Rᴏʙᴇʀᴛ Mᴏɴᴛᴀɢᴜᴇ Rᴇɴғɪᴇʟᴅ (insects) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2017-03-08 19:14:00 |
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Hank’s assessment of her perfume was on point the night they met. Jasmine was dominant, definitely, with a splash of honeysuckle and precious wood. Deceptively sweet. Katherine wore it tonight, along with a surprisingly modest ensemble (except for the length, maybe, because she always did love having a dash of slut in her everyday wares, it was who she was) - a snug royal blue dress, quarter-sleeves, and a bateau neckline. And, for once, instead of bountiful curls that chestnut hair was sleek, flat; a style that would usually separate the flawless twin from the family screw up. But fuck her. It’s not like Elena copyrighted the look anyway. Lately her days and nights out, the company she kept, it was all dampened by a certain word that started with V. It was everywhere. In almost every damn person she knew. It was in the attractive club owner that diddled her sister once upon a raunchy high school romance, it was in the blonde who thought getting married before discussing the ticking time of mortality with her human lover was a good idea, it was in the ex she wondered if she should have ever let go, and in a man she’d once felt something for and was willing to help his psychotic brother use her blood for a sacrificial ritual in another reality. And it’d claim her too. Katherine had seen her own transition in the dreams - how she was desperate to not let Klaus end her life by draining her dry for his demented curse, how she manipulated Trevor and stabbed herself so Rose could heal her with blood. Then she wrapped a noose around her neck and stepped off a chair while they were arguing about bringing her back to the Mikaelsons. Boom, vampire (what, did you think the V word stood for vagina?) in transition, and she killed an innocent to complete it. Better the old hag die than her. Then there was the change it came with it; bloodlust, heightened senses, amplified instinct to survive, the slaughter of her family. All that horrid bullshit. Her humanity was now on borrowed time and at the moment, she wanted to not care and do something else with someone else. Someone separate from everyone else, someone who’d distract her from the different kind of impending death. Someone with pretty blue eyes and so, so awkward that she wondered if he ever even jacked off. Could be a question for tonight. A tote bag hung from the curve of her arm with offerings for the home-based concert. It was the nerdalicious spice set ordered for him. Tequila, too. And with a finger pushed into the doorbell to signify her arrival, she waited. Hank kept a clean house, of course, and he liked his place - it was in Craftsman style, something that popped up in the early 1900s in southern California, with intricate wooden details and porches that seemed to turn back time and acted as a transition from the busy outside world to something gentler indoors. Slate grey, with sage green window trim - it was very homey, simple, nothing complicated, sort of like the place he grew up in back in good old ‘middle of nowhere’ Dundee. He kept a clean house but he dusted and polished again before Katherine came over, just in case. Everything looked spotless inside - warm and earthy colors, wooden accents, stained glass. It was pretty rare that he had visitors. Especially ones like her. Coming to the door in his very snazzy pressed slacks and sweater (cough), he opened the door and greeted her with a shy smile and an unconscious gesture of adjusting glasses, thumb and middle finger pushing them up further on his face. “Hello, Katherine! Please, come in. You found the place alright?” He’d gone grocery shopping before her arrival too, since he promised to make her favorite - using the spices found in the provided chemistry jars. He was nearly certain he had all the ingredients for it, but if not, he’d improvise. Gasp, wait for it. Against all model diet laws, her favorite wasn’t actually a kale smoothie with flaxseed and protein powder - it was cheesy, creamy, garlicky, and heavy on the carbs. Chicken carbonara. In a career full of women that either stuck their fingers down their throats or starved themselves, it was fucking blasphemy, but Katherine was one that would eat whatever the hell she wanted (in moderation, what a concept) and did this sensible, all around healthy thing called exercise. That and a speedy metabolism, she’d almost say she was blessed. “Just fine, blue eyes,” she smiled, somewhat coy, and walked in. Tidy man, wasn’t he? A little twirl around was done to take better view of the spotless interior. “I take it all this is yours, isn’t it.” Huh. Katherine couldn’t even smell one sweaty testicle. That was impressive. “Oh, and I do have something...” There wasn’t much in the bag to empty out. Alcohol, and his present. Boxed up with curled ribbons. “My finger slipped, remember?” “All mine, yes,” the scientist chuckled, and taking the chemistry-themed spice rack was like Christmas had come early. Those sky blue eyes lit up from within. “This is kind of you, Katherine, thank you,” Hank said sincerely. No one really got him presents, not just because their ‘finger slipped’ - it was, dare he think it, sweet of her. He showed her to the kitchen, upgraded with new appliances and not as ‘quaint’ as the outside of the house may suggest - he even had an island, granite countertops, and whenever Hank did his cooking he liked to have an adequate space for such things. Chicken carbonara was certainly a tasty choice - though with pancetta, eggs, cream, not exactly the best diet food, but food was life and culture and it was nice to enjoy it. Besides, she was - well, she was not someone who looked like she should have self-esteem issues. “Alright, let me just get out all the ingredients and - “ Hank was quick about it, arranging and assembling on the counters, jars lined up for cooking warfare. All the required pots and pans ready too, the oil and the pasta. “I can make a drink or two with this tequila and then show you the baby grand?” he offered. “I’ve been...working on a few compositions.” Perhaps inspired by her, but he’d go over that in a bit. Don’t butter her up with words like ‘sweet’ outloud, Hank, the laws of the universe would make her prove him wrong. A gift was the least she could do as it was, anyway, with how he was doing all the cooking and entertaining for the night - and she was already such a spoiled creature, he’d make it so much worse. Not that she was complaining. “I’ll never say no to a cocktail,” Katherine replied, offer accepted. It was his domain, and she’d watch from her lean against a vacant spot of the kitchen counter - his quirks were interesting, and she had the kittenish curiosity to observe. “Do you ever play for anyone specific? A crowd, a person, or is the music all for yourself?” Now, Henry didn’t drink all that often so it wasn’t like he had an extensive bar with all the best vintage, to-shelf liquor - but he had enough, and he was intelligent enough to know there were about a thousand other drinks one could make with tequila besides a margarita. Which was why he mixed some of that liquid gold, agave nectar, something biting and orange, a little lime and club soda - and topped it with a bing cherry. He thought they suited Katherine - maybe it was the color, maybe it was that they were wild, or that they were firm but cracked open if exposed to too much rain, but regardless of how it worked on the superhighways of his mind the association was there. Cherries. An interesting association indeed. “I’ve never really played for anyone before,” he confessed, handing her a glass. There was a slight flush on his cheeks because of the realization that, yes, he’d actually have an audience for his newer works this evening. An audience of one, but he didn’t wish to perform terribly. “I’ve been taking lessons since age three, and studying music theory since age two. So besides the usual recitals and such...” Hank trailed off, sipping his own drink. “Well, I’ve never had an audience quite like you, Katherine. Though I promise to play with only my hands. Let’s just say I’ve discovered I’m....more than ambidextrous.” In fact, he’d been hanging from the ceiling beams by his feet before she’d arrived, but that wasn’t something he found particularly attractive. Ohhh, tasty. Funny for Hank to make that connection, because cherries were her absolute fucking favorite, and she made sure it was soaked well with the juices and booze before it was plucked from the stem with her teeth - sensually, practically purring with pleasure. Mmmm. Might as well enjoy the full flavor of things if her diet was actually doomed to come straight from the vein down the road, but she promised herself she wouldn’t dwell (not tonight, tonight was for play, and the kitten wanted to play) so she did the healthy thing by shoving it away and pressing the ‘ignore’ button. Besides, the genius here was much, much more interesting. At those aforementioned ages she was probably running into walls, biting her sister, and speaking with a toddler lisp - there was definitely not enough awareness to study things like music theory. “Two questions,” she started after a sip of her drink. “One, did you ever even get to be a kid, and the second - did you learn to play with your penis, blue eyes? How else do you plan on serenading me?” Uh. Hank coughed, a sip of his drink sloshing down the wrong pipe. “With my feet,” he responded, though that probably wasn’t very enticing either. “I’ve experienced a few of those...dreams. In them, and now here too I suppose, I can complete just as many tasks with my feet as I can with my hands. Part of my mutation, I believe.” He was still attempting to study that - wasn’t difficult to remember what happened in his dreams, since if he reached into his memory everything was there; it wasn’t fuzzy, or unclear, like how recollecting a ‘normal’ dream would be. But in his time, not much was known about mutants. Hank wanted to change that. Be at the forefront of research and discovery, even if he was hesitant to really ‘out’ himself. Being different, a freak, did not appeal to him. Picking up his glass, he showed Katherine into the nook where he had his baby grand - solid wood, a beautiful antique, but he’d bought it used and it needed polishing and tuning up quite a bit. Now it was perfect. He sat on the bench, drink placed on a side table (on a coaster, obviously). “Of course I got to be a kid. I wasn’t born grown up,” he smiled a little, “Or...I’m not certain what you mean, exactly. I might be getting it wrong.” With your what - That’s when her eyes dropped to his feet. “I meant in regards to kid stuff, like playing with legos or coloring books,” she clarified but don’t mind her, she was distracted by the idea he could stroke piano keys with those toes - and she wasn’t disgusted, not the slightest. Again, curiosity, and it was expressed with a tilt of her head and light, casual shrug of shoulders. Definitely not the worst card to be dealt with around these parts, but it was definitely the most unique thing Katherine had ever even heard of. She was close to follow as he lead the way, and then beside him on the piano bench with no more stares to his feet, promise. It was rude to gawk. “You said it’s part of your mutation - your musical feet skills?” Mutation was also such a strange word to use. It sounded fucking brutal. “Any clue what the rest of the package comes with?” “Superhuman strength and agility, stamina, balance, coordination, speed - aspects like that,” Hank explained, hands moving to tickle the ivories for a moment, just in a brief warm-up scale or two plus arpeggio, while he sat near Katherine on the bench. “But as far as shooting lasers from my eyes or reading minds? Nothing to that extent.” He recalled Emma Frost saying that her telepathy was powerful, not to mention the diamond form. Hank had yet to come across her in a dream, but if she was a mutant too, was it inevitable? Were they from the same universe? Questions for another time, perhaps. “I’m currently researching for the CIA, designing equipment, and on the side working on a serum to suppress the more visual aspects of my mutation - buying size twenty shoes is...something of a problem back in the 1960s,” he continued, still playing various scales - C major and then the chromatic scale, respectively. “Though I imagine it won’t be easy in this day and age either. Unless you know of shoe sellers that can accommodate giant feet.” As for legos and such, well, he wasn’t familiar with kid stuff. That had never been on his radar. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault, just the way it happened to be. “Anyway, coloring books? Not really. I never quite...connected with my peers. The ones who did that sort of thing.” Hnnn. Not bad skills to have if you asked her - but what was the price of all that, she wondered? It couldn’t just be big feet. Katherine mulled his description over the fizzy tequila mix, a low hum vibrating from her throat, almost like it was following the notes he played. “I might have a few contacts in the shoe department, actually,” she winked. Might have to hit Cinderella up for that task, because while this model knew shoes it was limited to female design ware. Footwear for men with particularly enlarged feet, no so much. For now, she set her glass aside (yes, on a fucking coaster, she should have expected him to be that type). “Gotta say, it sounds lonely. Unless you were around others your age into that sort of thing?” Hank also didn’t seem like the outwardly social type, either - not that he wasn’t friendly, but she could see where his brains could isolate him from most. “Any friends to potentially embarrassing things with? Kiss awkwardly?” Oh, she was curious, and the sly, devious look she wore meant she wanted details if there were any. Hank laughed a little, segueing from scales into something Chopin - a moderate tempo, left hand doubling the right, only the right was an octave lower. It was simply another thing that was part of his warmup routine. He usually liked to do some gentle stretching and finger wiggling for a bit before too, but that was alright, this would do. The blood was flowing just fine. “I did have friends,” he admitted. “A few. Being so far apart in age, it was...difficult. Lonely, now that I look back on it.” No one wanted to be seen with such a younger kid, one who was surpassing them grade-wise at that. “I’m from Illinois, and my most ‘kid-like’ memories are the ones where we would go into Chicago for the weekend. The food is incredible, the culture, how different it was from Dundee. But I’ve never...well, I’ve never really kissed anyone before either. Besides whatever counts on the school playground.” He imagined it didn’t - and he fully expected Katherine to laugh, because how could he be aged twenty-three and be so innocent? Mensa tests at age four probably helped with that. College girls also didn’t want to date a twelve-year-old, as he’d found. Not that he was overly interested in pursuing a cougar anyway. After more Chopin at an even faster tempo, he flexed his fingers for a brief second and then hit the first chord of the piece which was his own composition. It hadn’t been difficult to find the inspiration - as soon as Katherine told him about her dreams, he’d wanted to express something through music. Saudade. A deep longing for that which is absent. He played it well too, music filling the air, the melodies swimming through his cerebral cortex almost like a wakeful dream all unto its own. Playground shenanigans didn’t count, sorry, but that only reaffirmed her existing suspicion: Hank McCoy, man genius, was uncharted territory. Such a damn shame, really. From her view here, all cozied up on the bench beside him, watching his fingers stroke piano keys like a professional, he was the complete package even if she did want to pick a loose thread from his sweater and undo that entire sweater - but those sapphires for eyes, oh, they were enough to charm panties off (assuming she wore any, anyway). Tonight, it was the music. “Keep going,” came Katherine’s sultry voice - a whisper to his ear, breath tickling, and she kissed him there. Sweet, soft, more of them, tongue flicks and a graze of teeth. Maybe, maybe she was instigating a game. Cat and mouse, but she’d take her time to prowl before she ever pounced. Take it slow, enjoy the hunt. “You’re the first to ever play me a song.” Stars and garters, what a distracting little kitten! Not that Hank minded at all, even if he was trying not to let a happy shiver or two shake him out of the groove (he could also play piano on autopilot; most advanced pieces in his repertoire he’d learned before his tenth birthday anyway, or as soon as his hands were big enough to get to all the keys and his feet could reach the pedals). He cleared his throat, rumbling a chuckle that sounded low and amused. “Here I thought I’d never be your first at anything, Katherine,” he said, and was that a somewhat salacious joke? Maybe. Stop the presses! But nevertheless, he was only teasing, and he would gladly play for her as long as she wanted him to. “Jeux d’eau,” he said, referring to the next piece. “By Ravel. It means ‘water games.’ It is inspired by the noise of water and how musical it is.” Brooks and streams, faucets, sinks, drips! Hank rather liked the piece, he’d learned it early on in his studies, though the next one he played was a little more subdued. And familiar. “You know this one,” he added quietly; everyone knew this one. “Its overall form is simple - the first movement, this one, is played no louder than mezzo forte, the way Beethoven wanted it to be played. It’s meant to invoke a dreamy atmosphere and the depth of it - “ He leaned in a bit, though his arms were clearly long enough to reach, “...is enhanced by the melody in the right hand.” “Sassy,” she scolded with a quiet giggle, because it was true, she didn’t have many of firsts left to claim. Katherine had done a lot of things (the majority of them deliciously scandalous), all of which she’d be happy to demonstrate but in due time - promise. Midst the necking and nuzzling, she listened to every word and every note, letting them sink in. It’d be rude not to with the impressive performance given despite playful distractions. Then her fingers came into the picture, doing their best not to be too intrusive into his posture but oh, he’d feel them dance lightly. Feather touches over his thighs, strokes of symbols that held no meaning, starting from the outside and brushing towards the inner area just barely, like she was tempted to breach dangerous lines yet managed to behave. “And that first one - that one was all yours?” Hank played them all beautifully, and he provided details on all of them but the one he started out with. He cleared his throat once more, suddenly feeling parched as the last note of Moonlight Sonata died off. Needless to say, all of the recitals and performances he’d given paled in comparison to that one - probably because this was the only time a beautiful woman was on the bench with him, touching him. Hank felt electrified, and he found it somewhat dangerous because uncharted territory indeed. “That was mine, yes,” he nodded. “When you told me about the dreams you had, I felt inspired to compose something.” Hours and hours at the piano, at his computer, immersed in the software and the sheet music. He loved nights like those, when creativity just struck. So in a way it was because of her. He hoped Katherine wasn’t offended or anything. “Why, did you...not like it?” he asked carefully. That song was because of her? Having someone compose music with her as a muse was the strangest form of compliment she had ever received - could it even be considered as one? Katherine felt a pressure in her throat with a question resting at the tip of her tongue (exactly what part inspired him was the inquiry) but it was never asked and, instead, retracted those adventurous fingertips to turn his face towards hers. Rich, mahogany eyes stared into his precious baby blues. I could eat you up. “It was my favorite,” she admitted. Her voice was strangely undecipherable in the sense that you couldn’t tell if she was happy about it or not. “And as a little note to you, handsome; if you’re ever actively trying to seduce someone, playing something written with them in mind works fine.” She kissed him then. Sweet and soft like the ones before, but this one was wholesome to his lips, no tongue or aggression, tasting like cherries and lasting for only a few teasing seconds. All in the name of the game for him to want more, and Katherine hoped he did. “It’s not - I wasn’t,” Hank stammered the words a little; as if he would know the first thing about seducing someone. At least not on purpose. But then it didn’t matter because Katherine kissed him and the reaction was instantaneous, lightning flaring within, he could feel it. He didn’t know why she did, because obviously she was a woman who invoked certain keywords or phrases (firewhiskey, cobra, temper like a thunderstorm), and what a woman like that would want with someone who was Henry, he didn’t know that either. He couldn’t hold water in his hands, it would just slip through his fingers - sort of similar to the way she would, no doubt. But she was here now, and of course he wanted more. He was a man, after all - a supergenius, maybe, but also a man. His nerves unwound as he kissed her in return, kissed her again, hands gently holding her waist and fingers gliding up her ribcage like he was still playing piano. Ah, gotcha. A smile pulled at her lips, teeth exposed - teeth that caught his bottom lip for an impish tug, then released, then their mouths met again, once more with feeling. His hands on her were a positive (still playing it safe, ever the fucking gentleman), and she’d touch him too. Prussian blue nails skimmed down his throat softly, over his sweater and whoops, did they brush against that untrodden land of manly junk? They did. Katherine wasn’t uncouth enough to grab a handful of his valuables, but don’t rule it out as a possibility for the future either. Her hands rested on his thigh and her fingers danced along that innermost area again; down towards his knee, up towards his groin, down and up and so forth. Maddening caresses. “Hope that tops any playground encounters,” she chuckled. “I can pop other cherries, too.” Imagine all the fun they could have. Think about it, Hank. Well, that was tempting - and don’t think he hadn’t noticed that he was about a hairsbreadth away from being groped. May have made Hank squirm a little, but it wasn’t as if he disliked it. Quite the opposite, in fact. “Safe to say that it does, in fact, top any playground encounter,” he smiled bashfully. The next part of what Katherine was hinting at was something that likely any sane man would give into, however, maybe he wasn’t sane and therefore he knew that he had to say no. At least right now. “But popping cherries, as you say, isn’t what’s most important to me.” Or else he would have just gone out and done it by now, with someone random, if it was that big a deal. “It’s...there’s a lot more that is important,” a lot more that he would want, he thought, as he tucked back a lock of her hair. Erm, uh, anyway. “Now, I owe you your favorite, don’t I?” Chicken carbonara - wouldn’t take long at all. Katherine almost pouted. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her, was he? It’d be a lie to say she didn’t enjoy the challenge, though. After all, cat and mouse. “Offer’s always there, among other things,” she daringly hinted. They were all animals with the instinctual need to fuck - everything else were miniscule details and annoying strings that didn’t need to matter. “But you do owe me.” Finally, she pulled away and reached for her drink. “You’ve already impressed me with the drinks and music. Do it with the cooking and you might never get rid of me, blue eyes.” A brow hiked up provocatively as she nursed the remainder of her drink. Hank reached for his drink and finished it quickly, experiencing the ‘feels-so-bad-it’s-good’ type of smoky, burning slide. He’d never been propositioned before either (not like this), and it took him a moment to get his bearings. Katherine Pierce, so full of surprises. Any other man would have dropped his pants right then and there, and fucked her on the piano. He just wasn’t ‘any other man’ though. Maybe that made him interesting. Or vastly stupid, despite his astronomical booksmart intelligence. “I’ll take that challenge,” he said with a laugh, and got up to walk with her back to the kitchen, putting the cover on the ivories down first. “Never getting rid of you isn’t much of a threat.” He liked having her around. Liked her as a whole as well, but he’d try not to focus on that. And he’d see how long he’d last, before he gave into her games and just declared her the winner. Might take longer than she thought; this scientist had determination in spades. But they were all animals, weren’t they? Some more than others. |