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 Posted: Mon May 12, 2014 10:07 am
He was laughing at her again... she could see it in the way he smiled at her, one dark eyebrow lifting. She was tired of being his amusement, but saw no way of rectifying it. Everything she did, every little quirk she couldn't help because she was so honestly herself, seemed to only bring derision from him. She... hated it. She had liked who she was, until he started poking holes in the bubble that was her little world. What's more, she didn't even know why it mattered so much that she change that look in his eyes. She just kept trying, and failing, and now... she was just done.
"Once is chance, twice is testing a theory." Orah said firmly, twisting a quote. "The third time is the pattern."
He could think what he wanted. Right now, she wanted this and to hell with deeper thought or consequences. She could worry about all of that later, when he wasn't so close she could smell the faded, lingering note of smoke on him, or see the small wrinkles in his shirt between her fingers. He was so thin... but so tall. Not as tall a Björn, of course, but so much taller than she was. He had to bend to reach her, which was in itself something of a victory, a little bubble of satisfaction in her chest.
Arms on either side of her, boxing her in... a fizzle of nerves tried to make themselves known, but she squashed them firmly, because along with them came an electric excitement, adrenaline, that she wanted more. It made her heart pound and Orah wondered if it was just that no one had ever done this to her before, or if it was him that drew out these feelings. Heightened awareness made his hand like a brand on her hip, but it was the second kiss that had all of her attention.
This time she was ready for it and her face was lifted, wide eyes sliding closed as they made contact. Somewhere in her brain she stood to the side and watched this all with bemusement, cataloging the strange new sensations for later analysis, but the rest of her had just shut down, far more interested in feeling things than thinking about them. If he had been hoping for a slap, he would have to be disappointed, because it was the second option she chose, as inexperienced as her attempt to return the gesture was.
Releasing his shirt, Orah ran her hands up over his chest and shoulders to the back of his neck, her tan fingers a sharp contrast to his pale skin as she dared to slide them through the dark hair at the base of his skull. His hair was still wet... that's right, it had been raining again, like last time... and he felt so cold compared to the heat she was radiating. Like ice to sunshine.
Despair mixed with excitement for a strange flavor on her tongue and she let him lead the way, however long or short he wanted to draw this out, knowing he had far more experience with this than she did. Her emotions were a run away train and there was no control any more, even if it were all just in her head.
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Posted: Thu May 22, 2014 2:41 pm
The soft touch of nails against his chest teased a shudder through his skin, a slow draw of breath against cheek. His hand tightened against the counter, digging shallow ruts into the wood during the kiss. She floundered slightly, unsure of paths seldom tread. He never minded it. Alois returned the motions with a fervency markedly cooler than one reserved for Quenton, yet telling of his intents. The hand steadied on her hip sought lower ground, betwixt skin and hem. She felt hot to the touch.
I could take someone in your name, Quenton. I could exact my demands on Orah until she found no will left to relinquish her boundaries. We wanted to change everything, you and I. Why stop with ourselves? I can abolish the privileges and restrictions of a guest here and now, with Orah as a first sacrifice to the practice.
You had a fancy for plants, just as Alex did. Take heed in my endeavors here as nourishing the seeds of change in others. We could be gardeners, Quenton. I'll reap if you sow.
Pressing further, brazen, Alois traced his tongue across her lower lip before coursing over teeth beyond. Strawberries, he thought. It never fails to surprise me that she is exactly who she is. Orah, the florist's daughter, who tastes of strawberries as sweet as her personality. Orah without secrets, without cares beyond the life within Farah's Garden, without the strength to resist apples better left to rot.
You'll know the sting of the serpent's tongue before long.
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Posted: Thu May 22, 2014 6:38 pm
It was hard to think of anything past kissing him... It was like the world around them had ceased to be for a long while, she was so entirely focused on what was happening and how it made her feel. She'd never kissed anyone like this before and it was exciting, wonderful and scary all at the same time. She felt electrified with it, right up until his fingers slid down her hip, under her skirt, and then suddenly she was more nervous than she was excited.
The reality of what they were doing crashed back down on her with a weight that stole her breath and the young woman felt his tongue in her mouth before she clenched her hands in his hair and jerked her head back for a millimeter of space between them, enough to gasp in a couple of deep breaths. His long fingers ran over the smooth silver scar on her hip and she shuddered, her hands trembling.
"W-wait..." Orah whispered as she turned her head just marginally, betraying her nerves in the demure little misalignment of their mouths and the way she ran her tongue over her lips. She couldn't bring herself to pull her hands away though, and trapped between him and the bench, there was no where to go either. It was so hard to think right now past the suddenly roaring hormones she'd never learned how to deal with. Honestly, she didn't want to stop, but at the same time, she was afraid of crossing that line he seemed intent on pulling her across.
A sound from up front, the murmur of voices, both reminded Orah of the precarious position they were in and gave her an excuse to grasp and cling to, something that wasn't a decision between her body or her mind.
"I-if he comes back here..." She said softly against the corner of Alois's mouth, leaving the results to his imagination as she trailed off. It was true, after all... but it was an easy out. If they stopped right here, she wouldn't have to deal with conflicting emotions or the results of poor decisions... however much she found she really wanted to make those poor decisions.
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Posted: Thu May 22, 2014 9:07 pm
A low stir of breath rolled from his throat, bearing traces of voice within its core. He knew not when he closed his eyes, but a half-lidded gaze now fell on Orah, who lingered just beyond his touch. Her call for waiting halted hands, halted motions for the brimming anxiety apparent on her features. People are like buildings. You might find little beyond smoked glass at a distance, but once you get close enough, once you press your hands to the windows... It's all so easy to pry inside.
You're all nerves, Orah. I can see it in your eyes, your pores, the movement of tongue across lips... You're nothing if not clear as water. It's almost endearing.Lips parted slightly as gold eyes focused on brown, searching for lies born from a breech of comfort zones. This is how change precipitates. Beim ersten Mal tut es immer weh*. "Zen we go upstairs." He spoke softly, though his accent sharpened every consonant to the cut of annoyance in more Americanized tones. His hand retracted from the slight dip beneath the hem of her skirt and instead sought her thin wrist, fingers traipsing along the swell of palm where they grasped gently enough.
Pushing away from the counter, Alois turned toward the short hallway that yielded stairs to the upper levels - their living quarters. He lingered in the depths of her house but once, yet the layout still stood fresh in his mind. Uncomplicated, marginally cluttered, laden with hints of the residents within. Last time he remembered a newspaper lying on the counter, a photo of her mother, clothes borrowed and lacking proper fit.
Idly he wondered if he was meant the fate of a mannequin, to don apparel meant for others.
A quick glance through the beads confirmed no suspicions waiting in the wings. Customers lingered as always, commenting on the various plants displayed on the shelves, yet none bothered to pay heed to the pair behind the makeshift divider. Satisfied, Alois started for the stairs.Bluefire Dragonz * [German] The first time always hurts.
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Posted: Thu May 22, 2014 10:03 pm
He stopped when she called for it, and she was infinitely grateful, if a little bit disappointed. Though, that didn't last long. She could feel his eyes on her and it made her face heat, her own gaze angled out the side to meet his. She couldn't hold it long though and her eyes dropped low, hoping wildly that he hadn't seen her weaknesses written there.
Zen we go upstairs.
Orah sucked in a shuddering breath at the simple, confident statement and she felt her composure failing her, raw nerves exposed. She had given him the chance to end this, but now she was stuck with the implied offer, all her earlier annoyance and bravado gone in the face of the precipice she was standing on.
Was she really going to do this? She felt like there was nothing but open air suddenly under her feet and she was falling as his fingers wrapped around her hand and pulled her away from the work bench. She could pretend there was nothing involved in retreating to the relative privacy of the upper floors, but deep down, the young woman knew what it meant. Was she ready for it? Maybe not, but she had no will any more to say no to him, even when they passed the door way and she caught sight of her brother at the counter, his eyes glued as always to his phone. She despaired, knowing she really was the doormat he had called her once before... but just like she had told him, she only ever did things because she wanted to, and some part of her did want this, despite the trepidation and nerves.
Reaching, Orah gripped the folds of her skirt and followed him up the stairs without a backwards glance, into the large open floor plan of the living room and kitchen. The newspaper was gone from the counter, but the bowl of strawberries he had tasted second hand was on the table among a scattering of pamphlets and papers, a future she had been in the midst of planning when her phone had rang. It was so far from her mind now, the trappings of her life a blurr as they made it to the second set of stairs. There, his experience ended and she shifted to take the lead, feeling a shiver run down her spine as she reached to open the door to her room and let him inside. In weird moment of clarity, she wondered what he'd think of her simple, girlish room, filled with scraps from her childhood and white wicker furniture, little purple flowers on a white bed spread...
"I've never done this before." What else could she say, as she turned to face him, standing in a room that spoke clearly of a lack of any sort of male presence in it? The trip upstairs had only increased her nerves and she shifted from foot to bare foot, hand still held in his. Would he think less of her after this? Or would she finally bridge that strange distance between them in a single leap?
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Posted: Thu May 22, 2014 10:43 pm
Alois never expected the meek girl to claim lead, even for but a few short measures of distance before entry to her room. A welcome surprise, at least - her actions dictated interest beyond passive resignation to his intents. An ease brought to both, possibly, communicated through steady, unfaltering grip. Booted feet found guided paces left behind by the florist's daughter, more beckonings to a place all her own.
The trappings beyond the door spoke of her so prominently, absent tokens of affection kept by girls with doting boyfriends. No pill bottles. No dirtied, wretched secrets. Orah proved a rare constant, ever hanging on her own crystalline thread. Streaks of dew may yet touch her skin, but the frost never withered a single petal from her. No matter those who sought her pain, she bore a resilience antithesis to the fragile visage of flowers. Delicate, yet her roots spread wide. Were he not certain of Quenton's vehement objections, Alois would've suggested her to the sculptor. At the least, she afforded appreciable aesthetics.
"Inexperience should never herald shame." Alois leaned against the open door, closing it with a soft click. A thousand cliches bearing no comfort beyond familiarity floated to mind, each readily dismissed without a second thought. Is each one's reticence the other's food, or is this mood sheer poison to the other? Orah, may we swallow whole the hemlock that rent thought from brilliant mind. We could fall, together, in a bed of orchids.
"You'll learn quickly. Instincts afford some measure of guidance." To pause all stuttering, all diffident draws from further touch, Alois bent to reclaim ground relinquished in more public areas. Without the draw of the public milling in their vicinity, they had no further distraction. Matthew minded the store, the halls stood empty, and Alois kissed Orah with an ardor that seared touch to touch.
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