11-18-2018, 08:57 PM
The Opening Act
He warned her to go easy on the drink and she blushed faintly, then darker as he reached to touch her forehead. She tensed and sat so still and rigid, plain brown eyes wide on him. The slowly spreading darkness on his shirt caught her gaze though and she frowned lightly, reaching out to touch gently with a murmur of concern. “Woolf..” She stopped inches away though and quickly dropped her hand. The steadiness that trickled into her was hardly even noticed, and honestly she chalked it up to the drinks.
She peered up at his face again, studying the wrinkle in his brow when he frowned like that. He was stupidly handsome and it made her a little uncomfortable. Attractive men could never be trusted. That had been a lesson learned the hard way.
Except Tiphon. And perhaps Sabrael.
And fine, maybe Woolf. Maybe.
”That’s an excuse. You have plenty left to give.” She held the glass tighter in her hand and looked away, shame burning her face with another blush. He leaned in closer, near enough to be further blanketed in his scent. She held tense, turning to look at him again and realizing with a riotous heart beat that he was even closer than she had thought. ”You could make him happy if you wanted to.” Her eyes fell to his lips which were startlingly close as well, stealing her breath with the wicked tilt that lifted them. She blushed, then scowled prettily. He was toying with her, mocking her inexperience in some way.
He leaned back and she was glad of it. She hadn’t quite came to the decision to shove him back yet and now she wouldn’t have to.
His face turned up to the ceiling as he seemed to fully consider her question. Her gaze wandered to the scar on his neck, his chest. ”An unsolvable problem,” he answered after a time of thought. ”I’d wish for an unsolvable problem. Something to keep this working,” he tapped his chiseled temple at her. Then he touched his damp chest. ”Something to make me feel alive in here.”
She was uncertain how to take that. But after a moment, she smirked at him with a quiet taunt, her eyes almost glittering with wit as they once did. “What? And you can’t magic that into being?” She was not convinced he had the limits he hinted at. He could probably easily set this ideal desire in his mind and let his magic drive him to it, couldn’t he? Or she could only guess that he might be able too. She’d never had any magic of her own, and never would.
She leaned forward, gently plucking an unseen wrinkle of his shirt that was beginning to stick to his skin and pulling it away from him a good few inches towards her with a hint of the boldness she hadn’t felt in a very long time. “And what makes you feel alive, Woolf?” she murmured just barely above a whisper with a sly little smirk.
She peered up at his face again, studying the wrinkle in his brow when he frowned like that. He was stupidly handsome and it made her a little uncomfortable. Attractive men could never be trusted. That had been a lesson learned the hard way.
Except Tiphon. And perhaps Sabrael.
And fine, maybe Woolf. Maybe.
”That’s an excuse. You have plenty left to give.” She held the glass tighter in her hand and looked away, shame burning her face with another blush. He leaned in closer, near enough to be further blanketed in his scent. She held tense, turning to look at him again and realizing with a riotous heart beat that he was even closer than she had thought. ”You could make him happy if you wanted to.” Her eyes fell to his lips which were startlingly close as well, stealing her breath with the wicked tilt that lifted them. She blushed, then scowled prettily. He was toying with her, mocking her inexperience in some way.
He leaned back and she was glad of it. She hadn’t quite came to the decision to shove him back yet and now she wouldn’t have to.
His face turned up to the ceiling as he seemed to fully consider her question. Her gaze wandered to the scar on his neck, his chest. ”An unsolvable problem,” he answered after a time of thought. ”I’d wish for an unsolvable problem. Something to keep this working,” he tapped his chiseled temple at her. Then he touched his damp chest. ”Something to make me feel alive in here.”
She was uncertain how to take that. But after a moment, she smirked at him with a quiet taunt, her eyes almost glittering with wit as they once did. “What? And you can’t magic that into being?” She was not convinced he had the limits he hinted at. He could probably easily set this ideal desire in his mind and let his magic drive him to it, couldn’t he? Or she could only guess that he might be able too. She’d never had any magic of her own, and never would.
She leaned forward, gently plucking an unseen wrinkle of his shirt that was beginning to stick to his skin and pulling it away from him a good few inches towards her with a hint of the boldness she hadn’t felt in a very long time. “And what makes you feel alive, Woolf?” she murmured just barely above a whisper with a sly little smirk.