[Entirely the reason why she's texting him at eleven o'clock on a Friday night. The Friday night after the Blood Moon and classes started and she's been working on two different memorials.
As soon as she got home, she started work on it. And she is way too emotionally drained to keep going right now. She needs a distraction. Something just fun.]
And before too long -- public transport is a bitch, but there's no point in having a car -- there's a knock at the door.
The industrial vibe of the place? Definitely makes this guy seem less uptight. Even if he did wear a fucking tie to a nightclub.
To her credit, Skip looks like she might have been on her way home rather than on her way out. Because she is not admitting she got a bit made up for what is, essentially, a hook-up.
The thigh-length black skirt of the dress is loosely pleated, and the top is nearly entirely black lace, save for a solid part against her chest and stomach.
[He isn't wearing a tie now at least? Since the Blood Moon he's taken off work. Officially. Unofficially he's been prepping for his case the whole time and the dining room table - a thick slab of dark wood winged by benches against a bay of fogged up windows - is absolutely covered in papers and folders and a laptop.
He's wearing the equivalent of sweats and a t-shirt for him. In the form of loose fitting jeans and a t-shirt. Same thing right? When he answers the door James smiles in what he hopes isn't a possessive fashion. He wants to win the girl, not claim her.]
[Skip flashes a grin. Nothing cute or sweet about it. Now that she knows what he is? That just makes everything more fun.
Maybe.
First there's that pesky little possible problem of morals.
...Well, first there's a little bit of fun.
Then there's morals.
She steps into the apartment like she owns the place, taking it all in with an appreciative glance. This guy? Has definitely take a level in cool as far as she's concerned. And seeing him dressed like that?
The ease with which she hooks two fingers into one beltloop as she sidles up in front of him might almost be worrying.]
[James didn't roll his eyes as tempting as it was. Instead he watched her as she slid into his space. She smelled like spice. Which made his mouth water in a Pavlovian reaction that he was going to ignore. Spice and cinnamon most notably.
As she stepped forward he stepped back to trail her further into his home with her fingers hooked through his beltloops.
There was a brief moment of silence between them then. James could feel something crackling between them before he smiled and tugged at the tie wrapped around her wrist with an arched brow.]
You know I've been looking for this. It's my only tie.
[He is clearly lying. But he had to say something to break the mounting tension.]
[Skip, however, does roll her eyes. And give the barest hint of a smirk.]
Well, maybe you should be more careful about where you leave it.
[This is awkward.
A little teasing, a bit of playful banter. All in good fun. But something about his manner isn't quite... right. He hasn't even actually invited her in, even if she's already waltzed past him.
It's almost like he doesn't know what to do next.]
[The thing was, he didn't. James didn't do this. In fact, he didn't do anything really. He didn't know yet how to multitask when confronted with a pretty woman who actually wanted him.
To make matters worse, being the booty call-ee was ... weird. ]
Maybe I wanted an excuse to see you again.
[It's pretty clear he's never used these lines before. And maybe that means he means it. For a guy almost twice her age, he didn't seem to have a lot of experience.]
[James is silently thanking her for taking the reins on this and pushes his door closed before quickly locking it behind him. He might have the whole half of this floor, but he wasn't going to assume he was safe. Ever.]
No, you can't sit. What kind of animal are you?
[He says it with as much sarcasm as he can possibly infuse, but just so she gets the message that he's joking James sits down on the beaten leather couch and looks up at her.]
[Skip's lips twist into a very pleased smirk as he sits, and she takes almost no time before sitting...
Well, in the barest sense of the word, she is beside him. One leg is flush against one of his, and the other is up, shifted across the other. Which leaves her thigh against the top of his leg. Nearly in his lap already.
One of her hands seems to rest against the back of the couch, but it takes only a few moments before the nails of it are scratching at the base of his hairline on his neck. Knowing what he is? Introduces a whole new element to the game.]
[A shiver breaks out on his skin against his neck and there isn't even a beat between his shoulders rolling back and his grabbing at her legs to pull her across his lap to straddle him.
He wondered briefly, in some removed part of his mind, if this was too fast. But before he could decide to act on that, he arched forward to capture her mouth with his.
Apparently, what she did was a very easy way to make him take the reins.]
[Skip barely has time to register that she's done anything before he's got her over him. But as soon as her mind catches up to her body -- which has arched over him, a leg on either side of his, one hand still at the back of his neck while the other slid into his hair -- she can't say she's disappointed.
She kisses him back hard, all too eager to encourage the change in temperament.]
[Skip's words ring back in his head as her fingers curl into his hair:
Don't think about it.
It's not exactly easy for him to turn off his brain, but with her weight against him - his instinct to apologize (mostly because of who she is) is quickly stifled with a conscious effort.
Which he is sure she can feel. To him, Skip seems like she knows everything about him before he even realizes it himself.
He's overthinking everything. And now he's trying to think on how to stop.]
[Skip doesn't bother to hide the laugh that leaves her. Sure, some guys buckle at the slightest hint of amusement. But those are the ones she doesn't want anyway. If he can't tell when he's being ridiculous or can't handle the fact that she can laugh at him and still want him, then she doesn't care enough.
But he handled her pretty well the first time, so she isn't worried.
Part of her wants to put her hand right back against his neck. She could keep repeating that gesture until he was far enough gone that he wouldn't stop to think about it. At the same time, though, there was an appeal to not giving him that easy out.
Her hands move. They go against his, though, still on either of her legs. His grip's slackened, though, from where he held her to kiss her. So, she puts her hands over his, the tips of her fingers down near his wrists, and she gingerly pulls, guiding them along her thighs and just under the bottom of the skirt.]
[James hands follow her momentum without hesitation and slide further up under her skirt to the junction where her thighs meet her hips, his thumbs smoothing over the line of lace against her skin. His hands are big enough to curl around to her rear and his fingers splay out to squeeze her there in an attempt to pull her closer against him.
It was easy to follow someone else's lead - maybe it was a werewolf thing?]
[Skip gives a quiet groan against his lips at the squeeze he offered. She arched up a little and then sank down. Her hands slid between them. One set of fingers unbuttoned his jeans and pulled down the zip while the other moved down inside of them.
Her nails applied a very light pressure from right in the centre of his hips and down, stopping briefly at the first feel of hair below them.]
[James' breath leaves him in a strangled noise as her fingertips carve a path through what little resolve he had left.
God he just wants her to touch him. A part of him tries to remind himself not to get greedy, to let her dictate the pace because that is what will win her attention quickest of all - so he thinks.
Don't overthink....
Fine.
In a mimic of her own movement, he curls his fingers under the band of her underwear and - even though he can't take them off with her sitting like this - pulls just a little. It's wanting and he doesn't think he could stop kissing her right now even if he wanted to.]
[Skip, however, can stop kissing him. And she does. She pulls her head up to look down at him, arched over as she is. Her lips twist into something akin to a smirk as her fingers further peel the top of his jeans to either side.
Her hand doesn't venture past his underwear again. Instead, it rubs against the raised fabric, stroking the hard length.
What are the man's morals? Is he the type to balk at simple things? Or would he like the idea of getting to have the forbidden fruit?
The thought of telling him (especially if he does let things continue, as almost all of them do) doesn't help her arousal in the slightest. It's a small -- or maybe not so small -- form of rebellion against the arrangement she was born into. One she usually enjoys the advantages of.
She does her best to sound torn.]
There's something I should tell you. [But the way her hand palms him through the fabric is at odds with that tone.] But you might be mad.
[James leans forward when she goes back - as if to chase her. He at least keeps his whine to himself and only leans back against the curve of the sofa under him with half-lidded eyes watching her intently; pupils blown out with lust.
His lips are tingling in the absence of hers and her hand pressing against him makes him want to writhe underneath her. Shouldn't he be the one doing this? It occurs to him briefly but when she speaks, he has to focus entirely on her voice lest he miss what she says completely.]
[His reaction only heats her blood. For a moment, she considers stalling until she can bring him to climax, admit it only after. Maybe if it was her first time, she would. The reactions to that are always fun. Because it's either a major turn on or a major turn off.
She's curious to see which it will be for him.]
Well--
[She applies her nails to the fabric just a bit as she runs them up. Only once she's stopped does she speak, leaning forward to whisper in his ear as her covered breasts press against his chest.]
[Me too, almost leaves him. Almost. It's a damn close thing and he has to employ ever skill in acting he has to look a little disappointed before scraping his teeth with a ghost's touch to the curve of her neck - which she had to know would distract him from everything else - that was presented to him as she whispered in his ear.]
That's nice but -- I don't care.
[He has a feeling she doesn't either. And, right now, that doesn't bother him one bit. He can't focus with the stretch of pale white skin in front of him where her scent is the most overwhelming. At least, above her waist.
The though makes the fingers he has hooked in her panties tug sharply on them before laving his tongue against her neck, wanting so much more.]
[Skip tilts her head to the side, exposing more of her neck to his teeth. A quiet murmur of appreciation leaves her at the feel of it. Because it's primal and all too welcome.
The words are like a good whiskey to her brain, and she rewards them by sliding her hand down his underwear to apply just her palm to the tip of his erection.
When his fingers pull and his tongue is applied to her neck, she groans outright. There are so many things she wants to do to him and even more she wants him to do to her. But one step at a time. Best not to seem too eager right after admitting to being engaged. So, she merely lets her hand stroke him lightly.]
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Oct 3rd
[Entirely the reason why she's texting him at eleven o'clock on a Friday night. The Friday night after the Blood Moon and classes started and she's been working on two different memorials.
As soon as she got home, she started work on it. And she is way too emotionally drained to keep going right now. She needs a distraction. Something just fun.]
Oct 3rd
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[He'd been to her place. No reason not to drop by his.]
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[He follows up with his address. It might be a renovated printing press, but that doesn't mean much in terms of style. ]
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[Only she is allowed to make that joke.
And before too long -- public transport is a bitch, but there's no point in having a car -- there's a knock at the door.
The industrial vibe of the place? Definitely makes this guy seem less uptight. Even if he did wear a fucking tie to a nightclub.
To her credit, Skip looks like she might have been on her way home rather than on her way out. Because she is not admitting she got a bit made up for what is, essentially, a hook-up.
The thigh-length black skirt of the dress is loosely pleated, and the top is nearly entirely black lace, save for a solid part against her chest and stomach.
His tie is loosely wrapped around her wrist.]
action because i am well-trained
He's wearing the equivalent of sweats and a t-shirt for him. In the form of loose fitting jeans and a t-shirt. Same thing right? When he answers the door James smiles in what he hopes isn't a possessive fashion. He wants to win the girl, not claim her.]
Hi.
[Casual. Like he doesn't know this is a hook-up.]
no subject
Maybe.
First there's that pesky little possible problem of morals.
...Well, first there's a little bit of fun.
Then there's morals.
She steps into the apartment like she owns the place, taking it all in with an appreciative glance. This guy? Has definitely take a level in cool as far as she's concerned. And seeing him dressed like that?
The ease with which she hooks two fingers into one beltloop as she sidles up in front of him might almost be worrying.]
You look hot casual.
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[James didn't roll his eyes as tempting as it was. Instead he watched her as she slid into his space. She smelled like spice. Which made his mouth water in a Pavlovian reaction that he was going to ignore. Spice and cinnamon most notably.
As she stepped forward he stepped back to trail her further into his home with her fingers hooked through his beltloops.
There was a brief moment of silence between them then. James could feel something crackling between them before he smiled and tugged at the tie wrapped around her wrist with an arched brow.]
You know I've been looking for this. It's my only tie.
[He is clearly lying. But he had to say something to break the mounting tension.]
no subject
Well, maybe you should be more careful about where you leave it.
[This is awkward.
A little teasing, a bit of playful banter. All in good fun. But something about his manner isn't quite... right. He hasn't even actually invited her in, even if she's already waltzed past him.
It's almost like he doesn't know what to do next.]
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To make matters worse, being the booty call-ee was ... weird. ]
Maybe I wanted an excuse to see you again.
[It's pretty clear he's never used these lines before. And maybe that means he means it. For a guy almost twice her age, he didn't seem to have a lot of experience.]
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[And since he doesn't seem to be getting around to it... Well, Skip slips past him, letting go of his jeans, and walks over to the couch.]
Mind if I have a seat?
[She'll do more than her part if she has to.
Because, well. She came over for a specific reason.]
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No, you can't sit. What kind of animal are you?
[He says it with as much sarcasm as he can possibly infuse, but just so she gets the message that he's joking James sits down on the beaten leather couch and looks up at her.]
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Well, in the barest sense of the word, she is beside him. One leg is flush against one of his, and the other is up, shifted across the other. Which leaves her thigh against the top of his leg. Nearly in his lap already.
One of her hands seems to rest against the back of the couch, but it takes only a few moments before the nails of it are scratching at the base of his hairline on his neck. Knowing what he is? Introduces a whole new element to the game.]
You already know the answer to that.
[Sultry? She can do.]
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He wondered briefly, in some removed part of his mind, if this was too fast. But before he could decide to act on that, he arched forward to capture her mouth with his.
Apparently, what she did was a very easy way to make him take the reins.]
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She kisses him back hard, all too eager to encourage the change in temperament.]
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Don't think about it.
It's not exactly easy for him to turn off his brain, but with her weight against him - his instinct to apologize (mostly because of who she is) is quickly stifled with a conscious effort.
Which he is sure she can feel. To him, Skip seems like she knows everything about him before he even realizes it himself.
He's overthinking everything. And now he's trying to think on how to stop.]
no subject
But he handled her pretty well the first time, so she isn't worried.
Part of her wants to put her hand right back against his neck. She could keep repeating that gesture until he was far enough gone that he wouldn't stop to think about it. At the same time, though, there was an appeal to not giving him that easy out.
Her hands move. They go against his, though, still on either of her legs. His grip's slackened, though, from where he held her to kiss her. So, she puts her hands over his, the tips of her fingers down near his wrists, and she gingerly pulls, guiding them along her thighs and just under the bottom of the skirt.]
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It was easy to follow someone else's lead - maybe it was a werewolf thing?]
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Her nails applied a very light pressure from right in the centre of his hips and down, stopping briefly at the first feel of hair below them.]
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God he just wants her to touch him. A part of him tries to remind himself not to get greedy, to let her dictate the pace because that is what will win her attention quickest of all - so he thinks.
Don't overthink....
Fine.
In a mimic of her own movement, he curls his fingers under the band of her underwear and - even though he can't take them off with her sitting like this - pulls just a little. It's wanting and he doesn't think he could stop kissing her right now even if he wanted to.]
slightly late NSFW warning
Her hand doesn't venture past his underwear again. Instead, it rubs against the raised fabric, stroking the hard length.
What are the man's morals? Is he the type to balk at simple things? Or would he like the idea of getting to have the forbidden fruit?
The thought of telling him (especially if he does let things continue, as almost all of them do) doesn't help her arousal in the slightest. It's a small -- or maybe not so small -- form of rebellion against the arrangement she was born into. One she usually enjoys the advantages of.
She does her best to sound torn.]
There's something I should tell you. [But the way her hand palms him through the fabric is at odds with that tone.] But you might be mad.
only slightly
His lips are tingling in the absence of hers and her hand pressing against him makes him want to writhe underneath her. Shouldn't he be the one doing this? It occurs to him briefly but when she speaks, he has to focus entirely on her voice lest he miss what she says completely.]
What's that?
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She's curious to see which it will be for him.]
Well--
[She applies her nails to the fabric just a bit as she runs them up. Only once she's stopped does she speak, leaning forward to whisper in his ear as her covered breasts press against his chest.]
--I'm engaged.
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That's nice but -- I don't care.
[He has a feeling she doesn't either. And, right now, that doesn't bother him one bit. He can't focus with the stretch of pale white skin in front of him where her scent is the most overwhelming. At least, above her waist.
The though makes the fingers he has hooked in her panties tug sharply on them before laving his tongue against her neck, wanting so much more.]
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The words are like a good whiskey to her brain, and she rewards them by sliding her hand down his underwear to apply just her palm to the tip of his erection.
When his fingers pull and his tongue is applied to her neck, she groans outright. There are so many things she wants to do to him and even more she wants him to do to her. But one step at a time. Best not to seem too eager right after admitting to being engaged. So, she merely lets her hand stroke him lightly.]