She feels naked. Naked and hyperaware and overtrained. Too many years outside, too calloused, too impolite. Somewhere in there, when they were taking her small armory from her and inking her arm in red, she probably should have said “thank you.” Instead she was thinking, still is, that if she ever has to leave, she’ll have to figure out how to steal the guns back first. (Her guns, they were hers.)

She shouldn’t complain. She’s free of the grime that she’d carried around with her for years, camouflage and armor both. They’d given her a small stack of personal items, left at the foot of her very own bed. She’d combed out her wet hair and bid farewell to the snarls and tangles that had almost seemed like old friends. 

Her skin feels new and pink and cleansed, she’s light on her feet without a laden pack weighing her down, straps digging into her shoulder for day after day after day. And so, when she has her tray of breakfast — something that’s recognizably oatmeal and something that’s passing as coffee — and she’s setting it down at a nearby table, she flashes a smile, trying on something that’s as weightless as she should feel.] Top of the morning to ya.

--{ kyffin just about manages to lift his head from where it's resting on folded arms -- breakfast tray nudged slightly forward so he didn't drown (?)... or suffocate (?) in a bowl of grey lumpy... 'something like food'. he'd heard someone sit down nearby, and wasn't entirely sure the comment was directed towards him - though it didn't entirely bend the realms of reality to suppose it had been. }--

morning, i mean?

--{ he's being mildly facetious about it --  just because he'd had a night of overindulgence, and the flourescent lights of the cafeteria were more than a little harsh on delicate eyeballs ( which currently felt like they'd been gift-wrapped in sandpaper ).

but at some point he manages to focus without squinting, and there's a new face perched at the table - looking about a thousand times brighter than he felt and he does feel suitably guilty for the unprovoked sarcasm. his head decides to punish him for any movement, but there's a firm set to grit jaw as he resolutely refuses to be beaten by a self-imposed roughness, a hangover that would probably be kicking unsympathetically at his brain meat until at least lunchtime. }--

-  --eh, sorry - not much of a 'morning person'. especially when it's following a - long - night. you're new, yeah? uh... welcome, and - all the other stuff i'm probably supposed to say, but i can't for the life of me remember what that is right now...

Oh, she wants to huff and sigh and tell him no. But her mother had always been so proud of Chloe’s good manners; whenever she had been around to play at a friend’s house, she would always say “thank you for having me”, and not all of the other girls remembered to do that. It’s for her mother’s sake, not Kyffin’s, that she nods out a demure and polite ‘okay’. She quite likes her feet being cold, but she understands that sometimes it’s better to concede to another’s point and minorly inconvenience oneself. It isn’t a big deal, and she digs about in her little bag to find her shoes.

She’s quite proud of them: she doesn’t often wear them, but she likes them a lot. They’re green and flat and silky and they fold in half so they can be slipped into a pouch, and really they were designed for when you’re wearing heels out but your feet get tired, but Chloe likes them because they’re easy to take with her. She can put them on when the need arises, as she does now.] But I think you’re overthinking it. You’re trying to make something that’s illogical by nature into something logical. If magic could be worked out by numbers and maths then don’t you think everyone would be doing it?

yes... i know... more questions.

--{  but he waits, patiently, while the shoes are produced and slipped onto dirty feet, a small grin as the girl either doesn't seem to notice or just doesn't particularly care. and he's stepping toward the door, holding out his wrist until the pdd does that incessant 'chirpy' thing and the door clicks open.

hand reaches for the cold metal of the handle before there's a pause -- he will let her in, and he won't be leaving her there -- not on his watch and not with his name on the ticket should something go sideways }--

you've got about an hour -- that good enough?

--{  there's a jerk of his head, a small smile signalling that she can go inside.  }--

i'm not trying to make anything logical - i'm just pointing out that there's nothing logical in spending time reading about it.  especially if those changes have happened. isn't magic supposed t'be something that's more of a - comes from inside you, thing? rather than from inside a dusty old library?

When he does speak, there’s a smile on her face in response to his words. She hadn’t thought about that - she had enjoyed the flash of pain, and knowing that Kyffin was the one standing to close to her, touching her, taking control of her… but then she thinks about how his bite will definitely leave a mark - one which will not be fading any time soon. A part of her expects herself to be shocked, maybe even unhappy that there would be a mark on her skin that she couldn’t clean off, but she’s not.

(She remembers a girl from school (who had, once upon a time, been a friend to Jayme. For about a week), turning up with a deep purple mark on her neck, and the boys had temporarily stopped trying to flirt with her so much, and the girls all gossiped ad questioned her, because they all knew that she belonged to somebody, for lack of a better word… but she was unavailable, nonetheless.)

And darn it, she kind of does hope that it means she is his.

She allows her neck to be re-exposed, held at an angle by Kyffin’s hand still tangled at the roots of her hair, and then she feels his tongue running over the bite. There’s just enough pressure there to cause an ache, just enough to have her let out a moan of pleasure, still decidedly soft, but her hands on his hips are trying to pull him closer, closer…

But then he’s not there. He’s stepped back - just a little, enough that Jayme’s hands have fallen from his hips, coming to rest on her exposed thighs.

His touch is gone, and for a moment her lust hazed mind tells her that it would be such a good idea to move her own hands up, up, to find where Kyffin’s had been only seconds ago… but she resists, keeping a curious eye on Kyffin.

The kimono falls to the ground, and though she tells herself not to, Jayme’s traitorous eyes travel down his body… from those impossible green eyes, down to his chest and defined stomach which she finds she just wants to run her hands… fingers… tongue, all over. Down, over the trail of hair, leading down his lower abdomen - but where it would usually have disappeared beneath clothes, it doesn’t. Her eyes widen as she takes in the sight before her, a mix of shock (because how the heck would that fit?!) and want.

She doesn’t know what she could do, but she knows that there’s no way that was only for being inside of here there… The same feeling of want that had filled her as her eyes had raked over his torso returned, and she wants to feel him, to taste him… but she doesn’t say it because, well, is that even a thing that people do? Is it normal to want to run her tongue along him, up to the tip where she can see… see something almost glistening in the light of the frustratingly poorly-lit laundry room… and she wants to know what it is, and whether it would taste good if she were to swipe her tongue over the area…

She pulls her gaze away, back up to meet Kyffin’s eyes again, knowing that her cheeks are flushed pink and her eyes are dark. Then Jayme is moving as Kyffin’s hand guides her forward, almost teetering on the edge of the machine, longing for more because his hand is no longer there and his fingers are not touching her and she needs him.

Jayme is almost too distracted to hear his words, but she does, and her face flushes deeper, the blush painting her cheeks, and down over her neck, to below her covered chest..

’Take off the dress, Jayme…’

Her hands are trembling as they move to the edge of the dress. This was the point of no return, she thinks - after this moment, she will be completely naked, for the first time ever in front of somebody else. And still she doesn’t resist, not even for a moment.She pulls the dress upwards, feeling the air his her stomach before the waistline of the dress, a little tighter to pull the garment in, skims her breasts, pulling them gently upwards, only for them to fall back to their usual position as soon as the dress is about to be pulled over her head (or rather, bounce back, she thinks).

For a moment, she can’t see, vision obscured by material, before she tugs it off and drops it to the floor— fully exposed to Kyffin.

Her head dips, eyes focusing on a pile of washing across the room to distract herself from the fact she is nude. The want is still hot within her, and she longs to pull Kyffin closer, but she doesn’t. For all she knows, he could be looking at her body now and regretting ever being so close to her… her skin isn’t as blemish free as she wants, her back (which he thankfully can’t see) has patches of skin paler than the rest, burns healed and yet still clearly scarred… thankfully, the roughness of her skin is barely noticeable, but it’s there, just as noticeable to her as the scars littering her skin, making her knuckles, elbows and knees slightly rough to the tough (though less than they were years ago), and burns from scalds and bleach giving her pale patches she tries hard to not notice… all she can do is hope Kyffin doesn’t notice.

Instead, she chooses to respond to Kyffin’s words, resisting the urge to pull him close, just in case he’s already changed his mind…

"don't hold back, jayme..."

- --but as he moves and the kimono is discarded - he's not self conscious... ...( another person in another life might have been shyer, might have been fumbling or doubtful about the where he was and the what he was doing and a whole host of other things that would have amounted to a torrent of chaos -- but in this life, as this person ( as him, the most honest 'him' he might have ever been ) he's not...  and it's no mark of vanity.   nothing to do with confidence either,  it's because his attention is so acutely focussed on her - eyes, lips, cheeks, legs, every inch of skin on display... everything about her... )... ...and he doesn't think to shrink away or hide of introduce any kind of modesty here, because he doesn't want it and this isn't something that's 'wrong'.

- --what is wrong, is that one person has the power to do this, wrong that she has enough of a hold over him in a glance, or a smile, or a half whispered word to steal his breath, make him - w a n t - bring a stupid grin to his face  - but she does. wrong that when she bites her lip she manages to look coy-innocent-vulnerable-INSANELY HOT all at the same time -- but she does. it's wrong that time seems to slow with every tiny shift of her body, or warm, sweet breath that leaves her lips, seemingly teasing and giving all at the same time -- the gentle slow wriggle out of the dress and...

jesus.

he really appreciated things being wrong right now -- -.

- --maybe he was wrong -- about her not being a porcelain doll after all -- - gentle undulations, soft curves and graceful angles... he does, however, notice... how could he not when his eyes are soaking up every single inch of her - ? but the response doesn't pull a question from his lips, he doesn't ask about the lightly silvered marks which are more apparent now. maybe he will someday.  maybe she will decide to tell him. but not now. now he's fairly sure he's gawping -- and it's rearranged into a smile, into something as radiant as she makes him feel ( very ).

"- --you are beautiful."

it's an echo of the words he said before...

"you're... you... no... not beautiful, more than that - ...magnificent."

and the word is punctuated with another brush of lips, a chase and breathless kiss. "... exquisite."

this time trailing his mouth back down her neck, hands sliding up her sides, feeling his way over those curves, mapping sweeping contours beneath calloused fingertips. "...stunning."

letting each and every word of praise fall against her skin.  across collar bone and down to the supple mound of her breasts, letting kisses fall, peppered gently, at least until tongue darts out, swirls around her nipple -- catches the firm flesh between teeth and pulls lightly, grazing over sensitive skin before letting go, continuing down into the small hollow of her stomach - bending to reach and praising every single inch with mouth, tongue, lips... making sure that there's no distinction between those small silvered scars, here and there where there's a new texture beneath his tongue, only making sure to praise it with his attention equally... "...bewitching."

"...look at me, Jayme..."

he doesn't want her to be self-conscious either.  wants her to understand how utterly enraptured he is with her.  that this is no act to simply 'gain' what he wants, but that he wants to see her, to hear her, to know that this is as much ( more ) about her than it is about him. and the angle is a little awkward, but he manages to lift his gaze, hands moving back to slide between those supple thighs... fingers pressing into skin and holding firmly, steadily in case she jumped - balanced precariously on the edge of the machine.

he starts low, leaning in to press soft kisses to that pale skin on the inside of her leg... a quick grin and he's letting his teeth lead, sucking hard and quick to leave yet another mark in a more intimate place... tongue moving higher to the object of desire, licking up the spread expanse of her inner lips till he reached the top and swirled his tongue lazily around her clit. and damn; there isn’t much in the world he loves more than doing this.  her body dripping into his mouth, sweet and bitter at the same time.  but he can still look up at her face as he licks and sucks, his own eyes dark, fixed hungrily on hers, and he's not sure that he’s ever seen anything so perfect and utterly, completely fuckingamazing in his whole life. 

another moment of just - enjoying this - a long slow lick before he's moving to meet her eyes again, draw upright and level... she'd already said 'please' twice, she didn't have to ask again...

setting himself close - one hand still on bitten thigh, the other taking himself in hand ( and christ, if his cock doesn't jump at his own touch, sudden friction searing along nerves and down his spine ) -- she's hot and slick and just the first slide against her now is delicious - angling down and right against her, ( all it will take is a push - just that ) -- -

"slowly... it might hurt a little.  the first time usually does.  hold onto me... breathe... tell me to stop if you need me to..."

- --and he does... push... and it is - s l o w... and maybe he shudders at that first resistance of muscle pulled tight - ( fff----uuuuuckkk.... ), but he does press past it, into that slick heat, not too much not too far not too fast ( medal for restraint here ) - and there's a moan pulled from his own chest then, a word bleeding through the noise, and if you could speak 'lust' then you might just recognise it as her name... 

I am — and then nothing.

River had never spent her time bothering with the abandoned thing: the chapel. That which could not make its loyalties known, but bore the outline of imagery torn down in time long passed. And she liked the emptiness that filled its pews — the wooden seats that flickered light upon them through stained-glass windows, blown out and then boarded up like to keep its secrets in.

Secrets like: I was worshiped here. It was false and upon the idol with the face of many men, but the sentiment was there.

Now River finds all of her moments stolen by this place. Its darkness. The quiet murmur of a stray faithful whispering in corners to whichever god they thought true. Sitting in the same room with that which made creation unknowingly, but trying.

Today it is empty — was empty when she’d walked in and laid herself flat across the floor of the middle aisle.

Commune down me, she’d thought. Made blaspheme out of something not real.

River had never been God, but she had been something with whispers in the same ear. God felt closest, if she had wanted worship. If she had wanted praise.

She doesn’t. And with her head against the ground and eyes fixed to the ceiling, she thinks that their god had killed the earth in a great flood, and they had loved him more for it. For the cleansing.

What of hers by fire? What of hers by falling of sky?

What of her?

Hail River, full of grace.

Full of eyes rolling at the ridiculousness of that statement.

When she speaks, it’s filled with a new candor she’s still learning on her tongue.] 

This is bullshit.

- --{ the commentary comes unbidden from distant shadows, somewhere close to the door, booted feet hadn't scraped or thumped as he stepped inside, and the air beyond was calm -- no sweeping breeze to announce his presence. a presence which had only been there but a minute -- an aimless ambling and a need for space,

( why then to wander 'inside' than to stay without,  why to enclose with four walls and a roof, rather than keep the sky as a ceiling and the dirt as a floor. questions he didn't really know the answer to -- - and was glad there wasn't reason to pose such a question... even if there was, his answer would be vague at best... )

the first time he'd seen the vaulted ceiling, and it was chill in here, compared to sunkissed space outside... only just taking in the chamber beyond when eyes befell a form, a figure, and those words were offered, perhaps to a nowhere, a no one and a nothing, only perchance that he'd been present to hear.  }--

or is this a private moment between you and the roof? i can always...

- --{  a shrug and a gesture towards the door, he wasn't going to intrude if there was an 'unwelcome' sign flashed, none on the door, but they could present in more ways than one.  }--

oh, hum hallelujah...

- --{  and that was spoken softly, just a musing -- as he did absorb more details, eyes soaking up the remnants of the place - faded and brittle and broken, but some things still in tact... }--

It’s maybe hypocritical, because Pryor loves a good argument, plays Devil’s advocate just for the fun of it, but Pryor, at least, is self aware. He sets out to argue, arguing is his goal. And he likes people that will argue with him, that will quip and retort and fire back with his same brand of smirking and prodding. Not someone who disagrees with Pryor at every turn yet sighs all put-upon when Pryor does the same. 

"Aficionado, connoisseur, critic," Kyffin had said, and Pryor had shrugged and refused to claim ownership of any of those terms, because they contained a certain amount of discernment and — dare he fucking say it — culture that he didn’t nor did he wish to possess. 

But a hint of disagreement and Kyffin’s a blank and unsmiling wall in front of him, short words, and Pryor seems the same chill prickling over his skin as he had in the kitchen however long ago. 

Pryor loves this reaction, when he’s angling for it. He hadn’t been, but he’d walked into this room only to be prescribed with malevolent intentions and, quite frankly, it pisses him off.

He’s let Kyffin turn him into a self-fulfilling prophecy. Asked if he was “disturbed” by the man’s playing, he’s become as sour and as displeased as he was originally assumed to be. And it had taken just a couple sentences to make him this way. His moods turn on a fucking dime. 

He pushes off of the doorway, stands up straight. He knows a brush-off when he sees one and he’s happy enough to go.]

Nothing at all. [It’s tongue in cheek, each syllable painstakingly enunciated and crisp. At this point he doesn’t see any point in trying to be anything other than how he’s expected to be, as he turns on a hell and ambles out.]

he wonders if anyone -- anyone will ever take any offer for what it is. he's done it twice in the last few minutes and been turned down flat. regardless of the piano lesson, he's tired of it. tired of making the effort and having it thrown back in his face. tired of all of the attitude,  all of those blocks between 'survivors' and 'elites' -- - or perhaps just 'people' in general.

the colony promised lots - shelter, food, warmth, protection, but he wonders more and more these days,  if it also offers something else. a toxin within that spread and seeped and pulled down every good intention, that negated any effort. that battered and bruised and tore at resolve until it began to crumble. until the 'i'll be here for you if you need me, when you need me', might not be best served elsewhere...  where people did want help.

he's wasting his time here. he's wasting their time.

perhaps then, it wasn't the colony that was the lost cause here... introspection is a dangerous thing.

the cover remains closed, the bottle of water perpetrating the stain on the wooden carapace. and perhaps then, that will be the only lasting impression of his presence. and as those keys remain untouched, at least one thing rings true-- - in more than one sense of the words...

...there's no more music.  }--

Jayme can’t help but respond to Kyffin, soft moans and breathy gasps escaping her with each touch of his fingers on her skin - every gentle caress hits her harder than the last, fuelling the fire in the pit of her stomach.

It is something she has no real experience with, and in a way, she’s glad - it is new for her, and she is experiencing it all with Kyffin… she might seem a little naive, but she wants Kyffin, and only him, to be the one who is touching her, making her feel so many new things. The way his fingers move against her made her feel things she had never really felt before, things she wouldn’t have been able to comprehend before, and his lips are hot as they meet her own.

His lips are gentle, and his tongue is teasing as it lingers on her bottom lip, only to be taken away from her too soon.

She’s surprised, moments later, when his fingers tangle in her hair at the base of her head, rough against her scalp, tugging – not enough to hurt, but firmly enough that her head tilts upwards – and it’s not something she had ever even thought about before, but she finds that she enjoys it – the rough nature of the motion, the tug… -  even though she isn’t sure why he has done it, until she feels his lips, leaving a burning trail on her skin, teeth grazing against her, lightly but enough to leave her wanting more.

It’s with intent that her thigh moves again. She knows now… she knows what she can feel, and from his moan, he likes what she is doing… so her leg brushes up against him again. Her fingers move to rest low on his hips, holding him, another whimper leaving her only to be replaced by a gasp when she feels pain.

His teeth, grazing over her skin, are suddenly not so gentle, and it hurts, his teeth sinking into her skin, dragging a shocked yelp from the blonde, which fades quickly to– oh. Oh, she likes that, and the moan pulled from her makes her cheeks flush a rosy pink. The bite drew something almost primal from her, fingertips digging in to the soft silky material of his kimono as she feels the burning increase, and she just wants more…

But he’s apologising, and – why? For hurting her… she looks at Kyffin with wide eyes. Is she okay… he’s worried, she can tell, and she wants to silence his apologies but at the same time, she doesn’t want to move her head, hoping that the fingers in her hair will re-tighten their grip, rather than limply holding her there. She nods, just slightly, before speaking – voice soft, gentle, a little lower in pitch than usual (which really isn’t much, as her naturally rather high voice doesn’t really have much capability of being low).

“I am alright… yes, Kyffin, sir, I am alright.” She pauses, just for a moment, pondering her next words – (because, was she supposed to feel like this? Was she supposed to like his teeth biting down on her?) – before throwing caution to the wind, something she finds herself doing quite often recently. “I- I liked it.”

The lazy half smile on her lips resembles a smirk, though without any of the sarcasm or slyness usually hidden behind a smirk. Her eyes looking at Kyffin are darker than usual, a deep green-blue shade ringed around widened pupils.

She’s tempted to just lose herself in him again, but then he’s speaking and… sex. Oh.

Sex – she understands. She knows what sex is, has imagined it on more occasions than she would really care to admit… She had been taught that sex, just like kissing, was something she wasn’t to let just anybody do, and it was only to be done with somebody she cared about. This seems like one of those situations. She wants him, and she cares about him… (and frankly, she’s not entirely sure what else there would be to do – even if her hand dipped lower, she wouldn’t really know what to do with him - even after all of her time in a school surrounded by rowdy teenagers, she did not know what a blowjob was – had only heard of the odd term in passing) – but sex… sex, she kind of understands – had been shown a video before which had fuelled her imagination more than she really would have liked (though she is grateful of that now).

Somehow, the suggestion isn’t awkward – like it had been in the video she had been shown – instead, he’s sweet, and  caring, which somehow makes her want him more.

It’s another minute before she can speak – having difficulty forming the words, without stuttering.

“Please…” The word is barely above a whisper, but there’s no doubt in her voice.

Granted, she doesn’t really know about foreplay, so she doesn’t think there is very much to do between where they are now, and the sex – but even if she did… she would still want him. She wants him so badly, to feel him inside of her (like she had imagined, though she didn’t want to admit that), and besides, she likes to think that if there is more for them to do, Kyffin would be the one to show her… she wants him to be the one who touches her, and darn it, she wants to touch him. But for now… for now, she’s unashamed by her choice of word, openly (though quietly) begging…

- -- he tunes in to the sound she makes, searching her face once again -- he seems to study it a lot -- watching for reaction, using it as a visual cue, and it's something he finds he likes doing -- the shy smiles, small upturn of lips which were dark and kiss bitten, the deeper flush to her skin and the almost hazy glaze in lust blown pupils.

'i liked it'

oh... OH.  well then...   that was kind of a shot out of the blue and -- sweet mother of jesus, if that doesn't have him twitching up against he firm press of her leg           ( and he's totally going to have to clean this kimono, because there's a patch of damp silk now, slick and warm with pre-come -- leaking and goddamn aching... ) -- sweet, innocent little jayme... who apparently wasn't wholly opposed to a little pain with her pleasure.

his grin doesn't quite match hers -- slightly more predatory than wry,  and his hand does tighten again -- pulls, ( now he knows she's okay ),            ( she's slender and she's petite, but there's a stark moment of realisation... while she might well look like one, she's not a porcelain doll, not paper thin or precariously fragile... ...he's not going to break her... at least - not in any other way than the most pleasurable... ) pulling to raise her chin and expose the deep red mark ( which would surely be a bruise by the morning ) set into that pale skin.

"I like that you liked it... All marked up... It looks good on you..."

and it did, she looked amazing and so fucking hot -- - tongue finding it's way back to that spot and laving hot and wet over damaged skin.

it's only when the -'please' - slips into his ear does he think he might lose it there and then -- finally easing the hand between her legs away and untangling the one from her hair to yank at the tie to the robe - it was nice while it lasted, but it was definitely, decidedly in the way now.

there's a heat in his gaze -- something almost incendiary, shrugging silk from his shoulders and letting it fall haphazardly- -- only the briefest brush of cool air over heated skin, and it was blissful...

letting hands slide back up and around then, inching her further forward to the edge of the machine - and he can feel that heat between her legs --so close, but there's no move to go further, not yet...

"I like when you say 'please' too -- take off the dress, Jayme... I want to see you.  All of you.   I want to find if there are any other places on this beautiful body where you like to be kissed...      ...Or bitten... Places that make you squirm, or giggle, or moan.       I want you to - enjoy this - don't be nervous - or scared... Talk to me, Jayme -- tell me what you like, what you don't like, just do what feels good for you."