fine print | lennox & wren
lennoxfraser:
The alcohol was already warming Lennox’s insides, and his cold cheeks were prickling from the close heat of the Hog’s Head. It was a stroke of pure luck that he’d found Wren here, but it was also as though the puzzle pieces had fallen into place. After a disastrous morning filled with letters back and forth from his grandparents and now the protesters, Lennox had been dangerously close to doing something else that involved blood and pain and finding an outlet for the quiet rage that was simmering within. The beer, unusual for Lennox, had been the first step of his plan - and Wren’s appearance seemed like the perfect option for step two. His face twisted at the mention of Penny. “Please,” he said, frowning, eyebrows furrowed, reaching for his beer. “I’d rather not think of what gets Hawkin’s off, if that’s alright with you. The mere thought turns my drink to acid in my fuckin’ stomach.” It was close enough to the truth, and besides, Lennox didn’t want to be thinking of Penny with her boner for justice when there was Wren right before him. Wren, coming from a morally bankrupt family. Wren, with her sarcastic and easy, good times. Wren, who could uncomplicated as if it were her motto. He took a sip, watching her over the rim of the glass as she finished what she had, and then they were left sizing the other up. She was smart; she’d know immediately what he had in mind, though the chase tired Lennox quickly.
“Doubt you’d need escorting anywhere,” Lennox scoffed, placing his pint glass on the wood table between them and sitting with his elbows on his knees, fitting Wren with an evaluating look. “But we could leave together, if you want. Go back to mine,” and there it was, Lennox’s plan laid bare, a hint of a smile on his face as he watched Wren’s for approval. “And since we’re not in the forties, I don’t mind askin’ you plain if you’d be up for it.” He brushed his hands across his thighs and stood, the beer he’d drunk quickly hitting his head, but Lennox tried not to show it, though the smile on his face was a little more loose than usual. “What’d you think? No strings, no worries - just fun.”
“You’re right; I don’t,” she replied. Wren made a habit of letting people understand she could take of herself. Having an escort was never necessary, nor was it wanted, and she wanted to keep it that way. Even at unfavourable charity gatherings she was forced to go to with her parents, she was rarely seen with an acquaintance. Wren thudded a foot against the booth seat opposite to stop Lennox in his tracks, letting it brush the side of his leg playfully. She pulled back dominance in their situation, always trying swing control between the two of them. It was a silent mutual agreement they had. “Isn’t that what we do every time we meet? No strings, no worries - just rough fun? And sometimes kinky?” she asked, raising her brows and tongue flicking quickly over dry lips.
Wren placed her book into her bag and stood suddenly, but not without dragging her foot down the inside of the Ravenclaw’s leg before she finished. She grabbed her robed coat, pulling it on, hooking her bag into her elbow and stepping out from the table. She wandered over to Lennox’s side, raising a hand to the side of his head and dragging a nail over his ear before tugging at his lobe. Wren stood ahead of him square on, moving both arms to flatten the collar of his coat, observing the look before popping it back and smiling, "That's better; gives me something to hold on to. Shall we?"
