Who: Marcus Flint and Delaney Twilfitt When: Friday late night Where: Delaney's home. What: Marcus, drunk and well... Marcus being Marcus. Rating: NC-17 Open/Closed: Open to Delaney
He knocks, his hand heavy against the door. The wards placed against others are still trying to work against him but they slowly begin to recognize obvious things. He's pure, for one. A close friend for another, and someone who has visited comfortably at least a few times before. Always when Nico was gone of course.
"OY," he knocks, heavily. "OY, DELANEY!!!"
He's drunk. He knows this is bad somehow, but still he is aching for this. Aching for her. Susan is on his mind but he knows he can't do this to Susan. He can't explain how he knows it but he just knows Susan won't take to him like Delaney, how Delaney used to be.. how.. she would be if he'd just allow it. He swallows hard, and knocks hard again.
"DELANEY!"
Sipping a glass of water, Delaney had been casually perusing a book when she heard the banging on the door. She stood and went to answer it, just for something to do. It was Marcus, and her coy greeting died on her lips as she realized just how drunk he was.
"I think perhaps you better come in," she said quietly, standing aside to let him pass. She was having naughty thoughts, now - thoughts about Marcus, and about the woman he said he was seeing, and the fact that if he was this drunk and it was Delaney's door he was banging on, she might just stand a chance again.
"Can I get you a class of water?" she offered, not waiting for his response before getting him one anyway. To do what she had in mind, he was going to have to sober up, at least a bit.
When she opens the door he's surprised by what he sees. Her, calm and collected, and almost too quiet when she speaks. He's still getting over the sound of a loud crowd at the pub he was just at so it takes him a moment to get used to the quiet and stillness. Without answering her question he slips in and then follows her to the kitchen.
She can probably smell the firewhiskey on him. When he licks his lips the hot cinnamon flavor is still very present. It's that drink that has settled in his bones, it's that drink that makes him feel courageous enough to be here rather than home by his damned self.
When her back to turned to him he steps forward until he is behind her and he places his larger hands on her hips then slowly slides them forward over her abdomen which while not being large he can still feel the difference from before. His mouth lingers low against the shell of her ear.
And he says it because he means it, because he knows she thinks he won't touch her but it's not for the reasons she may think. His head swims for a moment.
"Sweet Salazar you're gorgeous..."
[Sorry I was drunk last night and apparently did this under the owls lmao, so I copied what we had and posted it new.]