#gunnardown

[bloodandpaintchips]

Gunnar’s Wall, 2020

[bloodandpaintchips]

A Second Draft

Tagging→ Andrea Sheldon, Gunnar Leidolf  Time Frame→ November 4, 2020 Location→ Sangren, Colorado General Notes→ The blue tape had to come down eventually.

The bed in Andrea’s new room at Johnny’s was like a giant pillow. She’d only left once, to look at the moon and to find someone to feed on (a nondescript patron at Ted’s who she merely compelled to forget that 10 minutes so he could keep drinking). Now she was back in this really soft bed and alone with her thoughts. And now that she was back in town, those thoughts were drifting to Gunnar a lot. It was a sore spot, as she couldn’t think of him without thinking about August and the things August took from her. She got to feel the things she felt with Gunnar after the fact, and she’d so often find herself closing her eyes and trying to place herself in the murky memories. She had to get out of this bed. That buzz from having just fed was right under her skin and she knew just laying around missing him, miles away from where she remembered he stayed, was a little ridiculous. She was in her van in moments, driving to her father’s house and hoping he’d been long asleep. Her features changed momentarily and she could feel it. She had a lot of emotions to regulate, especially looking at her old house, but she was here with a purpose -- in and out. 

Climbing the side of the house near her bedroom was incredibly easy and she briefly thought about how she’d probably be getting used to random discoveries of what she was capable of for a long time. The window was open, considering Frank probably just avoided the room, even when he was waiting for her to come back. Slipping inside, Andrea scanned the area and quickly gathered her work boxes, one full of graphite and brushes and markers, the other full of bulky acrylic paint tubes. All right where she left them. She was back outside in moments, tossing the boxes in the passenger seat before getting in, starting the engine and taking off to Gunnar’s. Not wanting to waste time when his place came into view, she got out, grabbed the boxes and locked the van before making her way up to his door. A few seconds were spent wondering how he’d even react or how she’d explain showing up years later to make good on an art promise, but she shook her head finally and knocked.

Gunnar had spent the better part of the hour hauling in a brand new television. And he wasn't sure if that was responsible or a little bit sad. A rare day off and when he'd left the auto shop he'd decided shopping was a good idea. Granted, he needed the new TV but the normalcy of it all was odd. And oddly comforting. The large flat screen was set up, cable installed, and he was settled on the couch with some mindless comedy when he heard the knock. 

Strange, that. He sniffed the air, finding no trace of something unfamiliar or unwanted (no cloying honeyed smoke), and shuffled to the door. Whoever, whatever it was, it wasn't like he couldn't handle it. More than likely some poor sod selling something that knocking on any other door would've gotten him a bite for his troubles. He wasn't, however, expecting to see her. The arched brow was the only indicator of surprise, eyes unreadable as they studied the pretty features of the girl who had disappeared in a cloud of mystery and remained as such for so long, Gunnar wasn't sure what to believe about the why and when, if ever she was going to return. But there she stood. Different, but not. Changed, yes. And so he stepped aside and gave her a short nod. "Come in."

When he opened the door, even though she had no clue what to expect, she smiled a little. True, she missed him and seeing his face again just reminded her how much. He looked exactly the same, only his hair was short. Still thick, though. Eyes still very blue. At his invitation, she walked in and set the boxes down in the nearest convenient spot before facing him completely. “So um,” she started, kicking her foot toward where she set the boxes. “I came to work on that.” She turned her head to look around the space, eyebrows raising when her gaze landed on the gridded blue tape -- still there. Fixing her eyes back on him, her smile returned despite her efforts to keep it subdued. “Fuck.” With that, she bounded toward him, practically jumping up to wrap her arms around him in a hug that she hoped would transfer all her feelings. “I’m sorry. I missed you,” she said into his shirt. 

He watched her enter his space, eyes shifting briefly to the box and then to the wall. It would be a lie to say he hadn't thought about the blue tape still outlining the long-abandoned art project. Hard to, considering it took up the entire length of it. He'd long stopped tossing the odd and errant glance at the thing and eventually it faded into the background, usually only coming up whenever a visitor, rare that that was, had inquired. And he'd never actually give a response, simply shrugged. But there she was, the prodigal artist returned. No worse for wear, barring the change in diet. 

And the strength. Jesus. That was wholly unfamiliar. Odd to place to the very human, very delicate Andy of old. This one, still pretty, but with a considerably stronger grip. He returned the hug, instinct not to put his full strength behind it. Difficult to break, the old habit. Andy, less so. He didn't understand the apology at all, and his lips lifted into a brief smile that he pressed into her hair. "Only a little late," came his reply, the dry humor of it all hidden in his hug. "Missed you too."

Laughing at his words, she held onto him a little longer before pulling away and running a hand through her hair. “I would’ve been on time, but some stuff happened,” she replied, smirking and giving a small shrug. “I probably should have called. Or something. I don’t really know what’s polite. But I brought all my crap with me to paint. I also figured I should tell you what happened. Well not should, but I want to tell you. If you’re still willing to have me talk your ear off and put creepy stuff on your wall.” She found herself taking him in, possibly trying to fill in those memories again. “I like your hair.”

"Figured as much," he replied, letting his smile linger as she pulled away. "Don't worry about it. What's done is done. Still glad to see you." Calling probably would've been the right thing to do. But Gunnar could understand the urgency that came with getting the hell away. Andy had ties, though. And she hadn't struck him as the type to disappear into the night. But all things considered, he got it. "Don't mind either. The talking or the art." Her compliment made him laugh, a short gruff sound and he raked a hand through the shorn blond locks. "Thanks. Got tired of combing it. Needed a change. See you did too." He nodded towards her own hair. "Suits, though. You want something to drink? Beer? Tea? Do tea now. Big changes."

She picked up her boxes and walked over to the wall, setting them down and looking it over to get a feel of just how big the space was. “Good.” She thought about all of the things she wanted to tell him, where she would start, and how to say it all. The idea to paint the wall was honestly a way for her to figure all that out without just taking up space in his loft. Working with her hands also just opened her up in a way she’d never been able to explain. “Beer is cool. Thanks,” she replied, getting her graphite sticks out and a small piece of tarp to set them on the floor. “So I’m just gonna go with my gut on this and hope you don’t regret still letting me do this. I used to have a plan but those are kind of leading me to shitty places lately, so I’m gonna go with the flow.” She smiled, turning to look at him. “I think I’m in the right place for it.”

Gunnar left her to sort out her supplies and headed to the kitchen to retrieve their beers. "Don't think I would've kept the tape up if I changed my mind," he told her once he returned, handing off one of the chilled bottles. "Been some time, but I still remember you're a dab hand with paint and art. Sure that hasn't changed." The 'right place' part was interesting, and Gunnar was sure she wasn't just talking about the wall. He wondered what other places she encountered and what had finally brought her back to this one. "Not much you could do that I wouldn't like."

Taking the bottle, she brought it to her lips and downed most of it before setting it on the floor near her supplies. “Guess I was thirsty,” she said, smiling briefly before grabbing a piece of graphite and picking a corner of the grid to start mindlessly outlining a figure. Her hands worked quickly, weirdly keeping time with her brain in a way that she wasn’t used to. She filled in shadows until finally, she spoke again, not tearing her gaze away from what she was doing. “Do you remember the last time we saw each other?” She had things she wanted to say but she wasn’t sure if she could look him in the eyes about it yet. So she kept sketching.

"Looks like." His own bottle rested comfortably on his denim covered knee once he settled back on the couch. Gunnar sipped his beer and chuckled. Knocking back beers; another newly acquired quirk. The television was on, saving them from a long gap of silence while she worked and posed a question that Gunnar had wondered himself, plenty of times. Still, he didn't answer right away. Curious about the way her fingers moved easily, as if no time had passed. Or the way she asked without actually looking at him. "Been some time, pet" he answered honestly. "You wanting to know something specific?" He paused, taking another sip from his bottle. "Think it was when we were out on my bike. Took us for a ride."

She was already finishing up on a figure outline, moving on to another as she gave him time to answer. When he did, she stopped, setting the graphite down and turning to him. “Yeah, it was when you took us for a ride,” she replied. The memory was a happy one, but it didn’t make her smile. “I remember too. And after you brought me home, I got roughed up real nice, fed on, and then compelled by August to believe it was him. Again.” She tucked some hair behind her ear and sat against the wall, facing where he was across the area on the couch. “Actually, every time I was with you, barring the first time, was...in my mind, with August. I guess he was grooming me or something. He’d been changing my thoughts repetitively for months and I had no clue, until he took the trust I had in you and tried to use it to take my virginity. Well he didn’t try. He did. And this happened,” she said, quickly gesturing at her face as it turned, only for a moment. “The wedding’s off though,” she joked, the smile not reaching her eyes. She didn’t look at Gunnar yet, unsure of how her word vomit would land and trying to subdue the flecks of anger she already felt describing it all.

Gunnar let her talk, expression unchanging as the words hung in the air. The truth of the matter that had left them both confused (and much anger on his part) finally revealed. The haze of those happenings had bothered the hell out of him. Knowing something was amiss with the dandy that seemed intensely occupied with Andy. And now he knew why. Her bouts of forgetfulness. The bruises. Christ, her face. He knew that, of course. Sussed it out from Johnny, what August had done to the girl. And part of that rage lingered in him. Angry with himself, for not noticing who and what the asshole was, put the pieces together in time. It'd been too late for Andy then. She was different now. He tried to suss out where her emotions lie, difficult in the almost clinical way she spoke of August twisting her mind and taking and tainting the memories. Nothing to that smile, or the gallows humor. But then he sensed it, fleeting spark of anger. Familiar in feeling, but foreign coming from Andy. But understandable. A justified rage, metered but not mindless. Nothing less than what she owed to herself, and the unfortunate situation she was put into, against her will. He pushed the beer bottle to the coffee table, and regarded her, unsure of what to say.

When she finally looked up, grabbing a piece of graphite to twirl in her hand, she kept going. “I know this is a lot. There’s like, no way to make it not a lot, if that made sense. But yeah.” Sometimes she liked being able to cry, but as liquid began to burn at her lids, this wasn’t one of those times. She didn’t even know what kind of tears they were — angry, remorseful, etc, she just wiped them away quickly. “He’s dead now, I killed him pretty much immediately. Before I even registered that I could kill anything. But all I felt was red, for months. Like I couldn’t even control it or my actions, and when I was finally able to, I was still fucking lost. I was afraid of what I would do but most of all I just felt shame?” She met his eyes, hers a bit bloodshot. “And once my mind was clear enough to really assess what happened...why every time I was with him it felt like a copy of something, why I was telling myself I was in love with him but I kept trying to leave with you somehow, I felt...stupid kinda. Like it was my fault. I know logically it wasn’t but I couldn’t even be here. I made up some great journey in my head to find my mom but it was all me trying to run from the reality of what happened. I think I still am a little, but I needed to come home. I left a lot here.”

No one could fault her for taking off. Gunnar surely didn't. Mostly. He knew what it was like, having that kind of rage inside, first glimpse of it, and the impulsive need to get the hell away from everything. Gunnar watched her, the tears she brushed away, and he felt nothing but grim satisfaction at August's end by her hand. Learning the full truth, the dandy deserved far worse. His fingers twitched against his denim-covered knees but he didn't furl them into fists. It wasn't needed. Andy didn't need his anger. Words, words were better. Even though they were never really easy for him, he liked trying for her. "Know you wouldn't leave if you didn't have a reason. Same for coming back. S'not your fault. Even if you know it, doesn't hurt to hear it. Did what you had to do. What you thought you had to do. Just glad you remembered you had things worth coming back to."

She let a tear fall and smiled, genuinely this time as she listened to him grumble out those things she really needed to hear from him. Andy knew he wasn’t much for words; he expressed himself in other ways, but he tried for her and it was evident. It made her feel happy to be back and regretful at the same time. “I did think I had to do it. I thought I had to do a lot. I’m always thinking. Vampirism didn’t get rid of that, unfortunately.” She put the piece of graphite in her hand back on the tarp and pushed herself off of the floor to go sit next to him on the couch. “I’ll probably finish the wall in a week. It’s gonna be all the faceless things I always saw in my head. Easy to duplicate, the eyes and hands and just, curtains of darkness. I’ve committed it to memory. But right now I wanna sit here,” she told him, tugging at a band on her wrist. She was quiet for a few moments, gathering her thoughts again. “I’m sorry. I know that might sound silly to you but I don’t know how else to express the things I feel, one foot away from you. I just have these memories of you that feel like they’re fifteen years away because they were so fucked with and maybe I’m just sorry in general. I feel like it’s all a bunch of sorry. But I won’t bore you with all of my regrets and sorries. I just wanted to say it one more time I guess. Now I have to move forward and I’m...not great at that,” she said, turning to look at him and smiling again.

"Might be a good thing, that Andy overthinking. Balance out the impulse control." His lips lifted in a light grin. "No rush on the wall. I'm around mostly, and I'll give you the spare key. Pop in whenever." Gunnar shifted slightly when she sat beside him, glad the distance was reduced. She'd been far away long enough. Carrying, from what he gathered, a pretty heavy weight. August. Her road trip. Something about her mother. What happened with them didn't need to be another one of her burdens. "S'not silly. Can't say I think you need to atone for anything, least with me. Sometimes moving forward, might be better." He exhaled and reached out, stilling the fingers that were still tugging at the band on her wrist. "Can't undo what he did, taking those memories. It's proper fucked up. Still us, though. Some changes. Give it some time. You work on your wall. We'll be alright."

Her fingers stopped moving under his and she blew out a breath, sinking into the couch a little more and feeling a relief she didn’t even know she was searching for. “I feel like I forgot what it feels like to relax,” she said quietly, letting herself slump over and rest her head on his shoulder. “Everything happened so fast, and then I was just feeding and running and searching in an endless loop. Always so much energy directed in different places...now I’m talking about making art again, something I haven’t even thought about since I left. And I’m here, and your place smells the same and you smell the same. I was almost getting used to the upheaval, but I’m remembering what content feels like again,” she explained, laughing a little. “It’s nice to not be freaking out about something for a bit.”

"Not much to freak out about here," he told her, surprised that it was true, for the most part. Things in Sangren were always strange, but familiar in its weirdness. Human Andy was always so cautious. This new Andy lacked the body heat but was no less warm in actions. Head on his shoulder. Rambling. Not the same, but similar in the ways that mattered. In the Andy ways he'd missed. "Pretty new for you, pet. Feeding, and the like." His smile was brief at the sound of her laughter. "'Spect you'll fall into the rhythm again. Different now, you being all super strength. Can't make you tremble anymore if we ever spar again."

She nodded against his shoulder, silently agreeing. She had become her own greatest fear, so while Sangren felt so familiar, it also felt like a completely new place for her to get to know. But having a place to stay in Johnny’s home where she felt so safe, and sitting here with Gunnar and feeling the warmth and activity under his skin -- it wasn’t overwhelming. “Feeding...yeah. I’m still not totally used to it but it’s interesting being able to just…” she started to focus on his arm, running her fingers down his veins and turning into his neck a little more. “Smell and feel everything? And hear everything.” She paused, taking in what he said and laughing a little. “Super strength or not, that’s still very much a possibility. The trembling was attributed to a few things there.”

He hadn't meant it the way it sounded, but hearing Andy admit to the trembling being more than just their afternoon spar made him laugh. "Guess that's true enough. Gave you plenty to tremble about." It was strange to think about her feeding. Not in a bad way, just a wholly different picture of the girl he'd last seen. The timid one who wouldn't have been as bold, tucking her face into his neck or initiating touches. "Do I have to worry about you sizing me up for a meal or for a fight?" he asked, the question dripping with amusement as he dipped his head, letting his faint grin brush the top of her head in a brief touch. "Takes getting used to, I'll bet. Senses in HD. Blood is a rush. That I know. Guess you're less about the spilling than the savoring, though."

Andrea thought about how much that would have made her blush before, but it just made her smile. “As for nervous trembles, you’d probably still get those. A little. Despite this practically new body, I haven’t…” She stopped, biting her lip and trying to find the right words. “Sparred like I probably could. I haven’t even felt the hunt since those first couple months when I couldn’t control it, and that was like just seeing a dissociative red for an extended period of time. I don’t know my strength yet, which anyone could tell from my now-crinkled steering wheel.” Honestly, she was afraid to know it -- the scope of what she could do. It was like she didn’t know her own hands anymore, the only thing making her think that wasn’t true being the way she just eased into working on the wall again. It told her maybe she was different but not entirely, and maybe she could know herself fully again. Maybe more than she did before all this. “You don’t have to worry about me trying to eat you. I may like your scent more than usual and maybe I can hear the blood flow in and out of your heart, but I don’t wanna eat you. Maybe taste but only with consent,” she joked, shaking her head. “But you’re right. Feels like an understatement actually. Trying to balance living life still, but through this whole new lens.” She didn’t comment on the last part, knowing her feeding method was so inefficient and probably wouldn’t last her. But she didn’t want to talk about that.

"Yeah? What makes you nervous lately?" He listened as she recalled her experience, seeing red and feeling that out of control strength and something like understanding tugged at Gunnar, because he got it. Knew the thrill, the taste and feel of it, and the slippery sensation of fear that went with it. "Like to tell that you get used to it, but you don't. Adapt, though. That happens. Evolve with the change. Takes some time. Test your limits. I could help with that. If you're ever feeling like you need a show of strength. Work out that energy." That...well perhaps that was meant a few ways. Gunnar smiled at her little joke, letting his fingers slide through her slender ones. "You smell different. Not bad. New, is all. Few days of playing in paint, remind me of that Andy scent." His fingers brushed her knuckles, eyes holding a thinking look as he considered his words. "Dunno if tasting's a good idea, pet," he rumbled. "Never had a vamp at my neck. No telling what my blood'll do. Wouldn't want this mess in here to harm you."

“I’m not sure how to explain it, but mostly I make me nervous. It’s weird knowing you’re capable of a lot, but not what exactly.” She appreciated his honesty, and the fact that it was from a reliable source -- they weren’t the same, but there was a bit of overlap and it made her happy to at least be talking to someone who knew what it was like to have to subdue something all consuming; to know that not being able to regulate emotions could lead to carnage. He’d felt that for so long, and she felt like she was joining a fucked up club. For a moment she remembered the fear in her father’s eyes when he saw her change and sighed. “It’s time for me to adapt to a few new things.” 

She leaned up a little to meet his eyes, searching them for a moment before smiling a little. “That could be fun, having my limits tested. I constantly have more energy than I know what to do with. You should definitely help me out.” She cleared her throat, getting distracted at the feel of his hand, rubbing the back of it with her thumb. “Just wait till I’m covered in paint. It’ll happen very soon considering how many layers of it I’m gonna need for what I have in mind.” She glanced over at the wall, smiling and feeling a little spark at the thought of creating something big again, still bigger than anything she’d done. His little warning made her swipe the skin of his neck with her nose again, lingering there for a few seconds before pulling away slightly, smirk in place. “Just say no to Gunnar blood. Got it. Wouldn’t wanna lose myself.”

"S'good, you having that bit of nerves," Gunnar said with a short nod. "Means you're not far gone. Can always come back to yourself. Seen plenty of types lost to the wildness. Nearly been there myself." He shrugged. The sigh that followed was curious, but Gunnar wasn't one to pry. Andy would talk on her own time. He liked the easy flow of their talks. Missed it over the years. And he wasn't surprised that she'd readily agreed to his offer. He could sense her strength, the raw power rolling off her in waves. That kind of energy always called to his own, even if it wasn't exactly the same. "Whenever you want us, then. I'm around." Andy's excitement about the wall and diving back into her art was infectious. It'd been so long since nothing but that blue grid, a strange reminder to that time that seemed forever ago. It felt full circle to have her back like this. Sitting with him and talking art...the blood chatter, that was new. 

There was more boldness, the brush of her nose against the line of his neck, keen sense of smell making his skin twitch. She was definitely full of power, and that was a curious, new thing. "Aye. Wouldn't say no to a nibble or two. But drawing blood, no telling what's to be made of that. Always been curious about it. Not curious enough to risk you, though."

“Can always come back to myself,” she mumbled, repeating him. “I think I’ve wanted to hear that for a while, Gunnar.” She sat with that for a moment, thinking about how for someone who usually didn’t chat too much, sometimes he said exactly what she needed to hear in the most succinct way. She pursed her lips at his words, listening and nodding in agreement. “Nibbles good. Bites bad. Best to leave the unknown where it is.” Some of his words stuck out to her and she inhaled a little, circling back to something he said. “Anytime I want? You promise?” She finally let her free hand wander, running her fingers through his hair, liking the smell of that too. “Cause sometimes people regret stuff like that.”

"Glad I could help." It was sincere and he backed it with a brief smile. It was good she'd agreed about the blood. There was enough already to sort with her memories of their previous encounters. Not to mention the bloodlust. He wasn't entirely sure where she was with control, and the last thing anyone needed was a test. The raseri didn't burn as hotly now and he hadn't dulled it with drugs in some time. But he was always aware. Always cautious. He did lean into the caress of her fingers. That was nice and familiar. He was amused by her playfulness, the suggestive of it all. "Promise. Haven't regretted anything we've done so far. No need to start. Especially since you remember now."

Andrea had been testing her limits, afraid to cross boundaries although she knew by merely coming to see him, the heightened aspect of it all mixed with her attraction would be intense. And he looked at her like he wanted her, and she could smell his breath, and his hair was soft on her fingers. She felt it all so acutely. His response only established some things, especially his mention of her memories. She wanted one that was clear, hers and never muddled with. Yes, she got them back but it was through a fog. She couldn’t remember how he felt. So she leaned up, tilting his head gently by his hair before brushing her lips against his. The contact made her want more immediately so she kissed him, releasing his hand so she could lean against his form and touch his face. “I’m sorry, I just,” she whispered once she was able to pull herself away, lips a little puffy from her excitement. “You just...I should probably be good and work on the wall.”

Gunnar accepted the kiss with a small grunt, more surprise than instinct. It was brief, and then Andy was pulling away, with apologies and an energy that was very much like her former self, so much that Gunnar could've smiled. Instead he reached for her, long fingers skimming her jaw, lifting her face to his so he could give her another kiss. Lips slanting over her own, soft and cool and he savored the feel of her mouth, dropping feather light presses before shifting back. "No thinking Andy," he told her, paralleling the impulsive words he'd given her on one of those muddled nights long ago. Daring her delicate human self to give in to those base instincts. He dropped his hands, letting his arm flop across the back of the couch as he regarded her. "Go be good now. Work on your wall. Don't wanna stand in the way of art. I'll be over here."

[gunnardown]

Parlor Tricks

Tagging → Gunnar Leidolf [with Aureline Dubois] Time Frame → Friday Afternoon | November 20th Location → Sangren PD | Sangren, CO General Notes → A deal, of sorts. 

It'd been some time since Gunnar found himself in a place like this. The Sangren PD holding cell was a lot cleaner than the last one he'd been in. Quieter, too. The cell in Philly was a dusty place, reeking of piss and body odor thanks to the trio of drunks occupying the spot with him. He'd been younger then, a quiet and shivering teenager of nineteen, picked up on suspicion of theft in an incident he barely remembered. Something about pizza, and the clerk who attempted to apprehend the rage-filled young man and ended up with a broken jaw and nose for his troubles.

With no substantial evidence of the crime and the store clerk's jaw shut, literally (and figuratively, the man was far too terrified to confess anything) he'd been released. It didn't take him long to realize cells weren't the best places for creatures such as him. Too little space and not enough vices to control the darkness that festered in him. And Gunnar was wary of just how much damage he could do, or damage to be done to him in a six by eight.

Already, he could feel the energy humming under his skin, the jitter of restless heat with no outlet, and the sharp jolts he still couldn't control after the night Johnny had forced a confrontation with the hellish eel-like mer-creatures in the black lake of that infuriating forest of magicks.

It was harder to keep track of days. Difficult to decipher blackouts from consciousness, reality from the nightmarish visions of blood in his head. The lives he'd coldly taken under the raseri's control never registered. The guilt of bloodshed never came. Gunnar felt nothing, not even confusion. Just a sinking weight of emptiness and black numbing him throughout.

The police had questioned him, but could find nothing. He hadn't been helpful. Everything and nothing felt real. He had no idea how to discern the truth from whatever scenes played in his own mind, the images of kills totaling at least seven. Bodies bloodied and mangled, ripped apart like paper by hands that didn't shake once while they settled atop powerful, denim-covered thighs.

Gunnar wasn't afraid. There was no room in the six by eight for that, and certainly not in the Sangren holding cell.  Grey-blue eyes held a blank, hollow look while he sat in a corner, far away from the only other individual in the space, a nervous looking college student who alternated between nodding off in a drunken haze and jerking away to glare at the much taller and larger blond.

But he had no use for such a fragile being. Hadn't even registered him beyond human and therefore useless.

He wondered how long they were going to keep him. It shouldn't have been more than an hour, but this was going on four and he was beginning to feel restless in every sense of the word. Beyond pictures and a sketchy eye witness, they had nothing on him. Which was damn lucky, considering Gunnar was sure he wasn't entirely conspicuous during the jerky, heated shift into madness. It was a frustrating thing, losing pockets of time, hovering between reality and things he'd rather not think about.

How easy it was to kill. And how much he enjoyed it.

The badges had returned, nervous men in blue who sized him up and hovered their fingers above their weapons just in case he tried something, but Gunnar had no intention of harming anyone while they moved him from the cell into the same interrogation room he'd sat in earlier, for nearly two hours. At least not now. Whatever energy crackled inside him seemed calm now, just a regular buzz and no sign of surging.

The handcuffs were wholly unnecessary. The metal barely clicked around thick wrists, digging into his skin but the pain wasn't entirely unwelcomed. It gave him something to focus on beyond the moving mouths of the boys in blue. He didn't bother listening to them, knowing they were most likely trying to intimidate him into a confession Gunnar had zero intention to hand over. There would be no truths exchanged between him and the Sangren PD. His secrets remained as tightly shackled to his gut as his wrists were in those godforsaken cuffs.

There was a chain now, something to keep him linked to the table, and he knew he could easily break loose of it all, could rip out the throat of the smirking man in the cheap suit across from him, smear the blood of his victory along the two way mirror to the horror of the other suits watching his every move. One was a woman.

He could smell her perfume, powdery and clean-smelling as it was, even through the thick glass and he tried to recall the last time he'd touch something soft and delicate until it writhed and sighed beneath him. It'd been ages. There were no urges where that was concerned. Only heat and rush and jolt and blood. Dirty things to sink thick fingers into, lives to take and sacrifices for the raseri that howled within.

Gunnar shut his eyes, needing to block out the questions of the obnoxious man in order to resist the urge to reach for him and instead focus on the sensation that combed through the dull, metallic nothingness in his head. It felt familiar, a warm rush unlike the heat that churned under thick skin and if he concentrated hard enough, let his mind go blank and grab hold of the feeling, he could practically taste it.

Gone were the voices of the detectives and badges, the din of the police station, heavy footsteps and ringing of phones and the shuffling of papers and other activities so mundanely human it made him anxious. This was better--warmth, and something sweet...and familiar. 

Suddenly he tasted her, a brief touch of lips pressed to his that were gentle and soft and wicked and everything he loathed, but dripped with smoke and honey.

Steel eyes open, first glancing at the still talking detective who hadn't yet noticed the presence of another, the brown-skinned woman with chestnut-colored curls perched on the edge of the metal table, her slender fingers working through Gunnar's longish blond locks.

"So big now," she cooed and Gunnar couldn't help the shiver that ran through him, part disgust and mostly lust because he still craved her, even as thoughts of curling his hands around her neck coursed through him, hot and snarled.

The witch seemed to sense his torment and merely laughed and continued to trail her fingers through his hair. "Took quite some time to find you. You've been up to things, chouchou. Bloody, bad things. So many lives snatched. I can hear the screams. And I taste another on your lips. A human. And one of my kind." He noticed her amber eyes flash with jealousy at that, and Gunnar's lips lifted into a smirk.

"Cut you out, I did. How d'ye find us?"

Aureline tutted at the question, the soft sound still managing a sharp echo in Gunnar's head, making it difficult to decipher if this was the reality, or if he was still in the police station. The tightness in his wrists pointed to the latter, but the haze surrounding the woman before him, the hum of her smoky magic was confusing. "You cut me out, but I still feel you inside me, my love. And I can make all of this go away."

Gunnar knew she could. Powerful as she was, it would only take but a few words to confuse the human detective, muddle reports, and free him from this metal place with only the marks on his wrists as a reminder. But steel-colored eyes narrowed because her help came at a price and Gunnar wasn't falling for that again.

Not even as Aureline shifted, slinking into his lap in sensuous straddle, pressing honey curves against him in a way that the heat in him called to, the jolt within hot and sharp and her lips curled into a smirk that she pressed to his mouth while whispering "Just a gift, chouchou. No take this time. I want to help."

Helpful was not something he considered her to be, but Gunnar wasn't sure how much more he could endure sitting in that cell, silent at questions and inquiries before the blackness in him took over. 

Cuffed wrists strained against the metal while she studied the silent battle waging behind grey eyes until he finally nodded and she grinned triumphantly, even as he snarled a warning.

"Cross me, and I'll snap your neck."

Aureline gave the harsh words a passing wave and Gunnar looked down when he realized the tightened pressure against his wrists were gone and he was no longer sitting in the uncomfortable chair in the interrogation room, but standing at the outprocessing desk, watching as the woman detective, the one who smelled of powder and soap uncuffed his wrists and apologized for the 'misunderstanding'.

His possessions were returned to him, and he was free to go, strolling out of the police station and stopping suddenly when he spotted her waiting out front for him, sitting atop his bike. Gunnar had no idea how she managed that parlor trick, and his fingers brushed against the familiar leather grips while his eyes shifted to her slender curves straddling the seat, amber eyes watching him with amusement until he climbed on.

"I'd like to see your place, my love" Aureline told him, arms snaking around his waist and her words caressing his ear. "We have some catching up to do."

[gunnardown]

Relentless

Tagging → Gunnar Leidolf Time Frame → Wednesday Evening | September 9, 2015 Location → Gunnar’s Apartment General Notes → He’s having dreams. [tw for gore and violence, just in case] 

This wasn't the first night he found himself covered in blood.  

The scenes meld together, making it difficult to tell the blackouts apart. One minute he's shaking, the energy hot and uncontrollable under his skin, uncoiled and lethal, surging with an intensity he hadn't felt since the night he'd gone into the forest. And the next, there's muffled screams and the snap of bone and give of muscle and sinew under his fingers, choking off the pitiful sounds until there's nothing left but the black heat coursing through his veins.

He hasn't felt right since that night. The voices...they shout. Sometimes, he can hear the blood rushing through him, moving on a roar as thick fingers furl into fists. Nothing takes the edge off, not even the pills he'd knicked from the bird's house a week ago. She'd been a pretty thing. Powerful and wild. A beta werewolf with a penchant for marking him.

Her eyes were green and her nails were razor sharp and she sank them into his skin while their hips slammed together in a coupling that was furious and sweaty, drawing out deep, primal grunts from the frustrated berserker as he worked to rid himself of the trembling energy rolling off him in waves. The raseri wasn't soothed by sex. He'd fucked her for hours, twisted tan limbs into several different positions while her sounds shifted from moans and rough growls to tired whimpers and still, he wasn't sated.

Flat on his back, sprawled atop sheets slick with their sweat, Gunnar tried to make sense of what was happening to him. Nothing seemed to burn him out. The jolts ran through him, burning like the night he grappled with the hellish water creatures in the dark woods. It was as if the shocks had knocked something loose inside him, and he was unable to turn it off.

Three nights of blood.

He was sinking into the black now, the voices taking over most of his thoughts, calling for the kills. Stronger, and more brutal. Faces he barely remembered, situations blending and twisting in his rage-addled mind, confusing him to the point where nightmare and reality smashed together, leaving him sweaty and on edge.  

A hot shower cleanses the blood muck and matter from his hair, but nothing washed out their screams. She’d fought him. His chests and arms bore the brunt of her power; deep, angry red lines across thick, heated skin that would eventually heal, even if they did still sting.

Grey eyes flash a cool dull silver when a ripple of heat shocks him again. They came fast and heavy, those bursts of rage and it took him a minute to realize his fist had cracked the shower tile.

Breathing hard, Gunnar stepped from the bath and attempted to tamp down on the voices with more pills. Four of the white one he'd stolen from the were, choked down without water. The blood was caked under his fingernails and he spent a few minutes scrubbing at pale, wet flesh under the scalding tap until it was gone.

His bed offered him no comfort. Through the soap and scrubbing, he swore he could still smell her; dark hair, smooth husk of a voice, sweet cunt, the heady taste of her sitting heavy in his memory and twisted with later images of a long neck riddled with bites when he ripped out her throat. Thick stream of blood dripping slowly between her breasts while she heaved fruitlessly for air.

He doesn't remember much after that. The blackouts see to it. Doesn't know how he ended up at his apartment or where he left her body but his boots were covered in dirt and twigs were tangled in his hair. His guess is the woods.

The pills are strong enough to lull him into a deep sleep but he knows it won't be peaceful. The blood dreams are too frequent, the voices too loud, and he's killed too often for the raseri to be calmed.

Three nights of blood. He knows there will be more.

[andreashelfish]

gunnardown replied to your post: Deep bruises take a while to clear up. So I took a...

Bruises? Been crimefighting in your spare time?

No, but that would be a cooler story.

[gunnardown]

A Rough Sketch

Tagging → Andrea Sheldon & Gunnar Leidolf Time Frame → Thursday Evening | July 9, 2015 Location → Gunnar’s place General Notes → Otherwise known as “Miss Sheldon Lives for a Day”. 

Andrea took the truck this time. After her run-in with a body and increasing numbers at the bar, she decided she didn't want to be carrying her art supplies on Susan. And the truck was faster, she wasn't exposed. Her dad was turned in for the night and wouldn't need it again until morning. The ride to Gunnar's was uneventful, aside from stray animals and the occasional other car. She'd come up with a couple sketches for his wall, and while she wouldn't be able to paint tonight, she was pretty excited to plan it out. She always itched for something bigger, her pieces now near her ceiling against the walls of her studio, and this was it. It would just be there, and no one could mess it up. The canvas couldn't snag. She parked when she got there, grabbing a black case from the passenger seat, stopping the engine and getting out. Assuming the door would be open like last time, she turned the knob and discovered she was right. "Hello?" she called out, walking into the hall and to the main space.

Gunnar wasn't really interested in the offerings on television; it was mostly background noise to his drinking. He rolled the slim neck of the beer bottle between his thumb and forefinger, while the action played out onscreen. It seemed incredibly cliche, watching Road House on his night off but it beat actually working at the bar and dealing with drunk college students looking for shit to do on their summer break. He heard Andy approaching long before she opened the door and he turned his head when she entered and offered her a nod as he rose from the couch. "Evening. You want something to drink?"

Andrea walked over and set her case on the table by the couch. "Water's good, if you have it." She paused, rolling her eyes at herself. "I mean, of course you have water. I would like some," she managed. She didn't wast time sitting down. She remembered the wall he referred to last time, as she'd been picturing it in her mind while sketching. She had a small moment of doubt as she thought about what she came up with. "You know, there's still time to back out. We can take a trip to an IKEA and see if they have any good countrysides."

Gunnar gave a small snort as he padded towards the kitchen to retrieve a small bottle of water. "Nah. Fucking hate countryside. Fresh air and...birds, and shit. Fat kids in short pants staring creepy-like from some field. I'll pass." He passed her the bottle and settled on the couch again. "Think I'm good with whatever's knocking around in your head. "

Andrea took a sip of the water, swallowing before she laughed at his bizarre description. "Fat kids in short pants with creepy stares? Where are you seeing this art? Were there instruments of torture nearby? Was that a nun thing?" The image she had actually seemed more terrifying than any beasts. "That's messed up," she said after another sip. After a moment, a lightbulb went off. "Are you talking about cherubs?"

Gunnar shook his head. "Nah. Cherubs are the fat, naked ones. Puffy cheeks and pointing at Jesus, with those sad eyes. The fat kids in the countryside, there was a painting at the home, that one of the nuns had in her office. Creepy children in front of a farmhouse. Real Children of the Corn shit." Full lips twisted into a frown and Gunnar took a sip of his beer. "Never cared for 'em since then."

Andrea realized she was wincing as he described the painting and    straightened her face, taking a long gulp of water. "Yikes. That sounds like hell. It also makes me think whatever I paint up there couldn't screw you up much if you had to stare at that daily. If anything it'd just remind you of what surrounds you here," she said, finishing the bottle and setting it down for the time being. "I brought some graphite so I could grid tonight." Grabbing her sketchbook, she sat next to him, opening it to the sketch she was leaning toward the most. "It's not too bad, mostly trees and these figures," she explained, waving her hand over the drawing. "Some teeth, lots of eyes, some disembodied..."

Gunnar gave a solemn nod. "Aye. Anything's better than punished children in breeches." His gaze was drawn to Andy's work, and Gunnar took a moment to asses the art. Though he wasn't much of an art expert, he could tell she was talented. The scene she set was dark and graphic, but oddly beautiful in a gruesome sort of way. Reflexively, his fingers traced the lines on the sketchbook, his eyes drifting up to the wall, trying to picture the scene's transfer from paper to canvas and he glanced over at Andy, his smile brief but meaningful. "It's proper fucking twisted. But I like it. A lot. You got a good hand for this sketching business."

Andrea bit her lip and nodded. "Well thank you. You smiled so I'm taking that as the full okay. I'm not doing anything crazy yet, just gonna see if it fits on the wall. That's why I brought blue tape." She got up, taking the book with her and going to set it on the floor by the wall before pulling the tape and a pencil out of her case. Thinking about where to start, she turned to him. "Do you have a step stool by chance?"

Gunnar arched a brow at her question. "Sure, lass. It's right next to the recipe books." Despite his momentary sass, he did manage to produce an old but sturdy crate for her to balance atop of. "D'ye need me to do anything," he asked, folding his arms and assessing the massive wall. "Not sure how much help I'd be, with this."

Andrea shook her head and watched him set the crate down before standing on it, pushing up on her tip toes to place the edge of the thin tape against the ceiling. "It won't take very long to grid. You can just spot me since I'm tippy-toeing on a crate and I'm not graceful," she said, pulling out the tape and dragging it to the bottom before kicking the crate over, measuring with the ruler in the band of her skirt and starting again.

Gunnar figured that wasn't a completely difficult task. He watched her balance atop the wooden crate. Lack of grace was right, and after some serious wobbling, he had to hold her steady, large hand gripping her calf while she continued marking out the wall with her tape. "Am I gonna have to stand watch the whole time, to make sure you don't snap your damn neck?" he rumbled, his tone full of amusement. "Thought I could leave you to it. But I can't have you toppling into the television."

Andrea "You probably could just leave me to it, if you're quick and look over every few minutes. Though I feel like you just jinxed me." She continued making the lines until she reached the end of the wall with him spotting her. Going across was a lot easier. By the second line down, she got off of the crate and measured horizontally until the wall was gridded in thin blue tape. "Okay. This is done, and it's the most organized I've ever been," she said, stepping back and eyeing the whole thing.

Gunnar "Right. Blame the jinx, and not your feet." Despite the short laugh that followed, he remained at her side and watched her careful handiwork with the tape until the wall was covered with the blue grid. "Seems like enough art on its own," he remarked while shoving his hands into his pockets. "This all the work for tonight, or is there more ye wanna tackle?"

Andrea took her jacket off, stepping back from the wall and draping it on the couch. "This is all I can do for the night. I think I'm gonna come on a weekend to lay down the actual sketch and paint it in one go. At least as much as I can do. I can get a ladder from my dad's store so I can have a steady hand. Now that it's gridded, it'll just take so much quicker, and it'll translate almost exactly. The hard part is done."

Gunnar nodded at that. "Weekend works. Never doing much during the day besides sleeping, anyway. So ye won't be bothered." With the hard part tackled and her work done for the night, Gunnar didn't mind her sticking around. The movie was nearly finished but he'd stopped paying attention long ago. Picking up the empty beer bottle, he gestured towards her. "Want anything?"

Andrea jammed her palm with her fist, taking that as an invitation to stay for a while, which was cool because she'd gotten heated while putting up all the tape. She found herself staring at it. Part of her just wanted to start tonight, but she knew that was ill-advised with nothing but a crate and the graphite she brought. She needed more of everything. Deciding to stop thinking about it, she picked up her sketchbook before walking over and sitting on the couch. "I'm good actually," she said, opening the book.

Gunnar tossed the bottle in the trash, in the kitchen and dropped onto the couch. His gaze settled on Andy, and a brief smile tugged at his lips when he reached out to flick the corner of her sketchbook, recalling her silent but small art struggle earlier. "Seem restless, lass.  Wouldn't mind watching you work tonight, if that's what ye wanted. Start on like...outlining or some shit. I dunno. Not much for art terms. But you get the point."

Andrea looked up at him and smiled a little, shrugging her shoulders.    "No, it's okay," she said, reaching for one of the pencils out of her case. "I'm just gonna sketch while we watch the credits to what appeared to be Road House. I won't outline until I have all my supplies and a proper stool. I kind of want it to be perfect, so I can wait. Like you said, you're not gonna be doing anything anyway."

Gunnar was satisfied with that, and he propped a boot on the small table in front of the couch while the credits started to roll. "So what you're saying is, I'm gonna be seeing a lot of more of you around here." There was a hint of charm in his words, and the flicker of amusement in grey eyes was brief while he reached for the remote between them. "Don't think I mind that at all."

Andrea smirked as she scribbled, putting the pencil down for a moment to reach over and quickly run her fingers through his hair, her arm entirely outstretched. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're being really sweet." She brought her hand back, continuing to draw and getting a little graphite on her hands. She didn't care, it happened all the time. She just had to be careful not to get it all over the place.

Gunnar was fully prepared to shrug off that 'sweet', but her fingers grazing his scalp stopped his plans. He gave a small hum then, because he appreciated her grazes more than he'd admit, though he was beginning to suspect she knew that. The tiny gesture was quick and playful, and Gunnar found himself leaning over, uncaring about her graphite-covered hands but he did manage a chuckle at the spot she managed to get on her cheek. He wiped at the smudge, rough fingers lingering on smooth skin before he glanced down at her work. "Looks good. Anyone you know, or just a scribble?"

Andrea paused her movements, staring down at the drawing for a few seconds. "I don't know. I mean, I know I don't know this person, but I may have seen someone once and kept them in my brain." She turned to meet his eyes, clearing her throat. "Sketching...painting, it's all a lot like dreams sometimes. You know, how they say the people you see in your dreams aren't necessarily people you know, but they're never people you've never seen. In passing, a body, an image...whatever. We can't make things like that from scratch. Our subconscious is huge." She felt herself about to ramble and shook her head. "Mostly it's just a scribble."

Gunnar didn't know much about art, but he was pretty familiar with dreams of strangers and lingering faces he couldn't quite place but felt familiar all the same. It wasn't something he dwelled upon too heavily, preferring not to muddle through the meaning of them, but he liked her explanation, ramble as it was. "Scribble is the outlet. Way to get it out. Seeing it on paper, maybe it eventually turns into something you might recognize. Or someone..." Gunnar shook his head, as a small but deep laugh slipped out. "Now you've got me thinking way too much into it."

Andrea nodded slowly as he spoke, her smile growing into a laugh at his little complaint. "Sorry about that. But it is interesting, right?" She bit her lip, tossing the pencil aside and closing the sketchbook. "Thinking ​is​ okay sometimes."

Gunnar "Thinking's alright," he agreed with a shrug. "Think I just like hearing you think out loud about it." His honesty was pure impulse, and his hands were deliberate in their touch when he reached for her, arm curling around her middle while tugging her close. The sketchbook was set aside in favor of more thought-free action, this time brushing his lips to hers in a teasing press that only stoked the restless heat under his skin. "You're good at chatter that means shit, " he told her. "Deep stuff. Like you work it out your thoughts...not really for anyone, but if they happen to hear, then it's alright. Proper fucking weird, with your dreams and ramble. But I like that."

Andrea searched his eyes for a moment. "Really?" She didn't expect and answer, didn't want one, really. It was just an automatic response. But her face was warm, hearing him say that about something she felt always held her back. "I guess once I start thinking out loud I forget people are around. And then I'm reminded...and I try to reel it in. Maybe I won't do that here." The teasing would make her restless, and the statement of 'I like that,' gave her the sudden urge to be close. She reached out to touch his face, gripping his chin so she could kiss him again. "That's like the only time I've actually liked being called that."

Gunnar felt her blush, the way her warmed her all over and he let her kiss him properly, grunting a bit at the brief tug to his chin. Large hands slid under the hem of her skirt, gripping her thighs and lifting her gently, easily into his lap and pressed himself closer to her heat. "No reeling it in. Never here." The words were a gruff command as his hand slipped a little lower, calloused thumb tracing idle circles into the silky skin of her inner thigh while he parted her lips with a hard kiss, because Gunnar enjoyed the slight tremble in slender fingers when he surprised her with his strength.

Andrea could hear his words, but continued to tell herself that she ​would​ have to reel it in    somehow, at some point. "I don't want to..." Her whispers    completely contradicted her thoughts, and she wasn't sure why that was. But    his hands on her bare skin (she was beginning to think she wore the skirt on purpose subconsciously) had her feeling a few new things, the main one being that she wanted more of this -- as much as she could have or would allow herself to. She moaned softly, the sound muffled by his mouth. When she pulled back for air, chasing the kiss with reddened lips, she tucked fallen hair behind her ear. "I don't...think I ever got a real tour of your place. Might help with the inspiration," she said quietly, her voice coming out a little cracked.

Gunnar chased that moan, deepening their kiss with a low groan until she abruptly pulled away. It took a minute for the words to register, far too focused on the movement of swollen lips but eventually the suggestion sank in and Gunnar was admittedly surprised, though his face remained unchanging. The break in her tone told him just enough, that she'd never attempted something like this before, and moments like these only emphasized just how human and innocent she really was, with tousled hair and glasses all askew. There wasn't much of his place she hadn't already seen, considering she'd been there before, back when he was half out of his mind and blood-soaked but he didn't bring that up. Instead, he held her close and scooted to the edge of the couch to stand. His grip never faltered, his hands sliding to cup her bottom and he waited until her legs were wrapped around him before he headed down the hall and into his bedroom. Neat as a pin, with plain but clean sheets that he gently deposited her atop of. "Sure ye know this room," he remarked, one knee pressed into the mattress while he hovered above her. It was all he said before cupping her cheek and pulling her into another kiss, leaning forward until her back was against the bed and he was between her legs.

Andrea followed his movements until she was looking up at him, wide eyed and attempting to downplay her arousal. His bed was soft, and like she previously noted, so was he despite muscles and calloused hands and hard kisses. His nose bumped her glasses, and for a brief moment it made her laugh a little before quickly removing them and blindly setting them on a surface nearby. She wanted to touch so badly, comb through his hair, his beard, trail his neck, but her hands shook as she thought of allowing herself anything else. She'd just never done it, or given in to her desire to. He touched her skin, gripped it, but she couldn't do the same right away as what little thoughts that slipped by got a little louder. So she kissed him back, letting her hands hover and surprising herself by gently biting his lower lip.

Gunnar could sense her nervousness, even before the slightly comical bump with her glasses. It was subtle, from the slight tension in her limbs, her brain halting her body's natural instinct to move against him. Though he did enjoy the biting, encouraging it with a low growl and small roll of his hips. Pushing up to his knees, Gunnar gently removed her boots, tossing them aside and waiting a beat before tugging off his shirt. The valknut pendant thumped softly against his chest, brushing the long scar above his heart and he regarded her quietly as his hands skimmed her thighs, fingers making a slow descent to her center, only to trail back up, just as slowly, chasing the earlier tremble. He leaned in just enough to kick off his own boots and to press his lips to hers, keeping his full weight off her while his fingers continued to stoke her inner thigh. "No reeling in, Andy..." Taking her hand, he guided the smaller fingers across his skin, letting them trail down his stomach, to settle at the top of his jeans. He'd let her decide their next destination, giving her the push she needed to get her out of her head and into the moment.

Andrea felt the ache from last time return as she felt his fingers. It was a little unreal, but his reminder, along with feeling his torso under her finger tips were enough to pull her fully into the moment. She still wasn't going to do anything she wasn't ready for, but whatever this was, she couldn't feel herself stopping yet. She halted her thoughts again, going on pure want, her hands working slowly as they lingered around his waistband. Pushing herself up, her lips captured his again in a heated kiss as she unbuttoned them, keeping his underwear in place but pushing the denim down. It shouldn't have been new, seeing him this bare, but it was. The context had her head in a completely different place. She did what she wanted to, feeling him out, dragging her fingers down his spine and around his hips.

Gunnar cradled her face in his palms, grunting at the deep jolt her fingers caused pushing at his jeans. He might have nipped her a little too hard but he sucked at her bottom lip, soothing the sting with his tongue while he quelled the urge to surge forward. There was no reason to contemplate anything but the taste of her, sweet innocence with a heady streak of boldness that he enjoyed. Still, he couldn't resist surprising her just a little, his hands slipping to skim her sides, resting at the hem of her shirt and he pulled away from her eager mouth, his kisses melting to gentler pecks when his fingers pushed under her shirt. Silver eyes watched her intently, waiting for the hitch of breath that would tell him she reached her stopping point but even as he brushed the swell of her breasts. "No thinking." He pressed the reminder to her lips while his fingers continued to tease with light strokes. "Tell me what you want."

Andrea shivered, relaxing against the bed and continuing to run her digits along the ridges of his stomach. Soon her arms were wrapped around him, playing with the edges of his hair. What began as light twirling around her fingers turned into tugging the more he touched her and the more she felt it between her legs. His hands under her shirt made her nervous, but not for the reason she expected. She swallowed as his hands traveled. "Gunnar...there's...it's not all normal, under there." Her words were whispered and her eyes only met his between gazes at his lips. "It's kind of like that," she said, bringing a hand down to lightly stroke the scar on his chest. "Just want you to know it's there...because I um, I want you to keep touching me."

Gunnar wasn't sure what she meant at first but his strokes stilled when her fingers met the unsightly scar on his chest. Ragged as it was, the result of a desperate act he still couldn't speak of but was forced to relive bits and pieces each time he looked into the mirror. Large and pale, it never healed quite right, but he wasn't ashamed of it. Not entirely. Still, Andrea's hesitancy made him curious, wondering what could pause their interaction. He found himself kissing her--softly, wordlessly--while his hands moved to tug off the fitted shirt, leaving her bare in the slightly chilly room. Gently--because Gunnar liked touching her gently--he skimmed her body, lips brushing her collarbone, dipping lower to explore the curve of her breast, nose nudging a stiffened peak with a deep hum. She was soft and warm, and he could sense the nervousness rolling off her in waves. Sitting back on his knees, Gunnar pulled her against him, bare breasts pressed against his naked chest, desire churning thick and sluggish in the pit of his stomach, stirring the restless energy surging through him but despite the building heat, he took his time, fingers combing through thick brunette locks until he felt what made her nervous. He didn't have to see the scars, but he could feel them and he wondered what marred her in such a fashion. This wasn't the time to ask; he had no intention of knocking her out of the moment with overthinking. So he did as she demanded, in her shaky and hesitant voice. A single finger traced the line of the scar he couldn't see, running slowly down the base of her spine and traveling back up, circling the nape of neck, just as he kissed her delicate throat. With his jeans around his thighs, he was pressed at hercenter, feeling the faint throb of her through the thin cotton of her panties. Still, he kept his touch lightly, following the jagged path of Andrea’s scar and sucking at the curve of her neck, enough to leave a mark that he nibbled at with another deep growl.

Andrea placed her shaky hands on the side of his face when he kissed her, caressing hairs with her thumb and feeling more sure for a moment before he pulled at her shirt, lifting it off and tossing it aside. She got goosebumps, practically feeling the follicles on her skin shift as he examined her with his touch. She almost wouldn't breathe, somehow afraid and excited at the same time. He would be the first since Johnny to know it, and ever since that night she avoided it; she pretended it didn't exist, bypassing mirrors and carefully dressing. She would feel better if she forgot and went around it. When he pulled her against him, her arms instinctively wrapped around his neck. They were so close, and a brief silver flash in his eyes had her staring, lips brushing his as she held her breath again while his fingers roved. When he found the marks, convex and left jagged by a shoddy patch job of black magic, she finally let out a breath. He was touching them, and he kept touching them, his expression unchanging. She should have expected that, but it hit her as soon as his lips met her neck, small fingers journeying to his disheveled hair and curling against his scalp. And the scars didn't feel ugly. They were just a part, like the neck he kissed and the thighs he stroked. It almost made her emotional, grateful to be pulled out of it a little by the sound he made against her skin. Between the press of him and the pressure of his teeth, she felt the muscles between her thighs clench, pressed against the damp fabric of her panties. Surprising herself and assuming it to be a reflex, her hips rocked against his bulge, giving her a satisfying jolt followed by a breathy moan.

Gunnar's hands caught her hips, sliding down to lightly grip, chasing that friction with measured thrusts. His eyes shut briefly, savoring the feel of her fingers tangled in his hair and the damp heat he smelled through her panties. Want was heavy in his kisses, the way his mouth captured hers, the glide unhurried but hungry, a swift change from the earlier tender touches. Gunnar worked to restrain himself, though energy burned beneath his skin, fevered and restless, building with those quiet sounds he stole from her lips. With a gruff moan, he pitched forward, trapping her under his large frame while he pushed his jeans further down and kicking them off. Thick fingers pushed at her skirt, bunching it around her waist, his hips working a slow rhythm, grinding against where she was warm and wet for him. Gunnar was sure to take his time, the ridge of his cock brushing her center and his hands gripped hers, untangling them from his hair to pin them above her head. His grip was tight on her wrist and he matched it with a firm hold on her thigh while he continued to tease her, nipping at her lips and giving her no more than the steady rock.

Andrea clenched her fists where they were pinned, her heart rate jumping as she felt the building tension in her middle. She was still so new to all the clenching and shivering and pulsing she felt in multiple areas of her body. His grip on her wrists only made it worse, and her thighs shook a little from the building sensation. She wanted to fight that off, not ready to stop feeling what she did in that moment. It was like a sweet pain, feeling as though she were at the edge of something and not wanting to topple over, despite craving it so deeply. As if he could read her mind, his movements became slower. She groaned, fidgeting a little under his hold before deepening their kiss, tugging at his lips to communicate. The pulsing subsided only to build up again, and those moans she couldn't stop were back when she head breath for them. She'd never been so conflicted, wanting the slow burn but also what she knew was coming. The "oh my God," felt like someone else had said it, along with the sigh of his name. She would think about this later, wondering how she sounded and whether or not she could have controlled it, but she was in a haze, unable to think even if she wanted to.

Gunnar tasted the whisper of his name with a deep groan, his hips giving a hard, jerking thrust as he struggled to keep himself in check. He was careful not to let his grip tighten too much, wanting to tease but not to bruise her delicate skin. Grey eyes flashed a warm silver and he breathed heavily, more of out a need to focus his strength and keep it under control. It was a difficult task with her writhing; silky skin, wet warmth pooling between trembling thighs, and he wondered about her taste. Needing something to sate his curiosity and perhaps to push her over the edge she hovered above, Gunnar lifted his hips, his free hand trailing down to rest at her center. It would be far better to distract himself using her pleasure; he brushed the front of her panties, teasing her through the thin fabric as his gaze met hers, wanting to see her reaction. Pushing a little further, he pushed past the waistband, a low grunt slipping out at the feel of her, warm and practically melting into his touch. Calloused fingers swirled around her button, his strokes steady and gentle, knowing she'd probably be overwhelmed at first, so he kept it light and pressed a few kisses to her cheek, encouraging her to chase down the feeling he knew she was so close to.

Andrea gasped as soon as his hand neared her core, unprepared for how acute the feeling of fingers pressed against her would feel. She'd only done it herself once, but it was so different feeling large, confident, determined fingers stroking there. She felt herself drip, wetter the more he touched and it was driving her insane. At least it felt that way. If her hands were free, they'd be clawing, covering her eyes or her mouth or gripping onto something but all she could do was clench her fists tighter and flex her fingers as she groaned and sighed. Her back arched, trembling thighs spreading wider under him until she felt her muscles tighten and release all over, like a faucet turning on at full force. It wasn't like what she felt before; it felt like more. Her hands stopped moving in his grip and her knees bent, toes curling as she caught her breath. For a moment, it was like she couldn't make sound, only attempt to until her moans came out quietly. She bit her lip, staring at the ceiling, not wanting to move right away. Or talk.

Gunnar rode the graceful arch of her body, his hips rocking into her thigh and he pushed out a rough groan at the friction. Despite the rush of dark heat surging beneath his skin, his gaze remained on Andy. His touch never faltered, not even through her moans as she came undone. Her body buzzed beneath him, trembling thighs and breathy sounds that he took from her with soft kisses. Even in the haze of her pleasure, he still wanted, stroking her folds, soaked and making a mess of his hand while his lips traveled along the curve of her neck, nipped at her collarbone until he could nibble at her breast, sucking a small, reddish mark near the tight bud. Eventually he loosened his hold on her wrist, and slipped his hand from her panties, making a show of tasting her, licking the cream from his fingers with a rumbling moan. The quiet didn't bother him but he wasn't going to give her a chance to settle into thinking again, so he kissed her, parting her lips with another deep sound and shared the sweetness he'd sucked from her, moments before.

Andrea's chest rose slowly as she watched him lick his fingers, a little dazed from the image. Her mouth hung open a little, only to be covered by his as well as the taste of something new -- salty, warm and a tiny bit sweet. She liked it, running her tongue along his lips and letting it explore. She was still feeling a little limp, but she let her freed hands roam over his hot skin. Moans were replaced by contented hums and her legs rose to wrap around his waist, her release leaving her with the need to be pressed against him.

Gunnar gripped the sheets, fingers curled tightly as he fought the urge to rut against her. He could feel her, still warm and wet, the glimpsing taste of her not helping his cause to keep himself in check and he figured the best bet was to pull away before he could no longer resist the impulse. With a final press to her lips, he pulled away, large frame shifting easily from the bed to find the jeans he'd kicked off, needing the denim barrier for when he returned to her. The jeans sat low on his hips and he sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers edging between her legs again, to settle atop her mound. She was a pretty sight, dark hair fanning out against the pillow, bare chest and flushed skin, and still in her little skirt. A small chuckle slipped out and he offered her a brief smile before speaking. "Fancy some tea?"

Andrea bit her lip, following his every movement with her eyes and sighing when he reached for her. It was her turn to stare at him for a few moments before responding, laughing and resting a hand on her middle. She was exposed, and ordinarily that would have bothered her, but his bed was soft and she was comfortable like that. She reached out, walking her fingers along his arm. "What kind of tea?"

Gunnar: "Few kinds," he told her, gaze shifting briefly to her fingers as his own twitched against her skin. "Black tea. Might be some earl grey. Found this cannabis kind from some weird head shop in Denver. Must be witch or demon made. Some kind of beastie. It's proper fucking strong. But really good. Two sugars and a good high."

Andrea smirked, sitting up after a few more moments of laying there. "Seems appropriate," she replied. She didn't want to get up, but it was starting to get cold again and that made her feel the slightest bit  self-conscious. She scooted back, swinging her legs off the bed and walking to where her shirt had been discarded. Grabbing it, she quickly pulled it over her head, running her fingers through her hair. She turned back around to face him, making her way to where he sat until her legs hit his knees. "I can only see you when you're this close," she admitted, pointing out her lack of glasses.

Gunnar followed her movements as she slipped from the bed and dressed. He had to laugh when she was close again, wild hair and glasses-free and Gunnar wrapped his arms around her middle, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "So ye wanna keep me close then?" His forehead rested against her stomach, and he had to take a moment to breathe deeply because her panties were damp and even without the heightened senses he knew he'd still smell her arousal, the scent hanging thick and sweet in the air. His hands shifted lower, settling on her hips, though he was sorely tempted to slip them under her skirt. Tea was a safer bet. Getting high would surely distract him.

[andreashelfish]

gunnardown replied to your post: With all the noise and events and fireworks, it...

Fireworks make a lot of light. Seems like more work, with the crowds to cover bodies too. Besides, go for the throat first, there’s not much screaming.

That’s a tiny bit soothing, I suppose.

[andreashelfish]

gunnardown replied to your post: I have made 52 paper cranes out of placemats we...

Gotta be something else to do.

Yeah, but a sailor’s life is an honorable one. So I hear.