ᴡɪᴛᴄʜ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ (arcane) wrote in summerview, @ 2019-01-14 14:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | briar maeve naga, zjames byrne |
mention this to me
Who: James & Maeve
What: She comes over for dinner and movies, and is like 'btw I don't usually wake up wearing this face'
When: Friday night, the 11th
Where: James' place
Rating: Idk PG-13?
Status: Complete
It felt a little wrong to ask James to cook dinner for her, no one liked to do their job off the clock, although it was probably hard to avoid that if your job was cooking. She also wasn’t sure if he was a chef because he enjoyed it, or just because it happened to be something he had taken to and found a gift for. It paid the bills, right? Maybe that was one of the things she could ask him tonight. Because she wanted to know. Other things too, and not as a means to an end. Truthfully she was still getting a hang of this, along with the fact that she wanted to get a hang of it in the first place. Julius’s words nagged at her, as they often did these days, along with thoughts of missed opportunities and the utter stupidity of repeating mistakes. Prince was on the other side of the door, she could hear claws on the floor and a jingling tag to let her know he had noticed her presence before she even knocked. Ha. All the wards in the world and it was probably still nice to have a furry alarm system. The sake in her hand was switched to her other arm that already had the movies tucked under it so she could knock on the door. Maeve had chosen comfortable but flattering this time, ever present boots now over black leggings with a light emerald green long sleeve shirt that was nearly as soft to the touch. It was side shouldered but not deeply cut, showing off collar bones and freckled shoulders instead of anything else. It was, unlike most of the things she wore as Maeve, not something she wanted beer or soup spilled on at the bar, thanks. At the door, Prince was just sooooooo excited to have a visitor - he was even doing happy tail twirling as James quickly finished draining the linguine (he’d gone for a dish with shrimp, namely, sesame noodles and sugar snap peas - simple but sure to pair beautifully with sake) and made strides to let Maeve in. “Don’t slobber on her, mate, alright?” he asked the spanador, who probably could not make that promise. Alas. James opened the door and with a grand sweep of his arm, stepped back. “Come on in, love, make yourself comfortable. I’m just about done.” He was wearing a blue dress shirt, that same cerulean shade as his eyes, sleeves rolled up to the elbows with pressed trousers and apron over that so he wouldn’t mess up his attire - though the apron was rather crass, reading ‘may I suggest the sausage?’ with a finger pointing south, but what could he say. He was a lech sometimes, yet a charming one. Meanwhile, Cheeto sat on his window seat perch and would just be over here licking his own fuzzy bum. The house smelled wonderful, permeating the air with a delicious warmth that made her stomach wake up. It was one of the first things that hit her, right before the dog that barrelled into her legs. She laughed even as she stepped inside, shutting the door behind her, “It smells fantastic in here,” Maeve reached down to pet Prince, glad she wore black on her lower half, even as her eyes were drawn to him, “And you look rather dashing as well.” The sake was set down on an out of the way corner of the counter, which gave her the easy excuse to peer in the pan, eyes bright with curiosity. Not that she stayed in the way for long, taking herself out of his path, bumping him gently with her hip as she did so, “Cheeky.” The apron earned a grin, it was the kind of sauciness she approved of, and it was always nice to see someone who wasn't too dignified or worried about their image while trying to flirt. James wasn't trying to put on a front, and that helped her relax, something that wasn't always easy in someone else's home. “Why, thank you,” James grinned, a cat who just ate the canary - it did smell fantastic in here and he looked dashing, he wouldn’t dispute those points. “You’re beautiful, as always.” Their dinner was almost finished too, all he had left do was stir in some chopped cilantro - it really added to the freshness of everything. And once he’d taken a gander at the sake bottle, picking it up to study it briefly, he noted that his choice for a meal was a good one. Sake went with so much though, from lighter dishes to greasy, heavy pizza depending on what kind - in all actuality, sommeliers were starting to be trained more and more on proper pairings, not just limited to wine. “How’ve you been, love?” Plates were procured from the cupboard, so he could put this deliciousness on there straight from the pan. But otherwise, he had the dining room table all set with everything - there were even aromatic, live flowers in vases on there, and candles for proper ambiance. There were perks of hanging around someone ‘older’ (haha) or maybe just someone who had your full focus. Instead of meandering around his house and being nosy — though the compulsion was definitely there — or sitting at the table on her phone, she stayed watching him. A fond and amused smile at his grin, “It’s nice to have a good occasion worth putting the effort in.” And the pleased grin changed to something sweeter and less playful trying to pay a sincere compliment and show her appreciation all at once. In retrospect she was starting to think it was a wise decision on Julius’s part to keep James in the back. That grin? What a distraction that would be, he’d hardly get to work! Or maybe that was just her bias. Maeve gave an approving hum, sniffing the air as the smell of cilantro filled the room, turning finally to take in the setting properly, curious fingers reaching out to touch the petals on the flowers. It was lovely, all joking and innuendos aside, and more than she had expected. As cheesy as it was she even found herself leaning down to smell them, careful of her sleeves and freely hanging curls with the candles so close, “Nothing very exciting, I’m afraid. What about you, sweetness? Anything new?” She glanced back over her shoulder at him, “Do you want me to pour the sake?” Because she was terrible at being treated and just sitting still when other people were working, apparently. “Aye, have at it,” James nodded, plating their dinner - and, in a very calculated maneuver, ignoring Prince’s sad eyes because it was about that time. Meaning, whenever people-dinner was prepared, that meant the pup had to sit around and look like he’d never been fed in his life. Which of course couldn’t be farther from the truth. “Out, you scamp,” and there he went; not to worry though, James would plop some dog food in his bowl in a moment here. As for what was new with him, surprisingly, it wasn’t a complete snooze-fest for him as of late. “Oh, nothing much on my end except I ran into my aunt,” he chuckled roughly. “She owns the bakery in town and moved here to, apparently, stuff me with food and literally conjure a cuppa whenever I’m depressed.” This was all said with fond amusement, of course. He’d been glad to run into Shara, she was a delight. Even if he had no idea how to react to maternal affection. “Of course, we’re about three thousand years apart, but the lineage is there,” he added, pulling Maeve’s chair out for her. “Here you are, darling.” Maeve stepped around him with the ease of someone who was far too used to working in kitchens, guessing which cabinet he kept the liquor glasses in on the second try. It wasn’t just that she was used to going through people’s houses and knew certain patterns, but that was definitely part of it. When she popped open the sake bottle she took a moment to appreciate and consider the smell and color of it before pouring them each a bit, bringing the bottle with her to the table when she placed a glass for both of them at their place settings. She snorted in amusement at Prince, also doing her part to ignore his, well, puppy dog eyes as he moped away from the kitchen. Poor thing. Clearly neglected, that one. But her head swiveled back to James with a look of surprise on her face at this news, image of both him and the new Fae in town reshaping in her mind. Hmm. That was definitely interesting, made sense when she thought about it too, or at least wasn’t too much of a reach. “Three thousand? I knew she felt old, but shit.” A low whistle, no wonder she had felt the other’s presence as soon as she step foot on the island. Thank the gods she was a Hob or Maeve would be tempted to fuck off right back to anywhere far from here. Maeve flashed him an amused smile at the chair gesture, although the spark in her eye said it was still charming, “Julius told me she was a Hob. I guess that makes sense. Certainly worst lineages to claim.” Maeve waited, not digging into her food quite yet, “How is that settling with you? Sudden, possibly overbearing family?” It seemed like a nice thing on the surface, but she knew how she would react, and she had an itching feeling that they had some more things in common than blue eyes and devilish smirks. Prince had his dinner now, and James could hear his dog tags clinking against the bowl as he stuffed his face - he always ate like he’d never see food again whenever he was fed. But his human papa would just sit down at the table and eat a lot slower, thank you. “It’s...settling,” all he could do was chuckle, though it was more an amused puff of air. “I’m just not used to it but it’s been alright so far. Mostly involves a year’s supply of food I’m still trying to work through,” he said, twirling some pasta around his fork and taking a bite - mm, that was lovely, if he did say so himself. Light and fresh. “She seems quite genuine. And I’m good at spotting otherwise by now.” He was also most intrigued by the potential of learning fae magic - it might not be possible to learn everything, given how diluted his fae blood actually was, but a few tricks here and there. Could be useful. Well, he didn't seem to be lying at least. Not that she was sure she could have been much help if he had decided his Aunt was unwanted. What, exactly, does someone like her say to a three thousand year old Fae to make them back off? Fuck all, that's what. “Save you money on your grocery bill, eh?” At least there was that, and she found herself more at ease knowing that he was. If he took food from her, if his guard was down that much, he clearly wasn't worried so she shouldn't be either. However, the comment about being able to spot disingenuous people or actions nearly made her pause. Nearly. But she distracted herself from that particular thought train with food, wholly focused on the light and creamy flavors that blended seamlessly across her tongue. Proper manners popped up every now and then, Maeve wiped her mouth with a napkin and took a sip of the Sake before speaking, though she also took a moment to savor that as well. “This is so good James, especially with the sake. I'm glad you were kind enough to play host again.” The compliment could have been more flowery, but her appreciation was sincere so hopefully that made up for it as she returned to her food. Sake and these flavours, such a beautiful combination. Prince, after he had devoured what was in his bowl, wandered into the dining room to lay beneath the table and perhaps hope, in his doggy heart, that some scraps would be tossed his way. Doubtful, however. Cheeto went to tippy-toe along the shelves, and likely see what he could knock over in the living room - because if a cat wasn’t being a shit, then it must be the end of the world. Sigh. Though James adored his menagerie, and didn’t mind playing host. “I don’t usually have people over, darling, so it’s quite alright,” he said, and rarely was he ever called kind. He was a lot of things, but usually not that. “Gives me a chance to brush up on my hosting skills. Next time, I might leave it to you,” he smirked. If the thought of having him over didn’t give Maeve seizures - he was beginning to think she was married with a secret family or something, or perhaps ran an FBI sting from her place. In all honesty, he’d probably prefer the second. Prince would get no food from her, though she did rub idly at his back with the soft leather toe of her boot. It had been sometime since she had been in a house with animals, and though she wanted to turn her head at every bit of movement at the corner of her eyes, it was still oddly pleasant. Was she supposed to thank him outright, if this was an unusual occurrence? Maeve knew what she would have said if he was a mark, something coy probably, flutter her eyelashes and play extra flattered. It did, admittedly, do that a bit. For her more than it might have most people. After all, she knew about being possessive of one's things and space. So she didn’t thank him, but she did ask, “And what is it you usually do for second dates then?” Now that second comment, paired with his smirk, hit the table with a sound not unlike a gauntlet being thrown. It made a fraction of the light expression fall away, something for akin to contemplation as sharp gaze was turned on him, a raised eyebrow and a twitch in the corner of her lips, “That sounds like a challenge.” It was both a question and not at all, though not an accusation. On contraire , she liked challenges and folk who dished them out. This one did have the faint air of something weightier tied to it though. Half of her wanted to bolt and the other perked up in interest. So. Mostly liked challenges, maybe. Even if they were designed to specifically push her out of her comfort zone. And by men who called her darling. “Is it?” James twirled some linguine around his fork, spearing a shrimp and pop - into his mouth it went. Though he chewed and swallowed before speaking, of course. He wasn’t that crass. The bite gave him a chance to mull over Maeve’s reaction though, since he hadn’t intended to offer up a challenge at all. Even when he didn’t have a home, he knew that going to someone else’s place for dinner was a fairly commonplace sort of thing. People who weren’t even romantically involved did it all the time as friends, even. A challenge was seeing if she could stick to a gluten-free diet for a week (spoiler: he probably couldn’t), not this. But perhaps it was just a matter of perspective. “I rather thought of it as seeing if you wanted another date,” he pointed out with faux-innocence, taking a sip of that sake. “Hm.” She watched him before returning to her food, contemplating her own defensiveness as she glanced up at the flowers and the flickering candles. Maybe it wasn’t meant as one, and she should be less assuming. Or it was just that her personal bubble was so large in some ways that any slight nudge against it was enough to raise her hackles. Hosting someone at her home was not something she had done since moving to Summerview. Her house here held too much of her personality, all of her personas shining through somewhere in the five years she had been in town, finding herself oddly given to decorating now that she was settling down for a bit. Not to mention the amount of it that was stolen, the weapons she had, and the ‘go bags’ in each room. James, at least, wouldn’t judge her for the last two. But. She could try. Maeve wanted to try. The flame of the candle twisted when she peered at it through her sake glass, before sliding her eyes back over to James, “Awful eager, aren’t you? We haven’t even finished this one. Pretty sure I was promised cuddles.” It was a tease, even though she was, admittedly, already considering it, “But a cookout in my backyard perhaps. I can grill some mean dead cow.” At least, Sebastian could, along with a variety of meat that wasn’t common here. It wasn’t a skill she had been able to break out much in the last few decades, oddly enough. It felt like a bold step for her. Bolder than a snog in the middle of a Mexican restaurant on new years, in its way. “It’s a bit difficult to offer cuddles while eating decapod crustaceans, love, but I assure you - that part of the date is coming,” James quipped, nudging Maeve under the table with his foot. He’d certainly follow through - even the hardest of hardened individuals enjoyed a good cuddle, or the manliest of the manly, and he was no exception. Coming to her place did seem like a big deal for some reason, but James wouldn’t demand specifics. He just would hope that when he showed up, the date would still be on and he wouldn’t be left standing outside a darkened house carrying a bouquet of flowers, a side dish or a pie. But really, who could turn down a delicious cookout? Besides a vegetarian. “That sounds grand though, I haven’t been to a cookout in ages. You’re alright with it being bloody freezing?” he grinned. “I’ll do my best to keep you warm.” He could get a fire going easily, in more ways than one. She rolled her eyes fondly even as she went back to her food, enjoying the pleasant warmth from the sake flowing through her blood, the delicious food and of course, the low hum of contentment she was beginning to associate with his company. “You know very well what I mean.” Not that she expected him to say that the date was over after dinner, or either were expected to declare it a success or failure before it was done. Being held was something she enjoyed, and wanted more than she let herself indulge in. Especially with someone she actually gave a damn about. “Between the grill, a space heater and you I think we’ll be fine. But I’ll try and plan around the weather.” Maeve wasn’t overly concerned about it, but they would cross that bridge when they came to it. She chased around the last bit of food around her plate surprised to realize how quickly she had eaten. It was that good probably, and light, so she didn’t feel fit to bursting or the need to take a nap, and her eyes stayed on it when she spoke again, “Does my age bother you?” Question light, even if the question and the answer to it was important enough to be bouncing around her mind since she had told him. “Your age?” James repeated, setting down his fork. He too had cleaned his plate - since Maeve had been a good girl and ate all her dinner, he would go get dessert. Which happened to be a delightful chocolate and raspberry crème brûlée (why buy a blowtorch for the caramelised, flame effect when you could just cast a spell?). He was quite pleased with how it had turned out. Bringing their dishes to the sink to give them a quick rinse, he glanced behind his shoulder. “No, why would it bother me?” he asked, and he was genuinely curious. Maeve lit up at the sight of the desert, because just because she had lived the fine life — a few times, really — she never lost her marvel and appreciation for things that were exquisite and far beyond the reach of her childhood. “You don't do anything by halves do you?” Her competitive spirit wouldn't allow her to not meet this level if she did end up playing hostess. That should be fine, she was a planner really, especially for jobs. This wasn’t a job, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t tackle it the same. She rose from the table to top off their glasses, stepping into the kitchen behind him but off to the side so she could easily be seen. A gentle kiss was placed on the back of his neck before she rested her head on his shoulder, “Need any help?” One hand rising to draw idle, affectionate circles on his opposite shoulder, “It's a big gap. And you asked so I thought it might be important.” Though she didn’t think so, surely she wasn’t the first non-completely human person he had brought home since coming to Summerview, or even just since he started embracing his heritage. The good thing about this dessert was that it would go wonderfully with sake - which was the main reason James had chosen the crème brûlée. He was eager to dig into it (likely on the couch, and they’d start one of those films Maeve brought) but this was also pressing. This meaning the way he turned and cupped her face to kiss her, slanting his mouth over hers. He was stained with the flavour of that sake but there was a bit of a knife’s edge in that kiss too, a scrape of teeth over her lower lip before the disconnect. “It’s important because it involves you,” he pointed out. “That’s really the only reason.” Basically, he just liked learning new things about her. And he didn’t care that he wasn’t essentially immortal, the way she was - if he made sure to not get himself whacked prematurely, he’d live three centuries at the most. It was plenty of time to have an actual life - by then maybe Maeve could invite him over without twitching too. Ha. “Alright, which film are we watching first?” he wanted to know, finding tiny enough spoons to go with their dessert. Responding to the kiss came easily, the hand on his shoulder sliding of its own accord to the back of his neck, encouragement and the simple need for more contact all at once. She stopped herself from making a sound of disappointment when he pulled away, even if the sting made it difficult to resist, it was replaced by pang in her chest at his explanation. Too casual for something that made her feel like that so easily. So she just blinked at him for a moment, even as she grabbed at the other movies she had brought, “Up to you. I brought Throne of Blood, Robin Hood: Men In Tights and Stranger Than Fiction.” Maeve had eccentric tastes, alright, and she was more than a little curious about his own. She was good at building profiles on people for work, for jobs, for taking, but that wasn’t why she wanted to know about the things he enjoyed, that he found interesting. The sake glasses were grabbed as well, setting them on the table in the living room gently as she set the movies down beside them in case he wanted to peruse. Quite a variety of choices there, but that was more than fine. James gave a thoughtful hum, picking up each film and reading the back to get a feel for the plot. Though naturally he’d seen Men in Tights - it was a bloody classic, and anyone who didn’t appreciate such fine comedy? Well, he wasn’t about to trust an idiot like that. “Let’s go with the Asian retelling of Macbeth,” he decided, choosing Throne of Blood. “That seems rather cheerful, doesn’t it?” He had a DVD player even though the technology would probably be obsolete in six minutes (most people streamed their films these days), so he got them set up with the first selection. With the film about to begin, he scooted close to Maeve on the couch, spoon poking into his dessert - crack, that was always the fun part. Getting past the hard shell on the outside (metaphor, perhaps?) before enjoying the sweet, delicious custard on the inside (maybe a dirtier metaphor than intended). As was her habit, Maeve pulled her boots off as soon as she sat down on the couch, wiggling her toes even as she set her boots out of the way again, setting the subtitles on for him as she settled back against the cushions. The desert was poked as the ridiculous intros started, the advertisements for the other movies in the criterion series, though the food definitely had the majority of her focus. The shell was cracked even as she leaned closer into him, “These sorts of things never cease to be fascinating,” What was the point of being alive, if you didn’t still have wonder at indulgences like these, and people around who you could show that to? Her first bite of the custard was met with a hum of pleasure, eyes closing for a moment as she let the flavors melt on her tongue before they opened and slid over to him, “Has anyone told you lately that you’re quite talented?” Yes, that was a euphemism, but he made it oh so easy, didn’t he? Her hands were occupied, but that didn’t stop her head from nuzzling his shoulder again, embracing the urge to keep touching him, the easy affection not meant to beguile but simply to pass on how pleased she was at his presence. You know, since apparently he was better at words than her. “Not lately but careful, love - you’ll get my ego to swell,” James teased because she’d probably get more than just his ego to do that, not much effort needed. He settled with his arm around Maeve, full of chocolate custard and sake and the desire to kiss her again - but wasn’t about to paw all over her; that type of thing was reserved for randy teenagers in the back of the movie theatre. He’d never gone through a stage like that. Or maybe he had, but it was long since gone - nothing more than dust in the wind, and locked away with all the other terrible circumstances of his youth. He just dropped a kiss in her hair as she rested against him, tucked up against his side because he’d promised cuddling (oh, fuck him) and so he’d deliver. It was meant to be a good night and so far, it had been. “Hm,” Lips sweetened by custard and sugar pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, lingering against his lips in an almost kiss, “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” But there was the definite implication of mischief in her eyes and a redness to her cheeks if one were to look close that she would definitely blame on the sake, thanks, that implied otherwise. But she settled back down against him, finishing off her small but rich desert relatively quickly and chasing it with a sip of the sake that sent a fresh wave of warmth through her veins. Maeve liked this dance, this comfort she felt around him but with a thrum of slow burning want between them, a thing so real that she felt like she could pluck it if she reached out, but not one that she felt like was on a timer or flimsy like a fire made out of newspaper. A pulse of guilt to, just a hair of it, but one that lingered too. Taking root with his sweet, seemingly sincere words and attention. She leaned away from him to eyeball the width and length of the couch speculatively like she would a house she was casing. It didn’t last long and she was gently pushing and maneuvering him so he was laying back on the couch, his whole body up on it so he could easily tilt his head to the side to see the film. Maeve herself situated herself in between his legs so her head could rest on his chest lightly, one hand worming out to hold his and the other drawing nonsense shapes on his ribcage. A contented hum resonated from deep in her chest, vibrating into his as she nuzzled at the skin above his heart before she settled a little lower so her hair wasn’t in his face, “You smell nice. Let me know if I crush you though, aye?” James was warm and she could feel his heart pulsing below her, every breath, and he really did smell wonderful. Like food, and something that was all him. It was peaceful even if the want and other thing was still there too. But the peacefulness didn’t feel like a performance, or something she had to reach for consciously. James gladly went where Maeve wanted him to go - he didn’t put up any protest and as long as she didn’t kick him in the goolies on accident, he was quite sure he had no problems with this change in position. Crush him though, please. Most of her weight was in those perky tits, from what it looked like, so he wasn’t too concerned. “You’re fine, love. It’s honestly much nicer to do this with you than with Prince,” he quipped (and the dog glanced up, ears twitching because was it time for more food? Or walkies? No, it wasn’t, he’d just go back to chewing on a bone). “I smell nice? Haven’t heard that one before, but you’re not so bad yourself.” He supposed he did have a unique aroma about him - or, it would make sense that he did. He usually wouldn’t bother with cologne at work (in a kitchen, it was a bad idea) but there was a little of that now - warm musk and something woody - along with the very magic he wielded. His unique brand had a scent, certainly - charcoal fire, cinnamon-spice, the earth itself. One knee wish-boned to the side to give her more space between his legs and, cradling the back of Maeve’s head and stroking her hair, he tried not to let his eyelids fall to half-mast. It wasn’t as if the film was bad, but with dinner and alcohol it made one sleepy. He was just content, that was all. But then! “Does my age bother you?” he asked all of a sudden, cracking one eye open. Oh, and she should not have giggled at that, but she did before she could stop herself, “The two legged Prince smells like Lavender, much nicer than dog.” Though she did shoot said dog an apologetic smile, not that he gave a damn. And she snorted at the compliment, placing a kiss on his chest in thanks, “I try.” In all actuality, Maeve did everything she could to cover up her scent. Her own magic only had the faintest, almost citrus-ey smell of the fruit that had changed her, spiking when she actually used it. But she worked to cover up that and her own scent, viewing it as one of her inherent weaknesses. Tonight it was a faint oil of vanilla and cloves. Her hands traced the small scars and calluses on the hand she held, still intent on memorizing him like she would the rough ridges of an uncut diamond, hands rarely still as Briar and surprised to find that she was comfortable with bits of that showing through. The hand at his side, on the other hand, snuck under the bottom of his shirt, tugging it from where it was tucked into his pants so she could trace designs on the warm skin underneath. The question was legitimate, and one she should have expected. It was also one that deserved legitimate consideration instead of a flippant answer. So she considered it before tilting her head to peer up at him, “Only in that I have an extra 130 ish years of ugliness to bring to the table.” The answer was quiet and revealing, more of a warning than a request for pity or assurance. “I imagine the two-legged Prince smells like wormfood now,” James noted with a crooked grin. Considering the fellow was dead. A great loss to the music world, however - and the world at large. But oh, opioid addiction - that’ll get you every time, eh? His grin faded a bit at Maeve’s answer though, expression twisting into something more curious with the way his eyebrow poked upward in that rather telling way of his - either it was villainy or inquisitiveness, and right now it was definitely the latter. “Why do you say that? What kind of ugliness?” One eyebrow raised in honest bemusement, “You cannot have legitimately believed he was human, or that he died?” It was one of those open secrets among those of them who had been active during that time and really, it was hard not to know when you've been close to him with the know how of what to look for. Why. What an absurd question. Because it was a simple fact and one that couldn't really be disputed. They were unbalanced in age and scars and there really wasn't a way around it. She sighed and muzzled at his chest again, feeling very much her age, “It's a very long time for me to summarize in a simple answer, sweetness.” Maeve couldn't help but be guarded, while being honestly unsure how to give him a short and sweet answer. At length she considered it before giving something she knew wasn't going to be satisfactory, “I have not always kept peaceful company and sometimes when I wake up I forget who and when I am. I can get violent. I am also, admittedly, not as far from my… Illegal dealings as you are.” It was mostly an answer with symptoms and not the cause, but already her fingers had paused and tensed, every fiber of self preservation instincts she had — intermittent as they were — were yelling that this was a mistake. James honestly did not give a shit about a dwarven singer who apparently had a reason to fake his own death via drug overdose. What an undignified way to ‘go out’ - if you were going to do that, may as well make it something like Cause of Death: kidnapped by twirly mustache villain, decapitated by train while tied to the tracks. But no, he was all too focused on what Maeve was saying. “You mean you’ve got...PTSD, is that it?” he guessed, unsure of what exactly she was attempting to convey. “And you know I’m more likely to offer to assist with your illegal dealings than judge you for them, love.” He really would. The thrill of that type of thing was electric; criminal acts here and there and living on the edge sang to his blood. He wasn’t a terrible person, of course, and he had his moments here and there of making good choices - but overall, he wasn’t so naive to think that he’d forever stay away from the wild side. Maeve thought of Adria waking up at Julius’s, feeling trapped in the guest room, pulling out a knife and sitting on the couch in the half sleep she had used to keep watch during the War. How she had woken up with an awareness of Julius and had to stomp down the need to clear every room in the house, possibly threatening him to ensure he was who he said he was. The difficulty in shifting back to Maeve after, and the thought of James seeing any of that. It wasn’t just Adria, but she was almost the easiest to explain. She also that reflexive reaction many ‘older generations’ had to the word PTSD, a stiffening at the word and almost instinctual denial even though she had nearly defined it. “I — yes. I do.” She tried to picture waking up as Sebastian and having his hands around James’ throat, and it was very much an image that made her stomach curdle. Or worse, one of her knives that were always with her. But his second statement had her sitting up, finding purchase on the couch with her hands on either side of his middle, searching his face for a lie, “But you’ve gone straight. Stability, is your aim. Or did I mishear?” Because this? It seemed almost too good to be true. Gone straight. The phrase made James chortle heartily. "Maeve, I will never be straight," he told her, and she could take that however she felt like - there were obviously a couple different connotations. "I want stability but a little excitement never hurt - keeps things interesting, doesn't it?" he asked rhetorically, hands traveling toward her waist, holding her there before sweeping down to follow the curve of her hips. "But I also want you to tell me the truth and if...if you get violent, because of whatever past trauma you're still dealing with, don't you think I need to know about all of it to be prepared?" To talk her down, or convince her he was real, or whatever he needed to do to help her. He didn't like going into things blindly and in addition to that, if she tried to murder him or something a little warning for such a happenstance might be nice. She rolled her eyes at his smartass response, reaching out to flick his stomach in reprimand, for whatever that was worth, even as her lips twitched up in a bit of a lopsided grin. Relief flowed through her at his response, doubts and worse being knocked down in her head with every word. Excitement, that was one way to put it, and certainly one reason she had maintained her second life. Or was Maeve her second life? Hard to know. But she definitely had a problem with going stir crazy and feeling like she wasn’t doing enough. She gave a hum of agreement, even as she fought the urge to turtle, or bolt, some combination. “I wasn’t going to sleep here. Or show up on bad days. And I figured you wouldn’t be tryina’ yank me around and shit,” Or anything else that would make her body react as if it were an attack. “I’m really uh, not used to people wanting me around long enough to have to worry about protecting them.” Outside of a con, where everything was planned with safeguards and purposes. It was a weird thing to admit outloud. Julius has been the only person she had discussed this sort of thing with and she got lucky with him, he had enough context that she could skip certain bits. “You don’t need to protect me,” James insisted. “Just be honest with me.” He could handle himself, and make his own decisions. Not like he was a babe lost in the woods. But the fact that Maeve wasn’t used to people wanting her around - it was sad, in a sense, and yet it was something he had somewhat picked up on during their first ‘real’ encounter on the boardwalk. There was something, a commonality maybe. A lot of himself that he saw. He'd once been there, in a place where goodness and happiness were deformed and doomed ideas, that twirled wistfully in a corner of darkness. The idea that he could actually not feel so empty was a joke wadded up and tossed into a laughing void. Until now. He played with her hair, as he was apt to do, twisting a lock around his fingers as he looked up at her. “We can take it as it comes. Though you’re not ever sleeping here overnight, that’s what you’re saying?” “That’s a lot to ask, you know.” Maeve countered, because she’d rather do just about anything than be honest. Vulnerable. Risk being hurt, risk losing. Everything about her was crafted, hell, her abilities came about that way too, all the way until you got to her wretched beginning, then it was just — well, it was shit, is what it was. Titania bless him for figuring out her hair thing so quickly too, or hair was a shared thing for them, either way. James wanted her to. That much seemed clear, and she understood that. The want to keep someone you were fond of close, the fulfillment of holding and being held. And she had to admit, she wanted that to, but it was so early, and she couldn’t trust how she long it would take her to recognize him as, well, him. Fuck. He already knew so much. “I might.” Maeve conceded, hands rising to rest on the ones on her hips, encouraging yes, but also just needing the contact, “But I need time. And I might not look like this when I wake up.” Bloody hell. The smell of citrus spiced the air, faint but still there above her perfume aws her eyes turned amber, hair cycling through the colors of the rainbow. Something silly to take away from the gravity of it, though he probably didn’t realize he was one of only two people in town to know this and how uncomfortable it made her. But goddamn, if she didn’t want this to work somehow, more now than she had realized was possible. Christ, what the fuck? Which was kind of smooshed in James’ head, everything happened so fast, it actually was more like Christfuck. But either way, this was beginning to make more sense - not by a lot, but at the very least a smidge. So he would take it. “Alright - “ He didn’t understand how that worked (though he might know who did, besides Maeve herself - so he’d be hitting up his boss for a chat soon, let’s just say) and he didn’t have a crystal ball to gaze into the future and see what was coming. But he could work with what he had for now; he wouldn’t ask for more than that. His fingers flexed on her hips, one hand traveling up to flip a lock of hair that had just been purple a few seconds ago. “I’m guessing there’s more to this than technicolour changing hair, but for the moment I’ll simply point out the fact that it doesn’t matter to me what you look like and...” And? And. Yes, there was an and. “We can just focus on films until you’re ready to talk. Now if I don’t get the rest of my cuddling, I’ll be quite upset.” Oh. Relief coursed through her veins, because, yes, she had shown him the watered down version of what she could do, very much so, then again sprouting a cock against his hip would probably give the poor guy a heart attack so save that for the fifth date right? But as shocked as he was, he didn’t press her for more information, a how , what else can you do or can you look like ____. Nor was he afraid, or repulsed. This was one of her favorite films, but instead of focusing on it like he said she found her hands winding into his hair. Clever hands tugged just right at the strands there as she leaned down to kiss him fiercely, want driving her to seek out the taste of him again, all fierce fire and need that even caught her off guard. Tasting custard, sake, and most importantly something that was just him as her tongue sought out his, only pulling back when she needed to breathe — and even then, sucking is bottom lip into her mouth in a way that was definitely a euphemism. He definitely wasn’t going to turn down the cock. At some point. Maybe if Maeve was the genderbent version of herself (whoever...that was?), rather than it being some futanari shite. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. James wasn't expecting her to kiss him like that but he managed to catch his breath and kiss her back; it was filthy and the kind of kiss that made him thinking of the thrill of playing with knives or matches, or burning ants with a magnifying glass by catching the sun's rays. Dangerous too, always that. But dangerous was a prominent theme of this adventure, wasn't it? And why the fuck was she wearing leggings? Terrible access if he ever saw it, but he tried to think of it not in those terms since he wasn't certain what was happening or what everything she'd told him actually meant. He just knew he liked this part, hands crawling up her top so he could drag his fingertips along her skin, up her sides and along the edges of her undergarments (a proper lady wearing a bra, good on her). She should stop, take things slow and sweet because this was only their second date and she liked him. This wasn't her plan, pressing her torso flush against his, the smell of her magic lingering in the air mixed with his own and that didthings to her on a few levels. It brought to memory the taste of gasoline in her mouth and fire in her face from her time in the circus, memorable and dangerous but most importantly — it was real. A hum of approval at his wandering hands was voiced into the scruff on his jawline and one of her hands slid from his hair to tilt his head towards the TV, “You don't want to miss this scene its quite good.” This time a grin was trailed along his neck, gentle and hardly there until she pulled his collar aside so she could latch her mouth onto the soft skin here. A bite, just strong enough to sate her craving for the moment but not hard enough to scare him, and besides, she was soothing it with a lovely little hickey as an apology. Her body seemed to thrum with that craving for him still but luckily it was already simmering down to a flush in her cheeks and a hand restarting on the bare skin just on the edge of his hip bone. Maeve was going to stop really, it was just that he tasted so damn good. That was her excuse for the little nips and gentle kisses alike on the lovely column of his neck. “Luckily I already know how Macbeth ends,” James replied, a pleased rumble in his throat, head tipping back a bit so Vampira could nibble on him as she pleased (and it pleased him too, don’t get him wrong). His hands didn’t cease their wandering, palming her breasts and around, short, blunt nails scratching gently on her back - right where the bra connected. And really, what was there to know about that scene? There was ultimately toil and trouble, and she was just being cheeky - plus, Maeve all but admitted this wasn’t her real face (she ‘wouldn’t wake up like this,’ what even) and so he was quite curious but was also, at the same time, glad she didn’t pull some Arya Stark arsecockle and literally wear faces after slicing them off. Small favours. He gave her another kiss, sensual with the right amount of savageness; that seemed to be a theme. “Keep this up, love, and I might - “ Have to nail her through this couch? Until it broke? “...well.” He’d just keep his ungentlemanly thoughts to himself for now. What a prat, being a smartass and a tease all at once. He was lucky he was only getting one love bite that was hard to hide at work, but it's not like he was a waiter or something. The touch of his hands was definitely meant to be that, and her own scattered across his rib cage with soft touches as if counting every ridge — right until a nail or two was used to trace one. Not everything had to be a one upmanship show, though that didn't stop her from pushing the kiss a little closer to that edge; because she enjoyed it, but he did to as well and wasn't that tantalizing? But he was right, and she took a deep breath, forcefully stopped her own wandering hands, “Aye. Maybe not just yet, hm?” A tad breathless, because he looked so very tempting like that and who could blame her for nearly pushing his delicious self just a wee bit further? A deep breath and she rested her head above his heart again, reaching out to hold one of his, partially to keep her own from wandering again, truthfully. “Can I ask youa question then?” And she bit her tongue on calling them uneven, demanding honesty when he had asked for it from her because that's not how trust worked or real people got to know one another. Or so she had been told. She didn’t need to worry, James would be honest with her anyway (and his healing salves would take care of any love bites Maeve bestowed on him, so he wouldn’t have to show up at work looking like he was back in high school or something). “A question besides that one?” he teased lightly, though his heart was pounding a bit; it would come back down to Earth though, just like how he yanked his head from the clouds (both heads - well, it would do to think with the correct one right now). His fingers laced with hers, and with the other hand he rested it in her hair. Stroking there, behind her ear. “Of course, love, ask me a question.” That was a terrible joke, but she still laughed quietly at it, giving him a smile that managed to be equal parts fondness and exasperation somehow. Him just offering to tell him things and being able to accept that they came without a price or strings was going to take her awhile to get used to, but she was looking forward to it. The paranoid part of her brain making less noise every time. It would probably never be quiet, not really, but that was the way of things. Warmth resonated from her hand where it held his, and her head tilted towards his other, eyes going half lidded in contentment. Far too cat like considering she was on a magical Cait shitlist. “How did you get involved in, all that shit we talked about the other night, the cartels and all?” Because a life of crime sounded dumb even in her head, thanks. It was a weird place to ‘start’, sort of, not his parents or favorite childhood memory, but it was one of those questions she couldn’t shake. Ah, yes, the cartels. James supposed that was a fair question. He got the hint though, bad kitty, and wouldn’t stop petting Maeve - he even scratched a little behind her ear, going for full effect with the scalp massage he was officially diving into. “After my da died, I was homeless for awhile,” he said. “The fucker didn’t leave me anything, or make sure I’d be taken care of. He was just...gone. So getting into all that shit was just my way of trying to stay alive. It was quick and dirty and, to be honest, I liked it better than things like scallop fishing.” That was said with a rough chuckle - of course, he didn’t mind the hard labour either but it was such honest work, and at that time, James knew he had to go a few levels beyond ‘honest’ if he expected to survive. Which he did. What was it with her and being drawn to other people with fucked up sires? She muzzled at his chest, her terrible way of giving sympathy, “How old were you?” There was an image of him in her head forming, young James with a fierce glint in his eyes dirt under his nails, perhaps marching right up to a Proper Boss and demanding a job. No wonder he didn't hold her criminal past (and present) against her. He didn't just see it as a means to an end, and it had likely happened early. It was simply life for him. It had been awhile ago and, well, the crowd James ran with? Everyone had fucked up sires - it seemed to be a requirement. Went back to the days of Shakespeare and Macbeth and beyond, even. “Oh, about thirteen or fourteen,” he hummed thoughtfully. He’d become more savvy about finding places to stay as he got older. It wasn’t always squatting in old, abandoned buildings that may have once been mansions - he remembered one in particular, with a lion’s head for a doorknocker (the head had been taken at some point anyway), red brick dust crumbling, the way the wind would blow in and whistle up the corridors. He resented his father, a lot, but now he was sort of numb to it - because the man was dead and there wasn’t anything to be done. No apologies, no hugs, no attempting to right the wrongs. James didn’t care, however, he’d made peace with that fact. “I had a group of friends though. They were supernaturals too - witches, mainly. I suppose they were my first coven.” Maeve gave a low whistle, eyeing him with an extra layer of respect. That was earlier than she was on her own, though she was probably less safe when she was thirteen than he was. He had come far though, hadn’t he? Making his money legally at a fancy food joint, and this house was nothing to spit at either. “That’s impressive, sweetness.” The proper reaction would probably have been that it was sad but she had a skewed way of looking at things maybe. The image shifted, him becoming younger in her mind than her initial image, and then adding a group of fellow crafty street urchins around him. Was he the leader or did they adopt him instead? “Do you still keep in contact with any of them?” “No, not really. We all just kind of scattered,” he admitted, acid blues going all half-mooned in a squint as the cogs of his memory turned. When was the last time James had talked to any of them? Eons, good gods. “I wish good things for them, even if he all sort of went our separate ways. I’m sure our group was mostly formed out of necessity but it worked at the time.” No matter what, it was like they all knew that being together was world’s better than being integrated into the foster system. In the States it wasn’t great but in the UK it was no prize either - too many children and not enough foster volunteers, who were paid an allowance to care for the children they took in yet that allowance was basically peanuts. “I suppose it turned out alright?” he grinned a bit, flip-flopping a lock of Maeve’s hair back and forth over his fingers. “I’m glad I’m here.” That made sense, she had run with a few such groups as a child as well, drawn together by shared desperation. At least none of them betrayed one another, or at least, that he seemed to know of. There was an honor among thieves, but only certain sorts, and not when times got hard. Those who had gone hungry would often use any means to avoid it again. “Sometimes things done of necessity are the most real, stripped and honest.” No reason to invalidate a bond just because of some hard circumstances. Her eyes slid from his to the hand in her hair, and the lock of hair in his hand lengthed, curling four different ways like someone was going through a character creation screen trying to decide between all the different available options. The color changed too, the same as his eyes, and then it changed again to stay the color of Cheeto’s fur in the hopes of making him laugh, an apology for bringing up old but maybe not the best memories, “All is well that ends well?” She smiled as the old idiom fell from her lips, but it changed softer and sweeter, “Aye, so am I.” James did snort a laugh - because only Cheeto could really pull off that colour. Though he had to hand it to Maeve for trying. “And you’ve got excellent taste in films, so there’s that,” he pointed out. Oh right, those films - which they’d get back to eventually. No hard and fast rules for this date and besides, he was enjoying himself far too much to care. |