This is just a journal. So if you’ve found this, I know she’s dead. It’s just easier for me to write my thoughts down if I imagine having someone to tell them to.
So. Dear Mom I guess.
I'm...lonely. Like the really awful kind of lonely. Not the kind that I was before, where it was never that bad because it's not like I had anything to compare to. I just knew loneliness. It's the way things always were. No friends, no...special friends. But it seems like, over the course of a little over half a year, I experienced a lot. Like, I connected with people. Did things that friends do and felt natural doing it. Like I'd finally reached that point my dad said I would where I didn't feel like I was doing something wrong, life-wise.
Then it all came to a halt. It was almost unsettling. Like maybe I was under a trance for several months and it broke. Like a cruel trick from a really powerful witch. Not that it makes any sense that one would pay so much attention to me. Any explanation would be better than what I come to on my own. It's always bad. Always results in me hating myself.
Milo disappearing was the catalyst. Which makes sense. He was the most unreal. Guy I immediately became friends with (that never happens, I don't click with anyone right away. I trip over myself and ruin it with a bad joke), who then develops some sort of...attraction to me (I mean really. It makes the cruel witch theory more plausible), and then...yeah, the other stuff. I don't wanna write it, because I'll think about it more, and it'll feel worse. And then I'll realize how pathetic I am. So we'll skip it.
I guess the worst part is going to his place, opening the door (you know, the one that never locked, that he wouldn't fix it because he's ridiculous and living in a town full of vampires wasn't enough reason) and seeing...nothing. No food, no laptop, empty drawers and cabinets. Nothing was forced, so it looked like he just left. Part of me wants to know why, part of me doesn't. But all of me wants to forget the way my stomach dropped, holding DVDs in my hand and the earth shattering...embarrassment I felt. Wherever he went, I wasn't worth telling, and like, why would I be? That was my first mistake. Assuming I was important enough to think about in situations like this. "Friends who do stuff" are just that. Silly stupid pasttimes. Thanks Fiona Apple.
Nia took off, and I wouldn't be surprised if Johnny did. I've learned my lesson when it comes to checking in on people. I can't really take that happening again.
The problem is, I started to think I was a little more important to people than I was. I'm just...well, I'm an idiot. So many firsts, and I forgot to tell myself that things are fleeting, you know? That's basic life stuff that everyone knows. I guess I was just so happy at one point, I didn't think about it. Yet I didn't want to talk about my happiness in case I jinxed it. Doesn't matter either way.
I feel like crap unless I'm stoned, which means I'm becoming a cliche. But the stuff I got with Gunnar...it's just the kind of shit I need to fade away completely. Cause I can't take being too present anymore. I'm a nervous wreck.
I'm not high now, and I'm kind of afraid of myself when I'm not. I think too much. And phrases like "Today is he first day of the rest of your life" make me nauseous. I don't want this. I have to look forward to more of it? I'm 23, that's not even a third of an average human lifespan.
I hate this. I hate Sangren. I hate that I'll probably never leave. I hate that I'm basically living Groundhog's Day. I hate my job, because it just reminds me of people I never see anymore.
I'm filled with hate, THC and 0 will. There's no hopeful happy endnote, Mom. Oh, and you're dead. That's the best part.
The Triumph purred noisily on the otherwise quiet street. He liked empty spaces and the ruckus he caused that surely interrupted some sleeping townie's quest for a good night's rest. He wasn't tired; far from it. Restless, always restless. That meant looking for something to get into was in order. Dragging Andy along wasn't part of the plan, but he figured it was his way of being a friend. Getting her out of that funk, a maybe into a little trouble. Shifting a bit, the blond twisted in his seat, enough to crack the muscles in his lower back while he waited for his companion for the evening to appear.
In light of an upcoming event and a lack of activity from quite a few characters, whatever their given reasons may be, the main blog will be undergoing a bit of a revamp. Some of the things this involves is a new navigation, more new characters, new ads and a new look entirely.
We'll go under construction midday tomorrow, but the askbox will remain open. The changes will in no way effect the established plot lines or the setting.
Instead of posting a list for activity checks and hunting certain people down, we'd like you to either like this post as an indication that you'd like to be included in the updated character list, or message us to let us know, even if you need an extended hiatus. Please don't hesitate to do this; if your activity has been nonexistent, there's a 100% chance we'll work with you.
We will post once the main is finished and everything's in order. Hope anyone reading this is having a great week!
This is just a journal. So if you’ve found this, I know she’s dead. It’s just easier for me to write my thoughts down if I imagine having someone to tell them to.
So.
Dear Mom.
I am okay. But that's where it stops. Not that I don't like it, because there are times where I would have given anything to feel just "okay." Not on edge, not paranoid, not depressed. Okay is a great middle ground.
I had to do one of those things where I sit, and relax, and see where I am now, compared to before. And it's good. I have friends still. I think. I'm not entirely sure how it works. Do people just stay your friends? Is there a way to keep up with that kinda thing? Javin and I are still cool, I'd imagine. Leigh, I'm never sure about. At most, I'd say she tolerates me. Milo's in school again. Called him once, and I feel more than once is annoying. I don't wanna be annoying to anyone. Same with Johnny, kind of. I don't see him as much, but he seems to be the person I easily admit things to. That's kind of refreshing I guess. It's a full time job, holding back, and worrying about what you're holding back. Oh, and there's Gunnar. Who is...kind of an unexpected friend...which I use loosely, because I don't really know. When we talked before, he made me nervous, and always responded with weird looks or "Aye." But after learning some self defense stuff from him, and talking to him, like actual conversations, I think he's actually nice. The nervousness was weirdly replaced with feeling safe. So I've got friends, I think. Still.
You probably had loads of friends. Dad says you were this intoxicating extrovert. Who birthed me. The total opposite. It's kinda funny when you think about it.
He also said you were good. Like, your heart was good. I don't think I'm that good. Like, when I think about it, I'm not really. Anxiety and fear of confrontation doesn't make you good. It just makes you...cautious and...unconfrontational. I've watched people die, Mom. And I only felt bad about it the first time, because it was so shocking. Every other time, my only thoughts were about my life. Could I get away unseen. Never worried about the corpse, just didn't wanna become one.
And why am I focused on living so long in Sangren anyway? For more sort-of-friendships? More paranoid rides home and weekends spent by myself in my studio? Because...there are things I wanna stay on this earth for. Like my Dad, or the way Susan sounds when I start her up, or...being able to paint something that reaches the ceiling, or I don't know, maybe I'd fall in love one day. I've felt that happiness, even though it was artificial, and maybe I wanna stick around to see if it ever happens for real. With anyone. I don't know.
But yeah. I'm not morally all right. I kinda care about self-preservation more than I do helping people. I don't want to be around people a lot of the time, let alone help them. I'm a runner. When things get dicey or scary, I run. And when I'm safe again, the unsettling feeling stays until I can convince myself that I am.
I think that'd make me a bad friend in a lot of hypothetical situations. But none of them have happened, so I'll stick to being Andy until I lose them all.
Tagging → Gunnar Leidolf & Johnny Arcos
Time Frame → Late Wednesday Evening | September 3, 2014
Location → Johnny's Loft | Sangren, CO
General Notes →
When i was 16 my senses fooled me,
Thought gasoline was on my clothes.
I knew that something would always rule me,
I knew this scent was mine alone.
Johnny sighed as he caught the time. No more anime. No more Cocoa Puffs. He turned off the television and washed out his bowl. Then he moved back to his couch and pushed it back, towards the dining room table. Next, his soft Persian rug was rolled up neatly and stood against a wall, out of the way so that the wood in his usual sitting area was now bare save for the large symbol stained - burned really - into the floor. A thick black circle, a thick red triangle that touched it at its three points and another triangle, black this time, enclosed in that, only touching at its own three points. Shapes were important in the magicks Johnny had learned and he rubbed his inked arms admiringly as he thought about all he would need the symbols for tonight. Glancing at the time again, he pursed his lips. The cat should have led Gunnar to his apartment by now. Hopefully neither one tried to eat the other. That would be extremely inconvenient.
Cat hates this smell. Grease and flaky hell-dweller stench. Cat is tired. Cat wants to be Pet. Wants to be beautiful. Wants Witch hands to rub and hold. "Pretty One," Witch sings. "Pretty One, find me Gunnar. Bring him Here." Cat is Lost. Finds the Beastie in Grease and flaky hell-dweller smell. Cat is tired. Beastie smells... odd. Like Man and Not Man, Not Manwolf, Not Wolfman but Animal. Forest, Drunk Things, Wet Thighs, Anger, Witch but Not Witch. Cat hates Beastie. Cat jumps onto table and stares at Beastie.
Gunnar sipped straight from the bottle, never bothering with the glass the blonde halfling waitress passed him an hour ago. She was all smiles for him earlier, baring her sharpened teeth and practically fawning over him. He barely paid her attention, far too focused on the demon fire whiskey and the large steak. This time, she didn't bother tampering with it. No need, as he showed up alone and flashed her an initial smile. Tonight there's whiskey and steak and he finally felt strong again after days of being dazed and exhausted. With his plate emptied, he was content to polish off the bottle when a flash of fur leaped into his line of vision. Setting down the bottle, Gunnar took in the glare of the cat, who didn't seem like a cat and he knew in this particular establishment, it would have to be more than just a cat to enter. Steel eyes flashed silver and he glared back at the animal, the growl low in his throat as he rumbled a question full of annoyance. "What?"
Cat decides Beastie is Stupid. Sings to Beastie that he is Stupid. Cat licks paw and purrs about Beastie being Stupid. Then Cats eyes go Black. Witch Eyes. Cat sings to be followed and hops onto floor.
Gunnar felt the annoyance grow the longer he was around the petulant pet, with its taunting and mocking glare, almost as spoiled as its owner. Pushing away from the table, Gunnar decided to take his time, pulling another swig from his bottle and tossing a few bills on the table to pay for his meal. The diner wasn't crowded, but curious eyes followed the hulking blond who grumbled while walking behind the cat. Once outside, Gunnar looked down at the cat and gritted his teeth. "Liten tispe," he muttered, as he felt for his cigarettes. He lit one, figuring he'd make it a quick smoke just to kill time. "Not following your fucking magicks. Know where the place is. I'll meet you there." With that, he tossed the butt on the ground, far away from the creature and hopped on his bike, tearing the Triumph out of the gravel lot and down the darkened road that would take him back to Sangren.
Cat meets Beastie at front door. Hisses.
Johnny felt the cat hiss rather than heard her, but he opened his door nevertheless in time for her to slip around his ankles and into his apartment with the sound of heavy boots following her. He waited for Gunnar's large frame to appear, leaning casually against the doorjamb as he did and absently noting the easy gait of the man's walk. He let out a few deep breaths, careful not to make himself dizzy lest the magic he had been holding back all day finally buzz out of his skin and do something destructive. No, he was saving that for taking Gunnar apart. He gave the blond a small smile and gestured for him to step inside. "Would you like a drink before we begin?"
Gunnar shook his head. "No." The ride had lessened his annoyance, but he was still pretty irritated about being summoned by a mangy messenger. Still, he relaxed the tight clench of his jaw and fixed Johnny with a look. He wasn't in the mood for parlor tricks tonight and the witch's vague responses to his earlier questions made him wary and set him on edge. He didn't want to be on edge. Not after coming down from that awful blackout. "Ye wanna tell me what you're planning to do, mate?"
Johnny: "I'm going to cut the other witch out of you, of course," Johnny provided simply, closing his door and looking around for the cat. She had probably disappeared to torment Miles. Oh well, her job for the night was done. "Take off your clothes. And tell me more about your witch. What is her name? What does she look like?" He slipped his own shirt off over his head, revealing the tattoos he had spent the entire day perfecting. Geometric shapes and designs graced both his arms, the ink heavy and black, his skin still slightly red from going over them with the needle again and again until the patterns were to his liking.
Gunnar didn't expect that answer, or perhaps it was the tone...casual and cool he didn't trust. Still, he tugged off his beanie and carded a hand through his longish blond locks. Johnny's words that felt like questions but annoyed him because they were actually commands had him arching a brow, and he stayed silent, long enough to take in the sight of the intricate ink all over the witch's arms. Gunnar wanted to inquire about the purpose of the patterns, but instead he found himself responding to Johnny's inquiries while tugging off his shirt. "Aureline. Name's Aureline. Dubois. French bird. Curly hair. Greenish eyes. Tan skin." He kept it short, even though he could still picture her vividly, still recall the way her eyes changed colors, from green to honeyed, the exact color of her skin, rich and golden and silky under his fingers. Her taste and her smell, smoky and cloying, like jasmine and rich earth and crisp autumn leaves. He remembered a lot, because she wouldn't let him forget. Gunnar grunted and kicked off his boots, setting them beside his shirt and he glanced up at Johnny. "So I'm supposed to get naked, then?"
Johnny gave Gunnar a wicked smirk as he perused the skin already revealed. "Yes please." Then he moved to the kitchen and opened his fridge where he had a pitcher of water chilled. At the bottom of the pitcher were several large, clear stones of amber. He poured to glasses and walked back to Gunnar, downing his own glass quickly. "Drink this. Aureline, Aureline, Aureline," he said absently, looking around to make sure he had everything he needed. He didn't. He slipped out of his soft lounge pants as he left the room, returning completely nude and with several blades. "I need you to lie there," he told Gunnar, pointing to the symbol on the ground.
Gunnar grumbled loudly, paying no mind to that smirk and quickly tugged off his jeans, kicking off the denim and tossing the pants near his boots. The whole thing confused him, but while he was wary the energy under his heated skin simmered peacefully. Gunnar accepted the glass of water and considered sipping it slowly but instead knocked it back, smooth like a shot, a shiver rippling through him when chill met his warm heat. Something tugged at him, hearing her name aloud but Gunnar shook it off in favor of following Johnny's instructions. It was all so peculiar, and the blond decided he didn't like peculiar, especially with someone so dubious (no matter how attractive he was). Nevertheless, he stalked over to the symbol, lying down and settling against the cool wood with a grunt.
Johnny poured himself another glass of water after setting down the tray of blades next to Gunnar and drank it slowly as the large man settled. He took in the length of the man's body, the musculature of his thighs and the cords of his neck, the flat plane of his stomach and the soft cock lying amongst dark gold curls. Gunnar had long feet, large hands, his jaw was nicely shaped under the tangle of his beard. Johnny could understand why a witch would want to bind him. Finishing his water, he banished the lights and summoned a few candles, leaving the lit around Gunnar's body. He walked over to the blond, his bare feet padding almost silently on the floor and he settled at the edge of the circle, at Gunnar's head, his eyes inked over completely by the magic he called to. "I did say it wasn't going to hurt, yes?" He sighed as if the idea pained him, then reached to rub both his hands - tattooed with patterns of hexagons - down the broad chest laid out in front of him. Clever fingers quickly found several scars, but only settled on one. "Here?"
Gunnar relaxed a little once the lights went out, even with the candles so close. He was always better with darkness. And he supposed he was growing used to the bold way Johnny perused him, as well. There was barely a flinch when cool hands ghosted over his chest, though the jolt of warmth at the touch was a little surprising. Silver eyes rolled at the witch's lies and Gunnar matched his sigh with a sarcastic one of his own. "Ye were probably lying. Pain doesn't bother me." There was another jolt, this one sharper than the last when fingertips found the scar in question. Thin and slightly off-color, it hovered above his heart and the blond nodded even as he tried to shiver at the cool touch. "Aye. That's it."
Johnny leaned forward and licked the scar carefully, both to get the taste and feel of it. It was silky. And tasted of smoke, burned in his mouth a bit. "I probably was lying," he agreed easily. "But I could make it feel good. If I wanted to." He touched Gunnar's temple then, massaged the skin there with just the tip of his middle finger and allowed some of his magic to soak in, to call to the lust that lay dormant in the man, to his cock, to the dopamine that all but ruled Gunnar. "I'll give you this for being so good to me right now," he purred, pressing a kiss to Gunnar's lips and then reaching for a rather sharp knife. As he cut the edges of the scar, the patterns on his hands began to burn and by the time he'd sliced the scar completely away, all the shapes and lines on his skin were bubbling black, like hot tar.
Gunnar felt a different kind of warmth creep in, silver eyes fluttering shut at the soothing touch to his temple. His skin tingled from the lick, the old scar growing warmer and he would have squirmed from the weirdness, but he was comfortable. The hazy warming sensation tugged at him, familiar in its strangeness and only heightened when he felt the kiss, felt a twinge between thick thighs at the kiss and he pushed out a contented hum. The knife he felt at first incision, the surprise of the cool blade against his heated skin. Eventually the throb of the slicing turned dull and he opened his eyes, far more focused on the scorched ink in Johnny's delicate and pale skin than the scar that no longer there.
Johnny moved to arrange himself on Gunnar's stomach, straddling the broad expanse of flesh and tilting his head curiously as he stared at his work; blood seeping sluggishly from the open wound, dark and humming, obviously reluctant to come out of the burly man. He would have to pull it out then, tug this Aureline out from under Gunnar's skin and then seal the witch out altogether. Grabbing two knives, he balanced the points of each them on the scarred backs of his hands, then willed them to begin to cut the shapes out. When they were on their tasks, he absently flicked the bits of his skin away and reached for another knife. This was when he realized Gunnar was staring at his skin. "This may get messy," he warned, despite the fact that he didn't bleed when his skin was sliced away as Gunnar did.
Gunnar could feel the blood, his blood...heavy and searing, trickling slowly from the open wound he was sure would start to heal soon. As he suspected, the cut didn't hurt though he felt exposed, and the tugging sensation grew sharper. There was a deep burn bordering on feverish settling in his limbs, heightened when Johnny straddled him. He was light, but warm and Gunnar could practically feel the magick humming under the ink-stained skin. Gunnar didn't mind messy, but this seemed intricate. "Messy how?" he couldn't help but ask, watching the knives work to carve out the blackened shapes.
Johnny showed Gunnar the back of one hand now that the knife had moved up to the pattern of circles around his elbow. The skin remaining was webbed, formed by missing shapes of flesh, leaving behind nothing but red, red muscle. "I need to pull things from you. That's what this spell was for. It will make a mess." And that was all he said before he reached down and dipped his fingers into the dark blood spreading across Gunnar's chest. Swirling his fingers in it, he called to it to collect around his fingers like taffy as he pulled it away. "Do you still feel her?" he asked.
Gunnar grunted at the invasion, the tug growing stronger and the burn intensified. His fingers flexed, furling into fists as steel eyes watched the blood on Johnny's fingers. The growl was deep, as deep as the intense heat above his heart and his tongue was heavy with the familiar taste of honey, sickly sweet an slightly bitter. The acrid smell of smoke, like leaves and dried roses filled his nostrils and Gunnar knew whatever remained of Aureline still held on tightly. "Aye," he bit out, jaw clenched as another jolt of heat, fragrant and dark tugged harder at him. "Still there."
Johnny frowned but wasn't surprised. There was no way it would be as easy as merely pulling at the threads where Gunnar's witch had woven herself into. He had to sever them and that was where the pattern on his left arm came in. The blade quickly made work of that, slicing away the burns and the scabs and releasing the spell that would combat Aureline's. He'd seen stronger binding spells, but he had an idea that this one fed off of Gunnar, the power of a berserker - at least, that was what Johnny would do. Could do, really, now that Gunnar was spread out beneath him. He could easily take the place of Aureline, take the reins of Gunnar's leash and have himself a new pet... But he wouldn't. "Say her name, dragul. Do you still remember it?"
Gunnar jerked at the sharper, stronger jolt, a grunt slipping out between gritted teeth. He felt doused in fire, the heady scent choking his lungs and he coughed, releasing a cloud of smoke and gasping sharply for fresh air. The surge was intense, but the cool grip and thick fog was starting to clear and Gunnar blinked up at Johnny, brows furrowed at the question. Name...name...the voices were chanting, his blood singing and he formed his lips to push out the words. "Aureline..." came the response, a rough growl that deepened when the tug grew violent. Back arched, his eyes flashed a cold silver, metallic and luminous and he balled his fists tighter, teeth clenched at the pain.
Johnny tutted when the growl came out of the other man, tsked when he was almost bucked off of the berserker. Directing the knives to the burns on both of his legs, he leaned in and took Gunnar's face in his hands, purring for him to be silent. He couldn't imagine the pain the other was going through, but he found it extremely fascinating. His black eyes traced the torment in Gunnar's features as his third spell on his legs released, the circles on his arms waiting to seal, and waited for the rest of Aureline's connection to sizzle away. "Shh," he cooed, pressing his hand over Gunnar's heart. Then he promised, as the residue of Aureline's spell stained his fingers like ash. "Only a little more."
Gunnar: The black churned in the pit of his stomach, sluggish and snarling and Gunnar felt the stirring of his power, dormant but violent. The urge to tear flesh, to claw and harm and cause pain so strong he shook. There was a feral look in those metallic eyes, volatile as he felt her presence giving one last show of resistance. He couldn't see Johnny, but he felt his words, felt the fingers brush away the traces of ash at the spot where she'd split him open, and gripped him tightly. Her voice, cool and the cloying scent of roses called him. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and he bit down on the roar, feeling the raseri beginning to unfurl as fading French words slipped away like smoke.
Johnny: "Shh," he pressed into Gunnar's sweaty skin - his neck, his jaw, his cheek - focused more on calming the beast beneath him more than the mess of them that they lay naked in. The room carried the scent of cooking human flesh and, for whatever reason, potpourri, but Johnny paid it no mind as he brushed away the wet hair stuck to Gunnar's forehead with fingers flaking with dried black blood. "She was festering inside of you," he said before pressing his lips to the other's. "Rotting you from the inside out. Her hold growing more and more the longer it stayed." Then with a tired huff, he buried his face in Gunnar's shoulder.
Gunnar breathed deeply, eyes shut against the fingers that brushed against him. He felt an emptiness, limbs light and weak and the voices were strangely muted to hushed whispers. The absence of the haze, nothing but the black inside, forever humming under too hot skin. Johnny's lips were oddly soothing, and he sighed into the small kiss. Tired grey eyes opened slowly when he felt Johnny against him. She was gone. Burned out. He couldn't smell her. Couldn't taste the honey. Hear the rasp in that endless chant ringing in his head. It was just him. And he was drained. He attempted to process the explanation. Festering. Rotting. The smell of dead roses, sickly smoke and death. Feasting on his anger. Puppet of pleasure. His fingers tightened with the anger that flared in his chest, warring with the weakened state of his body. Shifting slightly, he turned a brush a small kiss to unruly dark curls, and took another deep breath.
Tagging ➙ Leigh Winston & Javin Kapoor
Time Frame ➙ Monday Night — [08.25.14]
Location ➙ Sangren, CO
General Notes ➙ Starting a fire.
Javin had been feeling in need of some time out and felt a sense of relief that Leigh accepted his offered help. It had only taken him a moment to lace up his boots, grab his keys and head out. Delia had been upstairs, presumably studying since the house was reeking of incense and terrible Taylor Swift ballads. He supposed a human’s pace would have sufficed but the breathy sounds of “Back to December” had him hoofing it, while simultaneously replying to Leigh. When he’d sent his “Come on out” reply through his phone, Javin abruptly slowed his running to a casual walk for the few steps it took him to stand below the balcony and wait. He pocketed his phone and combed a finger through his hair, checking for the cigarette he’d stashed behind his ear. When his fingertips only brushed over hair, he quietly cursed but groped at his second back pocket for the pack to check how many he’d had left.
Leigh lit another match, flicking it toward the dark hardwood and watching as the flame disappeared before the stick even hit the ground. She had a nice little pile going, burned out matches that allowed the soft scent of extinguished fire to drift toward her. The small taste made her want more, and when she hadn't been able to locate anything in her apartment to burn, she was happy for Javin's suggestion of finding some wood. Building an actual fire would certainly do, and she was quick to slip out of her seat when Javin arrived, snagging her keys and another book of matches before making her exit through the balcony door. A peak over the edge offered a glimpse of her friend before she jumped over the railing and leaped to the ground, landing on both feet with a smile. "'Sup," she greeted, carding thin fingers through thick dark tresses. "You ready?"
Javin Four…no five more he’d thought to himself before feeling and hearing the change in the sulfur-infused air above him. He looked up just as Leigh cleared the balcony rail and let his eyes follow her as she landed beside him. He cracked a smirk, sliding his hand away from his rear pockets and dipped his head down once, “Hey. I’m ready.” After initially stepping with some rather wooded areas in mind for them to collect at, Javin stopped long enough to get close to Leigh, lower his nose against the column of her neck and breathe in some of her scent more directly. Without a word, he righted himself again—a tender smile dancing across his lips while he turned and continued on with plans to round the back of the home and cut through her backyard.
Leigh didn't back away when Javin entered her immediate space. Instead, she found herself leaning into the intimate gesture, slender shoulders shaking in a soft laugh when Javin moved away. NO part of her was against having him close. In fact, she was beginning to prefer him that way. "What was all that for?" The question was teasing, paired with a slight smile and bump of her shoulder as she fell into step with the taller were.
Javin ’s soft smile spread on one side when he felt her shoulder against his arm. “Something about the way you smell.” He shook his head and casually shrugged while adding, “I like it.” As they made their way around the back, Javin told her, “So I figured there’s plenty of trees in this town, and even more up in the mountains that we can help ourselves to. I didn’t bring an ax but if the trunks or branches aren’t fuckin’ redwoods, I’ll break some shit off for you.”
Leigh stuffed small hands into the pockets of her shorts as she tipped her head to offer Javin an amused sideways glance. "Just means you're gettin' used to me. You'll be able to sniff me outta a crowd soon." Nodding at his suggestions, Leigh looked forward again, boots scuffing against the ground as they walked. "Sounds good to me. I'm just lookin' to make a little fire. Nothin' huge. I got a hankerin' an' I started missin' the smell of it. Thought I'd nip the desire."
Javin softly chuckled, once, “Yeah probably, if I can’t already.” He licked his upper lip as his eyes darted past the wide clearing, seeing into the thicker brush and letting his nose guide him toward the more potent smells of sap and live wood. A thought crossed his mind as he reached back to move his box of cigarettes to his hoodie pocket, “Since you know I’m a werewolf and I don’t need to hold back on my speed around you now, are you up for another run?”
Leigh kicked through a pile of stones, the tip of her shoe skidding in a quiet scuff. Javin's suggestion brought a grin that curled ruby lips, and she temporarily forgot about the task they had initially met up to take care of. But they had all night. The fire could wait a little longer. "I'm always up for a run... I'll even give you a head start this time. Give you a chance to actually beat me if you want it."
Javin sucked on the inside of his cheek which did nothing to hide the smile that returned on his face. “Uh-huh,” he chuckled, eyeing her at his side. “I don’t need a head start. My new shoes are broken in by now.” His gaze dropped to the black boots on his feet but he winced while contemplating taking them off. After a deciding shrug, Javin stopped and crouched, pulling at the tied laces. The thrill, anticipating the run was already circuiting through him, driving his fingers and feet to work more quickly with one another to get his shoes and socks off. Once the socks were stuffed in his boots and the laces were gripped tight in his hand, Javin rolled the balls of his feet into the bare earth and happily murmured, “Count us off, darling.”
Leigh raised an eyebrow at Javin's show of confidence, following his lead to remove her own shoes and toss them aside. She shed one of the shirts she wore as well as her hat, leaving her in just her shorts and tank which was more than enough clothing for the activity. Bare feet flexed against the ground, smoothing through the mix of grass and dirt below. She'd spend her life this way if she could, in constant connection with the outdoors with no boundaries or restraints. "Alright," she nodded, bending her knees to allow herself a proper push off, "We go on three..." As soon as the last number left her mouth, Leigh took off, only turning around long enough to make sure that Javin had started as well before continuing on her quick, aimless path.
Javin had a fleeting thought on whether or not he ought to rid himself of one of his layers as well, but he kept the rest of his belongings on and slid his left foot back until he was in a near lunge, giving a quick agreeing nod. As soon as Leigh’s tongue slid away from her teeth, voicing the ‘three’, Javin’s feet pushed away from the soft earth, quick and with near effortlessness. His fitted pants kept him from making longer strides but he’d been right on Leigh’s tail. He caught a glimpse of her face when she turned and flashed her a smile while keeping his glittering eyes on the nearing greenery. “We probably should’ve picked a finishing point, huh?” he mused—his voice cutting through the air whooshing around their svelte, speedy forms.
Leigh almost missed Javin's question, too distracted by the rush of fresh air and the familiar, easy stretch of her muscles as toned legs moved rapidly beneath her. Looking ahead of her, she caught sight of the forest they'd be approaching in time, unable to locate another other significant points beyond the thick gathering of trees. "We'll stop at the edge of the forest," she returned, eyes flashing as she picked up more speed. "Think you can pass me before then?"
Javin gave a curt nod, eyeing the subtle but familiar distinction of the forest’s edge from the rest of the wooded space. His bare feet quickened and his chest expanded a fraction, in response to Leigh’s small taunt, allowing him to power beside and then just ahead of her. Long, dark wisps of hair whipped in his face, occasionally threatening to strike him in the eye but he shook it away, carrying on his rapid speed until he reached the forest’s edge. Rather than gradually slowing down, Javin came to an abrupt stop near a tall pine tree, seeing it as a good finishing spot. His hand pressed against the thick trunk while he took a deep breath and let his golden eyes fall on Leigh again. "I think so," he finally said, answering her earlier question.
Leigh closed her eyes as she powered forward, eyelids rising in a flash of grey as Javin inched ahead of her. She smirked at his progress, accepting her loss with a smile as she skidded to a stop just in time to avoid running into him. Dark hair fell around her shoulders, blocking her face until she pushed the wave of hair back. "Not bad," she huffed, giving Javin's shoulder a playful punch. "You're not as slow as you look, wolf."
Javin “I didn’t know I looked slow,” he retorted with a breathy chuckle. His shoulder rolled back at the pinch, “But I do like our runs.” After dropping his boots, his free hands pull his hoodie up over his head and combed his own hair back from his face. For a moment, while his body relaxed from the exertion, Javin’s eyes wandered about the space, scoping out some wood. His hand dragged down and away from the oak he’d been leaning on as he stepped back and looked up at the branches overhead. “Hm…”
Leigh chuckled as she continued her teasing. "Just sayin', you don't look like you got too much speed in you." Being so near to the trees, Leigh couldn't resist hopping up to wrap her hands around a low-hanging branch and swinging idly from it. Blue filled her irises again as she followed Javin's gaze up the thick oak nearest him. "Hmm, what?" she questioned, "You gonna gather the shit for my fire?"
Javin cracked a smile, undoing the cuff buttons on his checkered button up, “Usually, it’s my looking like a string bean despite my strength that’s the deceptive part.” For a moment his gaze fixed on Leigh again, watching her legs swing back and forth as she held onto the branch, but just beyond her, he spotted another oak with a handful of low branches that looked like they’d do well for burning. “Yeah…I’ll get you some wood.” He playfully nudged the side of her thigh in passing, and once he reached the tree, Javin crouched low, only to jump and grip at a dry branch at the highest height he could get. He’d heard the wood lightly splinter from the new weight on it, but Javin started on chin up-like lifts, letting his weight drop dead each time to invite more splintering until it finally snapped free. He held tight to the branch as his feet thudded back on the ground. Using the lower branches, he climbed back up into the tree and took a seat on a branch surrounded by several others and began breaking them off, close to the trunk.
Leigh smirked, "I can see that, too. But I bet you don't have to worry about that now at all. Anyone who underestimates you can be taught a lesson real quick." When Javin passed, she shifted her position slightly, turning around on the branch to watch him break apart another tree. While he worked, she swung herself, moving back and forth for a few smooth passes before letting go and allowing herself to touch solid ground again. Dodging the branches Javin tossed down, she collected the ones on the ground to make a pile, setting them aside in an area away from the grass where she began to dig out a small pit for their fire.
Javin chuckled, “Yeah, not so much anymore.” As he ripped free a few more branches and snapped a few of them in half before tossing them below, he watched Leigh form a pit and asked, “Think that’ll be enough? You weren’t looking to have a bonfire, right?”
Leigh shook her head, standing from her crouch to gather several handfuls of leaves and brush to toss into her makeshift pit. "That'll be more'n enough. Just wanna light a little somethin'." Bending at the knee again, Leigh pulled the matches from her pocket, striking a few and igniting the pile of leaves in several different spots until the small flames began to spread. She'd been through the process a thousand times, blowing gently at the fire before she began adding the branches Javin collected. The fire was small but it was more than suitable, and Leigh sat back, making herself comfortable on the ground as she admired the white wisps of smoking rising from bright orange flames.
Javin looked out at the view from where he sat until he’d heard the brief sizzle of the match igniting. The warm yellow color faded from his eyes as he looked upon Leigh effortlessly forming a fire. He’d broken a couple more off and formed halves out of them in case they ended up feeding the flames later on. After dusting the bark remnants on his pants, Javin shifted his weight to slide off the branch. He landed on his feet with bent knees and the second he had his bearings, he took a seat on the ground beside her. His gaze lingered on the forming fire for a few moments, but as he leaned back on his palms and inhaled the fresh smoke smell close to the soft earth, the young werewolf glanced at Leigh and then shut his eyes, thinking on a melody that sounded faint in his head.
Leigh watched Javin momentarily as he abandoned his position in the tree and traded it for one beside her. She enjoyed the heat nearby, passing a quick palm over the flame but barely feeling the warmth that blended in with her own. Sitting back, she moved closer to lanky body beside her own, head resting on Javin's shoulder. She didn't speak as she tipped her head to brush her nose against his neck, taking a quiet whiff of him just like he'd done her. He smelled like the outdoors, like late summer air and musk and things she couldn't put her finger on but liked nonetheless. Her lips brushed tenderly against his skin, her voice raspy and soft as she spoke. "Thanks for the help, babe. Appreciate it."
Javin broke his focus on the melody in his mind and moved his hand across the dirt and grass until the meat of his thumb touched Leigh’s shorts as she sidled up to him. His feet were warming by the flames, but his toes briefly curled down when he felt her lips—soft and warm—against his skin. One side of his mouth came up, triggered by her words but he took his time voicing a response. That’s how he felt he could be with Leigh—at ease, saying as much or as little or nothing at all and it was alright. Rather than speaking a, ‘You’re welcome, darling’, as he initially thought to do, Javin twisted his upper body toward her and angled his head down so his lips could meet hers. Strands of his wavy hair brushed over his shoulder, curtaining one side of his face but his attention was on Leigh’s lips, her smell blended with the smoke from the crackling fire, and the return of the faint music in his head. As he deepened the kiss, Javin raised a free hand to gingerly cup her cheek.
Leigh 's eyes were closed at first as she settled into her current position, but her lids fluttered slightly when she felt Javin stirring beside her. Though she hadn't readied herself for the slow press of his lips, she accepted it just the same, pushing a hand over his middle to curl slim fingers around his side. Full lips parted automatically for him, eager tongue pushing out in search of the taste she'd been thinking about since he first entered her space earlier in the evening. A muffled little moan rumbled at the back of her throat, passing her lips in a deep purr as she tugged away for a breath. Her gaze traveled to his lips, and she only took a second to take in the faint red smudges of her lipstick before she moved back in for more.
Javin ’s lips wanted a little more of Leigh’s pair when she pulled away and he let her know as much with the low growl that bubbled up in his throat. His tongue stole a quick lick of her bottom lip just before his two pinched and tugged on it. With each tilt of his head, his nose brushed hers as the hand that he’d held to her cheek slid back into her dark mane. He pulled away slow with another slow, tender nip of her bottom lip. At some point his eyes had fallen shut but he opened them enough to glance at her lipstick-smeared lips, and then to her bright eyes. His hand fell slow from the back of her head as he smirked and murmured, “I don’t wanna keep you from your fire, but…well, that couldn’t be helped.”
Leigh sighed into another heady meeting of greedy mouths. She groaned at the nibbles to her pout, lips curling up into a satisfied smile as she savored the taste of him while bending her fingers to grip at the fabric of his shirt just so that he couldn't get away from her. The thumb from her opposite hand brushed over his chin, skimming beneath his lip to wipe away the dark coating of lip color that was originally only on her mouth. "Why couldn't you help it?" she asked, biting down on her lower lip to keep herself from taking another kiss.
Javin His eyes caught sight of the dark smear now on her thumb, and knowing that traces of it were probably still on his bristly chin made him crack an amused smile. At her question, he refrained from peppering her lips and jaw with more kisses and let the hand that fell from her head to her shoulder slide in toward her neck so the pad of his thumb could glide back and forth along her jaw while taking in her question. He didn’t need to give it much thought because he knew why. “Because I like you. I’ve been attracted to you for a while and I don’t see myself turning down a kiss to or from you, but I like being with you too.” After a slow lick of his bottom lip, he mumbled, “So I probably should I have said I didn’t want to help it.”
Leigh didn't mind Javin's touch, comfortable with the soft grazes of his fingers against her skin. Warmth coursed through her, emanating from her toes perched by the fire and spreading throughout, though she was warmest at the points he touched. His answer to her question was more truth than she expected, settling over her despite not inspiring an immediate response. There was some vulnerability in what he shared, and it wasn't lost on the shifter that a significant amount of comfort must have required before he spoke up at all. She was comfortable, too, she supposed. At least Leigh felt that way when she shifted her head to press a delicate kiss to the heel of Javin's palm.
Javin reacted to her warm, gentle lips by closing his eyes while his fingers twitched—the pads of his digits brushing her cheek from their slight bend. Like a lengthy blink, he soon opened his eyes again and let his warm earthy-colored orbs lingered on her facial features, from the smooth, soft curves that formed her jaw and cheeks, to the striking brightness of her eyes. After taking in her familiar features for an unmeasured amount of time, Javin leaned in to tenderly peck her lips, causing a quiet pop sound when he pulled back. He kept close however, listening to the fire crack, and curling his arm around her shoulder as he nestled his nose into the dark roots on her head.
Leigh felt underdressed with the way he looked at her, sharing in the long, silent gaze that she didn't feel the need to interrupt. There was probably something she should have said, something to clarify why she didn't flinch when he looked at her the way he did, but nothing came to mind, and she found herself with no other intention outside of keeping herself close to him as she returned her attention to the burning brush. Slender fingers rubbed the lipstick from around her mouth, her lips barely moving as she asked, "Is it alright if we stay out here a bit? Don't think I wanna head back anytime soon... An' I want you to stay with me." As far as words went, that was all she had. Trying to tug out anything more would have undoubtedly led her down a path she was nowhere near ready to approach.
Javin took another silent breath into his nose and turned his head back toward the fire so his answer wasn’t lost in her hair. “Yeah, we can,” he calmly sighed. “I wanna stick around, and I’ve got nowhere to be.”
Tagging → Gunnar Leidolf & Leigh Winston
Time Frame → Late Thursday Evening | August 14, 2014
Location → Forked Tongue Diner | Somewhere in Colorado
General Notes → Night ride, good whiskey, and splintered wood.
Leigh took one last soft suck of the cigarette settled between her lips before she pressed the tip of it against the black iron balcony to snuff out the dim orange light. Slender fingers checked her pockets for the rest of her pack and when she found it, her keys, and her phone, she closed the sliding door that led to the living room of her apartment then hopped to swung a leg over the thin rail enclosing the porch. With a breath, she made a leap to the ground, landing on booted feet the same moment she caught a glimpse of the bike heading in her direction. The roar of it was recognized before the sight, the sound luring Leigh out onto her balcony to wait for her ride. Ruby lips curved into a slight smile--prideful, and the result of Leigh's perfect timing.
Gunnar let the hum of the vintage Triumph soothe the restless energy under his skin. The night air was pleasant and his eyes shut briefly letting him drift on the empty, open road. He enjoyed runs like this, getting out of the sleepy, stuffy town. He was ready to pick up real speed, just as soon as he picked up Leigh. Even in the dark, keen silver eyes spotted a form falling from the balcony to land almost gracefully near the curb. The bike had barely stopped, and Gunnar noticed her smile, his lips lifting into a small one at the sight of her. "Evenin' lass," he called out over the hum. Reaching behind, he tugged off the small black helmet strapped to the bike and passed it to her. "Figured ye'd be wantin' this. Safety first." His own head was bare, save for a beanie and he shrugged at the contradictory advice.
Leigh gave Gunnar a nod and a quick, "Hey," when he stopped in front of her. Blue eyes roamed over the machine beneath him, appreciating the bike as her gaze bypassed the helmet he held out. Eventually, she took it, placing it atop her head and holding it on with one hand to keep it in place while she shifted herself onto the bike. "I ain't all that big on safety. My head's pretty hard anyway. Probably tougher'n the helmet."
Gunnar grunted in agreement. "Well ye don't have to wear it. Figured I'd offer. Friend shit." The Triumph was noisy, just how he liked it and Gunnar turned slightly, eyes shining. "Now hold onto me like a good bestie." With a rev of the engine, he took off with a roar down the street. Despite the ruckus the ride was smooth, taking the quiet Sangren streets nice and easy because he had plans for when they'd eventually hit the highway. "Alright back there?" he asked, voice raised slightly when they bypassed the busy sidewalk outside of Tartarus.
Leigh huffed a laugh, balling a small fist to playfully punch Gunnar's broad back, slim arms easing around his middle after. It was easy to hold onto him when they set off, easy to enjoy the unapologetically loud sounds and vibrations rumbling beneath. "I'm good, man," she returned to Gunnar's call, turning her head to grab a fleeting glance at the bar that they thankfully breezed by. She wasn't in the mood for Tartarus. "I'm good as long as I ain't gotta see that bar again tonight."
Gunnar could hear the husk of her laugh in his ear and he was eager to go faster, hitting the accelerator and snorting at Leigh's remarks about their current employer. "Nah, tonight's not for that fucking place." The edge of town, the road turned darker, the glow from the lamps above the 'Leaving Sangren, come back soon' sign shone like beacon in the distance. Late as it was, there was nothing but open road and night sky, something that was calming, that made the restlessness less so, and it only made him pick up speed, stretching the Triumph's legs and letting her coast, not even glancing at the speedometer.
Leigh: "Perfect." Two fingers bid the town a farewell salute as Leigh eased back in her seat, head lolling against her shoulders for a look at the dark sky above. Raven hair whipped in the wind along with the unclasped straps of her helmet that were free to knock around in a gentle tick. All the noise--the loud and even the quieter sounds heightened hearing picked up was somehow relaxing. Either that or Leigh was just content knowing she wouldn't have to deal with lines and assholes for a night. Blue eyes focused on the road again, shifting from black to black and settling on the stream of bright headlights that lit their path. Raising her voice above the noise, she dropped her chin to Gunnar's shoulder. "Where we headed? You got a spot in mind?"
Gunnar gripped the handlebars, his large body practically humming along with the roaring power of the motorcycle. This was what he enjoyed the most, something to ease the constant jolts and energy. They were far past Sangren now, nearly an hour out with nothing but miles of road inbetween, save for a few stops along the way. At Leigh's question, he turned his head, just enough to catch a glimpse of ruby lips. "Aye. Know a place. Further up." Soon, the faint lights from a building in the distance were visible, growing brighter as they drew closer. On the outside, it wasn't much to look at. An old school diner with a dirt parking lot, surrounded by thick forests in the middle of nowhere. Gunnar pulled into the lot and parked the bike in a spot near the front, cutting the engine before looking back at Leigh. "Dunno if you're hungry, but there's liquor if ye feel like that, too." There was a simple sign atop the diner, rusted out but the words 'Forked Tongue' were clearly visible, darkly painted against the grime. "Demon-owned," Gunnar explained as he slid from the bike. "Not visible by the highway. No humans. Can't find it without some kind of beastie in ye." Inside, it was all dark wood from the battered but polished wood countertops to the sturdy booths with the peeling, cracked vinyl cushions. Pictures and neon signs lined the walls and a jukebox stood in a corner, giving the appearance of a quintessential truck stop diner, with the added bonus of clientele who looked anything but human. It wasn't crowded, but there were a number of patrons, various demons with horns and scales, feeling bold enough not to hide in their human forms. Gunnar led Leigh to a booth in the corner, easing his large frame into one side and meeting her gaze with a smirk. "Come here a lot. Good steak. Fire whiskey, too. Menu's on the table."
Leigh nodded, satisfied with Gunnar's answer until they approached the off-the-path restaurant. There wasn't much to the place, but the idea of a demon-owned diner was enough to pique the shifter's interest. "I could eat," she mused, "Always room in my gut for somethin'." Getting rid of her helmet, she eased off the bike, following her companion inside past the counters and tables lined with monstrous-looking customers that were sure to give the pair a solid once-over. Her body slipped into the booth, settling pointy elbows on the table to look over the menu. Dark painted lips curved to return his smirk, "Don't tell me this is your special table. I ain't ever had fire whiskey. An' ain't in the mood for steak. What else they got good here?"
Gunnar: "Special table. Summat like that. Burger's good. Can make it with all kinds of meat. Best to stick with beef." Gunnar fished out crumpled pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and dragged the small, plastic ashtray from the corner of the table, closer to him. "Decent fries. And cherry pie. Damn demons love their pie." Their server appeared, bubbly blonde with eerie red eyes, her gaze trained on Gunnar. "The usual?" she asked, lips curling into a slow smile that revealed sharpened teeth. Gunnar lit his cigarette and took a slow drag, blowing out the smoke before responding. "Just the whiskey, pet. Maybe something later if I feel like it. Take the lass' order." With a pout, the blonde turned to Leigh, her smile dropping into a snarl. "What do you want?"
Leigh huffed a laugh at the tidbit about demons and pie. "That's a new one on me. Cherry pie's damn good, though. So I get it." Resting her boots on the opposite bench, her head titled at their server, smiling in response to the woman's change in disposition when she set her flamed gaze on Leigh. Leigh met the heated look with a flash of silver eyes, licking her lips as she rattled off her order. "No need to get your skivvies in a twist, sugar. Don't want much. Just fries. Hot sauce on 'em. Biggest plate you can find. An' two beers. Somethin' dark if you got it. If not, surprise me." The scowl was still firmly in place, but Leigh didn't mind and even thanked the blonde as she walked off, turning back to Gunnar with another laugh. "Well ain't she sweet?"
Gunnar watched in slight amusement as their server (he never bothered to learn her name) stabbed at her pad, writing down Leigh's order before stalking off. He blew out another cloud of smoke and shrugged. "Sweet. Summat like that. Never can tell with those halfling hell demons. Shit tempers. Sharp claws. Took me almost an hour to heal after that one." The blonde quickly returned with their drinks, two dark beers for Leigh and a squat bottle filled with a dark amber liquid for Gunnar. She practically hurled the highball glass at his head, but he easily caught it with a rumbling laugh. "Probably shoulda called her. Never made a promise to, though."
Leigh reached over the table to quickly swipe one of Gunnar's cigarettes, unwilling to disrupt her comfortable decision in order to reach for her own pack. The stick dangled between her lips as she lit it, her attention stolen at the sound of glass slamming hard on their tabletop. Blowing out her first puff of smoke, she made a soft tsking sound, shaking her head at the deep chuckle that reminded her of thunder. "Now that ain't nice, Gunnar. It's rude to get rough with a broad an' never call 'er again. You got the girl all huffy. You tangle with a lotta demons?"
Gunnar rested his cigarette on the ashtray's edge, long enough to fill the glass with the thick, potent whiskey. "Never promised her a thing. Huffy's her business." He tossed back the full glass of fire whiskey like a shot, smooth burn only giving his blood a sharp jolt. "Demons are easier to deal with than humans," he explained, pouring another glass and picking up his cigarette. "Get my stash from a demon fella. Keeps me in whiskey. Better than human dealers. They rip me off, and I gotta deal with human bodies. No fun when they break easy. Ye can hit a demon and they put up a good fight. Always worth the fight. Now...demon birds are good for a tussle. Not too many humans can handle us." His lips curved into a wicked grin at that. "What about ye, lass? Deal a lot with demons?"
Leigh skimmed a thin finger over the soft hill of foam at the top of her glass, licking it clean with a swipe of her tongue before cupping the drink for a hearty sip. "Humans get old real quick. Only good thing about fuckin' around with 'em is that there's so damn many. So you get variety. They all die the same, though--with panic in their eyes." Her head tipped up in a nod as she listened to Gunnar, but shifted in a shake at the question he posed. Dealing with some creatures was still new for Leigh, and her demon experience was limited. "Nah. I don't. But that might have to change, if they can take a little abuse. Gentle ain't my thing, 'specially when it comes to a romp."
Gunnar nodded. "Aye. Variety." The panic part caused him to tilt his head, staring curiously at his companion while she continued on. "They're good for a romp, if ye can deal with the clingy. Have that in common with humans, I suppose. Never cared for gentle. Never settled well. Never enough. Just makes the black even more restless." Gunnar shrugged and sipped more whiskey. "Does that happen often with ye? Humans dying with panic?"
Leigh: "Clingy don't bother me too much. Easy enough to ignore. Everybody gets the hint sooner or later." She shrugged, thinking to ask, "The black? What's that?" A dark brow arched above cool eyes, a wisp of white slipping past crimson lips as she spoke. "Yeah, I guess. I ain't got a track record for takin' their lives softly. Shit gets messy when you maul someone."
Gunnar: "Don't deal with it too much, myself. Most people stay away. Suits us fine." Gunnar's jaw tightened and he drained his whiskey. "The black. It's what's inside us. Makes me restless, under the skin. Sometimes I can control it. Drink. Stash. Pills and shit. Good tussle. Decent sex. Keeps the anger down. Bottling it up is best. When it's out...bodies pile up." Their server returned, sizable platter of fries in one hand and another plate in the other, topped with a large, sizzling steak. "I didn't spit in it or nothin'" the blonde assured them, baring her razor sharp teeth and Gunnar grunted. "Just don't slam the plates, pet." She set them down, along with silverware and after giving the large man a rueful look, she stalked off. "I'm pretty sure she didn't spit in it. Not yours at least. Since this is steak I didn't ask for, it's probably tampered with." Gunnar pushed it aside and reached for his bottle instead. "Tell me more about this mauling, lass. That your specialty?"
Leigh examined Gunnar, something akin to curiosity guiding her gaze over his form as if it was possible for her to capture a glimpse of the darkness emanating from him. "That always been inside you?" Leigh sat up from her normal slouch when her fries arrived, narrowing her eyes at the server's promise that hardly seemed all the way true. "Wouldn't surprise me if she fucked with it some other way. She ain't pleased with you." After dabbing the orange light out of her cigarette, Leigh dug into her fries. "Ain't much to tell. Claws, sharp teeth, an' I go to work. Wouldn't call it a specialty. Just a go-to when I'm in the mood for gore."
Gunnar nodded and tapped his ashes atop the steak. "Aye. Since I was young. Scrawny lad. Got roughed up a lot. Made me angry. Found out shit would happen if I got angry enough. Blackouts and shit. First time the black took over, I almost killed another fella. Came to, covered in blood. Left the home, then. Figured it was best, on my own." He watched her eat, sipping his whiskey and smoking quietly. "Know the feeling. Digging in and scraping out a life. Holding it in your hands, covered in blood and watching them fade. It's a good rush, the kill. Never felt anything like that. Good sex comes close." His lips tugged into a small smirk. "So that's what ye are. Shifter, or summat. Been trying to figure it out. Didn't smell like a were. That town stinks of wolf pups. Ye were different. Just couldn't place it til now."
Leigh munched on her hot sauce covered potatoes, washing the mouthful down with a gulp of beer. "Is that was happens when you black out these days? You out givin' folks what for?" She had to smile at his description of doing someone in. It was so familiar to Leigh, causing a wistful hum to coast past her lips when red-stained memories started to drift in. But her companion's assumptions kept her out of her revelry. "You got me all pegged. Most folk don't identify it, or just assume I'm wolf. I'm downright flattered to know that you been sniffin' me, Gunnar. You'll be proper enamored with me soon."
Gunnar shook his head. "Nah, I just sleep too much. Or take too many pills. Knocks me out, gives me proper mental dreams." He was done with the whiskey for now, feeling comfortable, body buzzing with the warm energy and potent demon blend. Gunnar stubbed out his cigarette and wrinkled his nose at the werewolf bit. "Come across a shifter or two in my travels. Ye smell a lot nicer. Much better to look at, too. Get mistaken for 'em too, weres. My size and the tattoo on me arm. Last name means wolf. Doesn't mean I am one. Far from that." Her teasing words caused a slow smile to spread and a small but rumbling laugh slipped out. "I'm already in love with ye, Leigh. Took ye out on me bike. Cozy little demon spot, with a view. Proper wooing."
Leigh nodded, "Guess that's marginally better'n wakin' up blood covered." Though she already cleared half of the fries from her plate, Leigh kept poking through what was left of her pile, finding more of the golden sticks to taste. "Think wolves are just familiar for folk. Easy category to stuff a creature into. What're you exactly?" Her laugh was light at Gunnar's playful admission, eyes crinkling above an amused smile that she pulled in with a thoughtful lick of full lips. "You must be new at wooin'. When you're tryin' to impress a lass you don't bring 'er to a spot where your old flames are runnin' 'round. Not unless you got plans to cause a scene. What other plans you got to sweep me off my feet?"
Gunnar chuckled darkly. "Happened a few times. More than a few, I guess." Leaning in, he swiped a hot sauce-covered fry and tossed it into his mouth, chewing slowly. "I'm Thor, love. Didn't ye hear?" He smiled and poured a shot of the fire whiskey, sliding the glass towards her. "No scene. Didn't know she was working tonight. It was a one-time thing. But first, drink that. Then, we'll finish our ride. See where the road takes us. Figured you're the kind of bird who likes that power between her legs."
Leigh pursed her lips, narrowing her gaze across the table. "That what you wanna be called now? Gonna get off on bein' the god of thunder?" She eyed the glass Gunnar slid her way for a brief second before taking it into her hand and tipping it up to toss back all the whiskey at once. The burn was a sincere one that caused the slightest shiver as Leigh licked the taste of the liquor from her lips with a smile. It sparked the heat that was always bubbling beneath her skin, sending a rush of warmth throughout her body . "I like that... I like the power, too. But you can shelf callin' me a bird."
Gunnar shrugged. "It's an alright name. Dunno how I feel about being called that all the time. But it's not too far off, I guess." There was an urge for something stronger than the cigarette but he settled for a long swig from the bottle of whiskey and re-filled the glass for her. "Aye. Proper powerful. Fiyarl demon-made. Sneaky fuckers but they make a strong drink." He smiled at her reaction to the nickname. "What would ye like me to call ye then?"
Leigh smirked, "If y'all don't have a hammer to swing, I can't rightly let you keep the name." Claiming a second glass of the heat-inciting whiskey, she finished it off with a few slow slips, mulling over the inquiry. "I ain't too particular about it. Just got no desire to be called somethin' that makes me sound like I should be in a cage somewhere. No bird. No pet. Lass is fine. Love, too. 'Cause I like way that rumbles outta you. An' I'll never have a problem with Leigh."
Gunnar: "Only hammer I have is the one around me neck." Gunnar tugged at the collar of his Henley, pulling it down to reveal the valknut hammer pendant. Had it since birth." With a slow arching motion, the blond cracked his back and shook out his broad shoulders. The whiskey reacted with the fire under his skin, leaving him a little less on edge. "I can deal with those. No need to feel like you're in a cage." Steel eyes flashed a playful silver and he tossed another grin her way. "Rumbles? Aye. Shall I whisper more pretty words to ye, since this is a wooing, and all."
Leigh repeated the foreign word as she examined the necklace from where she sat. "Valknut. You wear that all the time?" Fingers brushing against her shorts, Leigh took in the curve of Gunnar's lips, giving a quick nod as she slipped her bottom lip beneath her teeth. "Please do," she insisted. "Won't feel like I'm proper wooed 'til I got a puddle in my panties."
Gunnar straightened his collar with a nod. "Aye. Never take it off." Leaning forward, Gunnar studied her for a moment before speaking. "You're warm. Felt ye pressed against me on the ride. If I touched these pretty legs ye've generously left for my hands to wander across, I'd bet ye'd be warmer still. Fire whiskey saw to that. Heat's the blood of a beastie. Calms them but lights the spark. The jolt inside. Makes ye wanna fight or fuck. I've thought about both with ye. Something about those red lips, seeing them covered in blood while ye ripped out someone's throat. Proper vicious, love. I can see it all over ye" His fingers tapped the toe of her boot, still perched on the bench and he leaned in closer, as if to share something sweet and secret. "The fuck? That would be grand, I'm sure. Pretty cunny. Warm and wetter than whiskey. Twice as potent. Ye'd sit heavy on my tongue for days, long after the bruises fade. There'd be bruises, love. I don't play gentle, and neither do ye. But fun? Aye. Proper fucking time."
Leigh absently circled the rim of her glass with a sharp, crimson-polished nail, her focus on Gunnar, bright gaze darkening the more he spoke. He was right about her warmth, and right about the desire she held to find a release for the energy buzzing through her from top to toe. When he leaned closer, so did she, letting herself hang on the filthy words to get the full effect. "You're a right smart, man. Both those are good with me--fightin' or fuckin'," she returned, taking a hold of Gunnar's chin just because he was close enough to reach. Red tips pressed into his cheeks, and she leaned in closer then, brushing burgundy lips over pink ones before giving his lower lip a quick nip and tug, resisting the urge to suck at his whiskey-soaked mouth because teasing was enough for now. "But fuckin' won't get my clothes dirty. An' I want the bird you're with after me to taste me when we're done."
Gunnar: The growl was deep as her nails gripped cheeks, and Gunnar thoroughly enjoyed her touch and tease. The warmth surged within and his eyes flashed once more at the minute press of lips and the tugging that followed. His own fingers curled against the table, resisting the urge to rip it from the booth and drag her closer, just for the noise and surprise of it all. "Vicious, love. Your clothes won't get soiled. Depends on where I'd take ye. Bathroom stall. Wall out back. Maybe right on me bike, out in the open. But ye'd feel me for days. I'd make sure of it."
Leigh had to admit she liked the sound of all three options. But the idea of remembering their romp for days to come was most appealing of all. It was easy to forget names, and faces, and experiences. Finding one that stuck was a damn good treat, and Leigh liked to treat herself. "Don't matter where I let you take me. Long as you take care of the wet between my thighs, we're golden. You talk big. Better be able to back it up." Slipping her fingers from his face, she sat back, her eyes never leaving his. "Want you, Thor. An' I don't like to wait for shit I want."
Gunnar didn't respond to the demanding tone, much as he enjoyed it, simply sliding from the booth and shrugging out of his jacket. The leather, he draped across the seat, knowing no one would fuck with it and he stood up, hulking form and intense eyes as he watched her. "Follow me." Stalking past the counter, Gunnar headed towards the restroom, knowing Leigh would be behind him. There was only one bathroom. A long and narrow space, three tall, wooden stalls and two sinks. He picked the one on the far end, the largest one and pressed a large palm to the door, pushing it open and gesturing. "Inside, love. Wouldn't want to keep ye waiting."
Leigh's eyes shifted to follow Gunnar's movement, unabashedly lingering on his frame fitted into a henley that clung to him well. She watched him walk before slipping from her seat, fingers shifting the suspenders off her shoulders before she made it to the restroom. Brushing past the large man, she took hold of his shirt, tugging him into the space with her and pushing him against the closed door of the stall. Though small, Leigh had plenty of strength, and blue eyes flashed grey when she channeled it for the purpose of curling her free hand around the back of Gunnar's neck to claim a hard, whiskey-flavored kiss.
Gunnar pushed the stall door shut, his back clipping a corner of the door when Leigh shoved him against it. Small stature but there was power in those small hands. He felt it as she gripped him, pulling him into a kiss that only made the heat under his skin burn hotter. He could taste her warmth, and as he parted those ruby lips with his own impatient pair, he greedily sucked in from her whiskey-tinged tongue. Large hands cupped her ass, yanking her up roughly only to turn and slam her slim but sturdy frame against the wooden wall of the stall. Never breaking their kiss, Gunnar deepened it, using the tight press of her against the wood to hold her body in place while he gripped her thighs and wrapped them around his waist.
Leigh hissed when she slammed against the stall door, pale limbs circling around Gunnar, thighs pressing tightly to his sides and hands bunching up burgundy fabric. The pain was welcome, as were the rough kisses that she paired with sharp scrapes of her nails up Gunnar's bare torso as she shifted his shirt higher and tugged it off. Her hands were freer to roam then, clawing over his wide back while her mouth drifted, hurriedly nipping hot skin and letting low, deep growls drift between them.
Gunnar grunted as sharp nails scored his bare back, panting as the heat simmered under too warm skin. He returned those husky growls with rough ones of his own, his hand wandering, drifting through long inky locks, getting a firm grip and tugging upwards, bringing her hot, ruby lips back to his with a dark chuckle. "Harder," he commanded the low rumble of thunder heavy in his voice as he pressed his hips into her center. "Make it hurt proper, love." There were far too many buttons to her shorts and he was tempted to rip them, but he settled for carefully undoing them one by one.
Leigh smiled at the less than gentle grip of her hair and Gunnar's command, happy to oblige. Slender hips returned the press of his, fingers curled over wide shoulders and nails digging deeper until she felt flesh breaking and warm blood bursting from the punctures. "Harder still?" The question was a low roar, fading with another round of rough kisses and the dragging of bloodied nails down Gunnar's chest until she could reach the buckle of his belt.
Gunnar: Red hot energy rippled through him, the pleasure causing a sound akin to a purr to slip through parted lips and panting breaths. Her own roar made his hips surge forward with a hard roll, the thump of her slim frame against the wood echoing off the tile. He didn't bother answering, not when her hands, tipped in blood and making trails down his broad chest were busy with his belt. The burn of her marks brought the steel fire in his eyes, silver and luminous and he attacked her neck, teeth sinking in to supple and pale skin, nipping hard as he sucked marks, large and red into that fair flesh. "Take off these fucking shorts," he growled, gripping the waistband so hard, he could hear the seams beginning to tear. Gripping her thighs, he untangle pale limbs from around his waist and set her down, taking over the task of unbuckling his belt, pushing the denim down his lips while greedily, impatiently reaching for her, not waiting a beat before his hand was in her shorts, shoving past panties, heading for her soaking center, sinking two thick fingers into that damp heat with nothing more than a rough grunt.
Leigh rode the rock between her thighs, eyes fluttering at the heavy throb it incited. Her arousal heightened with the sharp bites to her neck, melting her rumbles into moans that she stifled with a lick of dark lips. When he deposited her onto her feet again, she barely had time to move her shorts over her hips before her legs were parting wider to accommodate a large hand and probing, stroking fingers her center pulsed wantonly around. "Motherfucker... mmm...yes..." she hummed, doing her own reaching to curl around the thick cock that was practically begging for her attention. Her stroke was steady, palm brushing over the leaking head of him in a twisting motion while she rocked into the pumps of his fingers. "Want you now," she moaned, too hot and too wet to wait, gripping his wrist to slip his fingers from her warmth and suck the coated digits into her mouth before she turned around to offer up her backside.
Gunnar: The growl sat low and heavy in his chest when her hand, small but firm with its grip, curled around his cock, hard and thick, the tip leaking over her fingers. Her palm was as hot as the smooth skin of his length, forcing his hips to rock in tight thrusts, moving in time with his wet, wandering digits. Though he was already healing from her scratches, the burn of her sharp nails remained, and it only made him throb harder, pulsing in her palm, blood singing at the sound of those raspy moans. Before he could glean a taste of her, those pouty ruby lips were sucking the cream from his fingers and the pale swell of her ass was pressed against his length. He could feel her heat, smell the sweet between her legs and Gunnar growled impatiently. Quick fingers took hold of those tiny black shorts and he tugged them down to her ankles, before he turned her around and lifted her from the denim puddle at her feet. Yanked in the air, the blond bounced her in his broad arms before pinning her to the wood wall. His hand traveled, hooking behind her knee and lifting her leg, settling the toned limb atop his shoulder while curling the other around his waist. He could feel that warmth again, the head of him sliding against her slit, slick and heated and and open to him, tempting him and with a rough snarl he thrust forward just as he pulled her down, bottoming out and pinning her to the stall. Gunnar gripped the top of the stall, using the lean as leverage to control his movements. His hips moved with seamless strokes, rhythm rough and relentless as he bounced her, curving with every hard, upward motion. With every forward lean, he could feel the stretch of her powerful leg muscles, bearing the weight of the stretched position and the rapid flutter of her clenching heat and he claimed her lips in a rough kiss, licking out the heady taste of her cream with a muted growl.
Leigh didn't resist any of Gunnar's handling, floral boots slipping out of her shorts and panties before being swept from the floor again. The position was a good stretch, but it was more than manageable for lithe limbs, especially because it led to the connection Leigh had been throbbing for. Her body didn't resist the smooth glide of his cock, only welcoming him with a hot pulsation and beating clenches, that tightened and released to invite him to hit deep and hard. She was soaked for him, humming her pleasure against his lips and sipping rumbles in return, shivering at the feeling of the sounds vibrating beneath his chest before pushing their way out. She kept her eyes on his, fixated on his intense gaze and matching it with a dark one of her own. Both hands pushed into flaxen hair, unceremoniously gripping and tugging while she moaned for him, urging him to keep fucking her hard and fast as he was.
Gunnar curled his arm around her waist. pulling her closer to his frame while hitting deep. He enjoyed the throb of her sex, keeping up his frenzied pace, just to hear that satisfying creak of the wood and her moans, lush and deep and only stoking the heat within. Thin fingers tugged at his hair and Gunnar sucked at her bottom lip, nipping hard enough to draw blood and he groaned at her taste, smoky sweet and intoxicating. Rolling his hips in tighter circles, the massive blond bounced her on his dick, controlling their pace with the hard jolts and slamming her down, hitting deep and tapping her spot, just to feel that faint tremble in those toned thighs.
Leigh's hips rocked to ride each wave and rush of fiery gratification, her lower back and bare bottom roughly grazing the wood on every upward stroke. She was close, practically melting between her thighs for him and tasting her own blood still mixed with traces of sweet cream and hot sauce and whiskey that she shared with Gunnar. Heady gazes, rough thrusts, and the potent smell of their sex sent Leigh closer to the edge, her middle tightening as she reluctantly approached the point where she couldn't control her body. In an instant, the high felt as natural as breathing, and Leigh allowed herself to be swept up in the feeling, holding tight to the thick body pressed to her own. The tips of her fingers curved around the nape of his neck, nails sinking into hot skin and holding tight as she rode out her high.
Gunnar grunted at the soft give of her wet, the slick glide of his length as he fucked her impossibly harder into the wall, knowing she'd feel the burn of him, days later. The thought was thrilling, the rush of pleasure, dark and searing flooding his veins and his grip tightened on the stall, the sound of splintering wood getting lost in Leigh's moans as she came for him, the scent of her like smoke and woods and sweet, soft things Gunnar wasn't used to. The sharp pain of those pretty nails digging into his thick skin sent another jolt rippling through him and he snarled, his eyes aglow in silver as he crowded her small, lithe frame against the creaking wall, pounding harder, chasing down that building heat that swirled in his gut until he released with a roar that rumbled like thunder, thick legs supporting them both as he emptied himself into that slick, whiskey-warm heat. His palm thumped heavily on the stall with a dull, echoing smack, causing the weakened wood at the top to splinter completely, pieces clattering to the floor. He breathed sharply, broad shoulders heaving and still he threaded his fingers through that long dark hair and tugged until his mouth brushed against that long white neck, mumbled words sinking into soft flesh just as his teeth marked her.
Leigh could feel the surges of energy that guided Gunnar's body, a steadily buzzing heat that left him like oozing lava and further warmed her between her thighs. The snarls, grunts, and heavy breaths that escaped him were deep, wondrous sounds that Leigh wanted to claim and selfishly keep for herself. She knew they'd given the wood a good beating, but she didn't expect it to break, a husky laugh rushing out of her but drifting into another rough moan when Gunnar sank into the curve of her neck. "If I ain't still feelin' this shit tomorrow, I'm comin' to find you," she promised with a slight curve of her lips, on the heels of a deep, steadying breath, running her fingers over the bleeding indentations she'd left in his neck.
Gunnar 's lips curled into a grin against her skin, nipping at the already reddened patch, just for her feisty attitude. Lifting his head, Gunnar practically preened under the graze of her fingers, moving over the stinging marks. "Aye," he rumbled, leaning for another kiss, this one brief but greedy as he sought out those faint traces of her sweetness. "I'll hold ye to it, love." Her thigh was still on his shoulder and Gunnar gripped her leg as he gently eased it off and settled her on her feet, back on solid tile. Leaning down, he reached for his shirt, tossed carelessly on the floor and he straightened up. He shrugged at the broken stall and turned his attention back to Leigh, his hand slipping between her warm thighs, stroking her still-fluttering slit and gathering her cream on his thick fingers before sucking them into his mouth with a deep groan. He could taste her, honeyed and potent with a bite that had him eager to take another sample, boldly claiming more of her wet with sure strokes of her folds. This time, he took his time to savor her, sucking his fingers one at a time, a shiver racing down his spine and the heat under his scratched and scored skin simmered with satisfaction. "Needed a proper taste, lass." With that, he licked his lips and tugged on his henley, yanking it down and grunting pleasurably at the burn of his marked skin rubbing against the fabric.
Leigh hissed at the bite, coming close for the fleeting press of lips that left her smiling still. It took a second for Leigh to regain her bearings when Gunnar let her down, soreness thumping in her muscles from hard strokes and bent limbs. The feeling wasn't at all bad, though, and she almost forgot about it completely when thick fingers found her warmth twice more and she was allowed the pleasure of watching Gunnar indulge in greedy tastes of her. She was almost upset that he started up the throbbing again, but she couldn't hold onto the feeling, unable to care about anything other than the quiet hum of her body that came along with sated desire. Finding her shorts and panties, she wiggled into and rebuttoned the former, letting her suspenders hang at her sides, and shoved the latter into her pocket. "That ain't the proper way to taste pussy," she noted, giving Gunnar a bump with her shoulder to reach the door and let them out of the stall. "You just got a sample. It's much better when you let the sweet flood your mouth."
Gunnar tucked himself back inside his jeans and zipped up. His chuckle was heavy as he followed Leigh out the stall, his boot clipping a chunk of splintered wood along the way. "Aye. I'm well versed in the art. A small taste was what I'm after. Testing my theory. Your cunny tastes as sweet as it felt, clenching 'round us. I'm satisfied. All part of the wooing." Outside of the restroom, the diner was still quiet save for whatever music was pumping through the jukebox. The red-eyed halfling was nowhere to be found as Gunnar headed for their table, but he tossed a few bills onto the table, enough to cover Leigh's fries and the whiskey, which he tucked into the inside pocket of his leather jacket after pulling it on. The bottle thumped against his chest and he pulled on his beanie before glancing at his riding companion. "Wouldn't touch the rest of those fries, love. Who knows what that halfling's done to them."
Leigh smiled at the bit of praise, pulling in the curve with a swipe of her tongue. "I like the wooin'," she said with a shrug. "You ain't terrible at it." The diner was just as they'd left it for the most part, even Leigh's half-finished plate of fries were still sitting in their spot at their table. Though they appeared untouched, she wasn't going to chance it. It probably wouldn't be worth it. She already had her fill anyway and no longer had a taste for hot sauce soaked potatoes. "I ain't fuckin' with it," she informed Gunnar. "I'm good with gettin' outta here if you're ready to jet. Feel like I've had just enough wooin' for the night."
Gunnar was amused by the smile she brushed aside and he nodded. "Ready to head out." With a sweep of the booth, he headed towards the door, holding it open for her and stepping out after. The night had grown considerably cooler, but Gunnar was still warm thanks to the somewhat calm buzz under his skin. His bike was as he left it, one of the few occupied spots in the lot and as he climbed on, sliding down in that familiar and soft dip of the leather seat, he passed the helmet to Leigh, lips twitching into a faint grin. "Bracelet looks good on ye, by the way."
Leigh enjoyed the feel of the night air when they stepped outside, the slight breeze floating through the clearing cooling her. She took the helmet offered to her before taking her place behind Gunnar, once again not bothering to buckle the protective piece and simply letting it sit atop her head as she readied herself for their ride. Stretching out an arm, she showed off the hand-made black and red bracelet on her wrist. "It does, don't it? You did a good job on it. An' since it's my favorite color, I might as well make it part of the wardrobe."
Gunnar: "Aye. Works for ye. Good thing I went with red, then." Gunnar started up the Triumph, taking a moment to appreciate the throb and hum of power between his legs before taking off. The sky was darker and the road felt winding, but he handled the curves with eases, speeding down the empty highway and taking the curves and bends with an easy drift. He wasn't in a rush to get back to get back to town, satisfied with the roar of his bike and an evening of pleasant company.
