lazingroyalty | (no subject)

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[Oona's life had never really had consistency before. Despite being a mermaid, she'd found herself compared to a cat more often than not, simply flitting around wherever she chose to go; she slept where she wanted, ate what she wanted, and the only real consistency was work and only because she couldn't avoid that (and even then she didn't have to come in if she didn't want to, so there was freedom and choice in that).

She likes to think it's just because of how she is. More likely it's a side effect of having her life so strictly monitored and scheduled from her time in human hands; having nothing like that now was more a rebellion, a stubborn refusal to return to that.

Which is why it hits her as so strange when she acknowledges that she's chosen to spend more time at Adolf's place than her other friends' now. That she's started keeping things at his place, not quite moving in entirely but there are certain things that are without a doubt hers', and not simply borrowed. Things that don't leave when she does, like they normally did. Clothes, a few thing sin the kitchen. A mug that was almost assuredly "hers'" by now. Shampoo and other toiletries in his bathroom. The decorations and knickknacks she bought at random, furniture she brought to make the place look less like some basic militant-style place to sleep and more like, well. A home.

That realization, too, that she considered this a home is startling. Where were these thoughts coming from? It wasn't as though Oona was stupid-- brash and horribly impulsive, yes, but even she had her moments of quiet reflection and deeper thoughts. She just didn't quite indulge in them often, because it usually turned into things like this, making revelations about herself she wasn't sure she was comfortable with.

She sighs and steps out of the shower, rolling stiff shoulders as she pulls her hair up into a ponytail. Her work has her sliding into his house at all hours, though for once she was actually in at a decent time (she hadn't even bothered to go to work today was why, honestly). It didn't stop her from changing into more comfortable clothes.

Her gaze slid to one of Adolf's shirts, pilfered from his closet on her way. She had her own pajamas, of course, but they were mostly untouched despite any efforts on Adolf's part. He'd even tried just giving her the shirts she'd taken, but she'd only laughed and tossed them in his dirty clothes at the end of the day and took a fresh one again ("It smells like you, I like it" she'd said once and Adolf's face had done a funny twitch before his hand was covering it and he was walking away, Oona's laughter trailing after him for a little longer than was probably necessary).

She was too damn fond of that eel.

His shirt pulled over her head (she was practically swimming in it and something about that always put her in a much more chipper mood, and she even put underwear on just for him because otherwise he probably would be very opposed to her climbing on his lap anytime soon. Oona chose her battles wisely and this was one she had given up on fighting), she deliberately avoided glancing in the bathroom mirror before she exited to go search out her eel.]

Do you think it is strange? [it's the first thing she says when she finds him. What a good way to start a conversation, right in the middle.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Marking—

[ Is what he parrots, officially bemused for the second or two it takes for this information to sink in. What has he walked into with this relationship, he's sure he doesn't know.

A hand instinctively goes up to his neck, rests there as if to cover a mosquito bite. He's wary... ]

—What does that entail. Is that a mermaid ritual?

[ Here he was, thinking that all mermaids did were sing and swim... he couldn't have been more wrong, apparently. ]

[Oh good it's Oona's second or third favorite thing: Mermaid Lessons 101.

She sits up and moves so she can sit more comfortably in his lap, resting her legs against the couch as she thinks of how to answer.] Yes, and no. It is not something that has to be done anymore. It is... like tradition? Not part of a... a law, or anything, but some still do it, because it is fun, or because they like it, but it is not so serious now.

[She tries to think of something human to compare it to and comes up blank.]

Before, when there was less of us, stealing mates was problem. So, mermaids would bite their lovers hard enough to mark deep, in case they were stolen. Now it is not so serious. Like, hmm... Love bites? Heals quicker.

But, I will not make you go through traditional mermaid courting rituals anyhow. [Oona tilts her head, expression amused] It is much more varied now, there is no use for the traditional, though I do like some. But you are not suited for them anyhow. [Maybe if his hair was longer... No, she can't imagine him with hair as long as most mermen so nevermind.

Her grin turns cheeky again] Beyond that, I simply like biting. It is fun!

Edited 2015-10-15 05:35 (UTC)

[ Well. This explanation is informative enough, but he has a good idea of what to equate this 'tradition with'. Something like hickeys, probably, which is something he's never indulged in before... mostly because there wouldn't have been a point, and also because his wife never seemed to be too into the idea.

Maybe because she was cheating on him. That could be it.

But he waves that thought aside, and shifts Oona so that she's resting comfortably and sideways along his chest. The TV's been forgotten, and he doesn't particularly mind. ]

So you never outgrew the teething phase.

[ That's an idle tease, dry, but not without some softness around the edges. A part of him understands that he should exercise restraint, stop himself from getting too comfortable too quickly, but. Well.

He cranes forward, finds Oona's clavicle from where the collar of his shirt dips too far down her neckline, and grazes the flat of his teeth just barely against the exposed skin. ]

...That's all you'll be getting out of me.

[It's truly a fortunate thing that Rosa will never ever appear in the city, because it's highly likely Oona would immediately drown her and/or rip her throat out upon sight. It's a cat fight no one would want to even bear witness to.

But now's not the time for revenge fantasies, because suddenly Adolf's moving and-- Oh.]

Ah! [Her breath hitches and she freezes. Once again, the eel's managed to shock (haha) her, and she doesn't have a comeback. Her face turns red and she hastily covers it with her hands, spluttering inelegantly.] Y-you! Stupid...! You can not just-- just do these things and not-

[Follow up! Or imply he won't do more than that!! Injustice.

Still, Adolf has managed to score a point in his favor, and Oona's wondering if encouraging him via this positive reinforcement (AKA being able to actually turn the tables on her for once) was actually a good idea.

She peeks between her fingers at him, pouting] Ahh, you are terrible...!

[ He pulls up from the crook of her neck, long bangs tickling her chin during his trajectory of sitting back up. The motion stops midway, though, because he decides very wisely and stoically to indulge in the heat of Oona's flushed cheeks from millimeters away. His face hovers close to hers, and maybe it would have been likely in every other situation for the green-eyed prince to lean in and kiss the mermaid princess, but. Well.

Those lips brush an exposed segment of forehead in lieu of Oona's mouth. Jerk. ]

...This is a lot, for my standards.

[ Will he ever stop being so wry?! The answer is yes, when he finally buckles and says ich liebe dich— that's another day, though.

Despite everything, he still handles Oona with care, with the same amount of consideration he shows for anyone he's decided is worth protecting; he tucks her closer to himself, cradles her shoulders while furiously trying to pretend that this isn't intimate. ]

What did you want me to do?

[Ha, an opening! Seeing her chance to swing things back in her favor, Oona's eyes narrow and cut sharply to him. While it's not like she has to get back on top here, it's... like a challenge. A game. And unfortunately, Oona can be fairly competitive.

~~Oona please don't take this so seriously or give the poor eel a heart attack--~~

She places her hand against his chest and twists her body slightly to press her chest against him, dragging the tip of her tongue over her lips to wet them.]

You do not want to know the things I would like you to do, Adolf. [She deliberately lowers her voice to adopt a more sultry tone and leans in as if to kiss him--

But she can't really keep it up and breaks character with a little giggle, giving him a quick peck on the mouth before she settles down again.] I think I won. [S m u g.]

[ A heart attack would be the right word: his heart stops for the second it takes her to pull even closer, and that coy lick of her lips makes his own mouth go dry in anticipation or uncertainty, he's not sure himself.

It's when he feels her breath close to his mouth that he thinks about pulling back, but the resulting peck is so sweet that he can't help but boggle privately.

Yeah, she's still got one over him. His heart picks up where it left off, struggling against his ribcage (he's certain that Oona would be able to feel it, with how close she is). ]

...It isn't a competition.

[ It's a poor excuse for a rebuttal, and Adolf knows it— he sighs under his breath, expression appropriately exasperated. ]

You're the one that's going to be disappointed, if things ever progress to that point.

[Oona laughs brightly, the smugness practically oozing off of her. WHO'S NUMBER 1. OONA'S NUMBER 1. YEEEAAHH. If this were football she'd be spiking the ball into the ground.]

Do not-- what is the phrase?-- sell yourself so short! I will not be disappointed with you, because it is you. Stupid. [But it's said affectionately and maybe someone, someday, should introduce Oona to more acceptable petnames to call your lover, because someone's going to get the wrong idea if she keeps calling him 'stupid.']

Besides, practice makes perfect, or so they say. We will just have to practice and improve. Often, if need be. I can teach you! [Her grin is wicked and quick, but there's only a soft laugh before she continues]

You are too funny, Adolf. You make it too easy to tease you, how can I resist?

You won't be disappointed for the reasons you're assuming.

[ And this might be a bit surprising, all things considered— Adolf is a gentle person, big scarred hands hiding a considerate heart that beats too loudly in his chest. His palm easily cups the entire length of Oona's cheek, and he traces that wicked grin for the second that it stays, as if to commit it to memory. ]

You'll be disappointed because I won't be gentle.

[ And he says that, states that as flatly as he can manage without letting his ears go red or his tone bordering on dismissive.

Because, you know. ]

[The smile slips from her face in surprise, red creeping up her face to the tips of her ears and down her neck. Her eyes dart about, unable to look at him for a moment and she tries to get her brain to jump start again.]

I, ah... [Another point in his favor. It was so much easier to pretend she wasn't actually so easily flustered back before this thing between became an actual, you know, thing. Now it was impossible to hide. Her poor reputation, in tatters...

Shyly her hand reaches up to curl over the one at her cheek and she glance at him, before looking away again. 'Shy' isn't usually the adjective one would use to describe Oona, and she feels a little silly for it--after all, she's not a virgin, it's not like she doesn't know anything, but it's surprisingly different when the talk and ideas are revolved around someone you have actual feelings for.]

I do not mind... if it is you... [It's half-mumbled, embarrassed, and her fingers squeeze in something akin to encouragement.] I am not so fragile as I look, you know.

[Oona smiles again, tilting her head to playfully nip at the tip of his thumb that rests near her mouth. It's not a competition--he's said as much--but she still can't help but feel like she needs to one-up him every time he gets her heart beating that fast and her face so hot.]

[ He'd always try not to be rough, of course— he's strong, but he's not like, say, Komachi, who could probably punch holes in walls— but he'd still have to be reminded from time to time that the metal embedded in him bruise when they jostle too hard, or that he's heavier than he looks. Small things, but they add up.

He watches Oona's cheeks go red, feels her flush against his skin. It's the sort of warmth that he knows he'll remember, the kind that he'd forgotten for a while. So he covets it with his palm and fingers, memorizes it before pulling his hand back to replace it with his lips. ]

Yeah. I know better than to underestimate you by now.

[ Simply, but with a hint of affection that might have been exasperation just a few months ago. ]

...But you still barely reach my shoulders.

[ Read: 'you're so small, goddamn'. ]

[Every bit of affection he shows her without her needing to prompt him is like another little victory, one right after the other. He's changed, little by little, in a good way and Oona can't help but feel proud about it (alright, so maybe a little smug).

It's the little gestures that make her happiest, if the beaming smile in response to his kiss is anything to go by. It remains even as she punches at his arm. Excuse you!!]

It is not my fault you are a giant! I am perfectly normal sized! Ahh, you say all these nicer things and then insult me so! [She feigns huffiness, going so far as to cross her arms over her chest and look off, nose in the air, with a little 'humph!'

After like 5 seconds though she opens one eye to peer at him, fighting a smile]

[ Ah, he know too well by now that he'd gladly suffer hell for the sake of this smile, that he can regard darker moments of his life with a melancholy fondness if it means that this is what it's culminated towards. It's his pride, what little he has left, that his pain amounts to nothing if it means that he can breathe freely in front of someone he wants to protect.

He has no clever retort to her teasing, no sarcastic quip or dry rebuttals. Eloquence isn't his strong suit, but he's already been told that Oona doesn't mind his silences; that does away with any awkwardness he may have had with his verbal fumbles, and he's content to remain wordless as he pulls Oona up into his arms.

Without explaining what or why, he gets up like that, straightens off of the couch with Oona in tow as if she's weightless.

She might as well be, to him.

His collar is down, he has no real defense against his own half-smile (it's there, astonishingly enough), and once he's done rooting around for what he wants to say, he finally opens his mouth. ]

It's fine that you're small. [ Brace yourself. ] —It's cute.

[ Ah. ]

[It's funny because Adolf is the exact opposite of the kind of guy Oona should have been going for. Mermen were generally more willow-y and soft, not scars and muscle and all... this. But maybe it's because Adolf's so different that she's attracted

Or maybe she just really likes the little thrill she gets at being picked up and handled. Not many people do, or are capable of it, since Oona's surprisingly heavier than she looks (thank you incredibly dense bones built to withstand the crushing depths of the ocean!), so that fact that Adolf can do it so easily makes her let out a delighted noise and grin at him.

Her arms automatically go around his neck, fingers lightly playing with his hair. An eyebrow quirks in amusement, her tone growing smug and encouraging] You think I am cute? [She just wants to hear him say it again. Stroke her ego, eelkun.]

Don't let it get to your head.

[ What a rude eel. His voice rumbles, though, in a faint memory of a time when he laughed with his words, when he could still do that with conviction, without second-guessing.

And really, though he's the one holding Oona above ground, supporting her weight, Oona is the one that's anchoring him. Keeping his feet planted, his posture upright.

(He'd take her to bed but he's not that forward yet, too careful with the things he has to be too quick about putting one foot in front of the other. Especially when his mind is still reeling— because it is.) ]

Is 'cute' enough?

[ Turning her words on her now, in reference to her overuse of the word 'enough'. He looks down at her, sharp gaze dulled by silent affection. This is the most at peace he's possibly been since he's gotten here. ]

Ah, how rude! [But it's said on a laugh and shes' relaxed so completely in his hold, comfortable and warm.

His question makes her tilt her head, expression turning to recognition as she acknowledges his use of her word--enough. 'Enough' doesn't feel like the right word to use, but Oona's vocabulary, despite making impressive leaps and bounds over the time she's spent in Cerealia, can still be quite limited. Or maybe a word doesn't exist for her to use to express this feeling, so she hums and smiles.

Her hand moves to cup his face, her expression softening to mirror the affection he's looking at her with.] You will never be just 'enough.' You are more than that. You are everything. [She knows he was asking about the use of the word 'cute' rather than himself, but she felt that needed to be said too.]

But you could also call me beautiful. Ah, no! Bewitching! [She likes that word more and she grins cheekily] A bewitching siren, luring you out to sea with my charm and my songs. Enchanting you. Pulling you under my spell.

[Her tone is teasing, because clearly someone's gotten into the cheesy/trashy mermaid romance novels again (surprisingly a section exists in the library for those weird paranormal romances)]

[ Be still, his beating heart. The drumming in his ears is thunder, the burn in his veins lightning— twenty years of exposure to artificially-induced stimuli, and you'd think that someone would get used to jolts strong enough to shake bone and sinew. In a way, it's a comfort to know that there are some words that can still make his head spin.

'Everything'.

Ah, there it is, that hammering against his ribcage. It hurts in a way he wouldn't trade for his limbs, his blood, his life. ]

Beautiful.

[ So he cheats. Gives her what she wants in words only he can understand, in murmured German against her hair. Measured steps bring Oona to his single bedroom, where he deposits her on clean sheets ruffled with the weight of one person.

For once, he lets himself be an addition on the mattress. Next to her, not on top of her.

(He's still practicing discretion.) ]

A stupidly stubborn siren who should know better. [ Still in German, with one hand tracing the outline of Oona's smooth jaw.

And finally, in English: ] ...You're warm.

Edited 2015-11-02 14:26 (UTC)

[German sounds so different from English to Oona's ears. English doesn't always flow neatly, but there's a lightness to it. German is heavier, rougher, and seems to settle over her skin at a crawl, making her shiver in delight to hear it.

Or maybe that's just because they've moved to the bed, and while Oona doesn't really ,i>expect anything, it still makes her heart beat faster in anticipation. She shifts only a little so she can face him, one hand moving behind herself to undo her hair from its ponytail, spilling the still slightly damp curls over the bed behind her.

Finally recognizing English words she focuses, able to concentrate on the actual words rather than just how they sound.

'Warm,' he says, and though Oona's temperature typically ran colder than humans, she believes it because it feels impossibly warm in the room to her. She shifts again, sliding her legs against his, reaching her fingers out to play with his shirt, curling the hem between her fingers. She wants to touch him to slid her hands against skin and scars, but she can be patient. This time. The last thing she wants is to press him onto a next step he's not prepared to climb just yet. So she'll take her time, she'll tease and hint at what could come, will come, when he's ready.]

Hmm. [A hum of acknowledgement and a smile] That is your fault.

[Her mind loops back around to the German he'd been speaking and she tilts her head slightly] Will you teach me some? Your language-- German. I want to speak it with you, some day.

[ The apartment is quiet; the only sound comes from the mechanical hum of the aquarium he'd installed in the corner of his bedroom, the sound of water that'd always felt soothing to him when he'd close his eyes and count off another day spent here, in a place displaced from everything that'd ever comprised his life on Earth, on Mars. He'd been fine with relinquishing those comforts on days when Oona'd crawl into bed alongside him, tired from long nights and instinctively seeking company— waiting until she fell asleep was more than an acceptable replacement for the steady tempo of the tank filter, and even the subsequent sterility of his living room couch felt more than enough when he'd considered the little figure curled up under his sheets. When he counted the rise and fall of her chest, as steady as a metronome.

But here he is now, sharing a bed he'd escaped from more often than not, with his legs tangled in Oona's, their faces centimeters apart. He tips Oona's chin up with a crooked index, takes a good look at her as if this is the first time he's ever seen her properly.

Her request almost goes unanswered, but don't worry, he hears her. ]

No.

[ That's his answer to her question, flat and simple. And it's almost as if he'd leave it at that, a one-syllable answer to a sweet inquiry made side by side on a bed, but— ]

You'd find out too much. [ —that's his explanation, relayed with closed eyes and a ghost of a smile. ] That's dangerous.

[Her mouth opens somewhat in an expression of surprise and protest. No?? NO??? Wow how rude!? The corners of her mouth twitch, a sort of reluctant, baffled amusement even as he explains.

She understands though-- if she knows what he's saying, then she'll know all the embarrassing things. And, of course, Oona wouldn't be able to resist teasing him about it.]

Ahh, you are so cruel! The worst! [She lets go of his shirt to slide her hands under it and over bare skin, her smile quick and wicked-- get him while his eyes are closed, maybe she can shock him this time.]

I will simply learn on my own! You will never know again if I know what you are saying or not! [But her tone is teasing, playful, and she laughs again even as she rests the flat of her palms against Adolf's stomach and side, just enjoying the feeling of skin on skin]

[ Ah, how reckless of her. She should feel his muscles tense under her palms when she initiates contact, a ripple under her fingertips as Adolf braces and cracks his eyes open to digest what's going on.

With that done, and with her laugh ringing in his ears... well.

He rolls the both of them so that Oona is on her back, her hands still under his shirt while he braces over her with his elbows on either side of her face. ]

It won't be hard to tell when you know.

[ Don't provoke the eel too much, Oona— he's not as naive as he looks. ]

...You'll turn red.

[ A hand swivels by the wrist, fingers sift along damp hair pooled on bedsheets. ]

[His weight is surprisingly comfortable against her, even as her breath hitches in surprise. Ah, this eel of her's, always showing her up... In the end, she thinks he might be the one that has the reigns here, even if Oona might pretend otherwise.

Her heart pounds again and her fingers twitch against his skin. Once upon a time a younger Oona might have scoffed a little at the idea of falling for someone that didn't fit the willowy stereotype of most mermen, but then, a younger Oona wouldn't have met Adolf and simply wouldn't have known any better. Oona can forgive that ignorance now.

Her face turns a little pink regardless.] I am seeing a new side to you, Adolf. [The fact he'd apparently say things that'd make her turn red both makes her want to give up on the whole learning German thing immediately, and press on out of morbid curiosity. It's hard to imagine him saying anything terrible or lewd because, well, it's Adolf. But he's been surprising her a lot lately... Who knows.

Instead she wets her lips with the tip of her tongue and she tilts her head towards his hand (touches to her head and hair were such a weakness to her, damn it) while her own hands move against his skin.

She's seen him without a shirt on before, but it's the first time she'd had the freedom to touch, and she relishes in it. She doesn't shy from the scars, tracing their outlines and mapping his body, committing it to memory through touch alone.] I like it. [She tilts her head up, brushing her mouth to his in a teasingly chaste kiss.]

[ The raised and carved skin that map burnt-red marks are dead tissue: fried nerve endings are less than adept at picking up sensation (it's not a lie when he says that his scars don't hurt anymore), but the graze of fingers still send chills up his spine, makes him brace against his elbows and rasp a breath over the curve of Oona's lips. ]

...Don't provoke me. I'm not a saint.

[ Spartan, yes. Sparing, absolutely. Selfish? No. A saint? Also no. It still eats at him, he still bleeds from where the ring touches his chest under his shirt, but the sound of Oona's voice and her hum cutting through his ears prompts his voice to pitch low, his brows to furrow visibly.

Not in any discomfort, no— it's restraint.

He ducks his head so that she can't read his expression, slides down to rest his jaw on an exposed neck from where his shirt (it looks better on Oona, he decides) dips down too low. Her scars are there like the ones that litter his own body, but they look more like coral forests to him; he traces a long line with his mouth, down to her clavicle. ]

Good. [Her voice comes out a little rough in response, her nails scratching lightly as her fingers curl in surprise at the first touch of his mouth to her neck.

There's a protest swallowed up (don't touch them, they're ugly) because it'd be hypocritical of her to say such a thing. Her scars still feel fresh in her mind, the sensations slightly dulled, but still enough to send a shiver down her spine. They're ugly, she thinks, but he makes them feel less so. Unimportant. There's no hesitation in his touch and it makes her relax-- he doesn't care, and why should he? Why should she?

Her nails drags against his skin, Oona being careful to make it bite, but not necessarily hurt. She wants to sink into him, teeth and nail and bone and undo him from the inside out. To see him unravel under her hands (over her body), and carefully piece him together again. Perhaps it's morbid. Perhaps it's just the possessive, all-consuming love that caused the sirens of old to drag sailors to their deaths. If they couldn't have them, than no one could. A selfish love that consumed and made them forget their lovers couldn't breathe under water.

But Oona wouldn't go that far. She'd let him come up for air, eventually, even though she continues to try and drag him under now. She shifts her legs around him so he can fit between them, her knees nudging against his sides (it's more comfortable this way, a not-quite-lie she tells herself as if it isn't also about reminding him just what their positions are right now).]

—Oona.

[ Another hushed warning, with his lips still tracing patterns over the crisscrosses on her skin. He looks up at her through the curtain of his bangs, filters his gaze upwards as bedsheets bunch under his forearms. The way she claws at him is a suggestion, and he's not dense enough to miss where they are right now, how their limbs are intertwined. The smooth curve of her thigh, trapping him in place.

It's a conundrum. Not a bad one. ]

You said you can be patient.

[ Ah, that's mean: he knows it, and his eyes glint from where they come in and out of view under his hair. It's even more infuriating, probably, when he lifts himself up by one elbow and wraps his other arm under the small of Oona's back, to pull her up from the bed and against the headboard.

He pins her there for a second, head cant to the side, watching— but that moment comes and goes, and he dips his head back down to her shoulder again to litter it with open-mouthed kisses.

(Not enough, he knows.) ]