bakerstreet | How inappropriate

How inappropriate

The Highly Inappropriate Sexual Tension Meme

Touches. Glances. Sides brushing, so close to each other. The moment is, most likely, quite, subdued, and calm. Or it could be loud and full of life, right in the middle of a vivacious party. Yet, no matter the case, your blood is pumping - no, nearly boiling with the passion bubbling between you and your companion.

Unfortunately, this sexual tension is completely and absolutely out of line. Whether it be the place, the time, your relationship with the person (be that literal relation or power difference, age difference, experience difference, and so on), your own lack of knowledge, or personal convictions, you should not act on any building desires.

But here's the thing about tension: it builds. It builds, and it builds, until...

Well, even subtlety can come to an inappropriate head.

HOW TO PLAY

This meme isn't for smut, though smut is allowed. What it is for is the delicious, anticipatory build up and the dances people can do to deny attraction. Foreplay, especially creative foreplay, is encouraged.
Comment with your character, canon, and preferences in the subject. In the comment body, be sure to mention if there are any squicks you have, scenarios you don't/do want to play out, and if you're okay with AUs or handwaved CR.
Reply to others.

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[ ooc: I am a fan of major build up and a genuine tease. ]

Edited 2016-10-18 17:45 (UTC)

( ooc; interested? )

( ooc; indeed! )

( one year.

one year was such a fleeting time in the life of an elf; tauriel could nigh blink and it had passed. but in this one year, so many things had changed. smaug was dead. fili was dead. thorin was dead. laketown had burned and then been rebuilt. legolas, her dearest friend, had left to walk beneath the boughs of rivendell, far away from mirkwood. bilbo baggins had gone home to bag end, to live out his days (or so she assumed, for she heard from him but rarely).

one year had passed and kili was still dead. his mother still mourned her boys. he would never keep his promise, he would never go home. one year and tauriel was still ward of the king, though no longer captain of the guard. not imprisoned, despite her defiance; but not free, either. she and thranduil existed in the same house, passing each other by day by day. was that her existence? year by year, with her king? on occasion, their paths would cross. they would share a meal, speak to one another, venture close before dancing out of reach again.

one year and it was the festival of starlight again. maybe she was drunk on the day - or on memory, because what was the difference? starlight was memory. regardless, she knew she ought to be hiding or mourning. she ought to be remembering. instead she was entering thranduil's chambers, pushing open the door quietly (though not so quietly that he wouldn't hear her), stepping into the room.

she had a feeling where she would find him - on the balcony that abucked his rooms, staring at the stars. and there he was, as she had thought. looking as lonely as she had thought to find him (though he would never admit it and she would never admit it). )

My lord, this is a night for celebration.

( her voice was quiet as she stepped out into the cool night air, hesitating before remaining a step behind him. ) Your people have noticed your absence.

( ooc; please don’t feel obligated to match prose—it’s just easier for me to write, your tag was lovely! )

Were it a different time, he would have held his guard around her. Even unwelcome her presence within these halls, within his chambers, but that time of guarded defenses has long passed. In truth, he did not believe the race of elf had deterring factors of the heart. Even between races of elf and dwarf. He was hesitant to participate in that war but for his people to thrive and to show the people of Lake-town his willingness of support he knew that his position within that battle was crucial for their continued relationship. Mirkwood was something like a continuous winter; nothing thrived, nothing was green. The trade they had kept food coming for the elves and the human town afloat with their gold.

His kingdom was intertwined with this world more so than that of Elrond’s Rivendell and Galadriel’s Lothlórien. Where they had the rings of power to keep their fortress hidden and borders safe, Thranduil had but his elves and perseverance of wit and blade.

Even still his woodland kingdom may be too damaged beyond repair that he would not see the green again of his beautiful forest. Such thoughts were unshared, however, and he would not have his people see the dwindling affection for these lands. They belonged here and there was life enough still here to keep their place. He would not let the ruin of a poisoned presence push them out. At least not yet.

“I am in the halls they dance, I am the warmth of their cheeks as they drink their wine, the twinkle of stars as they look up, and the flicker of flame to the candle that casts their shadow.” He turned to look at Tauriel. “I am not missed.”

( ooc; No worries! I don't have a real preference either way. )

This was dangerous - a gamble. Sharing a meal in a large hall, speaking with one another when sleep evades them, passing each other in the corridors... those were all innocuous happenings, rare before the events of a year ago and made more common by being bonded by loss. Thranduil had lost Legolas and Tauriel had.. well. There was no use dwelling on it. It would dishonor Kili's memory, to wonder what might have been, what could have been.

"You are missed," she insisted, stepping forward again so they were an arms length away, her eyes beseeching. "Even if you are in every moment, they wish to see you merry. There is .. much to celebrate."

Though, truthfully, perhaps Tauriel could understand why he held himself away from the celebrations. It did not feel like a time for celebrating, not yet. With Legolas gone, the dwarves in the mountain, Bilbo back in Hobbiton... all she felt was lonely. Lonely and sorrowful. Looking past Thranduil at the stars in the sky, so peaceful and clean, she glanced away from them suddenly as though ashamed.

"How long will you walk in sadness?" Her tone was quiet, resigned, and she reached out a hand, plucking at the sleeve of his long robe before retreating back into her personal space, a cool breeze catching their hair. "Legolas would not want this. He would want you to continue as you ever have. I could send for him-"

If Legolas would return. If he could. Memories had driven him away; he needed space and time, not to hear that his father was suffering. Still, she would do it, if she could.

Thranduil gave a small huff through his nostrils at her insistence and for a long while he was silent as he wondered on her words. Of all the elves in his care, Legolas was his only son and he was accused of envying jewels over blood. When it mattered, when he needed to be there in mind and body for his prince he was elsewhere harboring a distant hurt. Now that Legolas was gone, he was left with just his mind and body; though given the emeralds of Girion they were of no comfort for they were cold to his touch and what he craved was warmth. Some nights he took to wine, that gave him warmth enough and released the torment that shackled him down. When he woke it all returned, dawn came without the warmth and brightness of the sun, and he was again pulled down into the stream of despair. His loss too great a burden for celebration—

and he knew Tauriel’s was as well. Thranduil turned his gaze to her and at first his eyes held her beautiful autumn hair. By starlight her crown looked to be dark red like sweet cherries. When touched by candlelight her hair shimmered and gold highlights would keep the flame in memory of that morning dawn that would bring forth spring. None of which his forest held anymore. The canopy of his forest became tangled with spider silk and held in the darkness of his kingdom. Despite the poison driven out by the rings of power, Thranduil held little hope this earth would bare life from seed again.

Legolas would return when he is well and ready, Thranduil knew that much of his son, but he would not send for him—nor ask Tauriel to, save to stave off her own misery by his warm presence. There were truths discovered and dishonesties unraveled that rendered Thranduil feeling at a loss of control. This place of uncertainty was not where he liked to be. Perhaps his son was much like him in that sense, until he can be certain Legolas may wander to find truths about himself and uncover the lies in which he may have told to comfort himself.

“Sadness is much a part of our lives as joy.” He looked to her eyes, he knew he was not telling her anymore than what she already knew. “I do not walk alone in sadness, but …” He wondered then what else he felt, it was an easy recognition for: “Pride.. also sees me through on this path. Pride for my people, for my son, for you..” Naturally for himself, but that did not need saying. To feel pride is to be at its core-center, wasn’t it?

“When will spring come, Tauriel?” He would know her thoughts on that.

Regardless of her love being gone, there were still reasons to fight - so she wanted to believe. The forest was still under constant assault by spiderlings. The world was changing; there were shadows in the world that had not existed before. Evil had come to Middle Earth, and to Mirkwood, too. They would need to be strong in the coming days; it was hard to say what the future would hold, but it was assured to be dark as well. In times of darkness, they needed the starlight more than ever. He would need the starlight more than ever.

She could not pretend that her motives were not self-serving. Could she but convince the Elvenking to leave his sorrows behind, perhaps she could use the same method to shake herself from her mourning. So many mornings she woke and felt that life was not worth carrying on for, that there would be no goodness left in this world.

It was not true. It could not be true; standing under the starlight, she knew it more certainly than she ever did in the light of day.

His words struck her to the core and she turned her face away, looking over the lands of Greenwood, now called Mirkwood, her eyes sad. When would spring come? She could not say. No one could. Even the wizard Gandalf or the Lady of Lothlorien could not give them hope.

"Your people are ever proud of you. Your son... loves you," she asserted, finally, glancing back at him, admiring how the starlight caught his silver hair. Thranduil looked as though he was listening; his eyes were intent on her. Not warm, but interested. Engaged. Not the same sort of absent as she'd seen him before, on other nights when he was deep in his cups. "Spring is not far away. This celebration is just the beginning."

Perhaps it was a lie, but it was always kindly meant. Hesitating, she took a step closer, raising her chin to meet his eyes. "If spring were to come, would you let it blossom?"

[ She's robot in a world where robots almost destroyed humanity and are now hunting the remaining few to massacre them. But she also likes how squishy they are and tends to fall in love when they treat her right.

Canon and crosscanon friendly. ]

Edited 2016-10-18 13:34 (UTC)