[Rory] (123 not me!)
[Marc de Vogue] So she had gone into this alley, and saved this kin that was getting beaten.
So he had taken her to dinner, and then taken her for a ride.
And what a ride it had been. After near enough two hours of making a poor limo driver listen to them as they did their best to explore in detail how many positions was possible in the luxurious vehicle, they set back to the hotel the Count was currently staying in. There, he had taken Rory up to the suite with its great glass windows overlooking the whole downtown area. It had still been the dark of night, and the city spread out before them, with its dark silhouette pierced by hundreds of thousands of sparkling lights.
And with youthful energy, tempered by lecherous experience, the young man had given Rory a tour of the main room of the hotel, up against the large window, against the wooden desk and on the floor beside the bed. As the morning light had begun to show in the window, they had crawled into the bed, dragging the sheets and pillows that had been dragged down earlier, with them. Sweaty and spent for the time, and sleep had snuck on them, to give at least a few hours before noon when the Count opens clear blue-green eyes lazily, staring up at the ceiling and taking a deep breath.
A smile playing on his lips as he recollects yesterday in detail. The few hours of sleep had restored him and removed the last traces of the beating suffered earlier. He lifts his head to look for the fiery red-head that had saved him (and saved him again and again)
[Rory] It was different, with Marc, than it has been with Ray. She had learned much in the differences, as well as the similarities, and had thoroughly enjoyed the ultimately satisfying (again and again and again) and exhausting lesson plan.
She does not wake when he opens his eyes, she does not move when he lifts his head to look for her. She is splayed on her belly, her head turned away from him, her curls a bloodred splash across the pillows in tangled disarray. Her skin seems even paler now – without the blush that does indeed cover her completely when the situation demands – with freckles that are without number, and also are speckled over her whole lean form… a form he explored quite thoroughly the night before.
[No scars, no scent, nothing that lingers other than those green eyes, those red curls, and curiously innocent smile even while being taken against the window, the desk, on the floor….]
Even so, even knowing now what he does of her, her face in repose is one of innocence, of youth and yes, even beauty. There is no need to hide here, and her breath remains soft and even…
[Marc de Vogue] He takes his time to let eyes wander across her naked form. The heat of her rage even now swelling over his skin. At some point during the nights activities he had noticed that she left no scent on him. Now he takes the time to think over it. Strange this one, but oh so lovely, and like so many of her kind, completely unaware. It is why the young aristocrat enjoy them so.
He watches her for a little while, then lays down, reaching across his other side to the phone there. Picking I up and dialing room-service, he orders food. Tuna sandwiches and juices and eggs and bacon. Proteins and foods high in energy. He needs to replenish for what he had in mind. After the call is made, he reaches over to touch the heat of freckled, smooth skin. Tips of his fingers brushing against the nape of her neck and slowly trailing down the curve of her spine in a soft tickle.
[Rory] She doesn’t even wake while he talks on the phone, a true testament that she fell asleep feeling comfortable in these surroundings – or he’d exhausted her completely. One of the two. In fact, it’s not until he touches her – fingertips silken soft along her neck and down the curve of her spine – does she stir… her back arching under the touch, a soft sigh breathed as her lashes part slowly.
She stretches, slow and easy, before turning her head, having already confirmed who’s with her by a simple inhalation of the scent that clings to everything in the room – including her senses. Lazily, she snuggles her head back into the pillow, before peeking at him through dusty lashes and curls… a shy lil grin curving across her lips.
[Marc de Vogue] ”There you are. For a moment I thought you were in a coma.”
He shifts lean frame, sliding it over as he turns. His fingers slide down her spine, over the curve of her ass and down the opposite thigh as he moves closer to her, pressing against the rage that seems only to edge him on rather than push him away. His skin is warm, and compared to hers, it is a cool breeze.
He brushes lips against her shoulder, nipping at it before laying his head down against the pillow, eyes on Rory’s face. A smile curving his lips deliciously. She has no scent, but he does. That smell that cannot be mistaken for anything but what it was. Of a night filled with sweaty passion, and permeating it all? The scent of his blood, so evident in every line of his body as well. Kings and heroes and mad-men.
“I ordered breakfast.”
[Rory] Color floods her cheeks as he teases her, and moves closer, his hand sliding along her skin in a possessive carress, pressing close to the heat of her skin, his own a sharp contrast to hers… his lips touch her shoulder and her eyes close again, a soft sigh that sounds almost like a moan escaping at the little jolt of electricity shimmering under her skin…
“Good.” Single words are easier, and in that one, there’s an admission that her belly echoes – she’s starving.
She peeks at him again, this son of Kings and Heroes and Madmen, who chose to spend his evening with her… a worthless mule. “West rell?” And there’s her odd little switchup of words, muffled against the pillow as she stretches again, slowly…
[Marc de Vogue] ”Very much so. You made sure of that.”
Again, he does not seem to make a note of her strange ways of speech, as if he doesn’t notice it at all. His hand trails slowly along her body, from her thigh and up along her back as she stretches, fingers easily following the lines of muscles underneath her warm skin. He seems quite content in doing that for now, exploring her in the light of day.
“So, do you have imminent business that will steal you from me now, or can I count on being able to enjoy your company today as well?”
He has a way of making it sound like he intends to enjoy her quite well at that, given half a chance. On his side, this close to her that the lean, well-defined muscles of his chest brush against her arm with each breath. The kin had shown remarkable stamina and a strength that had been hidden underneath fine shirt and slacks the night before. Quite the athlete, even if it had been hard to keep up with the regenerative properties of the metis, he had given it one hell of a go.
[Rory] She ducks her face into the pillows, blushing brightly, even as her body reacts on it’s own to the trail of his fingers, back curling up into his caress, a softly delighted sigh as she peeks at him through her curls.
“They’ll call if they meed ne.”
Even if the intimacy in his voice makes her blush harder, the color sliding along her neck, her shoulders… almost as if chasing his fingertips…
[Marc de Vogue] ”Good.”
His hand closes around her shoulder, and he pushes her to the side, shifting her from her stomach to her back and he follows with his own body, laying half over her, looking down at her. Her breasts crushed against his own. There is no hesitation in him, no question if he is crowding her or not. He is bold and self-confident as he lays claim over her, as if she could not End him without missing a breath. His smile playful. She can feel the beat of his heart, slow and strong, but oh so slowly beating faster with the closeness of her, her rage surrounding him.
“Then I shall take full advantage. I am curious after all.”
His eyes clear, fixed on hers as if trying to read something hidden from him in there. One hand idly playing with thick bloodred curls.
[Rory] He turns her over, and she’s too startled to resist, though it’s likely she wouldn’t resist anyway… he’s pressed close and she dares to slide her thigh against his own as he lays against her… She feels the beat of his heart, and her’s flutters wildly for a moment as her breath catches in anticipation…
He catches and holds her gaze, though it is something of a struggle for her not to drop her gaze to somewhere more respectful like his lips (…oh those lips…) instead of meeting his eyes straight on..
He’s curious, and trying tor ead her, and she looks back, innocent curiosity within her gaze… “…about?”
[Marc de Vogue] ”Many things…”
His smile widens a little as he feels her leg shift up against his own. His hands go to the bed to either side of her, and he eases of just enough to allow himself to slowly start to slide down along her body. His head tilted in close, she can feel his breath over her skin, the brush of lips that just barely tickle across the line of her jaw, then slowly down the side of her neck.
“Why you leave no scent…”
Further down, agonizingly slow, and there is a brush of lips followed by a graze of teeth sharply against the skin that is taut over her collarbone.
“Your shyness…”
Slowly down, his weight shifting over her, still holding her down against the bed. Head turning to follow the curve of the inside of one breast, tip of his tongue tasting skin that has no real taste other than his own.
“How to make you scream…”
He catches her nipple between his lips, sucking at it as the tip of his tongue plays over the creased, sensitive skin.
[Rory] She bites her lower lip as his lips travel against his skin… following the slide of her blush as she watches him through lowered lashes… she answers the first. “Born what tay..” and there really is no other explanation.
She shivers under his teeth, the scrape pulling a soft gasp from her lips… He holds her down, and she doesn’t fight it, her slender, lean frame supple and oh so willing under his…
Her shyness – she has no answer too, only that little smile and lowering of her gaze – not quite hiding away completely, as she’s curious too as to what comes next. He captures her nipple and asks how to make her scream… and she doesn’t answer really, but for the soft moan as she arches her back slightly, lifting into that teasing suckle…
“….ooooooh…”
[Marc de Vogue] He is not happy to stay put and soon his lips part ways from her nipple, tongue circling it once before he slowly trails brushing kisses down the curve of breast, sliding down in the kig sized bed to where his lips can brush against the top of her stomach.
“A start… I guess it will take a little more.”
His body shifts and moves over hers, tilting just enough to let him press her thighs and legs apart to accommodate his lean form. He makes it almost down to her bellybutton before there is a heavy knock at the door, and a muted ‘Room service’ from outside. It makes the young aristocrat sigh and press his face into her belly for a moment, one last kiss on it before he slides down and to his knees, looking down at her body. There is no hiding the way he lets his gaze roam over her slender curves until he is looking into her eyes again.
“To be continued…”
He turns and slides of the bed. A robe grabbed from where it lies over the back of a chair and he puts it on as he steps to the door, tying a simple knot to keep it closed. Door opened he accepts the cart without letting the other man inside the room. His wallet grabbed from where it lies next to the door and the server receives some bills before Marc closes the door and pushes the cart into the room. The scent of the food quickly working its way over to the bed.
[Rory] Her teeth sink into her lower lip as he travels down her body, her breath catching and falling into a softly moaned sigh, her thighs parting for his form willingly as he lowers himself. Shyly, achingly so, she lifts a hand to slide through his hair, teasing it back from his forehead until her fingers slide along the back of his neck…
Then there’s the knock at the door, and Marc is devouring her with his eyes, and she… blushes again. Though she has no real modesty when it comes to her body, her skin… the way he looks at her makes her feel far more naked than nude…
Naked, and blushing.
He goes to the door, and she stretches again, before sitting up in bed, pulling her legs up to crisscrossapplesauce. She breathes deeply of the scents of food. “mmmmm gells smood…”
[Marc de Vogue] He pushes the cart over to the bed and then slides up on it next to the fiery metis.
“A lot of proteins and energy.”
He removes the lids, revealing a lot of food and drink. The service even added a small bowl of fresh and cut strawberries sprinkled with powdered sugar. He glances at Rory, then takes a plate, filling it with a sandwich, some scrambled eggs, a good bunch of bacon slices and tops it with a few strawberries before he does something she might find very surprising indeed.
He offers her the plate. It is a direct thing, seeming natural. The first of the kill to the greatest in station… He does not give her an easy way out however, a choice between refusing his offer, risking to insult the gesure he made, or accept the plate, and thereby accept the gesture with all it stands for.
[Rory] She watches him, and looks at the plate, then back up at him, her head tilting in curiosity. This is no easy thing, not for her. He offers the first plate to the highest in station, and though she never sees herself as it, she can’t insult him either. Teeth sink into her lower lip, worrying over the soft tender flesh as she squeezes her hands together briefly.
Then, timidly, and it’s so clear how much it takes for her to do so… she reaches and takes the plate, and sets it into her lap. She doesn’t take the first bite though, not yet, waiting until he’s got a plate of his own, until they are on equal (if not uneven in his favor) footing once again…
A lot of proteins and energy… that makes her blush again, as she lifts her hand to tuck her tangled curls behind an ear, only to have it fall free again.
[Rory] (le pause!)
[Marc de Vogue] Marc makes a plate for himself, filling it like he had hers, then lounges back beside Rory, looking up at her. He grabs a strawberry cut and reaches up, offering it to her with a smile. Those clear blue eyes locked on her face.
“You don’t need to be nervous here… Only you and I, and no one to bother us. I have you all to myself.”
He lounges as if he were made to do nothing else. Clean lines revealed in the half open robe. Considering the amount of food on his plate, and the lean form of his body, he must work out quite a bit. There are faint traces of the bruises shown there as well. Kinfolk do not have the regenerative powers of their cousins, but they are no mere humans either, and last nights beatings had all but faded from him now.
[Rory] He offers her a strawberry, and she blushes brightly again, reaching out timidly to take it, her fingers holding it gently so as not to bruise the flesh, but she takes it quickly enough that it seems she thinks he might change his mind and take it back. She bites into the fruit, the juices dripping down her chin, caught by the back of her hand as she ducks her head.
He tells her not to be nervous, and her lips curl into the shyest of smiles. “…sorry.” But she’s not sorry he has her all to himself, that much is clear with the peek of brilliant green eyes through those red, red curls…
[Marc de Vogue] He catches her hand as she wipes the juice from her lips, pulling it down to brush his lips over it, catching a taste of the strawberry, then looks up at her, lips curved up in a smile.
“No need to apologize. I am just saying that you do not need to worry.”
He reaches for another strawberry, offering it up at her, shifting to lay on his side, seeming content to feed her for the moment.
When she takes the next strawberry, he speaks up again, voice low.
“Are you so quiet because of the way you speak?”
Head slightly tilted. There is no judgment in him, just a curiosity about the woman who he has spent the night with, and with luck, would spend the day with as well.
[Rory] He catches her hand, and she falls very still, but doesn’t resist as he pulls her fingers to his lips and captures the juice from her skin. She meets his gaze briefly, so briefly, but the smile at the corner of her lips lingers, pleased.
She even lets him feed her another strawberry, despite how out of place it feels – she is not the one who is served, but always the one who serves. His question starts that splash of color racing under her freckles once more – easily tracked as she hasn’t bothered to grab a robe or any clothing – her only covering the sheets pooled in her lap.
He’s curious though, not judging, and soon her curls slide into motion as she nods, slightly, and murmurs so very softly… “I han’t cear the mistakes. Can’t thix fem.”
[Marc de Vogue] He nods, then grabs another strawberry and puts it in his own mouth. Chewing thoughtfully and watching her. He reaches over to her, fingers grazing over the skin of her taut belly, brushing gently. It seems to be done without much thought, his eyes still on her face. Physical touch speaking more to her instincts than anything else.
“I can barely hear them. It is not as bad as you think.”
Another strawberry taken and offered to her.
“And you do have a lovely voice. I would like to hear more of it.”
Said with an impish grin.
[Rory] He runs his fingers over her belly, and she catches her breath, watching as his fingers travel over pale and freckled skin… she peeks up at him again, chewing on her lower lip absently, shyly, before she reaches to take the offered strawberry and bites into it, saving herself from having to answer right away.
Then, softly.. “I’ll try.”
Though it’s something she doesn’t succeed at very well – obviously.
[Marc de Vogue] ”I am not asking for miracles. Just… you don’t need to worry around me. I rather have you relaxed around me.”
He grabs a piece of bacon, biting of half and offers her the other.
“Now, I am starving, so please excuse me while I replenish my energy supplies.”
Said as he grabs his fork and starts digging in, never taking his eyes from her. He has plans where to spend all that energy soon enough, and it is clear in his eyes if she takes the time to look.
[Rory] It took Ray weeks to get her to relax around him, and she is STILL shy when it comes to him, and being with him. Marc is the same – it will take some time before she can be at ease. The only who ever sees her completely relaxed is her alpha – and even that is rare. Some habits are just too ingrained to break…
He starts to eat in earnest, and once she takes the offered bacon, she hesitates only a moment, before she too starts to eat and replenish the energy expended the night before. She peeks up once, and catches that look, and it sets off the blush again as she ducks her head and concentrates on her meal instead of what those eyes promise for her near future.
[Marc de Vogue] They were both starving it seemed. Before long the food was cleaned up, despite the sheer amount he had ordered for them. The young kin rolls to his back, head turned to look at the fiery redhead, smiling.
“That… I needed.”
He sits up, standing and unties the robe, letting it fall open as he walks from the bed.
“Now, I am going to take a shower.” Glancing over his shoulder at her, giving her a wide smile.
[Rory] She manages to finish just before he does, and helps stack the dishes back on the tray. When he rolls to his back, she peeks at him from under her curls, and then watches as he stands and drops the robe…
..she doesn’t realize she’s watching intently, staring even, until he looks back at her and gives her that smile – it’s then that she ducks her head, and bites her lower lip, twisting her fingers together shyly. Part of her wants to chase after him, a small portion of her realizing that his smile was an invitation. The rest of her… so shy, so timid… hesitates.
[Marc de Vogue] She can hear him start the shower. Then he peeks around the bathroom opening, eyesbrows raised.
“Well? What are you waiting for? You cant expect me to wash my own back after a meal like that, can you?”
It is said with amusement in his voice, and even a wink at her. Then he vanishes back around the corner and she can hear him step into the shower.
When she shows up in the bathroom (and you know she will) he is standing behind the misted glass walls that separate the showers from the rest of the bathroom. A large thing that can easily fit two. Beside it, a Jacuzzi tub, already filled and running, as if he was expecting to take a bath after the shower.
[Rory] that starts the blush all over again, as she ducks her head and slips from the bed. she doesn’t cover herself in any way, showing a strange lack of modesty when it’s compared to her innate shyness. It’s as if she hasn’t managed to connect her skin, her body, her lean lines and curves to anything sexual or enticing. In some ways, she’s still so much the little innocent… in others, it translates to a lack of fear, and a delight of sensation that makes her the perfect partner.
Even a partner that is willing to wash his back.
She steps into the bathroom (as he knew she would) and takes in the sight of him behind the glass walls. She glances at the filling tub, before she moves to the doors, and steps into the shower with him, closing the door behind her, and peeking up at him from under dusty lashes…
[Marc de Vogue] The water is warm, washing over her when she steps into the shower. She does not get very long to peek up at him before he moves to her, hands reaching for her. One to her face to smooth back hair that is quickly becoming wet with the water, revealing more of her face to him, the other brushing past her arm to wrap around her back to pull her up close against himself.
“I am glad you decided to join me…”
His eyes on hers, even as she peeks up at him, seemingly not willing to let her shyness be of any hindrance, perhaps even finding that it drives up his desire a step.
“I hate showering alone.”
[Rory] He reaches for her, pulling her close and her hands lift to his chest, fingers – slender and fragile looking, nails barely noticeable – spreading over his skin as he declares his hatred for showering alone. The water weighs her curls down, letting them easily be brushed aside, which somehow makes her feel even more naked, more vulnerable, without the ability to hide as easily as she usually does.
Even so, she doesn’t resist his pull, fitting against him snugly, her body heat warmer than the water, boiling from within with the force of her rage, even under a moon not her own.
He hates to shower alone… and she shyly slides her hands from his chest to slip around his waist, fitting even closer against him. “’cause no one to wash bour yack?”
[Marc de Vogue] She fits up snugly against him, and her rage makes the water seem chill. It burns over him and it makes his eyes slid half closed. He draws in a deep breath, tilting his head to brush his lips over the line of her jaw, nipping at it.
“Well… that is part of it.”
His hand slides down along her back, trailing her spine, then slowly up again. His fingers running through her rich curls, catching and gently tugging at it.
“this is another…”
He moves slowly forward, pulling her along until her back presses up against the misted glass, crushing her body between it and himself.
[Rory] He kisses and nips at her jaw, and she tips her head to allow him the room, to bare her throat in that curious submission to whatever he wants of her. His trailing fingers pulls a soft sigh from her lips, as she arches into him again, pressing closer still, before she lets him press her back into the glass, his fingers tugging into her hair. Her lips curl into that shy little grin as she peeks up at him, nakedly (ha!) curious as to what he has in mind..
“…here?”
Even Ray hasn’t taken her in the shower…
[Marc de Vogue] ”To start…”
He kisses her neck when she bares it to him. Submission. For anyone else it might seem strange that she so willingly submits to a kinfolk, but this young noble does not seem to mind at all. He is descendant from kings and Madmen after all.
He takes his time, slowly kissing and nipping at the soft skin of her neck. Such a strange thing, how she can be so pliable in his arms, so willing to accept these things from him, when she could so easily snap and tear him apart. A sense of danger that never seem to touch him, or if it does, it does not provoke a response of fear, but rather excitement.
His hand slipping down her back, pressed between her body and the glass, and then to her side, slowly letting fingers tickle over freckled pale skin over the curve of her hips, and down along her thigh.
[Rory] To start, he says, and she closes her eyes with that same little shy grin curving the edge of her lips. He takes his time, each kiss and nip at her neck sending little electric shocks through her system, pulling a soft little moan from her lips as she lets her fingers slide lightly over the skin of his back, along his spine, mirroring his touch on her…
His touch along her thigh sees a tensing of her muscle though not to pull away, to press lightly, instead, into his hand. It’s a reaction unplanned, but also un-resisted as she lets her body react to his touch with a shameless innocence and ever increasing curiosity…
Her fingers continue to mimic his, sliding down along his back, across his hip, down his thigh… seemingly of their own volition…
[Marc de Vogue] Her touch makes him shiver, causing him to expel breath over her skin. He presses up against her, his body lean and muscular, fitting well against hers. He tilts his head up, catching her earlobe between his lips, sucking on it before giving it a little tug. Water streaming over their bodies, making each motion so much easier with the slick of their skin.
His hand against her thigh turning around slowly, fingers pressing into her skin, against her muscle before he slides it up slowly and inwards, giving little nudges to get her to shift her leg outwards, enough to give him room to let fingers explore every part of her, slowly teasing up towards the sensitive flesh between her legs.
He is good at what he does, but there is something in the way the metis submits to him, the way she follows his every touch that sparks something in him, his own passion igniting and causing him to react to her every touch, the feel of her body under his own touch. It is impossible to hide.
[Rory] Her thighs part willingly for him, a quiver of anticipation as fingers slide upwards, and then finally find the most sensitive of flesh…she lifts a hand from his skin and slides it upwards along the glass, until she can fold her fingers along the top of the glass door, holding on as his touch, his ever so competent fingers play at her, sliding deep within, teasing at the sensitive bud of nerve endings until she’s left panting and trembling in his arms..
Her other hand though, is not idle, trailing along his skin, exploring shyly, until she finds the results of his arousal, the oh so evident way she is making him feel… her strokes along his length are shy, yet a very effective exploration along his shaft, fingertips teasing over his length, her touch warmer than the water that coats her fingers…
…until he cannot stand it, cannot be apart from her even that slight amount, and he wraps her hands under her thighs to left her… she is deceptively strong, and when her legs lock around his back, her fingers still along the top of the door, she is able to help him, to move with him in a dance that is as old as Luna herself, the coupling of her children, the press of rage meeting passion’s demands, bodies entwined and entangled under the fall of cooling water…
…and that, of course – those cries and moans that echo through the bathroom… that is only the beginning…
[Marc de Vogue] (Ack! Pauze!)