Re: (After)life: Nel L & Lear L
"Even more minority than the Republican party thinks is fitting," Nel said of Swedes, though she said it without any argumentative heat. Nel's gaze dropped as his climbed, and rimy gaze melted slightly as she watched the decidedly masculine movements of his body as he sat there and smoked. His grin didn't budge, and nor did she expect it to. There was slight pleasure in her expression as his gaze was drawn to that deliberate jiggle, and he was lucky she wasn't starved at the moment.
The revelation made him safe, which was actually a given from the beginning. Boredom made her generous, and she'd found little excitement in this quaint little town yet. Though, and she was quite certain of this, the town had hidden depths. She was counting on plunging, vociferous and vast hidden depths, as that was imperative to her ability to adequately hide here. Her power, after all, was a bit of a lit beacon, and she required other lights to—shall we say?—confuse the matter a bit. "That's why men never manage to experience the best life has to offer," she responded, and this was a throwaway. Nel wasn't fond of balls and cocks, but she had nothing against men, and she was fond of a strap-on every so often—wearing one. Her—shall we say?—standards were equally high regardless of gender.
The kiss was more languid than she expected, but the teeth were a given.
The quaint little cigarette case contained cigarillos that were much more expensive than the metal which held them. She lit one and turned, fully expecting his transformation to be complete by the time she walked back. She tossed the case onto the coffee table—should he want one. "You're not choosy then," she said of the fact that he would've fucked himself, and she sat. Her knees were widely spread, and her hands rested between them. She sat forward, and she smoked with a masculine lack of apology—she didn't even blow the smoke out of the way. "It's been a while, Lear. Or shall I call you Jörmungandr? No, that was rather a long time ago, and it seems you've shed that skin, Jorgi." The old nickname was very old, from when they were quite small, and that was a very long time ago. "Last I knew, you were devouring the Bermuda Triangle." With lazy grace and a determined command of her own body, she sat back. "Or does that pretty face and those pouty lips mean you've found a new way of devouring things?"