[He exhales his answer almost immediately and without thought, turning his head as though to close the distance for another kiss, but he catches himself and pauses midway when he truly hears her question, fully processes it.
He stills, though he does not withdraw his touch, his fingers remaining woven into her hair, his arm still loosely curled about her waist. His eyelids slide closed as she gently strokes the side of his face, pulling him into the present moment, offering him clarity even as the fever of wanting still burns bright within him.]
... no. I— apologize.
[It isn't the truth, and it even sounds hollow to him as he says it. He's wanted to kiss her for quite some time now, unable to keep his mind from wandering when he drifts off to sleep with the scent of her still on his pillow— but any hope of being able to have something with her that was fair and equal had been smothered to death before it could even begin to bloom, given their situation.
His fingers curl tightly into the fabric of her shirt at the small of her back before he relaxes them and lets his hand fall away, even as their brows remain pressed together.]
[It had, somehow, escaped his lips before he'd had the opportunity to give it due thought, and yet he doesn't feel anywhere near as embarrassed as he might have thought, even as he drags a hand over his face and lets out a self-deprecating sort of laugh, exhaling.
He's not in his right mind. It doesn't make what he had said untrue, but this might not have been how he would have chosen to say it otherwise.]
It's— all that blood. Gone quite to my head, I'm afraid.
[Never mind that he hadn't taken that much, in the grand scheme of things. He had been quite careful not to.]
I did warn you the experience was— intense.
[He agrees with her choice of word, even if he's subtly trying to shift its focus elsewhere.]
[Something about that statement makes her suddenly lift up her head and her brows scrunched in something that looks akin to disapproval or disappointment.]
Just the blood?
[And maybe she's still immature despite her years and thinking there was more to what he did. But if it was just the blood that made him act out...?
Well. There was no sense of playing around and setting unrealistic expectations. If Gale is going to deny things, Amelia isn't going to take risks either. She already spent several years pursuing another only for that to end up in heartbreak by no fault of her own or Adam's.
(She'll ignore the voice that says this would be different).]
Right. Well, with all that said and doneโ
[Thus she pulls herself away and quite abruptly stands up, straightening her sweater. There is notably no eye contact.]
I'm taking a shower and going to bed. It's very late for me.
[She doesn't have a chance to walk away before his hand closes around her wrist, halting any progress, even as she avoids meeting his gaze.]
You misunderstand me.
[His tone is measured, even; he does not fumble in his efforts to correct himself, and there's something in his voice that feels just on the very edge of dangerous, something inherent in him that he often went out of his way to disguise. Just now, he doesn't feel the need.]
I didn't kiss you because of the blood— but I might have done it differently had my mind not been clouded.
[There is a weight to his words as his hold on her remains solid, though he does not pull her back towards him— not yet.]
[The rose tattoo on her chest stirs beneath her skin as his hand wraps around her wrist and stopping her from leaving. Her brows scrunch together at the tone of his voice; it isn't totally commanding, but Gale isn't being entirely genial either.]
"Differently."
[The word repeated back at him with irreverence. Her fingers wiggle beneath his grasp in contemplation over her next few words.]
[He might argue that he still does not feel he has the right, yet it matters so much less than it had seemed to only an hour earlier; now they were close and she was leaning over him while her scent flooded his senses, her blood having sent fresh heat running through his veins.
It's tempting, so tempting, to use his hold on her wrist to pull her down just a bit further and pull her into another kiss without answering, but instead he meets her gaze with his own, dark and heated. He remains drawn to her beyond reasoning; even as he resists one temptation, his hands come to rest at her waist, one sliding to the small of her back as he tips his chin up to meet her challenge.]
[Amelia's not certain about the why of it all. Maybe it's sympathy. Perhaps him bringing attention to the tension between them made it harder for her to brush it off or treat it casually especially with everything else about their situation being the complete opposite.
She hadn't wanted to share her future with anyone else.
But even so, the present, in the form of the vampire who desired her in so many unknown ways, burns so brightly in front of her.
And to be fair, he did ask.]
Hm.
[She leans down, angling her head so that there's barely an inch between their faces. When she replies, her murmur dances across his lips.]
[Permission has barely been given before he leans in to close the narrow distance between them; it was the space of a single breath, her words already rolling across his lips and drawing him in closer, but he curls his fingers against the back of her neck and parts his lips beneath hers as he curls his arm around her waist and pulls her into his lap.
Even with the warmth he's gained from feeding, she feels warmer still against him, a fire he finds himself drawn to as a moth to flame. He has always considered himself to be reasonable, rational, certain he would never again allow himself to be so swept up in his emotions that he lost sight of himself— but perhaps all it took was the right person for him to forget that resolve.]
[The instant she's pulled into his lap, she understands deep down this is another path where there's no turning back. She sighs into his parted lips and kisses him back, tasting him slowly with her teasing tongue, and her heart thudding against her chest.. There's an intriguing warmth to him now unlike before; it's from her she realizes, but that's hardly a detail worth dwelling on in this especially resplendent moment.
Amelia is impulsive and reckless, a witch who may not live into the next century if she keeps making these kinds of choices on the fly.
But she moans deliciously into his mouth and her hands move to his face anyway; she straddles his lap so she can remain steady and leverage herself on the bed. Life was short, but even then five years felt so long since the witch allowed herself any feverish sensations.]
[A soft groan escapes into her mouth as she teases him with her tongue, and he gently prods to taste her in turn— this, this is far more intoxicating than even the rich heat of her blood had been, her weight against him serving as proof that this is quite real, not a dream brought on by falling asleep as her scent clung to his pillow and sheets.
That she meets him with such enthusiasm only serves to make him want to drink deeper, swallow down that delicious moan; he threads deft fingers through her hair as he deepens the kiss between them, his hand at her back sliding downwards to tug her flush against him. It's been years since he's allowed anyone to come this close to him, more than just physically, and he could lose himself in sensation all too easily, drown in her if she let him.
Fingers curl against the back of her head; he has no need to break for breath, but lets himself drop back against the mattress, guiding her along with him, feeling the fever burn through the both of them, his bite having formed a link between them, however temporary it may be.]
[He doesn't need to breathe, but she does. She continues to kiss him until he drops back against the mattress which startles her slightly. Her hands move to his shoulders so that she can draw back a few inches. Her breathing is heavy and same with her gaze.]
Gale...
[It's getting too hot. She feels as if she's inhaled her usual concoction of aromatic smoke, but instead of calming her down, she's even more worked up.
(She can't keep this going. Not with all her other thoughts and memories in the back of her mind.)
Swallowing, Amelia closes her eyes and presses her forehead against the vampire's as a small reassurance.]
You know I still need oxygen, right?
[Levity. Yes, she needs to bring it back before she goes too far.]
[Levity is what the moment needs. He's startled for a moment, then lets out a soft, raw-edged laugh in response, his eyes sliding closed as he exhales, his hold on the back of her shirt relaxing so that he can move his hand to rest against her hip.]
I hadn't given it much thought.
[Levity in turn, even if it's more true than not. The press of her forehead against his own tells him that he has not erred quite so badly as he might have, but her gentle interruption does help him to regain some lucidity.]
[Amelia lets out a sigh of disbelief as she draws back and moves so that she's just laying her head against his chest which also serves to avoid looking at him in the eyes.]
That's an understatement.
[She reaches up to muss up his hair as if to get back at him.]
[He's reluctant to let her go, even though she doesn't go far. He turns his gaze to the ceiling as she lays her head against his chest, idly taking the ends of a few locks of brilliant red between his fingers. Her mussing of his hair causes a smile to tug at one corner of his mouth, however briefly.]
No, I suppose it wasn't, though I suspect others have made the assumption.
[Typically, it's what an arrangement like theirs would often imply, but—
He's not so concerned with what other people think at the moment.]
I don't usually... lose control of myself in such a way.
[The half-formed witty reply he might have had to her assessment dies on his tongue, and his fingers still in her hair, casting his gaze down do where she's folded her arms across his chest to look at him directly.
He doesn't know if it's meant to be an accusation; perhaps it's only a guilty conscience that makes him feel suddenly caught, and his eyes look to the ceiling once more.]
... I did. More than once.
[Not intentionally, not really. At the start, it was just because he, too, had a fondness for admiring the night sky from his own roof, but when he noted it was a habit they had in common... he couldn't help but be curious, especially as word had reached him that it was a witch who had moved in to set up shop in the neighborhood.]
I... wasn't used to seeing anyone else on the rooftops at that hour.
[His avoidance of her gaze shouldn't be so cute after calling him out, but it is and she'll keep that to herself. Regardless, he admitted it. Her fingers thoughtfully drum against his collar.]
I must have made you wonder a lot then.
[It was melancholic people who would stand or sit alone on a rooftop staring into space, sometimes accompanied by drink and in her case, plenty of smoke. She might have been pretending to be not alone. The witch with some hidden embarrassment remembers she spoke aloud to the non-existent ghost of Adam, remarking upon her new city life and her complete metropolitan makeover.
God. Amelia hopes the distance between their buildings was far enough that he couldn't make out that.]
...And I guess those long stretches of being alone really did a number on us.
[And that's why, circumstances aside, it wasn't just him who lost control.]
It was by chance, I assure you, but naturally, I was curious— it's not every day that a witch moves in practically next door, or so the rumors said.
[Magickind— his kind, once upon a time. Lifetimes ago, now, though his heart has not changed, nor has his interest waned. His abilities had developed differently after he had given up his mortality, but magic still coursed through his veins, still beat against the inside of his ribcage, and even from the distance between their two rooftops, he had been able to feel it coming from her, as well— a soft current of magic that reached out through the night air to find its like.
There's a lengthy pause before he glances back at her at last, his gaze heavy with the apology that now weighed on him.]
I remember thinking that you... looked as lonely as I felt.
[He hadn't even realized just how deeply he felt that until these last few weeks.]
[He knits his brow, slowly propping himself up with one hand so that he's seated as she shifts, oddly graceful despite the potential awkwardness of how they've found themselves arranged.]
I imagine that's very true. We've not known one another long.
[They've learned some things about one another, certainly, many of which are the sorts of things you can only learn by being in close quarters as much as they've been, but a handful of weeks was hardly enough time to even scratch the surface with most people, let alone those who had lived as long as either of them had.]
I could say the very same to you.
[He doesn't share much of himself with anyone, these days. He had opened up to her in part, but there was far more she didn't know.]
I assumed you came to the city for a reason. To find something, or leave something else behind.
[Two centuries earlier, as a human who very much had put a great premium on his pride, he might have been slightly injured by that response, understandable though it may be— but instead, he lets out a soft noise of assent, averting his gaze as he notes her fidgeting.]
I may know a little something about that.
[That's largely been his experience, as well. This, whatever it was, was an exception— and even then, it had taken a moment of weakness and inability to resist temptation to admit to it.]
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sunfloras2024-05-18 10:26 pm
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[He exhales his answer almost immediately and without thought, turning his head as though to close the distance for another kiss, but he catches himself and pauses midway when he truly hears her question, fully processes it.
He stills, though he does not withdraw his touch, his fingers remaining woven into her hair, his arm still loosely curled about her waist. His eyelids slide closed as she gently strokes the side of his face, pulling him into the present moment, offering him clarity even as the fever of wanting still burns bright within him.]
... no. I— apologize.
[It isn't the truth, and it even sounds hollow to him as he says it. He's wanted to kiss her for quite some time now, unable to keep his mind from wandering when he drifts off to sleep with the scent of her still on his pillow— but any hope of being able to have something with her that was fair and equal had been smothered to death before it could even begin to bloom, given their situation.
His fingers curl tightly into the fabric of her shirt at the small of her back before he relaxes them and lets his hand fall away, even as their brows remain pressed together.]
You have come to occupy my every waking thought.
kicks life and brain in the butt
[That last declaration makes Amelia blink rapidly and her cheeks to redden in rapid succession.]
Ah.
[She ducks her head, uncertain of how to reply because any thing she could say doesn't sound correct in her head.]
That's... Intense.
[Like that for instance. She lets both of her hands drop though she doesn't pull away. Next, the witch makes an attempt at levity.]
I mean, that wouldn't be the first time I've had that affectโ
joins you in the kicking!
He's not in his right mind. It doesn't make what he had said untrue, but this might not have been how he would have chosen to say it otherwise.]
It's— all that blood. Gone quite to my head, I'm afraid.
[Never mind that he hadn't taken that much, in the grand scheme of things. He had been quite careful not to.]
I did warn you the experience was— intense.
[He agrees with her choice of word, even if he's subtly trying to shift its focus elsewhere.]
we're that jojo kicking meme now
Just the blood?
[And maybe she's still immature despite her years and thinking there was more to what he did. But if it was just the blood that made him act out...?
Well. There was no sense of playing around and setting unrealistic expectations. If Gale is going to deny things, Amelia isn't going to take risks either. She already spent several years pursuing another only for that to end up in heartbreak by no fault of her own or Adam's.
(She'll ignore the voice that says this would be different).]
Right. Well, with all that said and doneโ
[Thus she pulls herself away and quite abruptly stands up, straightening her sweater. There is notably no eye contact.]
I'm taking a shower and going to bed. It's very late for me.
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You misunderstand me.
[His tone is measured, even; he does not fumble in his efforts to correct himself, and there's something in his voice that feels just on the very edge of dangerous, something inherent in him that he often went out of his way to disguise. Just now, he doesn't feel the need.]
I didn't kiss you because of the blood— but I might have done it differently had my mind not been clouded.
[There is a weight to his words as his hold on her remains solid, though he does not pull her back towards him— not yet.]
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"Differently."
[The word repeated back at him with irreverence. Her fingers wiggle beneath his grasp in contemplation over her next few words.]
That's a loaded word Gale.
[She's still not looking at him.]
It sounds like you want something else from me.
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Differently. I might have asked first, for one.
[Before now, she had seen him behave cautiously, been something akin to shy in response to her flirtations. Tonight, shyness has left him entirely.]
Yet I did not feel I had the right to ask for what I want from you.
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Finally she turns around, expression inscrutable, but wielding a piercing green-eyed gaze.]
And now you do? That's rich.
[What she does next without a change in her expression, is to lift one leg and rest her knee on the bed next to Gale.]
Well?
[She tilts her head.]
Ask again.
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It's tempting, so tempting, to use his hold on her wrist to pull her down just a bit further and pull her into another kiss without answering, but instead he meets her gaze with his own, dark and heated. He remains drawn to her beyond reasoning; even as he resists one temptation, his hands come to rest at her waist, one sliding to the small of her back as he tips his chin up to meet her challenge.]
May I kiss you?
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She hadn't wanted to share her future with anyone else.
But even so, the present, in the form of the vampire who desired her in so many unknown ways, burns so brightly in front of her.
And to be fair, he did ask.]
Hm.
[She leans down, angling her head so that there's barely an inch between their faces. When she replies, her murmur dances across his lips.]
You may.
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Even with the warmth he's gained from feeding, she feels warmer still against him, a fire he finds himself drawn to as a moth to flame. He has always considered himself to be reasonable, rational, certain he would never again allow himself to be so swept up in his emotions that he lost sight of himself— but perhaps all it took was the right person for him to forget that resolve.]
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Amelia is impulsive and reckless, a witch who may not live into the next century if she keeps making these kinds of choices on the fly.
But she moans deliciously into his mouth and her hands move to his face anyway; she straddles his lap so she can remain steady and leverage herself on the bed. Life was short, but even then five years felt so long since the witch allowed herself any feverish sensations.]
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That she meets him with such enthusiasm only serves to make him want to drink deeper, swallow down that delicious moan; he threads deft fingers through her hair as he deepens the kiss between them, his hand at her back sliding downwards to tug her flush against him. It's been years since he's allowed anyone to come this close to him, more than just physically, and he could lose himself in sensation all too easily, drown in her if she let him.
Fingers curl against the back of her head; he has no need to break for breath, but lets himself drop back against the mattress, guiding her along with him, feeling the fever burn through the both of them, his bite having formed a link between them, however temporary it may be.]
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Gale...
[It's getting too hot. She feels as if she's inhaled her usual concoction of aromatic smoke, but instead of calming her down, she's even more worked up.
(She can't keep this going. Not with all her other thoughts and memories in the back of her mind.)
Swallowing, Amelia closes her eyes and presses her forehead against the vampire's as a small reassurance.]
You know I still need oxygen, right?
[Levity. Yes, she needs to bring it back before she goes too far.]
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I hadn't given it much thought.
[Levity in turn, even if it's more true than not. The press of her forehead against his own tells him that he has not erred quite so badly as he might have, but her gentle interruption does help him to regain some lucidity.]
Is it too much?
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[Amelia lets out a sigh of disbelief as she draws back and moves so that she's just laying her head against his chest which also serves to avoid looking at him in the eyes.]
That's an understatement.
[She reaches up to muss up his hair as if to get back at him.]
That wasn't in our initial plan was it?
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No, I suppose it wasn't, though I suspect others have made the assumption.
[Typically, it's what an arrangement like theirs would often imply, but—
He's not so concerned with what other people think at the moment.]
I don't usually... lose control of myself in such a way.
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[Amelia sounds bemused and shifts so that her arms lay across his chest and that she can look at him face forward.]
You're extremely thorough at kissing if you don't mind me saying. That's what one can achieve in 200 years?
[Not her looking thoughtful about that!! But there is something else that occurs to her...]
... Gale? When I first moved in, did you ever see me standing on my roof?
[She had her suspicions when they finally made contact, but decided it didn't matter until now because it would explain why it's lead up to this.]
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He doesn't know if it's meant to be an accusation; perhaps it's only a guilty conscience that makes him feel suddenly caught, and his eyes look to the ceiling once more.]
... I did. More than once.
[Not intentionally, not really. At the start, it was just because he, too, had a fondness for admiring the night sky from his own roof, but when he noted it was a habit they had in common... he couldn't help but be curious, especially as word had reached him that it was a witch who had moved in to set up shop in the neighborhood.]
I... wasn't used to seeing anyone else on the rooftops at that hour.
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[His avoidance of her gaze shouldn't be so cute after calling him out, but it is and she'll keep that to herself. Regardless, he admitted it. Her fingers thoughtfully drum against his collar.]
I must have made you wonder a lot then.
[It was melancholic people who would stand or sit alone on a rooftop staring into space, sometimes accompanied by drink and in her case, plenty of smoke. She might have been pretending to be not alone. The witch with some hidden embarrassment remembers she spoke aloud to the non-existent ghost of Adam, remarking upon her new city life and her complete metropolitan makeover.
God. Amelia hopes the distance between their buildings was far enough that he couldn't make out that.]
...And I guess those long stretches of being alone really did a number on us.
[And that's why, circumstances aside, it wasn't just him who lost control.]
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[Magickind— his kind, once upon a time. Lifetimes ago, now, though his heart has not changed, nor has his interest waned. His abilities had developed differently after he had given up his mortality, but magic still coursed through his veins, still beat against the inside of his ribcage, and even from the distance between their two rooftops, he had been able to feel it coming from her, as well— a soft current of magic that reached out through the night air to find its like.
There's a lengthy pause before he glances back at her at last, his gaze heavy with the apology that now weighed on him.]
I remember thinking that you... looked as lonely as I felt.
[He hadn't even realized just how deeply he felt that until these last few weeks.]
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I left behind a lot when I started being nomadic.
[Her home, her coven, her neighbors, and the memories of Adam that won't ever really disappear because it was all she had left.]
Just me, some, property, and some magic.
[She lets out a huff of breath as she shifts further away from Gale to sit next to him instead of laying across him. Honestly, what was she doing?]
There's still a lot you don't know about me.
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I imagine that's very true. We've not known one another long.
[They've learned some things about one another, certainly, many of which are the sorts of things you can only learn by being in close quarters as much as they've been, but a handful of weeks was hardly enough time to even scratch the surface with most people, let alone those who had lived as long as either of them had.]
I could say the very same to you.
[He doesn't share much of himself with anyone, these days. He had opened up to her in part, but there was far more she didn't know.]
I assumed you came to the city for a reason. To find something, or leave something else behind.
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We'll have plenty of time to learn more, I guess.
[That is, if she lets him and if he does the same in return. After a few seconds of silence, the witch chooses her next words carefully.]
You've basically said that I've been on your mind, but if I were to be starkly honest, I don't know if that's the same for me.
[She almost winces as she says it; it sounds so bad but it feels accurate. Amelia fiddles with her fingers.]
I haven't really, well... You know, let anyone in on the other side so to speak.
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I may know a little something about that.
[That's largely been his experience, as well. This, whatever it was, was an exception— and even then, it had taken a moment of weakness and inability to resist temptation to admit to it.]
That said, I have no— expectations.
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