lazingroyalty | (no subject)

(no subject)

[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.]

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[ 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.) ]

I am being patient. [But her words come on a slight pant, her breathing becoming a little harsher as he picks her up so easily. She watches him watch her, body tense with anticipation and when he descends, her eyes flutter closed with a soft moan.]

You are the one making it difficult. [Don't even try to place any accusations towards her, mister. Her fingers dip teasingly low, snagging the waistband of his pants and pausing, nails tapping gently at his hips.] This is good behavior, for me. [She chuckles low in her throat and it ends on a soft sigh.]

I will only go as far as you are willing to take me. [Perhaps it goes without saying, but setting boundaries and what's acceptable and not acceptable, a limit on how far this will go until Adolf's ready, is all very important to her. Partly because Oona just values honesty and open communication, but also mostly because that was simply the mermaid way when it came to intimacy. This was the last place she wanted any sort of misunderstandings.

She brings one hand back up to take Adolf's chin, tugging at him gently to look at him and make sure she has his attention.] I will give myself only to you. What you give me, what you can not or will not... I will accept it all. I want only you and all that you are willing to give, regardless of if it includes sex or anything like that.

[Oona stumbles a little over her words, attempting to choose each one carefully to properly convey what she wants. It doesn't matter to her if he wants to break the bed every couple hours or to practically become a priest-- she wanted him, after all, all of him, and all that came or didn't come with that. She was a sensual creature by nature, that much was never a secret, but she was perfectly willing to put that on lockdown for him.]

[ It's not her intimacy that concerns him: it's the weight of his own past and uncertain future, his doubts, his neuroses that've built from his feet and have paralyzed him until, for a while, he forgot how to breathe. But here's Oona, with all her patience and her candidness, giving him words he never feels like he earned.

For 20 years, Adolf's barely shed a tear— not for himself, at least. Not for others, either, not in a long time. They'd dried up with the rest of him, buried themselves with his parents a long while ago.

So he wonders why it is that he wants to cry now, as pathetic as that is, as inappropriate as it would be in this moment, tangled in Oona and her hair and her warmth. ]

For a while [ he says, when he finally manages to squeeze words out a throat that feels too tight ], that's all I wanted.

[ To find someone, to let them find him. He takes a deep breath, draws Oona closer so she can hear his heart racing three tempos too fast, to let her know that this is exactly what she does to him. ]

I thought that I could do that. Love someone. [ Finding words is like grasping for straws in the dark, and it's difficult: nothing sounds quite right. ] —So it was hard, yeah. When I found out that she'd been taking her ring off. Seeing other people.

[ Admitting that is a weight off his shoulders, and he slumps into Oona, puts his forehead between her collarbone. ]

If this is enough... if I'm enough, despite that. [ And when he exhales this time around, it's almost a laugh. A real one, not disguised under any other sentiment. A proper one, one that's meant to convey happiness, nothing else. ] I'm yours.

Ah, Adolf... [She says his name on an affectionate sigh, resting her head against his as he slumps against her. Her heart feels full to bursting, so stupidly, helplessly in love with this foolish eel. Her fingers thread through his hair and she gives a soothing hum to accompany it.]

You were mine from the first time we spoke in the rain. [Her tone becomes lightly teasing again, playful despite her sincerity.] You simply did not know it at the time. I decided then that I would not let you go.

[it seems like a lifetime ago, but splashing water into his face had certainly been the beginning of the end of it all. Or maybe just the start of a new beginning, for both of them. Ah, well.

Oona presses a kiss to his head and hums again contently.] I do not lie, remember? I never will. So you can trust what I am saying is only the truth-- you are more than enough, you are everything. [It bears repeating, however many times she can manage it.] I am in love with you. You are mine, yes, and I am yours.

[There's no need to tell him how much she hates his wife--ex-wife, she reminds herself rather smugly--or how much they all better hope the woman never makes an appearance in the city if she wants to live for longer than a couple hours.

(She wouldn't tell Adolf any of those thoughts, because it would only hurt him, but that doesn't stop her from thinking it).

But Rosa's loss is Oona's gain, even if it comes with having to piece together the broken bits that the woman had left behind. But that was fine, because Oona could make something stronger, better, than Rosa ever had and it's not a competition, but Oona would firmly say she won this anyhow.]

And I am very lucky to have you.

...If you're mine, then every bit of you, I'll protect.

[ And when he lifts his head, when he pulls up and tilts his head to the side to let his bangs sift over his face, Adolf smiles the way he might've when he was still a child. A crooked, unpracticed expression that's marred by years of disuse. It's as awkward and gentle as the rest of him, and it lingers while he slides both hands on Oona's cheeks to kiss her properly, sealing his promise with his lips over hers.

(Even if he wakes up on Mars again, opens his eyes to the rain and a cruel inevitability, this time, he won't falter— his heart will be here, Oona's nails dug into it, beating in time to the sound of waves.)

His voice is hoarse when he finally pulls away for air, forehead pressed against the small person that he knows he adores despite all odds. ]

Thank you.

[ He mouths, before he repeats it again, softer: thank you. It's the sort of all-encompassing gratitude that he can't attribute to one instant or one example, so he makes do without specificity. ]

As long as I have you to come home to, I can live.

[ Or die, it doesn't matter which. In all honesty, she could pull him under right now, drown him in the ocean without a moment of protest from him. He's already halfway delirious with emotions he'd forgotten, and he cranes in to kiss Oona again so he can memorize how she hums against his mouth, how her smile tastes, everything. ]

Edited 2015-11-04 12:50 (UTC)

[It's strange to see him smile-- not that she'd ever admit that out loud. She's not that rude. It's not a bad sort of strange either, just... different. She's never seen him smile like this before, this awkward-but-endearing thing that she hopes will make return appearances until it looks natural on him.

Her heart feels like it's skipped a beat as she looks at him, the corner of her mouth curling in an answering smile as he kisses her again.

She also wants to tell him there's nothing he should be thanking her for--she's only giving him exactly what he deserves, but now isn't the time for such protests. Oona returns the kiss with a measured leisure, like they have all the time in the world to do nothing but kiss each other. She wraps her arms around him, fingers digging into his shirt as she presses her body against him. Her knee nudges playfully at his hip and she hums again, the melody coming as easily to her as breathing.]

And I will always be here waiting for you.

But, of course you will live. Do you think I would accept anything else? Will not allow otherwise. [A small giggle--it's absurd to think she could stop that if it were going to happen, but if anyone could have the gall to storm up to Death itself and force its hand to change, it would be Oona.] Unless I kill you myself, you are not allowed to die. [But she's smiling even as she tilts her head to nip playfully at his lip.

(She doesn't even want to begin thinking about how much shorter his lifespan is compared to her own, that's a thought she'll be forcefully removing for the next 50 years or so).

Oona pauses a moment, slowly shaking her head] ...And I should be thanking you, too. For giving me my heart back. [As stuck in her trashy romances as she was, it had always been considered a thing for "Someone else." Not her. Not a broken mermaid who burned too bright with hatred for an entire species. And yet here she was, believing those fairy tales actually did have some truth to them to live up to.]

[ Ah, there it is, a threat. He's always liked that about Oona, the ferocity with which she claims life; he'd like for her to be unapologetic always, not because he's encouraging bad behavior (well), but because he'd never want to see that fire go out. ]

...We'll see how that goes.

[ About her killing him, which he probably wouldn't mind nor struggle against if push came to shove. Speaking of pushing and shoving, though.

He slides a hand down Oon's hip to where his shirt's bunched at the waist, smooths it down over her bare legs before sliding his palm under to trace the contours of her body up, up. ]

And make sure not to lose it again, then.

[ A duck of his head, and he kisses the spot where her heart would be over the fabric of the thin shirt. For all the restraint he has packed in his body, he also has as much affection to give: Oona is his outlet, one he's lucky to have found. ]

[Oona would've liked to say something witty and charming in response to all of this, but the truth of the matter is that she gets about as far as opening her mouth before his hand touches her skin. It's almost--no, it is--comical how much Oona underestimates Adolf in these situations. One day maybe she'll learn, but for now she regards nearly everything he does as innocent until she's inevitably proven otherwise. Like now.

So instead of a witty retort, her breath catches in an embarrassing squeak. She bites her lower lip and turns red, squirming a little. His warmth seeping through the shirt is both too much and not enough.]

Want this off... [A mumble, because really it's just getting in the way at this point. And actually being in a relationship now means she can forgo social niceties like wearing actual clothes now right?

The most important discovery Oona's made so far, to be sure.]

[ Okay, to be fair, Adolf's already seen Oona topless enough times that he's learned how to strategize when she's not wearing clothes— he has spare shirts at the ready in spades, she'd know that by now.

So he shouldn't be embarrassed about it anymore, not really. And he isn't, but her expressing that is still somewhat... well.

He stops midmotion in running his mouth over her scars again, keeps his head there while he answers. ]

...You'll still have to keep your clothes on around me.

[ A warning, gentle, as if he's read her mind. ]

I'm still a red-blooded male.

[ Meaning, she can't just do that to him all the time; she'll drive him crazy, at this rate. He obliges her for now, though, and pulls back enough so that Oona can take her shirt off if she wants...

...unless she wants him to do that for her, which she'll have to articulate. ]

Ahh, so mean. [but there's no heat in her words.] Where is the fun in that?

[She might have, on another occasion, teased him to take it off of her himself, but for all her talk about how she can be patient she doesn't waste anytime in pulling the shirt off to toss carelessly to the side.

She's been in various states of undress around him before, so this really shouldn't have been that different. Except, well, it obviously is. Usually he avoids actually looking at her body, keeping his eyes carefully above her shoulders, but now there's no sense of propriety to keep his eyes--or hands--from wandering.

Her own hands press against the scars between her breasts, the single unbroken one that bisects her body to below her bellybutton. The matching one on her back gives off a phantom sting, a pain remembered that she knows no longer actually exists.

When faced with the uncomfortable realities of her scars, Oona does what she's always done: She lifts her head a little and lounges back against the headboard as if to show them off, like they didn't bother her. 'Fake it until you make it,' she'd heard humans say before, and it was advice she certainly tried to follow.

So her hand slides from her body to grasp the hem of his shirt, tugging it upwards slightly in suggestion. Her head tilts deliberately to let one lock of her hair slide across her face, the ends curling between her breasts] I want this off too.

[ The conscious choice this time, for Adolf is to look. At every inch of her, because there's something about the way she leans back and shows him that he can't refuse. She breathes— inhales, exhales— and that in itself is beautiful, the way her scars curve with her ribs.

Whether it's a provocation or not seems moot by now, and Adolf finds himself running one hand up from where the scar ends beneath her navel and up between her chest. He lets the palm linger over her heartbeat for a few seconds before he finally concedes to her request, shifts back along the sheets so he can peel his own shirt off and toss it gently to the side.

If there was a time when self-consciousness was appropriate, he's passed that juncture long ago: he knows what he looks like, his mess of scars and discolored burns, the inorganic metal embedded in his chest, his joints, his bones. Despite that, he also knows that Oona won't flinch, and that's the reason he complies without protest. ]

...Not exactly what you were promised in stories, is it.

[ Princes usually come in better shapes and sizes, with charm and promises and 'ever-afters'. There's self-deprecation nestled in Adolf's words, but it's overshadowed by a brand of shyness that he tucks under his bangs and a tilt of his jaw downwards. He clears his throat, and moves forward to loop a hand around Oona's waist to push her gently back down onto the mattress. ]

What else do you want.

[ His voice is a rasp against her ear, simultaneously as serious as he always is (sincere, always sincere) and somewhat knowing (so he can spoil her, yes, and probably worse). ]

Edited 2015-11-07 15:26 (UTC)

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mermaiding - 2015-11-09 05:01 (UTC) - Expand

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zitteraal - 2015-11-10 13:34 (UTC) - Expand

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