Sex in Public

So, they were on the streets, walking, and intending to get food.

He had decided to dress down. Or, rather, the young(ish) man had come to the conclusion that today was not the day that he had to wear a suit. Not today, not yesterday, and not the day before. It was a court day. Another day of sitting through a trial and dealing with the fact that, again, he was stuck with a lost cause. That, again, he had to deal with god-knows-what doing who-really-cared for someone who paid way-too-much for an attorney.

Fucker was guilty as sin.
But Will was going to win his case anyway.

But today is different, and he’s found Chicken and Waffles. She? Has never been. It’s an adventure!

While he’s dressed down, she is as she always is – threadbare and often patched jeans, and a thremal shirt under that beat to hell hoodie. The hood is is pulled up, and while other (…couples? friends with benefits? fuckbuddies?) pairs walking the street might show some touch, public display of affection, it is not her way. Probably fortunate, considering the age difference between them.

She also doesn’t ask about his work, his trial, whether he’s going to win the trial for someone who is guilty as sin. She listens if he offers it, but doesn’t pry. It’s an oddity, maybe – she doesn’t snoop. She simply accepts every minute as just enough, and is happy with it. She doesn’t know if HE snoops, but perhaps it should be noted that she left her backpack in the apartment. That speaks of a certain level of trust, right there.

“So..” she says, finally. “There really is a place that sells chicken…and waffles… together?!” It sounds like a delicious combination, if slightly… odd. And she’s a Gnawer. That should say something.

“I know,” he said. “I thought I’d never find another one, either.”

It had yet to dawn on him that she had never enjoyed the pleasure that was fried chicken and Belgian waffles served together. And it was odd, really, to hear the Silver Fang talk about this because it didn’t seem to suit him. It didn’t really make a lot of sense because he didn’t seem the type to eat strange food combinations.

Then again, the finer things in life included goose liver and fish eggs.
Chicken and waffles? Much less daunting.

She didn’t pry into his affairs and, for his part, he didn’t quite know what he should do. Because the back pack was always right there. And he was, naturally, a curious creature. There was something lupine, at times, about this. That he wanted to sniff around, that he wanted to look through…

then again, if he asked her, she would tell him.

“I thought that they just existed in Louisiana, but apparently I was mistaken.”

The fact that she leaves it behind now – well. Maybe Will can protect her. Maybe she can protect him. Whatever it is – the thought of chicken and waffles completely dominates all other thought. And it’s not like she’s unarmed…

(She’s never shown him her blades, either. Then again, he’s never asked…)

“Ain’t possible to be worse then some shit I’ve eaten. In fact, it sounds strangely appetizin’. I ain’t had no cash when I was round there, so musta missed the very existence of such a thing.”

Then again, he convinced a Black Spiral Dancer of some less-than-glorious things, so an irritable theurge might not be too difficult.

“It’s amazing. If they fry the chicken right, it’s amazing,” he said. Stated, even. They rounded the corner; the resturaunt was in sight. It was not the type of place one would expect him. “If they don’t, it’s just subpar.”

A pause, and then some silence.

“What do you do during the day?”

Needless to say, Will’s been eating GOOD lately.

He pauses as they walk and she studies the sign and the restaurant down the way. She’s still not entirely comfortable going public places, but he asked and she certainly wasn’t about to say no. Specially as he had that little boy excited grin working full force…

He asks her a question, and she blinks, and glances up at him briefly, just long enough for the lamplight to catch in the darkness of her eyes, give a hint of that little smirk that appears and flitters across her lips. As with everything, though, she gives it thought before she answers, as if it is the most important question in the world. To her, in this moment, it might very well be.

“Read, mostly. Ain’t as fast at it as most, so takes me a while. Draw a bit, sometimes walk, an think bought what I’m gonna fatten ya up with next.” A bony shoulder lifts in a slight shrug. “Sounds sorta like I’m hidin’ out, don’t it? Look for a job, some days, but ain’t easy t’find one what ain’t ask too many questions.”

Like ‘why does your name not match your id?’ – for instance.

He had a sort of absolute, quiet glee that only seemed to come with something new and exciting being introduced to him. That he had found something that was even more important than the war and Gaia and some Polynesian Supermodel combined. It was like he was sixteen again, and that was saying something.

“You are fattening me up,” he said. Stated. “I don’t know what I’ve been eating before, but it obviously had no nutritive value.”

There was a pause.

“Which reminds me, you should make a grocery list. I can pick things up before I come home.” He said it with a slight grin. Will seemed almost pleased, no, no he was quite pleased. There was a quiet bit of glee to his tone. Someone was at home cooking for him. Well, making food and he was getting to eat it.

“When’s your birthday?”

As she tucks her hand away again, there’s a little sideways glance, and that little amused smirk makes it’s appearance again. Clearly, she’s speaking of an exercise regimen they already follow. He has seen her without the hoody often enough now to know exactly which expression dances across her face, despite how briefly, or how hidden. He is, after all, a man who misses very little.

“Alright.” she says, presumably about the grocery list. He’s like a school boy, and she’s pleased to have put that happy lilt in his voice, to have him so giddy at the simple act of bringing home food for her to cook for him.

He asks a question that, quite frankly, she’s surprised he hasn’t asked before. “Would ya be scared if I said November?”

But if he had been drinking something, he might have choked on it. November.They were there, and like a good boy he caught the door and held it for her. It was a matter of manners, something that was born and bred into him. He was used to it. He knew what he was doing.

She’d work it off him, and for his part William just seemed to-

Well, now. Wouldn’t you like to know?

She pauses, as she steps past him, and looks up to meet his gaze. There’s a little quirk at the corner of her lips as she studies his face for a moment, eyes dropping from his to linger at his lips before lifting slowly again. “Mmm. Glad we only gotta wait till May then.”

She brushes past him, close enough to make just the barest bit of contact in a way that can be interpreted as innocent…

…but most certainly is not.

And for a moment, he couldn’t help but grin and look over at what could have very well been a bathroom. And when he grinned, it might have been interpretted as innocent. But most certainly is not.

“Close enough that we can risk it.”

One wonders what she’d be like had she grown up around someone like Will… all they know now is that she is more relaxed with him than with anyone else. He makes her smile, something that no one has done in a very long time, he even has made her laugh -once or twice. Briefly, but it was there.

Close enough they can risk it, he says, and for her part she simply adjusts her direction and heads toward that possible bathroom door – unless he decides on chicken and waffles first and stops her. Nothing like building up an appetite…

Of course, she does have to do so with a quick comment too… “Think ya can be quiet enough? Th’neighbors sure ain’t think ya can…”

The reasons, of course, were as much about self defense as her lack-of-disclosure was.

It was a wonder what these two would have ended up like if they had grown up around people like one another. Or, well, what quirks William would have ended up with had he spent slightly more time around other kinfolk. Or, rather, if the kinfolk khe had spent time around weren’t so ridiculously… well… fake. Truth be told, he might be less amazed by Maija.

Bullshit.
He would always be amazed by her.

“And Mister Jennings just waits to hear aforementioned illicit acts.”

He doesn’t stop her, but rather brags of his ability to be quiet, even as she decides to do her damnedest to make it impossible for him to do so – she’s got tricks she ain’t shown him yet, after all. She doesn’t reply, she just leads him right to that door, to discover it unlocked, and empty. Perhaps the hostess glances their way, perhaps not. Maija, for all her ability to hide, for her startlin’ lack of any sort of disclosure about herself, is not shy. She simply ignores the waitress (…its late, and business is slow, and they seem more amused than anything else… after all, William is a respectable looking man…), and steps into the bathroom, and waits for him to follow.

He does, and the door shuts, and she wastes no time pressing her back against the door, slender fingers flicking the lock as she does so. “I believe we kin risk it, then…”

She reaches for him, then, to pull him close. For a time, there are no words as they are replaced by touch – eager and sure – taste and texture and bitten back cries. There is no part of her that he has not explored before, no line of his body that she has not memorized by taste and touch. Here there is something new to be discovered, something wickedly inappropriate by such a display of what they rightfully should keep at home, something absolutely delicious about quickly and heatestly building up an appetite before dinner.

Her hands are cold – but not for long.
He is quiet – but she does not make it easy.

Afterwards, as breathlessness falls into soft laughter, as lips meet with contentment rather than demanding fire, while fingers slide from where they’ve tangled in his hair to smooth the mussed curls back into some semblance of order… it is then that she actually asks him for something.

“Someday… would ya take me to a museum?”

Sometimes, it’s the simple things that matter most.

And he was never a creature who could hide. Not with blood that sang of heroes and kings and leaders of men. Not with a smile like his. Not with eyes that were more peridot than poison.

So, when he slipped into the room, with door locked and heart beating a little faster than it had any right. There was no part of Maija that he had not explored, no part that he had not thought through and remembered and dared to recall for future reference purposes. And there was no part of her that he did not wish to explore and satisfy that primal need to know her in so many ways.

He was quiet.
She did not make it easy.

And for all that he was, he was a man divided. One of both self control and temptation. A pillar of resolve that may or may not work in his favor. Let it be said that when he wanted something, he was just stubborn enough, just entitled enough to do anything in his power to make sure that he obtained it.

Afterwards, they were content. And in that moment of contentment, he replied. Still, there he couldn’t help but touch. He could not help but try and smooth her out, put her back into some state of ordered chaos.

Someday…

“When do you want to go?”

He touches her, smooths her hair back, helps put her into some state of ordered chaos and she lets him, a lingering smile still across lips that still taste of his fevered kiss moments before, even as she helps him regain his formerly put-together appearance – if slightly more rumpled than he was when they walked in.

He asks when, and she looks up at him, fingertips lifting to trace a warm line along the strength of his jaw, lets her thumb brush across his lips. “I ain’t never been to one… don’t even know if ya need tickets or what… for my birthday, maybe?” She’s actually unsure what it would entail, how much time it would take to put together something that likely is absurdly simple for him… a trip to the museum.