you unravel me Who: Obed & Isobel. What: Valentine's Day. Where: Their apartment, elsewhere and back again. When: Feb. 14, evening. Rating: NC-17.
Isobel adjusted the packages on the tabletop for the umpteenth time, wondering at her decisions yet again. One box had come pre-wrapped in glistening silver paper with a cute red bow, so she'd made the other one to match; really, she hadn't needed to wrap it at all, considering the packaging, but it felt nice to have the consistency. She herself had taken some time to change out of her work clothes and into a pair of comfortable jeans with a black top. They'd made no plans to go out, so her gifts had been aimed at staying in, with accompanying lingerie under the dull pants and shirt she'd chosen. Dinner was waiting in the oven, a thai curry shrimp meal that she'd thrown together and would pull out first if Obed was hungry after work.
She chewed her lip, wondering if she should have gone the romantic meal route, and rose to grab plates when her time ran out. She could hear the front door open, Obed's soft steps nearly undetectable between the well-chosen wood flooring and his own immaculately tailored shoes. Isobel sank down again, her arms falling into a loose fold on the tabletop, making her look a little unabashedly proud of the gifts lying next to her. The image belied the fact that her heart was fit to beat out of her chest even as she pressed a happy and completely unfeigned smile to her lips.
He rounded the wall that delineated entryway from home. His cold blue gaze swept the room even before he was fully inside: searching for her, and satisfied the moment his eyes found her. He smiled softly, reading her pleasure and pride even at that distance.
"Well good evening to you, too," he said. He slipped the heavy black leather messenger bag off his shoulder, setting it down on the table as he passed. He stopped just beside her, glancing only briefly to the gifts in front of her before leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead; her eyes closed at the touch of his lips, then opened again as he pulled away. He straightened up, his fingers trailing down her arm, from the slope of her shoulder down to the gifts beside her hand, a small smile quirking his lips. "You've been busy, I see."
"Mhm," she replied, grinning and leaning back in her chair as her hands went to press against her thighs. "There's dinner, too, in the oven. I figured since we're staying in, we can do something fun. You should open this one first," she said, nudging the top box with the bright red bow in his direction.
Obed's smile twitched wider as he slide into the seat next to hers. He pulled the gift close, then unwrapped it with small motions so gentle the tape largely remained intact. He set paper and bow aside, then opened the box. A small crease marred his brow as he peered inside, deepening as he withdrew each item: bottles of paint, a slick tarp, and a black square set with painted stars, that folded out into what appeared to be a canvas. He cut a sidelong look to her, curiosity shining in his eyes.
"And what is this," he asked.
Isobel's incisors toyed with the bottom of her lip, watching the paper fall away before meeting Obed's gaze again. Even before she spoke, her cheeks were reddening, giving voice to the sort of thoughts floating through her head.
"Well," she started, her voice a touch low. She raised it. "This is our first Valentine's Day, and I wanted it, you know, to be special. I was poking around online, and I found this site.. An artist put together these kits. The whole idea, I mean, the idea is that you put the tarp down, and then the canvas, and, well, there's no brushes because...we put the paint on each other. And then on the canvas." Isobel rolled her eyes at herself inwardly, but she couldn't stop her voice from picking up. "We paint the canvas with each other. I thought it sounded romantic and fun, and it'd be nice to make something for the bedroom, you know, something with more color..." Her hands rose to her face, cupping her burning cheeks. "What do you think?"
His grin had grown every time her blush had deepened. He turned over one bottle of paint in his hand, the motions of his fingers decidedly suggestive. "I think it's excellent," he said. "And I'd say let's forget about dinner and get started on this little project, but… I do have something planned for us. After dinner, of course. But after that..." He reached over and took her hand, bringing hot fingers against his smiling lips.
Isobel's timid smile grew, her blush reaching its zenith. She cleared her throat, trying to take back some of her confidence. "Oh? I can always put what's in the oven in the fridge if you wanted to go out somewhere. I wish you told me, though, I'm not dressed for dinner, or whatever it is you have in mind." She pushed forward, her hands cupping his face, one thumb running over his bottom lip. Then she pulled her hands away slowly, coming to the other box. "And you should open your other gift first."
"Dinner here," he said, specifying before they could move further. "You'll see. But this first." He pulled the second box toward him. He opened this one as carefully as the first, setting aside its wrapping and slowly opening it. His brow arched impossibly high; the curve at the corner of his mouth was wickedly sharp. "Why, Isobel. I didn't think you could top that first gift, and yet…"
The box, tailored to look like a black briefcase, was decidedly not safe for work on the inside. A pair of leather handcuffs with a fur interior were linked by a gold chain, set next to a silk black eye mask. A full set of under the bed restraints were tucked neatly on top of those, and both a feather crop and a leather paddle were also included in the box. The last item was a handblown glass flogger in soft leather. As he went through the box, Isobel rested her chin on a closed fist, gently kneading her bottom lip with her incisors.
"I found this company called Box of Grey," she explained. "After...well, just how last time went, and how you said it helped, I thought we could..." She shrugged, attempting a small smile. She already knew the excitement that the box inspired in her; upon receiving it, she'd opened it to make sure it was intact, and had even tried a few of the items on herself. Needless to say, she was both satisfied and impatient to actually test them out completely. Still, her face scrunched in worry. "It's not too much?"
Obed paused in his exploration of the box's contents, one hand still resting on the flogger. "Not at all," he said. Faint color had risen to his own cheeks; he did his best to tamp it down, or at least to call no more attention to it than he already had. His thumb slid over the surface of the toy. He shifted in his seat, more than a little aware of the excitement he already felt over this gift. His smile was small, and almost sheepish. "I almost wish I hadn't made plans now."
Isobel moved forward in her seat, closer to him, a hand on his upper arm. "Oh, no, I didn't mean to spoil your surprise. And besides," she added, a smirk curving one half of her lips. "Waiting can be part of the fun." She let her hand drift down his arm to the elbow slowly. "What did you set up for us to do?"
His hand covered hers, pressing her touch more firmly into his skin. "You didn't spoil anything," he said, his blush at last receding. He closed the box with his free hand, willing himself to be patient, and feeling anything but. "You'd' mentioned cooking classes earlier, but I found something I'd like to try first." He smiled, pleased with himself. "It's a bit shorter than a full cooking class, too, so we can get back home soon enough… we'll be making ice cream."
A wide, happy grin slid over her face, reaching her eyes without hesitation. Isobel's hand on his arm tightened. "That's wonderful! I've never done that before, and I'm so glad you remembered," she said, leaning forward more into his space. She pecked his lips with a quick kiss, flitting in and out like a bird. "Oh, but we shouldn't fill up on ice cream, though, are you sure you don't want to eat first? Where is it? Should I change?" Her questions ran on the heels of the former, her excitement clear in everything.
"We have time if you'd like to eat first," he said. "It isn't for another couple of hours. I wanted to leave enough time in case you had something…" He gestured to the table, then to the kitchen beyond. "Well, something like all this planned." He chuckled. "So let's eat, and then we'll head over there. I don't think you need to change at all. I was just going to go in this." He rose from the table, kissing her before moving on into the kitchen. "What can I do to help?"
Isobel followed quickly after. "If you just want to grab some plates and utensils, the food's already ready." She moved around him, grabbing oven mitts and pulling the door open to remove the glass pan full of shrimp and curry, filling the kitchen anew with the scent. "We can just serve ourselves, I thought. I feel like I should've put this out first, but I got a little too excited with giving you your gifts..."
"I can absolutely see why." He sidled close to her as they prepared their plates, whispering not entirely sweet nothings in her ear.
* * *
The small class was already milling about when Obed and Isobel made their way inside. It took some coaxing on Isobel's part, but soon enough even Obed had donned one of the two black aprons placed on their station -- embroidered in red, of course, with their names and the date. They moved along with the steps as instructed, picking up on the process more quickly than Obed had expected.
For his flavor, Obed had chosen chocolate with chili, and he could scarcely keep himself from tasting it far too early.
Isobel was busy sealing the bag on her own choice, a black raspberry with chocolate chunks. She had gotten a little of the cream on her hand, and she used it to her advantage.
"Mm, you've got something on your face," she commented to Obed, wiping her thumb over his nose to leave a small amount of the ingredient on the tip. "Nope, still there." Gently taking his chin in her hand, she rose up on tiptoe to lick at the area, cleaning it thoroughly. Thankfully, the two of them were in the back of the classroom, otherwise she never would have attempted such an act.
"This reminds me a little too much of chemistry class in high school," she added, smiling to herself as she put her ice cream bag inside another filled with ice and salt. "We never did anything this fun, though."
"Ours either," he said. "I made a few batches at home with my family, but it was with one of those old countertop churns. Almost always plain vanilla, too. Not that that was bad…" He swiped the tip of his nose with his index finger, clearing away the slickness and lingering flavor she had left behind. He wiped it on his apron front. Then he slipped one arm low around her back, pulling her against him, streaking yet unmade ice cream over her apron as well. "Are you enjoying this, at least?"
She pressed back against him, perfectly content with the close proximity even as her hands stayed on the freezer bag. Isobel bit one corner of her mouth as she smiled.
"No; never anything edible. Though one year for Halloween, Mr. Kampf blew up a pumpkin so that it looked like a jack-o-lantern. Nearly hit a few kids in the front row, and he was suspended for a week. His temporary replacement just let us watch videos all class." She turned the bag over, keeping the rocking motion going, before setting the bag down entirely and grasping his hand on her middle with one of her own. Obed laughed, shaking his head at the colorful mental image.
"You're having a good time, right?" She managed to keep all worry out of her voice, though the suspicion was there that even though he'd picked the class out for her enjoyment that he was merely abiding by her wishes than liking the experience himself.
"I am. I promise." He gestured toward his container, to the mixture so dark it looked almost black. "That's going to be amazing. And even if it's not, I imagine it will be delicious on you." He smiled, drifting away from her and back toward his part of the little station. "Win-win for me."
Her cheeks reddened once more, but she didn't discount his words. Turning her mixture bag over once more, she finally let it be, following him over to where his ice cream was freezing.
"Only if you've earned it," she finally replied, her words low so as to be kept from the other people in the room. They weren't alone in their whispers; most of the couples had quite a bit to say to one another, and were doing it so as privately as they could in a room full of people. She put a hand on his arm, the other to the small of his back as she let her chin rest on his shoulder. "The painting first, and then maybe your other present."
He made a small, hungry sound in the back of his throat. "You drive a hard bargain," he answered. "I like it."
They had a bit of down time as their ice cream set. They passed the time making small talk with a few nearby couples, then with the instructor as she came by to check on her increasingly fidgeting students. Obed was distracted all the while, though he did a fair job of suppressing the most obvious signs. He was pleasant, and charming in his own quiet way, and by the time the class's ice cream was completed, they had made connections and tentative plans with two couples who seemed personable and social enough.
Back at his station, Obed spooned out a bit of his concoction and passed it to Isobel, doing the same for himself from her stash. Isobel took a slow bite of his, the creamy chocolate spreading over her tongue and ending in a sharp snap of spice that made her wrinkle her nose in delight.
"We are definitely buying more of that when it runs out," she said, hip bumping Obed to take another small taste. "How's mine?"
"Needs more chocolate," he teased, already going back for another bite; she shook her head at him, smirking. He winked at her, and pressed his hip to hers in answer. In spite of his good-natured taunt he dragged his spoon through a thick stripe of raspberry, digging it out alongside another chocolate chunk.
* * *
When they returned to the apartment it was with the addition of a black refrigerated bag, inside which rested their aprons and what remained of their ice cream. As far as classroom swag went, it was some of the best Obed had received: wine-related courses aside, naturally. Even so burdened, he slipped into the apartment before her, peering into the dining room with obvious purpose. Then, his face remarkably unreadable, he tipped his head to motion her inside. Isobel did her best to try and read his intentions, already curious as to why he'd asked her to pause in the hallway. Following him inside, she warily looked around the divider that separated the front entrance from the rest of the apartment.
He set down the box on the edge of the table, but his attention was solidly on Isobel. At the head of the table, opposite where they had entered, two large pots sat atop two larger boxes. Inside one pot a lush and delicate flower grew, an orchid with petals of rich purple and brilliant yellow. Inside the other was a small tree laden with bitterly green fruit. The true focal point of this tree, however, was a strange, spidery flower, spectral white in color.
Her eyes had gone wide the moment she'd seen them. They were...beautiful wasn't enough of a word, and gorgeous seemed inappropriate. Isobel's mouth dropped open into a little 'o' of innocent surprise, and she made a quick beeline for the table, her hands hovering just out of reach of the long, arching petals that swirled through the air. She felt half afraid to touch them, her head swiveling from the lady's slippers to the ghost orchid and back again.
"I don't know what to say," she finally turned back to him, her voice thick with emotion. "How... Actually, don't tell me, it's probably better that I don't know." The lady slippers were extremely difficult to acquire, but Isobel pushed aside the questions flitting through her mind in the wake of her astonishment at his gift. She reached out to take one of his hands, the orbit of her body drifting closer to his. "They're so beautiful, Obed, thank you so much." Her other hand lighted on his chest, her face tilting up.
His smile was wide, his pleasure at her response impossible to contain. He slid his arms around her, pulling her up into his hungry kiss. His teeth skimmed over her lip. She melted against him, her knees going weak.
"Each of the boxes have seeds for the plants," he said. "They're both nearly impossible to grow outside their natural habitats, so I'm not sure they'll even take. But if anyone can coax them out…" He kissed her again. "I can't wait to see what you do with them." He nuzzled soft against her ear, his smile a sharp curve against her throat. "I know some botanists who will be thrilled if you can get that lady slipper to thrive."
"I'm certainly going to try," she replied, the confidence in her words giving truth to the promise. She had a small area at Spring Growth where she could practice plant husbandry in an effort to raise new branches off of existing species. Most of her thought through the wide space of their apartment, thinking about the various rooms and how she could turn one toward her purposes; in that moment, though, her only desire was to properly reward the man who had given her such a wonderful gift. "I think you might've earned enough brownie points for the briefcase, but we're definitely still doing the painting first." She kissed him once more, her jaw working against his for a moment before she pulled back, taking his hand and leading him down a long, dark hall into the bedroom.
The lights were low even in that space, but they moved as those with intimate knowledge of their homes do. Isobel dropped her hand from Obed's, reaching for the first box that they'd left on their bed. She undid the tarp, throwing it with precision over one large, empty area of the room, and then put the star-studded canvas in the dead center. The paints were scattered nearby, within easy reach. Isobel turned to Obed, her hands instantly going to his waistband to remove his shirt from its neat moorings, pulling the tail end of it free before working her way up each button. Her mouth found his again, a soft, pleased moan filling the darkness.
Obed was quiet, desperate to hear every small sound she made. What little hesitation he felt concerning paints and canvas and their still pristine home disappeared in the wake of her touch. He made short work of her clothes, his eagerness clear in the quick and confident motions of his hands. He slowed, then stilled, only when they were bared to each other, when their bodies pressed together, already flushed with heat and want.
He took her hand and led her closer to their makeshift workspace. He smiled softly, and though it was dark, the moonlight through their windows was more than enough for her to see him by. He glanced down to the paints, but his mouth moved to her throat, teeth nipping lightly at her collar bone. "So. Where should we start?"
Her mouth moved in a smile, pulling him down to his knees on the canvas. She joined him, her fingers reaching for purple.
"Mmm, well, I guess we just...paint." Isobel popped the cap off of the squeeze bottle, and after a moment's hesitation, she lined Obed's shoulder with a thick streak. She considered her choice for a moment, then pressed a hand to his chest. "Maybe you should lie down?" As he moved, the paint dripped toward the canvas, adding a line of purple dots among the white already present. She straddled him, scooting down enough to press kisses down his chest. Satisfied with that, her teeth digging into the bottom of her lip, she put purple on her hands and swiped it down both of his shoulders and back, her fingers touching the canvas at the end.
"This was a very good idea, if I'm allowed to praise my own ideas," she murmured, her face ducking closer to his for another kiss.
"When they're this good," he said, "you certainly are." He smiled against her lips. His hands were streaked with purple from below and around him; he pressed them to her thighs, splaying his fingers over her skin. He rolled his shoulders against the canvas and found he liked the feeling of paint and cloth under his back. His fingertips pressed to the insides of her thighs, guiding her legs the slightest bit wider apart over him. His tongue pushed past her lips, tasting her, and the faint hint of raspberry. Her mouth parted before him without complaint, her tongue meeting his for the same sweet taste. She was content to linger there for a moment, before she stretched up to sit atop him.
"Mmm, yellow, next?" Half waiting for his reply, she reached for the bottle she'd named, popping the cap open. Glancing down, her mouth smiled in amusement at the sight of Obed's purple handprints up and down her legs. Putting yellow on one hand, she pressed another print to match it, then wetted her whole side with more of the bottled sunshine.
"Turn over," she directed, bringing him on top of her. She wrapped an arm around his neck, smearing the yellow over the purple on the canvas as they turned. Her mouth nibbled along his jaw, pulling him and his body close against hers. "You pick next."
He arched his throat to her, sighing through smiling lips. He kept one hand on her, the other stretching out to grasp the nearest bottle. Red paint, he noticed, as he unfastened the top, tossing it aside, forgotten. He spread paint on his fingertips, thick sanguine gouts that traced the shape of her body onto the canvas beneath. Then he gripped her hips, his fingertips skimming the canvas beneath, and spread her legs beneath him with a roll of his own. His mouth found her ear. After one warm breath and a biting kiss to her lobe, he smiled, and whispered, "This is going in the living room."
Isobel moaned, her mind nearly lost between the sensation of his touch and the ache he was pulling from her groin. But the worrisome, pragmatic part of her pushed to the forefront. "Um, no," she countered, one hand in his hair to tug his face back enough to look him in the eye. "Obed, I love you, but no, it's staying in the bedroom." The same hand holding his head aloft trailed nails down his nape, scraping down his back through both paint and a few layers of skin, though not enough to draw blood. Her hips pushed up of their own unconscious accord, uncaring as to the problems her mind was trying to sift through, the rest of her body demanding that what he started be finished.
That sharp touch quickly turned his laugh to a moan. He was of no mind to argue. Instead he ran his hands through another layer of thick red paint, and traced her body and the canvas beneath, from the curve of her breast down to her hip. Then his hand slid beneath her, gripping her backside, and he pulled her up against him. He kissed her deeply, the hard press of his tongue equal parts request and demand. His body fitted to hers; his knees subtly slid in drops of purple. Then he pushed into her, slow and deliberate, every motion almost painfully drawn out. Isobel's spine curved, pushing up toward him as he entered her, one leg hooked around his backside. Her hands clutched the sides of his face as she moaned into his mouth, fingers sliding purple and yellow back through his hair.
She didn't begrudge him the slow movements; it nearly drove her out of her mind, but she also wanted the moment to stretch on into infinity. The slick paint beneath them did not make for the best love-making surface, but the feeling of him inside her distracted her from their momentary disagreement. Nails dug deeper into his scalp before one arm curved around his shoulders again, urging him closer, deeper, her mouth holding fast to his to keep them as entwined as she always wanted to be.
Obed's hand gripped her firmly, his short nails painting multicolored crescents on her skin. He pressed deeper still, the motions of his hips quickening as he found better purchase on the canvas below. A trembling breath passed from his lips to hers; he silenced himself with his teeth on her mouth, the line of her jaw, the sweat-slick column of her throat. Red and purple streaked his face like war paint; he smiled at the hollow of her throat, and snapped his hips to hers all the harder.
A sharp sound broke free of her lips, winding with the sound of flesh on flesh as their bodies met. Isobel dug nails deeper into his back, the purple giving way to red in thin lines. She tilted her head back, giving him access, her eyes slipping closed as she wallowed in the pleasure he evoked in her. Each thrust brought a lustful cry from her mouth, every inch of her body responsive to everything he was doing.
"God, yes," she muttered, one hand moving back to his hair, pulling it taut against his scalp, pressing his mouth harder against her skin, wanting that harsh pleasure, sharp teeth and nails until it consumed her whole.
His mouth crushed to her skin, teeth and tongue marking her wherever he went. His nails dug into her, pulling her into every rough thrust. The bright colors on their hands were forgotten, but they marked them both all the same. He groaned as his mouth moved to her breast, that ragged sound of love and lust and need vibrating through the tender peak of her nipple. He felt his pleasure building, his skin flushed with the sounds she made, with the motions of her body on and around his own.
"I love you," he said, and bit down on her skin. The three words unspooled the tight feeling in her groin, a dark liquid sensation that threaded through every part of her being, conjured by his ministrations. Her hand in his hair tightened so hard she pulled some of it free of its moorings, the nails on his back scoring him deeper as they peaked with him inside of her. His name on her tongue, she felt the pleasure slowly ebb, the sticky feeling of the paint on their skin mixed with sweat and other juices an odd sensation. Isobel opened her eyes to the dark room once more, her breath slowing. Her hands, more gently this time, directed his mouth back to hers, arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders as she held him to her for a few moments longer.
"Best...idea...ever," she whispered, more to herself but still aloud, her mouth unable to stop smiling like a fool. "Though I think the briefcase will be its own fun. I love you so much," she said between kisses, the volume of her voice rising.
He kissed her again, smiling at the corner of her mouth. Sweat beaded his paint-stained brow. He moved in her again, savoring those last moments where they were joined. Then he withdrew from her, purple paint drying on his knees as he rose. He held his hand out to her and gingerly helped her up. "I think you've outdone me," he said. "Feel free to buy another one of those for my birthday, if you want. I could use one for my office." He winked at her, but his tone left it quite unclear whether he was teasing or sincere.
"Why don't we get cleaned up, and then see how much energy we've got for my second present." Then he laughed, glancing back toward the door and the kitchen beyond. "The ice cream…"
"Will be fine," Isobel replied, feeling relaxed and loose. She put her paint-covered hands on his chest and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll throw it in the freezer and it'll keep. Why don't you get the shower going, and I'll meet you there in five?" Hands rubbing his chest for a moment, Isobel finally pried herself away from him long enough to patter quickly down the hall, grabbing the ice cream bag and bringing it back to the kitchen. She didn't feel at all strange to be walking around their shared apartment completely nude, clad only in the paint from their shared project.
Instead, she felt comfortable, loved, and excited to see what more the evening would bring. Ice cream situation dealt with, she all but ran back down the hallway toward the sound of the shower.