he not in armor, it might have been an uncomfortable squeeze. It appeared she had no intention of walking. She wanted to enjoy all that muscle. Her tongue flicked his earlobe and followed the shell, another nip of teeth blossoming stinging pain at the top curve. "Promise me you won't be gentle," she growl purred into his ear. "I definitely won't."

She clung to him with one hand and began unbuckling the side of her boot with the other. There was no sense in being idle when she could do something to speed along the process on the way.

Fortunately, Carver was going to try very, very hard to follow her directions about avoiding that door so he wouldn't have to find out if she was joking.

He steeled his grip on her and eased sidelong off the wall (ah- there was going to be a mark on his chin later...) making progress as best he could while in full plate and with Isabela providing no help whatsoever. It didn't help that the way she was wrapped around his waist restricted his range of movement somewhat, unless he wanted to accidentally bruise her up before they even made it to her room.

That business could wait until he was doing it on purpose.

"Don't worry," he muttered back. "I won't."

With a little more effort, he managed to shove open the door to Isabela's room with one of her boots, dragging her inside. The door closed with a thud behind him, and the reality was starting to sink in.

First things first, Carver reached behind himself and clicked the door latch, locking it. Then he jostled, indicating she should let go.

"It'll go faster if you help," he said. A pause. "It'll come faster if you help." Heh... that one was pretty good, wasn't it?

"Listen to you. Innuendo and everything," she said, laughing. She clung just long enough to make a point before allowing her legs to slide down and put her weight on her own two feet again. He wasn't the first set of plate she'd had to crack. He wouldn't be the last. Warriors and their inability to stay alive without encasing themselves in over a hundred pounds of metal. Honestly.

She was quick to start with his buckles. They were past the point of need for seductive toying. They had been building toward this for years. The undressing was more or less a formality. She started with the pauldrons and spalders, and unlike her often careless image, she had enough sense not to toss it all to the floor. She set it aside with a modicum of care toward the fact that armor had to last him a good long time and do its job.

"This is why I could never be a Warden," she said. It was probably the least of why, but it was banter. She was never the stoic, silent type. "No opportunity for spontaneous fun. Now imagine if we were in the Deep Roads." She paused and smirked at him. "Better yet, don't."

She remembered the muck when they all went after Corypheus. Never had she been more glad of her tendency never to wear pants. "A double layered breastplate? Was your smith a sadist?" That was a little harder to find the secret to unfastening. When she had it, she made a small sound of triumph.

"We find time. It's all about planning, that's all," he replied. He half expected her to laugh and sit there watching him trying to disassemble himself. Then again, perhaps she expected that if she did, he'd get pissed and stomp off. Carver honestly couldn't be sure that he wouldn't have at this point.

"Either that, or flexibility, honestly."

While she worked on his upper arms, Carver slipped off his gauntlets, tossing them on the bed. That freed up his hands to work a little more nimbly on other pieces. It seemed she had enough of a grasp on what she was doing to manage the breastplate by herself.

As the breastplate came loose and Carver ducked under to pull it off, it was becoming apparent how much of his bulky frame was his armor and how much was actual muscle. Compared to his somewhat scrawnier physique when he'd last lived in Kirkwall, there was quite a bit more to him now.

"I asked them for a quick-release, but the blighters said no," he muttered. It was more than a little obnoxious to have to pause for a five-minute focus on getting himself out of his armor. He'd much rather be focusing on Isabela right now.

"All of that and flexible. Well, well," she taunted. "What if we put that fully to the test? I'm sure I have some things lying around we could try on you." He probably didn't want to know what she was talking about, or maybe he had changed more than she thought. The night was young.

"Can you imagine if you did have a quick release strap? Some Darkspawn starts to fall, flails out, catches you just so, and there you are in almost the altogether while your armor comes crashing down around you like an avalanche." She seemed to find that thought far too amusing. "As convenient as I'd find it, it's probably just as well they didn't listen to you. Genlocks have no appreciation of a good chest. Pirates, on the other hand..." She ran her hand over the padded jacket so recently under the armor.

Her fingers were nimble over the frogs. She popped them open one by one only to reveal his tunic under that. "It's like peeling an onion." She wrinkled her nose and glanced up at him in a small flash of annoyance. "At least you smell better."

One hand worked under the jacket to get a good feel of him, the first real one she'd had beyond occasional small teases back in the day. "I suppose it's true about how much Wardens eat?" This time she sounded far more approving.

"I know better than to agree to that without a precise explanation," he shot back at her. He knew better than to agree to anything Isabela offered without a real explanation behind it. All of those mishaps with her and his brother back in the day had taught him as much.

He continued shimmying out of what he could while she made quick work of the jacket. As her hand slipped under it, his hand idly encouraged it to make itself comfortable touching him. "Oh yes. It's true," he said, and prepared to get his jacket off entirely. "Though it takes work eating like that and having it land on you like this."

It was almost hilarious hearing Carver make a boast like that, but it was one thing about himself that he did have utter confidence in. As the jacket came off, leaving him in his tunic, it was apparent the pup had gotten good and ripped in his years away.

That left him with the bottom half of his armor to go, though that thankfully involved less fussing. He imagined Isabela wanted him to put his money where his mouth was and show her what that build of his could do.

She decided to hold onto that for later. There was a time and place for precise explanations, ones she hoped would have him redder than a newborn's ass when she was ready for it. "I'm sensing such a lack of trust," she said instead, her smile pure trouble.

He wore the confidence well. It was far more attractive than the old defensiveness and prickly retorts. He had truly stepped a long way outside of his brother's shadow. Her hand was about as rough as his, wind weathered and well used on rigging and dueling. It didn't bother her in the least that she didn't have the soft hands of a lady or that his were seasoned by swordplay.

She pulled him back against her by hooking her fingers in the buckle of his hip armor. Without the upper plate in the way, she was able to crush breasts to chest and work on distracting him with her lips on his throat. Her hands made quick work of the belt. With the hip armor peeling away and lowered down in a "u" shape at his feet, she was able to pinch his ass before going for the buckles at the back of his thigh pieces.

"I'm glad you're used to hard work." It was a terrible joke, her favorite kind. "You're going to be drilling well into the night, Warden."

"I wonder why," Carver said blithely.

They were almost there, and yet it felt like there was an eternity left to go. At least he was out of his breastplate, so he could at least enjoy the soft press of Isabela's breasts against him while she necked and undressed him. He could admit that he'd had his eye on them for years now. Then again, Isabela knew full and well whenever men had their eyes on her breasts, and she probably enjoyed every second of it.

In the meantime, he encouraged her with his own hands, copping a feel of her waist, her hips, and the curve of her ass where he could sneak one in without interrupting her work on his armor. She really had done this before.

"If there's one thing a Warden's good for, it's plunging into Deep Roads." She deserved every bit of that one for encouraging him.

"It's also true about our endurance," he said, as the buckles came loose from his thighs. "Just in case you were going to ask that next."

"I've heard," she said, playing it as straight as straight could be. "Plunging in, coming out, going back in, incapable of staying away from tight, wet tunnels that lead dangerous places." She set the thigh armor aside and dropped down to her knees to work on the greaves, not to mention give him a very nice view down her cleavage and have her mouth suggestively close to the laces of his breeches. "Avoiding the Taint." Her teeth flashed white in a quick grin.

After pulling the greaves away, she finally had him peeled free of everything metal but his cowters and vambraces. He could take care of those himself. "I wasn't going to ask you about that, sweet thing. I'd much rather find out first-hand." She sprang back up to her feet and shoved him back toward her bed, a nicer affair than most of the cots or bunks in the rest of the tavern. It had a few scarves and a silk robe carelessly scattered over the spread with several extra pillows.

She disarmed on the way, daggers flying and dropping from a few unlikely places as well as the more obvious ones. A tug at the side of her sash had it dropping from her hips and pooling on the floor in a blue puddle of patterned cotton. Her head scarf followed. A rake of fingers down the font of her tunic unraveled the lacing. She pulled it over her head and tossed it aside. She deliberately left the boots on.

All that and a taint joke too. "Maker. You're really the worst." Leave it to Isabela to take an off-color play on words and drive it a few more shades off. Carver couldn't help but snort, shrugging off his cowters and then both steel plates from his forearms. Wrapped and tied around his right arm beneath the cowter was a red and black patterned scarf, which he took off and folded up with his armor without any comment.

No sooner had he set those aside than Isabela pounced on him, shoving him back onto the bed. For a moment, Carver was 19 again and all nerves and anticipation and sexual frustration that he didn't know what to do with-- right up until this moment, he'd still been a little unsure that she wasn't making fun of him with all this. But nope, here he was, down to his tunic and trousers, on his back with Isabela looming over him and well on her way to beating him undressed.

His skin was flushing pink, despite his better efforts, though he managed to look more grimly determined than he did uneasy. He sat up enough to peel his tunic off over his head, at least giving her a decent view of his physique-- as well as the stylized Mabari tattooed on the right side of his chest.

He did hesitate on slipping off his trousers for the moment, though that could have been because he was distracted staring at Isabela.

She was on the verge of making fun of him for his sudden stoic, dour look when she noticed the tattoo, not to mention the fact that big brother must have gotten most of the hair of the family. "Oh, look! You got one!" She was delighted to see it and the pink flushing without her having to say a word to bring it out. "A dog, of course."

Her fingers went to it immediately, rubbing over the design and feeling the very faint raising of the skin. That lasted only a moment before she leaned forward to feel it with her tongue, her bare breasts hot and heavy pressure against his stomach. She was shameless in the swirl and lap of wet tongue. It was exactly the way she might have licked an ice treat in Antiva.

She looked up at him directly from beneath dark lashes and brows, her expression not unlike a predator preparing to eat something up completely. "Did it hurt?" she murmured against his skin. "Do you have any others?" One hand slipped down to squeeze a thigh through his trousers and then pluck at the material in faux irritation. "You're still too dressed for me to have a look. One thing I never pegged you for is lazy."

He was a little surprised at her surprise-- he'd certainly mentioned he had a tattoo, hadn't he? "A mabari," he corrected teasingly. Fereldans did love their dogs, but only one was loved beyond all others.

As Isabela stroked the dark pattern on his skin, Carver looked more than a little proud of himself. "Got it at Ostagar. Most of my unit did too. There was this Ash Warrior, and he'd been a tattooist and still had his-"

He was abruptly cut off by Isabela running her tongue over it in a manner that caught him completely off guard by how hot he found it. She would probably be delighted by the way his voice caught in his throat and escaped in the form of a little groan, head almost falling back against the mattress behind him.

Two seconds later he was leaning upright again, doing his very best stoic act. "Didn't hurt," he answered. "And that's all I've got."

Well, this was really happening, and he needed to get himself back together again. With his head back in the game, he reached down and tugged off his trousers and smalls at once, pushing them down his thighs to his knees. Any more than that would involve a little more wiggling than he felt would be dignified right now.

"Oh, right, a big dog," she said, pretending it was the same thing when she knew good and well it wasn't. "So that wasn't a sweet little fiction you spun for Fenris. I had always wondered." She hadn't. It had been in one ear and out the other, although it must have stuck somewhere, because now she vaguely recalled part of that conversation. "Did you ever show it to him?" Her eyebrows wiggled suggestively.

"Didn't hurt at all?" She bit down in a hard, fast nip and scraped back. Bruise two. Yes, she was keeping score.

She lifted enough to let him take the pants down and made a show of looking while he did it. Very nice. She'd save the praise for later. It wouldn't do to give him too big a head about everything at once, would it? She slid backward and down him, keeping her breasts pressed close so he'd feel everything. She squeezed her arms in tighter to squeeze them together over his cock but didn't linger there.

She wanted him fully stripped. Grabbing the pants and smalls, she yanked them off the rest of the way and knelt up to take the advantage of high ground. "How about that flexibility test?" she asked. The light in her eyes was dangerous.

He knew better than to take that bait about big dogs. A Rivaini would never really understand.

"He wasn't interested. And no, it wasn't- that-" he remarked, cut off once more by Isabela's teeth sinking into him. Shit. He really had to get it together or she was going to end up embarrassing him more than he was already assuming she was going to embarrass him.

Finally stripped all the way, he sat up on his elbows so as not to look both naked and completely overwhelmed. As Isabela sportingly asked him about flexibility, he immediately remembered his previous thoughts on the matter.

"You're going to need to be a lot more specific than that," he warned her.

"Well." She was one hundred percent sure this wasn't going to work. It didn't matter. His face would be priceless, regardless. She crawled halfway up him and leaned down and to the side to pull something out from under her mattress. The phallus wasn't enormous as far as they went, but it was very realistically carved and a dark mahogany color.

"We can see how far up we can get your legs and how much you can take." It took everything in her not to burst out laughing.

"I have it on good authority I'm very good at it." She schooled her face to innocent expectation.

A younger, more impulsive Carver would have completely exploded on her and run screaming for that one. The newer, more measured Carver managed to get away with a blank, hollow stare that slowly shifted into a cross between confusion and disgust.

See? That was why he knew better than to agree to anything he said.

"No thanks," he said flatly. "If I wanted to rut a sculpture--and I don't-- I could have just stayed in the Deep Roads."

He made a mental note not to let Isabela anywhere near his back end if he couldn't see that thing at all times.

"One day, you're going to look back on this and say, 'That's the day I chose not to live a little.' Probably the day you find a sexy statue in the Deep Roads, and it reminds you of me." She rolled her eyes. So put upon.

Like most of her pique, it was a sham. If he had any doubt about it, the way she smirked and lifted the phallus up to her lips should have been a dead giveaway. She watched him while she teased it with her tongue, reaching behind her to palm him. Her skin was rough, but her fingers were deft. Whatever she had said of her prowess over the years wasn't exaggerated in the slightest.

"Maybe you'll have to test my flexibility instead. Or maybe you'll just have to watch me do it." Now it was deliberate provocation. All those times she called him pup, all those times he swore he'd snap one day. Would today be the day? She hoped so. She ran it down between her breasts, over her stomach and mound, and twisted it to fit neatly between her legs for a long, slow drag of it between her lips. When she had it free, she lifted it for another lick and made a soft, satisfied sound in the back of her throat. She enjoyed the taste of herself, enjoyed being watched.

"You're nicer to look at than any of that dusty old dwarven shite," Carver replied, in what was accidentally a rather smooth compliment for him.

Then, thanks to her position perched over him, he got a front row seat to the sight of her making a spectacle of herself, rubbing herself with her toy and obviously testing to see what Carver would do in response. His thoughts on the matter were currently a little sluggish, since she was kind enough to give him a hand even as she showed off.

"You're really proud of yourself for that one, aren't you?" he said, gesturing in the direction of the phallus. "Went to all the trouble of getting me naked first, too. The wait must have been killing you."

He reached up to grip her thighs, enjoying an exploratory feel of those legs of hers. He'd always been a big fan of her legs, though he didn't think he'd admit it to her out loud.

"Are you getting distracted, already?" His tone suggested he had plans to do something about that if she was.

"Be still my heart," she said, laughing. Compliments from him were almost nonexistent. As they went, it was both amusing and cutely honest. It was clear he wasn't being smarmy, which was a good thing for both of them.

"For this? It was a gift from a good friend years ago. We've been fast friends ever since. I'm generous like that. I always introduce my friends." She tapped it on the center of his chest, leaving a wet spot she bent to blow over, a small puff of cool air.

To reward him for gripping her thighs like he meant it, she gripped him between them. It pushed her back enough that instead of her hand over him, she straddled him centered. She kept scant space between them, enough that both of them could feel the heat pouring off of them in waves but neither could get any stimulation from it.

"Do I look distracted?" As a matter of fact, she did, feigning that the phallus held the bulk of her attention as she stroked it through her hand suggestively. She liked that tone in his voice even better than his grip. She was quite sure something good was about to happen.

Carver's problem had always been that he didn't possess the effortless inner filter of his brother. His words otherwise flowed just as freely, though, and he therefore came off as abrasive far more often than he did as "charming."

All the same, it was apparent he had been cut from the same cloth as his brother at some point, and when he minded his impulsive tongue, it even showed sometimes. Sometimes, that impulsive tongue had sweet things to say.

His reply was not particularly sweet, nor anything but blunt. "Yes. You do." The grip of his hands shifted slightly, from her thighs down to beneath her hips. He was half-tempted to grab her and encourage her to grind, but that would be a little too predictable.

Instead, he braced himself and suddenly shoved upward, using his hips to toss her up and off of him. It was just enough to use his hands to guide her, twisting her hips to flip her onto her back on the mattress. Carver immediately climbed over her, reaching up to grip her forearms and playfully pin them down to the mattress, pressing her body down with his weight.

"That get your attention?" he teased. He was dangerously close to grinding on her, allowing his cock to brush against her leg suggestively without actually pursuing it.

She appeared to yield to the flip, going so far as to squirm down into her decadent sheets. She let her gaze trail down between them to eye the sight of him hanging between his thighs, thick and potent. The stiff leather of her boots scraped along his outer thighs as she slowly lifted her legs.

"Mmm, you have my complete attention, sweet thing," she purred. She was flexible enough to lift up against the hold of her arms far enough to kiss him without trying to pull out of his grip. She still held the dildo gripped in her right hand. She hadn't lost it in the shuffle.

Her kiss was deep, intense. Her mouth on his was devouring, as though he were the only man ever to have graced her bed, or at least the only one who meant a damn. She could throw herself easily into the mindset, legs wrapping tighter to force a grind. She was wet, hot, yet somehow managed to keep him from getting a good angle to complete the come-hither.

She rode that edge right up to the point she worked herself into just the right position. Then it seemed as though she went strangely boneless or shifted her center of gravity with the skill of a cat, because suddenly, he was on his back, she atop him, and coming right down onto him to ride him. She enveloped him in slick heat, an expert clench drawing him in tightly and pulsing him inside her in a rolling stroke.

"I like to be on top." She bit his lip hard enough to draw a bead of blood. "I doubt you'll mind."

"Good," he muttered, sounding proud of himself. Carver leaned down to meet her half way for another searing kiss, and from there everything seemed to happen nice and naturally. He found he didn't need to think about what to do or when or why-- his body was quite happy to grind down against hers as she writhed against him, nudging his cock between her legs and coming achingly close to where he wanted to be.

Isabela seemed to have a scheme to all of this, keeping him just stimulated enough to make him groan but just frustrated enough to never get anywhere with it. He was half-tempted to adjust her hips and go for it on his own, but she beat him to the punch at that, too. Carver looked almost startled to be on his back again, but the surprise faded quickly as Isabela impaled herself on him within moments.

"Maker- blighting fuck-" he gasped out, silenced by the nip at his lip. He stared at her then, apparently still a little shocked that this was still happening and that Isabela was in the midst of riding him.

"Don't mind at all," he mumbled, and experimented with rolling his hips for her.

"Such a dirty little mouth you have," she said, delighted with his reaction. The look in those baby blues of his was one she wouldn't forget soon. She loved it when the big, muscled ones never saw it coming. Raising her arms, she trailed her hands down through her thick hair and arched up and back for him to get the best possible view of all she had to offer.

She gripped both of his hands to draw them up to her breasts. She had seen him eyeing her cleavage enough through the years to think he'd appreciate it. For her part, she was all too happy to grind down over him and meet that upward roll halfway. She licked the taste of blood from her lips and eyed all of the small ways she'd marked him so far. He wouldn't be forgetting this any time soon, either.

Luckily for him, he felt good enough to keep her distracted from more immediate talking. Her hands came to rest on his chest, nails lightly raking as she enjoyed the feeling of smooth skin over hard muscle. She flicked idly at his nipples and once again caressed over the stylized mabari, a bruise adding to the texture.

Her rhythm was demanding and anything but passive. She rode and milked him with hot, slick squeezes every time she lifted for another heavy plunge down. Her boot heels dug into the outer undersides of her ass on her bounces. At this rate, she'd have bruises, too.

He most certainly did appreciate her guidance to put his hands on her breasts. He eagerly squeezed both in his rough palms in time with her thrusts, falling into a steady rhythm with her while still letting her drive the pace.

Maker, it had been entirely too blighted long since he'd gotten any. The Wardens were often to dally with each other when they had the chance, but the chance didn't come very often. Carver had found that one of the upsides of being a Warden was that his endurance had improved incredibly from when he was an ordinary person. Now that Isabela had got him going, he felt like he could keep this up all night long with her. The prospect of getting tired seemed very far away.

She was tight and hot, and the angle was perfect for both of them. He worked his hips so that she could easily bounce off of him, adding a little slap of skin to the intensity. There really was the sense that Carver was strong enough to thrust her right off of him if he tried to, and a sense that he was just barely at the point of holding himself back to avoid that.

Until Isabela suggested otherwise, of course.

Sometimes she craved finesse, and games, and toys, and the strangest, most difficult positions to try to maintain, and sometimes she craved exactly this, a straightforward, eager man with the size, strength, and stamina to please her for as long as she wanted him however she wanted him. On top was a must, although there were a few different varieties they could try that she imagined he wouldn't find nearly as objectionable as the phallus.

She couldn't find the best place for her hands. She loved his chest, his shoulders, the rock hard biceps. She took turns enjoying all of them with rough skinned palms and sharp nails. She pinioned him hard enough to leave more marks and contributed to the slapping sound gleefully every time she came down to him.

By the time they broke a sweat, she was ready for a change of scenery. Without pulling off of him, she lifted a leg, twisted around, and resettled facing his feet. Now she could play with those thickly muscled legs, and he could have a grand view of her ass jiggling from how hard he rutted her.

The change of angle was intense and had her moaning and reaching up to tug sharply at her nipples, head dropping back far enough and back arching to tickle his chest and stomach with her thick hair. "I'll give you until next week to stop," she purred.

"Might have to make me," he replied seamlessly. He reached up to take hold of her hips, squeezing and holding on for the ride as she bounced herself on him over and over again.

He spared one hand to reach up and gather her hair, brushing it up and against her back. If he didn't think it would get him stabbed, he thought about tugging on it to tease her (he still wasn't entirely positive Isabela didn't have another dagger within reach somewhere.)

Abruptly, he braced his feet against the bed. "Hold still a moment," he said. If she obliged him, he'd respond by throwing himself up into her, thrusting as hard as he could for a few seconds. It was mostly to see what she'd do, at this point.

"Your leave will end at some point," she teased, breathless with the thrusting and voice uneven from it. The idea of Wardens bursting into her room to drag him away amused her and had her laughing. That would be a story for the barracks.

She shivered from the pleasant sensation of her hair brushing her back. It wasn't exactly surprising that he did more than lie there and take it, but it was nice to see he was up for more than just mindless thrusting, too. It gave her other ideas for later.

"All right." Curiosity was plenty incentive to go along with a suggestion to see what he had in mind. She cried out, this time not for show. Andraste's tits that was incredible. She braced herself on his thighs with a tight grip and let him fuck her unrestrained.

She didn't have the breath to tease him. All she could do was privately be grateful they had never done this before now. Warden stamina, as it turned out, was not overstated, and she couldn't have been happier about it.

[m/m, 25+ only.]

ooc: AU Heimdall as a mortal business man type?]

(ota, m/m preferred. give him all the makeouts please.)

[rooftop?]

[ Works for me, care to start or shall i?]

[I commented, I'll start. Any prefs before I do?]

[Not that i can think off so go for it. /ovo/]

One city was much like any other, Darcy had discovered. Eternally lit up, with ceaseless noise and nearly claustrophobic hotel rooms, there was little that seemed to differentiate them. Museums, landmarks, typical tourist traps, everything Darcy was not permitted to seek out. The only blessing was the 24 hour food delivery places and the fact that this hotel, at least, had functioning air conditioning.

It was unsurprising to find Bucky lurking about on the roof, the lock casually picked. The heat was not enough to drive her indoors, especially at such a late hour, and even she felt antsy in her tiny room. It was bad enough when Bucky was out doing his thing, leaving Darcy at the hotel to pull up schematics and offer directions when needed. In short, she felt almost entirely useless.

That night had been different. The mission had been too technologically complicated to give Bucky a crash course in decades of development, so she'd gotten to tag along like some little kid on a field trip. Darcy had done her best not to be herself - remain quiet, not babble as she had a tendency to do when nervous, or do anything to give them away - and even though everything had gone off with barely a hitch, adrenaline persisted in keeping her awake.

A scalding shower refused to wash away the image of the three men Bucky had been forced to kill while she'd sworn at the computer to hurry the hell up. Minimal casualties, they'd gotten the data secured, and returned to their hotel in one piece. Darcy had assumed her involvement with giant robots and space elves would provide enough strength and fortitude to handle anything thrown her way.

Especially since she was never supposed to enter the field in the first place. But plans changed, and they'd done their best.

Pacing had gotten dull, and staring out the window did little to slow her thoughts. She'd politely knocked on Bucky's door and even waited a few minutes before assuming he'd wandered off, as he so often did after a mission, for a little alone time. Unfortunately for him, Darcy most certainly did not want to be alone right then, not after having to wash blood stains out of her shirt.

She wasn't used to this, and so she sought out company, hoping to keep her mind distracted.

"Hey," she said quietly as she shut the door behind her with her hip, waiting a heartbeat or two before walking forward. She paused a few feet away from Bucky, noting the line of tension that never seemed to leave his profile. Feeling like an awkward teenager, she stepped up beside him, damp hair clinging to her shoulders. She absently rubbed at her arm, watching Bucky instead of the view, having seen enough city skylines to last her a lifetime.

"Everything okay?"

Bucky felt bad for having Darcy be cooped up in the hotel during their stay in the city, Tony picked a rather nice hotel despite the somehow claustrophobic feel after he comes back. The mission was important, steal information before they were to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. Not an entirely difficult assignment but due to an unforeseen complication, he had to drag Darcy out into the field which wasn't supposed to happen. At all.

He was impressed with how she presented herself while in the field before everything went south and had to take out a few guards. As much as we would have liked to incapacitate them instead of killing them, he couldn't risk them alerting anyone else or potentially tracking Darcy down after the mission was over. If he put her in unnecessary danger, Thor or Jane would eat him alive.

As soon as they had gotten back to the safety of their rooms, he ended up sitting on the shower floor still in his gear. Watching the blood run off his hands, never truly leaving. He switched out for more casual clothes before heading up to the hotel roof. Darcy wasn't meant to see those men die in front of her, it really couldn't be helped and he knew at some point she would come looking for him.

Bucky found solace on the hotel roof top, the night was quiet and he enjoyed looking at the city skyline, the view never ceases to amaze him no matter what city they're in. The roof is usually only opened during daylight hours only for the more VIP guests but no lock is a problem to pick. Potted plants were scattered all around the few benches that were in places for the best view of the city. A wall retainer sits on the edges as to prevent from falling off the edge.

Tonight, he's leaning against the wall, a lollipop in his mouth as a distraction. Giving a small glance over his shoulder when he hears her close the door, making her presence known. He doesn't acknowledge her right away until she's standing right next to him, tilting his head to glance over her.

"As good as it can be. How are you holding up? It was a rough day for you i imagine."

Bucky appeared outwardly calm, which she had come to expect. If he ever lost his temper or needed to leak emotions all over the floor, he did it when she wasn't around to watch. In a way, she relied upon him for it, drew off of his strength to fortify her own.

But now? After witnessing what happened when an operation hit a few bumps, even minor ones, it was disconcerting to see him just chilling with a lollipop, looking for all the world like he hadn't murdered anybody. Nope. Everything was just hunky dory, just another evening in another city.

God, it was all beginning to blend together into a blurry mush in her head. How did they do this, over and over again, and not lose their minds?

"S'all good," she replied without thinking, reflex coaxing her into making light of the situation. Habit by this point, so ingrained she hardly realized she was doing it. Besides, if she actually stopped to think about those men - there had been so much blood - she might crack, and she sure as hell did not know Bucky well enough to fall apart in front of him.

Not bothering to be surreptitious, Darcy eyed him up and down, ensuring that he wasn't sporting any wounds. Things had been so frantic, happened to quickly, it proved impossible for her to keep track of the fight, especially as she was waging her own war against poorly coded software. Even in the shower, when she'd reviewed things like a movie watched under the influence of LSD, she'd given up and tucked it all away in the back of her mind.

Safer, that way. At least for now.

"You're not hurt, right?" Stupid thing to ask now, after they'd both had their time apart, rather than immediately upon returning to the hotel. Hitting up a hospital was out of the question and Darcy had very little first aid knowledge, but her brows were creased with concern nonetheless. If Bucky had, indeed, taken a hit, it was because she'd been there with him, unable to defend herself.

They always say, 'Your first kill is the hardest', those men's faces were just added to the library he's formed in the back of his head and will continue to be haunted by their faces. It gets easier to deal with the longer he does it but that doesn't mean he doesn't have some rush of emotions or a breakdown when he reaches a certain point.

"You sure?" He raises a brow, suspecting she's still in shock, almost not believing that everything was fine. He wouldn't blame her for having some sort of emotional breakdown to what she'd experienced.

"Just a few scrapes and a few bruises. Nothing that won't heal in a day or two." Dialing down the severity of his wounds. Most actually were scrapes and bruises but he didn't tell her about the deep knife slashes that caught him when dodging other hits or the bullet grazes. He's taken a habit of carrying a first aid kit with him when he can, proficient enough with handling his own wounds. Bucky tried not to worry her about himself when he was more worried about her know.

She shouldn't blame herself for any injury that he takes, he already accepted it as a mere part of the job. He turns his body to face her, "You didn't get hit, did you?" he's sure he would have known if she was but with all the enemies attention on him at the time, he wasn't sure if she was really okay.

Deflecting his concern should have been easy, second nature to her at this point. Toss out a flippant remark, smile vacantly, and blend into the background until no one bothered to dig too deeply. However, it was clear that she hadn't been convincing enough, a reminder that she wasn't dealing with the easily distracted Jane.

It grew harder to keep her emotions in check. She lowered her gaze, but could still feel his own burning into her. Darcy was typically more on point, but she wasn't used to dealing with trauma. She'd been able to compartmentalize the attacks in New Mexico and London, mostly because they'd been something out of a terrible D&D campaign.

It was much, much more difficult to brush away the deaths of actual human beings, even if they'd wanted her dead.

"Just bruises," she mumbled, feeling the first sting of tears threaten. Angrily, she clenched her fists briefly, nails digging into her palm until the tears disappeared and she could look up at Bucky again, the effort having taken an obvious toll.

"Can't say the same for that computer." A touch of levity, getting her feet back beneath her again, no matter how badly she wanted to collapse into a pathetic puddle. A smile twitched at her lips. "We did good, didn't we?"

Darcy would have to get better at lying around him if she didn't want him to pry, he's definitely no Jane to not want to help in some way if he can. He's almost an expect on trying to be supportive, too many years hanging around a punk named Steve.

He can only imagine what whirl of emotions she must be going through right now, the effort to not completely breakdown in front of him was commendable. He just waited for her to open up to him if she needed it. He may be an assassin who seems unfazed by all of this but he still has a heart.

"We did good, you did great." He reached for her arm, offering a comforting circular motion of his thumb. As much as he would like to pull her in for a hug, he didn't want to invade her space if she didn't want him too.

Bucky's touch startled her, and it was nearly enough to shatter her. Her breath hitched briefly, and in a moment of weakness, she reached out, drawing him into a hug loose enough for him to break if he was uncomfortable with it.

"Thanks for having my back. Getting killed my first time in the field would have been embarrassing." She peered up at him from beneath her lashes, brows furrowed, gaze scrutinizing as if certain he was hiding serious injuries from her.

It was hard to remember sometimes, even with that metal arm, that Bucky was a super soldier much like Steve Rogers. He was far more durable than she was giving him credit for, but it was easier to focus on him than to become mired in her own misgivings.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Hey, where did you get a lollipop anyway?"

He brings her in close, not minding the hug, though he does wince a little when her arm brushes up against one of his wounds. He tries to hide that fact, shifting her arm a little so it doesn't rub up against it.

"I'll always have your back, wouldn't want to break the news to your friends. Pretty sure i'd get smashed into the ground or worse." He chuckles at the last part, even though he hasn't formally met Jane, she sounds like a force you shouldn't mess with.

"Secret assassin stash. Why, you want one?" He wiggles the lollipop stick in his mouth with a playful grin.

"Thor has better control of his temper than that." At least, she thought he did. It was difficult to tell sometimes how he would respond when one of his friends or allies was in danger or injured. It was hardly worth considering at the moment since she was in one piece and in no danger of bleeding out on the roof.

She did catch that wince though, and her suspicions gained traction. Bucky was hiding things from her. Which was a stupid revelation because duh, this was Bucky. Every member of the Avengers and their host of allies kept secrets, and none considered confiding in Darcy. Why would they?

She shifted as well, though she kept her body close to his, enjoying the companionship.

"Yes." Darcy widened her eyes and pouted, looking for all the world like a little lost waif who just needed a simple lollipop to make the world bright and cheerful again.

"Haven't had the pleasure of meeting him yet, ya'know, with his whole Asgard duties and all." Which wasn't really a lie, he's only heard of him through the other Avengers and read his file that Tony had from when S.H.I.E.L.D was still around.

He's not purposely hiding it from her with the intention that he couldn't confide in her. Buck's just used to dealing with his injuries on his own, it's a habit that he really needs to break. He liked the warmth of her, missing the comforting feeling a hug held.

He's not surprised that she'd want a lollipop so he fishes one out of his hoodie pocket. Gently waving it around between his fingers, he found her pouting kind of adorable. "Come get it." He smiled, lifting his hand up and out of reach, looking for a way to distract her from any lingering thoughts from the mission with a bit of fun.

[ooc: pre-series, season one, or season two I can all work with, pick your flavor. assumed cr, m/m and m/f, s'all good, just be aware that I'm kinda skittish and still majorly voicetesting, so. be patient with me?]

( open to cross-canon, can be modern AU'ed! feel free to PM for assumed CR, m/m - OTA, m/f if we've played before. )

The boy was young, soft, delicious. Celebrimbor gave the plump bottom lip a slow suck before he tilt his head to once again slide his tongue deep into the princeling's mouth. Legolas was sweet and gentle, like liquid Mithril free from forced moulding; everything pure and true the Fëanorians ever seemed to stray from. Moments before, Celebrimbor had been musing the fact that Thranduil would not approve of any Noldor sitting next to his one and only precious son, but how inviting and kind that son had been to him.

Now, so much kinder. Perhaps it was the hypnotizing music playing on the well-lit stage which had glances straying, his hand wandering, their bodies leaning closer and closer until suddenly they were locked mouth upon mouth. Celebrimbor had been following the prince with covetous eyes for days now but never had he thought that Thranduil's son would find relief in him as well!

Relief - ah, but if only! Only more hunger was growing here, more wanting, more need. Relief was a far ways off yet but the torturous journey was such a delight. The ring-maker was carefully quiet for all the ears around them, as much as he wished to show his approval with moan and sigh. Rather, he showed his appreciation for young Legolas with a hand sliding up his thigh in the darkness of the theatre, and his tongue coaxing and urgent.

Never could wine, or any other drink truly, be as intoxicating as the looks he caught all too often in the recent days, or the polite interest that an elf such as Celebrimbor himself. Legolas had only heard stories, he had only heard the legends before now, and never, not even in his wildest fantasies and daydreams, had he thought he would get anything more but a passing glance, should they ever meet. And so he was charmed, drunk on the intensity of that attention — and truly, were Fëanorians ever anything less than intense? — and one touch and another was enough to have him lean towards the other elf like a flower would towards the Sun.

In that exact moment, he seemed to forget all about the world around them and the people who surrounded them on nearly all the sides. It was just them in an untouchable bubble where time flowed differently than everywhere else. And Legolas was pliant, easily parting his lips and responding in kind to the sweetness of the kiss, his tongue sweeping, light and teasing, over lips and teeth and tongue. Legolas needed little encouragement, really, to return the kiss. Unlike Celebrimbor, however, he could not so easily withhold a pleased little sigh — his breath hot on Celebrimbor's lips and mouth —, forced out of his throat by the heart beating wildly in excitement. Quiet as it was, luckily the music covered up the noise of it and nobody turned to look at them.

His hand found the back of Celebrimbor's head, pale fingers daring to wind into black locks, thumb brushing an ear, the jaw, the muscles in his thigh flexed beneath the touch and Legolas shifted ever closer.

Such a sound from the prince! Celebrimbor smiled against the Legolas's lips, his eyes open just a sliver to look at the perfectly pale skin and blue eyes of his fixation. All the beauty of his father with none of the harsh angles, truly, in this boy. The sigh was rewarded with more of his tongue, sliding slow and wet in and out of the wine tinted mouth. Again, the jewel-smith mouthed Legolas's lower lip.

When he felt fingers in his hair and against his ear, this time it was the old elf that let escape a single sigh. A molten eat worked its way through him starting at that point, down through his chest and hair, and lower to his lap. This was far too public a place for this but they had already crossed that line together.

No matter how dark the theatre's house was, all the elven eyes around them could see perfectly well regardless, but it was also the rustle of their clothes, the quick beating of their hearts, and those small sighs they were dangerously drawing from one another. Elves were ever polite and Celebrimbor had little to fear from being frowned upon even less than he already was, but Legolas had much more to lose. Was the kiss, he wondered, as intoxicating for the boy as it was for himself?

This time the sound he gave was more purposeful, an encouraging moan barely audible from his throat. Celebrimbor tilt his head in the opposite direction and opened his mouth further, inviting.

In Legolas's veins it was the blood of the Sindar that flowed, yet ever was it ignited into blazing flame by the wild nature of the Silvans. Like them, he was quick of temper, and like them, instincts were oft given heed before all else. Instincts were true and real, they were more genuine than anything else, even if they could also get one in great trouble. Like right now, how they shared something as intimate as a kiss right where they sat, among the many others present and able to see. Yet all it did, the brief moments when those thoughts surfaced in Legolas's mind, was add to the general excitement.

That, and knowing how terribly his father would disapprove. It was not why he did this, but the knowledge, strangely, had his blood run even hotter.

His breath was shaky, his body trembling, as he squirmed and sought more in the kiss, ever more, more sensations, more pleasure and joy and more of that thrill that his body so enjoyed. He took that invitation without needing to be told, though those little noises meant for his ears only made for delightful encouragement, and he was as eager to take as to give, the slide of his tongue unpractised but making up for it with sheer enthusiasm.

And before long, they were sharing a seat, Legolas having quite effectively and, more importantly, quietly managed to slide himself into Celebrimbor's lap.

The Silvan wine was delightful but off Legolas's lips it was absolute grace. They had both drank their fill, along with everyone else, before the performance had begun. The concert was a celebration of light once again returning to the shadowed places of the world and none more so than Greenwood. The light had been here all along, Celebrimbor thought with a little amusement at his own romanticism. The light of Mirkwood was now crawling up onto his lap and offering his tongue very urgently.

The older elf was glad to softly suck on the tip of the wet tongue, adding his own saliva to the already wet kiss as he licked up the length of Legolas's. Another sigh had him sliding his hands up the long thighs hugging his hips with a squeeze on each as his hands came to the boy's lap. Surely by now someone on one side or the other of them had noticed?

Celebrimbor almost hoped so, though he wasn't sure why. The thrill, he supposed, as if simply having the prince's tongue in his mouth wasn't thrilling enough! Ah- now he had the slight weight on his thighs and that had his legs flexing and shifting to get them both more comfortable. His hands squeezed the renowned archer's hips again, then slid around to cup his backside. As he did this, Celebrimbor eased up on the kiss only so that their lips were barely touching and he could tease with his tongue more, licking and kissing at just the tip of Legolas's.

It was all almost like a game, a game where they both won all there was to win, and Legolas played along happily. His hips shifted under the attention, in small, controlled rolls down and forward, and his resounding gasps and little moans were muffled by the kiss. A nibble was rewarded with a nibble, or with sharp teeth raking most delicately over tender flesh, to tease and to entice. It all lasted a while, a very pleasant while, until Legolas put a crack on the aura of eroticism with an airy... giggle.

It tickled him a little, what Celebrimbor did, and he couldn't quite help the reaction. And that, much to Legolas's embarrassment, finally earned them a glance and the elf sitting beside Celebrimbor cleared his throat in the most pointed manner that he could only muster, which was still plenty.

Legolas, lips red and swollen, cheeks flushed pink, looked horrified as his gaze met the elf's. As quick and graceful as he straddled Celebrimbor's lap, he fled his grasp to return to his own seat as if nothing had happened at all, as if he was not flushed and flustered and very much aroused by a mere kiss. Oh were his father to find out— and it was not himself he was afraid for, but Celebrimbor instead. Once well respected, renown among the elves and dwarves alike, now distrusted by many, though Legolas's presence beside him tended to smooth over many tempers that could lead to trouble.

But this now, this was different.

Such a vigorous youth, Celebrimbor wondered if he could at all keep up (he knew he could) but it was thrilling thinking of just who it was squirming so nicely on his lap. The kiss was deeply rewarding and he too was flushed with heated arousal when that little giggle came.

It was endearing. Celebrimbor appreciated the boy's return to his seat however once they were caught. It was too much to hope that their voyeur did not know which two elves were being so highly inappropriate next to them, and so Celebrimbor did not rush to hide himself nor anything so childish. Instead he smiled pleasantly and watched the concert for nearly a full two minutes.

...before his hand strayed. The jewel-smith crossed his legs at the knee and settled back with relaxed elegance, while his hand stroked up and down the fine cloth covering Legolas's thigh. Again, he squeezed near the top and after another minute, he gave a smile to the boy in reward.

The music made his head swim all the more, adding an even more surreal layer to all that happened in the past few moments, and though Legolas didn't find it difficult to return his attention to it — at least for all to see — his attention did stray now and again. Certain notes brought back very, very fresh sensations of only moments ago and his lips tingled all over anew, they brought back the images and sounds and tempted Legolas terribly to lean over again.

To his credit, Legolas did not jump or yelp when the touch returned, but his breath did get caught in his throat for a split moment, and it all did nothing to curb that temptation. More than that, the smile was akin to a magnet, only drawing him in more and more. Though Legolas prevailed, he sat still in his seat, only smiling in return, lips still gleaming in the dim light from when he licked at them.

In the end, all he did was only put his hand over Celebrimbor's, putting a stop to the maddening teasing that, before long, would have him squirming and panting uncomfortably, to instead curl his fingers around it.

It was a terrible shame that the rulers of all the elven sects had barred him from his craft and calling. Celebrimbor thought romantically on what sort of jewelry he would adorn Legolas with. Not a ring, but perhaps a pendant or crown of the finest Mithril, or even an arm band inlaid with the finest emeralds. There were so many ages left in the world and he, one of the very last jewel-smiths able to celebrate them with singing metal. Such a shame, such a shame.

Such thoughts swirled in his mind as the musical tones came and went with hardly a thought from him. Never had it been music which moved his elven soul, but the satisfaction of making with his own two hands. The dwarves understood that, even the other jewel-smiths of Eregion. What good were his crafters hands without a hammer to wield?

Well at the least, he had been able to draw some breath and life from Legolas with them. His fingers entwined with the boy's and Celebrimbor honored the desire to remain seated still and behaved until the song was over. As the crowd gave their approval, he leaned over and whispered to the prince. "Shall we make use of the empty corridors beyond this hall?"

That they wound up holding hands instead, for the entire remainder of the concert, it warmed Legolas's heart instead of his blood, and every so often he would steal a glance at the elf beside him, only to catch him very much lost in thought. He had to wonder just what thoughts occupied him so, but he could tell it was not the music, no, the faraway look spoke of a different focus. But Legolas had caused enough disruption tonight already, so he didn't ask, not now anyway, and returned his attention to the concert until it ended.

As the elves began to file out, it became clear there were more that noticed for Legolas caught some looks, disapproving in his direction mostly, but some were distrustful and disgusted tossed towards Celebrimbor. Legolas saw them, but he ignored them. After all, he did not seek anyone's approval, and he was no child, though his occasional lack of restraint could make many argue that point, if nothing else.

Still, the whisper made his pulse quicken, his eyes widen, but he smiled all the same. They would now all enjoy the revels, the food and more music and dance, and each other, though not quite like Celebrimbor's words implied. He squeezed the hand he held, gaze fixing on Celebrimbor's eyes, feeling bold enough to offer a tease, "Can you make it no farther in the search of seeking privacy?"

[open to canon and cross canon!]

[S1 Dutch! Am still catching on up 2.]

[ Open to cross canon, 25+ please.

[ rolled a 2 if you're interested in a Wanda ]

( ooc always interested in Wandas c: )

[ The office is quiet when Wanda slips in, she makes sure to arrive just after lunch when most have left. As a civilian, she not technically allowed to be here without some kind of pass but she is and it's too late to turn back now. Well, she could probably turn back but she's not going too.

Wanda would be lying if she said sneaking around official offices wasn't something of a turn on for her. The way she sees it though, she's not here to do anything illegal or to obstruct justice... not technically. Interrupting Barry's work could be considered as such, but she's only going to be here for 15 minutes... an hour tops.

When she reaches his office Wanda is pleased to find him as his desk. The whole thing was something of a gamble, since she wasn't 100% sure he'd actually work through lunch. ]

I hope you don't mind, [ she says as way of introduction, entering slowly but with a certain determination. ] but I thought I'd visit for lunch. [ She drops a brown paper bag before Barry, it's contents aren't anything special as it's mostly an excuse to be here. Wanda makes it a point of leaning against his desk beside him, hand resting on his arm. ]

/muffled make out noises

Stiles Stilinski | Teen Wolf

Stefan Salvatore | The Vampire Diaries | OTA

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Cassandra Cain | Batgirl | DC Comics | m/f, f/f, gen

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axel ( kingdom hearts )

Matt Murdock || MCU

/creeps on

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elliot alderson - mr. robot

1, just lemme know if it's not your jam o7

this is excellent! 8)

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nico di angelo ▪ heroes of olympus ▪ m/m

Rey | SW:TFA | OTA

Isabela | Dragon Age 2 | OTA

>:3

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