bakerstreet | cuddle meme .

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[warning] nsfw

cuddle meme .

The Body Heat Meme

Post with your character! They're now stuck in a very cold place of your choice. It can be anything, such as a freezing chamber, a cavern or a small cabin in the midst of a blizzard. The choice is up to you.
Comment around! Now your character has some company in this bone-chilling environment. The two of them share two things in common: clothes completely unfitting for this weather (be they summer clothes or even lingerie) and a blanket.
A blanket? Yes, just one warm blanket and no other ways to escape the cold. The two of them will have to share it in order to stay alive in this weather. Don't worry, you're sure to find a common language in this terrible situation!
So, uh, have fun, I suppose. Try to not freeze to death!
Protip: friction and body heat are both excellent ways to fend off cold.

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[I don't have much of a write-up for her yet, but would you be up for a witchy witch fellow OC?]

[I most certainly would. If she's a fellow supe, up to you as to whether she knows what he is or not. He's more inclined to be open about it to other non-humans/specialized peeps.]

[I would typically play her as recognizing that, unless you prefer otherwise! She won’t be obnoxious about it, though. Let me know if you have any other preferences, otherwise I’ll set something up.]

[She can be however you choose her to be. He'll just act accordingly =). Anything else is up to you.]

[That's a good answer!]

[She is a good witch. This just happens to be a bit... beyond her experience.

The snow was an accident. And badly timed, at that. The magnitude of it might have made her quite pleased with herself, if it wasn't too strong to cast aside with any spell for warmth or sunshine. She outdid herself, literally. It was only an experiment. Worst part is that she trapped someone else in this situation with her.

(Well... maybe not worst.)]

There's only one blanket. [It is all she can do to swallow her own disapproval, entirely self-directed; she manages a little smile instead and finds it relatively easy to look on the bright side.] I don't mind sharing.

[Lucas gave the witch in question a wry look, a snort barely held back as he looked at the blanket, then out at the blizzard that seemed to be threatening to eat the world.]

I'm sure you don't.

[Not that he blamed her entirely for this. Magic was... unpredictable. Even in the best of times, which is why Lucas rarely stayed around those who practiced it. Call it his survival instincts or just good sense.]

How long do you think it'll last?

[Her initial response is to briefly lift a lofty eyebrow and wrap the blanket around herself, as if to suggest that he doesn't have to be invited to this cuddly warmth. But with the blanket bunched at her shoulders, she moves in to observe the same view with some genuine consideration.]

Not even overnight. [She won't apologize for this outright if she can get away with it; from her perspective, this is a perfectly reasonable and unforeseeable minor disaster.] Less for the wind.

[Rhea turns away from the emanating chill, glancing pointedly back over her shoulder.] So whether you're staying or going, you better bundle up, hotness.

But you've got the only blanket.

[A soft curl of his lips there before he gave her the most innocent look he could manage. Flirting with witches was generally a bad idea, but he was stuck in a storm with her and really, what else was there to do?]

Which I invited you to share. You remember?

[She flutters one corner at him like a bat wing, invitingly.]

Unless you're comfortable already. [A head tilt, intent.] You're a shifter, aren't you?

What makes you think that?

[Oh, he knew she likely had some witchy way of finding out, but Lucas wanted to know if it was something he'd done. He'd been raised to keep what he and his family and friends were as a secret. If he'd done something to ruin that illusion, then he needed to work on that. Part of hiding it was not admitting to it right away.]

[Rhea shrugs a bit, like it's nothing special, as she pulls the blanket loosely around her shoulders again.]

Just a guess. [Educated, but instinctive nonetheless. White witches have a knack for getting the vibe of a person, and--] Body language. Not the kind of thing most people would read the same, but if you've known shifters...

[Another shrug, and she smiles.] If you say you're not, I'll believe you.

[Lucas leveled her with a flat look, picking at a thread on the blanket.]

I don't need extra senses to tell you're lying. You may want to make a point of not doing that around people that can tell.

[Not that it was a bad lie, but it was just better all around if she learned to talk around the truth. Especially if she was going to run into enough shifters that she could tell by body language.]

You never know who's going to be incredibly offended at a white lie.

[For a moment, she gets the sort of look on her face of someone trying to decide whether it's worth arguing. (Despite his careful phrasing, she rather thinks that answered her question anyway.)

So she tilts her head.]

Are you incredibly offended?

[The hand plucking at a thread on the blanket moved up to tug at a stray strand of hair of hers, Lucas smiling as he answered.]

Do I look incredibly offended? Or any other level of offended?

[It's hard to keep her smile from growing, and it plays at the corners of her mouth as she pretends that she doesn't notice, lifting her chin.]

Well, no. But maybe I'm not as perceptive as I think I am.

No? See, you're willing to learn, though. The maybe is a saving grace of any comment. Or possibly. Or anything that doesn't lend to a definitive statement. If you hadn't locked us here in a bloody storm, I might think there was hope for you yet.

[A 'maybe/might' of his own tossed in there, along with that smile still spread over his face.]

[She will accept responsibility for the storm only by not putting up a fuss when he blames her.]

I'm always willing to learn.

[Perfectly innocent, even. And before she offers the blanket again...]

I've heard that shifters run hotter than other people. Is that true?

[She was persistent, but she was also right. It was cold, there wasn't much in the way of bundling here, and shifters certainly did run hotter than humans. Eyeing the blanket one more time, he gave a resigned huff that didn't carry any weight with that smile still on his face as he stepped in closer. He was taller than her, so the blanket didn't reach his shoulders, but he slid an arm around her side, around to her back, then pulled her in close.]

You'd have to tell me.

[Now she genuinely can't hide how pleased she is. The blanket properly opens to accommodate him (he is... large), and she curls one arm around his middle, willingly going as close as he pulls her. The hand that rests rather boldly against his chest finds him satisfyingly solid and warm.]

...I'll say.

[She gets a quiet rumble that rolls through him, a growling purr as he looks down at her, watching her adapt to his proximity and seeing that she seems more than welcoming towards it. If there was anything a feline liked, it was being appreciated.]

Another mystery for the ages answered.

[What a lovely sound that is, especially when she can perceive it as both sound and sensation, a low thrum beneath her palm. Perhaps it's with the inner animal in mind that she runs her fingers slowly up his chest and then down again, practically petting him, watching her own path until she lifts her eyes to his.]

I might offer to warm you up a little more, but... any hotter and you'd be on fire.

I don't know that I'm the one that needs warming, witch.

[His hand that wasn't around her came up, tugging on that stray bit of hair again as he kept her close. She was human, after all; witch or not. The last thing he wanted was for her to get ill or take harm over something as silly as a miscast storm.

He looked down at her hand on his chest, his smile growing.]

Are you petting me?

Rhea.

[It's conversational, and a smile tugs the corner of her mouth again when he touches her hair. She doesn't stop running her hand over his chest even when he comments on it; if anything, it encourages her to trace a little more deliberately over the muscle she can feel through his shirt (because damn).]

I'm just warming my hands.

[A beat, and she becomes coyly apologetic, as her hand slides higher and her fingertips feather across his collar.]

Oops. Was that an offensive little white lie?

I am offended to my very core.

[His own words were a lie this time as the hand under the blanket slid up her back, that rumble in his chest growing as he smiled down at her. She was small and dark and smelled of something musky and some kind of herbs and spices that made his nose twitch a bit, but he was curious, if only to himself, as to how much of her smelled like that. Just those roaming hands? Or was it a scent that was a part of her.]

[The way she touches him encourages him to chase that scent and find out just how thorough it is.]

I'm sorry. I guess I just can't help myself.

[Whether it's the lie or the caress she's referring to remains unclarified, and the petting doesn't stop, either. The hand at her back makes her arch toward him, even with little room to spare, and in the small of his back her own fingers spread, as much as they can without letting go of the blanket. She traces the slope of his neck to his shoulder, up to his chin and beneath it, almost to tip him down toward her. Almost.]

Would you still be offended if I tried anyway?

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