Genevieve Vipond (vievenvol) wrote in vrrpg, @ 2017-05-23 08:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, char: genevieve vipond, char: oliver wood, location: other, time: 2009 05 |
RP: Our First Fight
Who: Oliver and Genevieve
When: Tuesday, May 23
Where: Beach near Provence, France
What: Oliver and Genevieve push boundaries even more.
Warnings: Language
It had been a very, very strange time since the season officially ended. Everything with Oliver, and then Coop reaching out to her for the first time since she'd moved out... Gen was looking forward to her holiday even more, knowing it would be a relief to be away from all the gossip and drama. Of course, not long into her holiday, Oliver contacted her and now here she was, sitting on a towel in the sand as she watched him splashing around in the clear blue water of the Mediterranean.
She'd shed her shorts, tank top, and sandals not long after they'd made it to the shore. As much as she wanted to get in the water and play with him there, she was enjoying soaking up the sun for now. Not only that, but she was also trying to keep some distance between them, as she hadn't asked him yet whether or not he was officially single, and that was a rather important detail to her. But perhaps she could just have fun and flirt casually and not let anything physical happen until she did know for sure. And maybe even not after - as she'd told Terence, she rather thought it would be better for Oliver to blow off some steam elsewhere first...
With that in mind, she pushed up off her towel and wandered down the dry sand and into where the waves coasted in, letting the water tickle over her bare feet. It was cool and a nice contrast to the warm sun shining down on them. "Hey Oliver," she called out to him with a smile. "You look as natural out there as you do in the sky." Nothing was quite like flying, but there was something about the water that gave her a similar sense of peace.
Oliver had lied; he wasn't going to Australia... At least, not right away. Following a restless night of sleep and hours of self-debate, Oliver booked a hotel in Provence right on the sea. No harm, he reasoned, in keeping his word to a friend. He wanted to see the town and Genevieve's offer was too good to pass up. By the end of the first day Oliver still hadn't worked up the courage to text Gen.
Several drafts and deleted texts, each sounding less casual than the last, a simple message offering for company at a very cute cafe before going to the beach. They met up and made their way to the beach with Genevieve chattering excitedly about various locations and points of interest in her city. When the two reached the beach Oliver cried out with joy, eager to get in the water.
Sweet Rowena the Mediterranean was perfect. Refreshingly cool but not so that any exposed skin felt uncomfortable. He'd frolicked about, swimming out and letting the waves carry his body back to shore. Genevieve, unfortunately, decided to stay on dry land, though looked perfectly beautiful in his opinion. The last time he went on vacation Romilda had opted to stay on the beach as well. Oliver wondered what would happen in Australia if - no, when - she joined him.
"You should see me on a surf board!" As fantastic as the Mediterranean was, the waves were too weak to properly utilize. Marching out of the surf, Oliver slicked water from his skin. "When are you getting in?"
"I believe it," Gen called back with a laugh. "It's on my bucket list now." And even if nothing ever came of this ridiculous attraction, she was sure she'd make that happen, because he was a specimen that deserved to be admired. Of course, she wanted to know him for more than his spectacular appearance, but that didn't mean she couldn't appreciate it in the process of getting to know him.
She quirked a brow at his question, a quip about him wanting to see her all wet on the tip of her tongue, but she held back. Being good was such a challenge with him! "I was thinking about now..." she answered, taking a few more steps into the water so that it came up to her ankles even when the waves were pulled back.
"Nah that doesn't count." Oliver smiled, pausing a few feet from Genevieve and admiring her. He didn't need to see her in a bikini to know just how perfect of a form she is. "You gotta get in and really enjoy it!" Holding out a hand, Oliver smiled softly. "Promise I won't let you drown."
Well she wasn't going to stop there! But if it got him close to her again... Which she wasn't supposed to be doing. Right. She enjoyed it every time his eyes took in her form in that bikini, and she had to wonder what he thought about her tattoos, her sternum one in particular. It was, admittedly, one of her favorites. "What makes you think I'd drown? I grew up here, I'm practically half-mermaid," she teased, though she took his held out hand, clearly still struggling with good decision making, despite her persistent mental reminders.
The smile deepened as her hand slid into Oliver's. "Well, why don't you prove it to me?" At the very least this could be an excellent excuse to get her into the water. Something, an over active imagination spent dreaming up situations with Genevieve that it shouldn't have, told Oliver she would look very good in the water indeed.
Genevieve chuckled softly at that, her sea-foam green eyes sparkling in amusement. "Comme vous le souhaitez," she purred before starting further into the water. She didn't let go of his hand, though her grip was loose enough to slip out if he wanted to stay there and watch her rather than returning to the water with her. Once she was out far enough, she did lift her arms up and dive forward into the water, her body curving in a way that spoke truth to what she'd said before. She loved the water as much as the air.
Oliver stayed rooted with his feet buried in the soft sand as Genevieve walked past him and dived in an impressive way. So, she wasn't only graceful in the air. His mind wandered for a brief moment, pondering just how graceful she could be in other situations before guiltily returning to the present.
They were friends. Friends with a sexual tension they would probably drag out for years thanks to whatever situation they were caught in: current lovers, angry reps, playing for two rival teams. The timing would never be right. Oliver had to remember that.
He leaned forward and splashed down into the sea, swimming out after Genevieve.
Gen swam underwater further out than he probably would have expected before coming up for air, turning in the water so she was facing shore again, her legs moving in circles to tread the water. Her hair had slipped almost completely out of the tie she'd put it in and fell down in wet waves around her face. She couldn't help but smile as she spotted him swimming out toward her.
Having never swam the Mediterranean, Oliver was pleasantly surprised as to just how easy it was to do so. He was used to Australia or Hawaii where the current tugged at the legs longing to pull someone down to the ocean floor... And if the current didn't claim a victim the waves certainly would. Out here one could float without worry of finding themselves carried off to another beach if they weren't careful.
Oliver swam after Genevieve, coming alongside her. His hair stayed firmly in place thanks to the initially too-tight lazy bun. The bun was long gone, though the wet blond hair contained into a ponytail of sorts.
"I wish it not been so cold to swim where I lived." Not that it had stopped Oliver, but still, they weren't the most pleasant swimming conditions, even in the summer.
"In Scotland?" she questioned as she relaxed her body to allow her to drift up and float on the surface of the water, her arms drifting over the surface next to her, enjoying the feel of the sun against her sea-soaked skin. Of course, she knew Oliver was Scottish, but it still felt polite to ask.
"I wouldn't trade the childhood I had for anything, not even growing up in our world from the start," she admitted. Because growing up here had been brilliant. A different sort than the brilliance of finding out she was a witch, but still as meaningful to her.
"Yeah," Oliver sighed wistfully, matching Genevieve and lifting himself up to float on his back. "The summers the water was a balmy fourteen Celsius. In the winter they say," his voice tinted with skepticism, "it only gets down to nine. Absolute shite, they never factored in the offshore winds. I've seen icebergs a time or two floating into the bays."
Looking over at Genevieve, wrapped in golden sunlight glittering off her skin and water, an overwhelming desire to touch her overtook Oliver. She looked so perfect - like sea and sunlight condensed into human form. Idly, Oliver let his hand float outward in hopes that it might brush against Genevieve's.
"Yeah? I can see why." He too would never trade his childhood.
That definitely wasn't swimable water, though she was sure some crazy person had attempted it. Though the mention of icebergs immediately, always brought to mind Titanic, which Addi had begged Gen to take her to at least three times while it was in theaters during her first year as a reserve with the Quafflepunchers. It was an amusing thought. "That does sound colder than nine," she agreed with an amused tilt to her lips.
As his hand coasted by, hers did brush against it, and she wiggled her fingers a bit, knowing that she was ridiculously pushing those boundaries again but not quite able to stop herself.
"Yeah, I feel like I got it all... an amazing family to grow up in, the best of the Muggle world, and then with Quidditch, the best of the magical world, too." All the felt like was missing now was a family of her own. Though she realized then that Oliver might not know much about her family. Most of the interviewers didn't ask much about them beyond comments on them being Muggles.
The brush of her skin against his felt like a jolt of electricity surging through him and pooling somewhere I'm the pit of his stomach. Oliver resisted the option to hold her hand once more, letting his float away.
"Yeah?" He peered at her curiously. "Your whole family muggle then?" Somewhere in the back of Oliver's mind he remembered a few passing mentions of her muggle-born status, though it felt polite to ask. Honestly, even if he knew the answer Oliver would still ask as a way to make conversation with his swimming partner.
Well, at least he seemed to be behaving himself, though it made her wonder if it was because he hadn't broken up with Romilda after all. Gen didn't like the frustrated feeling that went through her at that thought. It was beginning to feel a bit like she was being strung along in a game she wasn't sure she wanted to play.
"They are, yeah, the whole lot of them. There's five of us - I've got four sisters and a baby brother." Though at fifteen years old, Geoffrey would likely protest being referred to as a baby brother. "Addi - she's right in the middle - was probably the most upset when she didn't get a letter to Beauxbatons as well, but she's wiggled her way into our world anyway. Honestly, she's obsessed with Quidditch. If she were allowed on a broom, she'd make a brilliant ref." Because sometimes she thought Addi knew all the rules and regs better than she did!
Astonished, Oliver looked up. "Five?" His features settled into a blissful smile. "That's fantastic. I want a big family." Not that his own family wasn't a decent size: Eddie already had three children of her own, and Logan would hopefully settle down. Maybe. "Addi? Don't think I've met her. Does she not have any magic ability? You're the only one, right?"
Gen smiled wider at that look on his face, nodding a bit, though it was awkward doing so laying back in the water as she was. She shifted to tread the water again. "I do, too." Really, she thought she might want as many kids as she could physically handle, and she wasn't going to put an arbitrary number on that.
She shook her head at the question about Addi. "No, she doesn't, I'm the only one. But if she ever decides to get married, I have no doubt she'll marry into magic." She couldn't say it would be to a wizard, because her sister didn't really have a strong preference in the gender of her partners. "She tends to date exclusively in our world," she told him, sounding exceedingly bemused by that fact.
Considering Genevieve for a moment, Oliver didn't reply to her confirmation for a large family. Perhaps it was the moment, or simply the rush of attraction he felt for her, but a flood of possible futures filled Oliver's head: holidays and Christmases, various family outings and dinners with family all with little blond children running about. And Genevieve, looking perfectly radiant and motherly. Even without really knowing her Oliver knew she would make an excellent mother.
He remained afloat, arms spread outward for balance and buoyancy. "Yeah? She's smart then. Us magical types are pretty fantastic." Not that Oliver bought into magical supremacy, he just simply couldn't fathom a non-magical life... And muggles made everything so much harder than they had to on themselves! Once more, with casual determination, his hand bumped into hers, this time clasping around the wiggling fingers. "Hey!" Oliver righted himself, pulling her hand from the water. "I think I caught a fish!"
She couldn't help but laugh lightly at that. "We are! And she knows it, too." Sometimes she worried about Addi getting in over her head, but she'd been playing in the magical world ever since she'd got out of school and out on her own, so she had to trust that she would take care of herself. And, she did take care to gift Addi with certain charmed items to help her along, as well.
When he 'caught' her hand, she giggled, letting her hand curl a bit around where his tugged it out of the water. "Not a fish! A mermaid, remember?" she teased lightly, drifting a bit closer, which she would blame on his hold on her hand more than anything intentional, even if it wasn't true. "So then the question is, are you a catch and release fisherman, or are you catching for keeps?" The question was out of her mouth, her tone flirtatious before she could even think to filter them, but she couldn't put them back now.
For a brief moment Oliver feared she might pull back or remove her hand; his confidence in his quaffle catching abilities didn't extend to catching and holding a girl's hand. When Genevieve didn't pull away - opting to come closer - he took small, tentative steps to shrink the distance between them.
"Oh I definitely keep my fish." Oliver replied, grinning. "Especially rare ones like mermaids." His free hand, which had been idly floating by his side drifted with the currant to skim the outline of Genevieve's waist.
There was no ready excuse of alcohol in the mix this time, and the excuse that he might be single now was flimsy, but she was studiously ignoring that for now, because he was coming closer and she wanted him to. "Oui? And how many mermaids have you caught?" she asked, both amusement and a bit of challenge in her eyes. She shivered faintly at the feel of his fingertips brushing her waist, and let herself drift that much closer to him in the water.
The light brush against her skin turned into his arm encircling her waist, pulling Gen closer. "None... Yet."
Gen's free hand came up to settle on his shoulder, letting him pull her closer. It was utterly ridiculous (she was thirty years old, for crying out loud!) but she felt the fluttery sense of anticipation low in her belly at his answer. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, staring into his eyes, certain she could easily get lost in them. "Perhaps you'll be so lucky to... someday," she finally said softly. "When you're... available." A gentle venture into trying to get the answer of whether or not he'd broken up with Romilda without outright asking him.
They stood so close with only the waves moving their bodies in a gentle, rocking motion. Oliver could honestly stay here forever, the warm sun beaming down on them and the gentle water. This was perfect. His forehead came to rest on hers (something Oliver had come to like despite the few brief times he'd been able to do so), and stared into Genevieve's eyes.
Then, she pushed him away with her words. A stricken look came across his face and Oliver untangled himself from Genevieve, wading out a few feet and staring off onto the horizon.
With his forehead against hers, his eyes focused on hers, she felt a sense of peace that almost surprised her. But the moment couldn't last long, not with those words between them. The way he jerked away from her, that expression on his face was all the answer she needed, and she sighed, closing her eyes for a moment and feeling stupid for even hoping that he might have broken up with Romilda before coming here to see her.
She stood there in the water for a long moment, the tug and pull of the waves rocking her gently. When she opened her eyes again, she saw him staring out over the horizon. Torn between wanting to go to him and wanting to put more space between them by going back to shore, it was another minute before she finally came to a decision. It only took a moment to walk through the water to him, though she stood just far enough away that the tug and pull of the sea wouldn't jostle them into touching.
"I can't fathom why you haven't broken up with her," she began softly. "And I don't really want to know." She couldn't help grimacing faintly as she admitted that bit, but it was true. "But when... if you do break up with her, I think it would be best if you didn't... come to me, at least not right away." This wasn't how she imagined telling Oliver her idea, as she'd expressed it to Terence, but it felt like the right time to bring it up. "It took me months to feel ready for something serious again after Coop and I broke up, and... I think it would be good for you to be single for a little way. Enjoy yourself, have fun, go wild, that sort of thing. And then, once it feels empty and unsatisfying, perhaps I'll let you take me out on a date." She didn't look at him as she spoke, though, just standing next to him and staring out at the horizon as well.
He'd fucked this up. Just like he fucked up everything else when it came to a romantic future. Much like Genevieve, Oliver couldn't fathom why he hadn't left Romilda, either. She'd pulled away so hard and clearly was going through the motions. Maybe Oliver liked that; maybe he needed a relationship to push and pull like a magnet. Maybe the constant chase and burning need to reach this unattainable goal was the only thing that really kept Oliver going?
"I'm going to leave Romilda." Oliver sighed, barely audible. That was the whole point of taking her to Australia, wasn't it? Despite the thought of them salvaging what little they had left - because Oliver's hopeless romantic streak said they could overcome these mishaps - the truth was simply the relationship had ran it's course. Perhaps Genevieve was right and he needed to 'get this out of his system', but the thought of running through random women who didn't care for him, or worse: cared only for his fame, sounded utterly miserable.
"What if it already sounds empty before I even do it?"
Oh, he sounded miserable at that, but she didn't feel guilty for the way her lips twitched in amusement. "I'd say do it anyway, but I can't really tell you whether or not that route would work for you." It had worked for her, but she'd always had that sort of dual mentality where she could do the casual thing, but was still open to something serious. Not everyone was like that, she knew.
"But I think you should take some time anyway, even if you don't screw around." She peeked over at him then, her expression turning decidedly mischievous. "And maybe we'll carry on this flirtation through messages for a while until we just can't stand it anymore," she suggested, thinking her idea could be quite a lot of fun if he were willing to play along.
Despite himself, Oliver chuckled. "Until we can't stand it anymore?" He'd always been the 'now or never' kind, possibly due to his obsessive drive to be the best and win. "I mean, I'm finding it hard to stand it now. I came here instead of Australia," instead of being with Romilda, Oliver didn't add, frowning at the thought.
With a sigh and a fretful yank at his hair tie, the wet blond hair was free and fluffed by his powerful hands.
"For the best, really. If we drag this sexual tension out for years instead of getting involved now." Because Oliver didn't want to ruin this as well, like he'd done with the others. Chasing a relationship hadn't worked, so chasing a relationship that skirted the line might be the better option.
Gen laughed lightly at that, shaking her head. "Well, seeing as how you've not kissed me yet, I'd say you're still maintaining enough control," she pointed out. And that was definitely for the best, as she definitely wasn't the best at putting the brakes on with just a kiss. Unless it was a truly awful kiss, but something told her that wouldn't be the case with him.
"Years?" she repeated incredulously. "I was thinking a few months, tops. Honestly. Years." She tutted exaggeratedly, shaking her head. "In all seriousness, Oliver, your love life is a mess right now. I won't promise to wait around for years - hell, I'm not sure I'd promise to wait around at all, but I can promise that if there is a point where you're single and I'm single, I'd be willing to give things a go." Because she saw something in him that she liked an awful lot, and she wanted a chance to explore that potential with him.
Years seemed like the better option in Oliver's opinion. At least Gen could be in his life with the open window of potential than some closed door he'd shut on himself.
"Yeah maybe you shouldn't wait for me," Oliver said before he could stop himself. The words sounded more callous than he intended. "I'm sure you have plenty of guys willing to step in. I fuck up every relationship I get into because of my selfish desire to meet my goals no matter how unattainable they may be." He wanted to stop talking, but the words continued to flood or of him like a broken dam. "I make awful decisions because I can't fucking wait for things. That's why I'm here, now, instead of Australia with Romilda to talk things out or to end things, I don't know. Whichever."
Squeezing the bridge of his nose, Oliver let out a long, slow sigh. He felt hollow having admitted all that and disgusted with himself for laying it all on Genevieve. "I'm sorry, Gen."
At those somewhat cold words, Gen narrowed her eyes at him, then shook her head as he kept going. And then, when he apologized, she scoffed softly. "Tu est ridicule." She sighed. "Don't be so maudlin. I've seen only a small bit of your life with Puddlemere, but even that was enough to see how they've managed to stifle and control you." She didn't doubt there was a hell of a lot more to it than the pressures the team had put on him, but it was still there, fresh in her mind.
"And who's to say your goals aren't attainable? You want to coach the national teams? Well hell, Oliver, look at your career so far! They'd be lucky to have you down the road after you've retired from playing. And the goal to have a family of your own? Absolutely doable, but not with this wallowing, self-pitying attitude. Stop manning the goals and start thinking like a Chaser. You want something? Then go after it and make it happen! Oh, and don't backtrack now on the Romilda thing. Whichever, really? You've already told me you are breaking up with her. Commit to it!" she urged him, rambling rather passionately while she went along, her hands gesturing as she spoke. Because she saw more than this in him, and she'd never tolerated a self-defeatist attitude well.
"They don't control me!" Oliver snapped, now rounding on Genevieve. "Stop saying that! You don't understand anything about my team."
Of course she was right, and Oliver knew it. In his mind he was chasing his goals, it just wasn't working. "Right. So I'm supposed to chase after something I want without regard for how it fits in the end. Well, I am... It's going excellent, cheers." Merlin, how did it come to this? They'd been just fine moments ago. "Especially since she 'probably isn't going to wait'. I'm not waiting either. I hate talking about this stuff, I just go with my gut and it said coming to see you before Australia was the right choice." And perhaps it was the right choice, having an just how incompatible they seemed to be.
At the mention of Romilda all the frustration, confusion and sadness that had built up over the last month let loose. "She won't talk to me!" Oliver bellowed, his skin feeling uncomfortably hot though not from the sun. "How am I supposed to do anything when the person I'm supposed to love won't talk to me?" His voice roared, matching Genevieve's frustrated hand movements.
She jerked back initially, her eyes going wide, though it was only a brief moment before she was standing tall, holding her ground again. "I know that when Jenn snapped her fingers and ordered you about, you followed like some broken puppy too abused to stand up for himself," she shot back. She wasn't a fighter, not naturally, but she also wasn't one to shrink back and be pushed around.
"How it fits in the end? What do you even mean by that? And the my not sitting around waiting is just me having some self respect Oliver. I don't deserve to be strung along while you think about working things out with Romilda when you know that the right thing to do is move on from her!" Because she wouldn't let herself just sit around and mope that he wasn't single or that he liked her but not enough to break up with his girlfriend, who he'd apparently already cheated on.
The sheer volume of his voice rocked her back a bit. It wasn't the revelation that Romilda wasn't talking to him that got to her, it was the 'supposed to love' bit. "Who says you're supposed to love her?" Because supposed to rarely worked out, in her opinion. You either did, or you didn't. And that love could span a range of levels, but in her experience, it was either there or not.
Oliver simply glared and looked away, too annoyed to even attempt to explain just why Genevieve was wrong in her misunderstanding with Puddlemere's team dynamics. Viktor was her captain and urged Oliver to run away from his handler during a press conference... How could Gen ever understand how important of a role Jenn played to the stability of Oliver's life?
"I told you I'm leaving her." Oliver rumbled. Because he had to leave her; it was absolutely the right thing to do. Even if she wanted to work this out Oliver wasn't sure he'd want her too be with him when he'd already broken her trust so badly. First Daphne, now chasing Genevieve to another country. "And I'm supposed to, right? Love her. Because she's my girlfriend and I'm wanting something lasting. I'm tired of this... Whatever this is." He finished rather lamely, having seemed to run out of steam at the moment.
But he hadn't left Romilda yet. And that was a problem, in her mind. But she bit her tongue and waited out the rest of what he was saying, recognizing the exhaustion in his last words. "Oliver," she began softly, reaching out a hand between them, but not sure touching him was a good idea. She didn't think he was the violent sort, but better not to test that just then.
"Having a girlfriend is about getting to know a person to see if you could love them. And anyone who says you're supposed to love them is full of shite. But if you want to sabotage this before we even get a chance to explore what it could be, I can't stop you." She sighed again and turned then, heading toward shore. Oh, she still thought he was brilliant, and she was still curious about the obvious sparks between them, but some of the shine had definitely been rubbed off with this argument, and she was feeling left with some real concerns about him.
He looked up at the mention of his name and noticed Genevieve's hand. Tentatively, Oliver reached out to trace over the palm of her hand, sighed, and pulled back into crossed arms over his chest.
"Yeah, I know." Because Oliver did know; he simply didn't want to wait. Why should he? Everything else had come so easy for him, a relationship should have been effortless. Of course Oliver would sabotage his relationships when things became difficult. If it wasn't something perfect he simply didn't want it. Oliver demanded absolute perfection from himself and anything falling short he took as a personal short coming and decided to abandon. Oliver may not abandon his team but he certainly didn't stick around when his own personal life fell apart.
Bending his knees forward, Oliver sank into the sea so he didn't have to watch Genevieve walk away. He'd rather drift away, head barely above the water with his feet not touching the ground. At least here in the waves he could quietly contemplate just what to do next.
After Gen made it to shore, she started to dry off, watching him just drift through the water. How infuriating he'd been! And to think of how bloody brilliant and successful he was! For him to have that defeatist attitude made no sense to her! With a soft sound of frustration, she threw her towel back onto the sand and moved quickly back into the water.
She was attracted to Oliver, and at some point over the last week during the course of their messages and that night at the bar and then the club, she'd decided she wanted him. Whether that went anywhere would remain to be seen, but she wasn't going to just walk away because he'd had a string of bad luck in relationships. Once she was deep enough in the water, she ducked down to swim out to him.
Her hand wrapped around his arm and she swam around in front of him. "You're being stupid," she accused him, bringing her other hand up to curl around the back of his neck as she moved in close and kissed him soundly. Fuck waiting. They were in Provence, no one but them would know.
I'll leave for Australia tonight Oliver thought, frowning slightly. He'd expected to stay for a few days at the minimum though without any real intention as to what he'd hoped to accomplish by coming here. The gut feeling said it was right, which he tended to listen to. If he listened to his head things like the outburst happened. Oliver groaned, regretting shouting at Genevieve. It wasn't her fault he was terrified of failure and simply couldn't get his life together outside of work.
He'd not seen Genevieve swimming back out or even her underwater approach. The question -what?- died on his tongue as she grabbed his arm, leant in and kissed him.
The world seemed to shrink down to the immediate space surrounding two; everything else beyond the periphery of Oliver's senses that were erased completely and his mind offered three reactions, all similar in intensity and different in rationality. The first was the knee-jerk reflex to push Gen away. As soon as it registered, his mind registered just how ridiculous that was, and he settled with the second reaction instead: to make this moment last. His fingers curled around her waist, not sure if they were meant to push or pull her.
The third reaction, in fact, came delayed so much that Oliver feared it was already too late. It whispered to return the kiss. Leaning his head ever so slightly to the right, Oliver kissed her with what felt like weeks of vain, barren yearning, though it had only somehow been barely over a week since Genevieve had taken over his thoughts; with the fatigue of tedious nights alone wanting something real; with all the embarrassing secret longing for obtaining a small part of knowledge only he could know about her; kissed her with the month-long emotional journey Romilda forced him on. He caught her bottom lip, nipped it in a way only he was able to: imperatively yet with affectionate tenderness. His arms, initially locked in surprise moved to wrap around her slender waist, though not enough to restrain her should she suddenly refuse to keep kissing him like this.
His mouth moved against hers, greedy to get closer and claim its stake, just now, just this one time. Oliver told himself it was nothing but a keepsake – that much he deserved; he'd take it, the token of the memory of her kiss, and proceed on his way. No harm in it.
No harm at all.
But it felt like a lie; one of the many he recently tried to shove down his own throat. It was absolutely a lie. Oliver knew he was falling. He undoubtedly was. He could feel it in his chest, in his head, the looming presence of something he could not control or resist. The world, with him in it, got derailed. Reluctantly, Oliver pulled away from the kiss and stepped back.
There was no doubt that a large part of her expected him to push her away, and she would have gone and accepted that it was done. At least then she could say that it wasn't for lack of trying. But then his arm was wrapping about her waist, pulling her in, and his teeth were doing that wonderful thing to her lower lip, and she moaned softly in the narrow strip of air between them.
Her hand left his arm to join her other hand behind his neck, and she pressed closer to him, kissing him back with similar greed and eagerness. She could get lost in it, she wanted to get lost in it, in him. And when he pulled away and took a step back, she was breathless and nowhere near ready to have his strong, supportive body moving away from hers.
Sighing, she tipped her face up toward the sun, her eyes still closed for the moment. "I'm not done with you, Oliver," she promised him. "Go, take care of what you need to, and then..." She looked at him again, her smile small but definitely there. "And then," she repeated with a firm finality, as if it needed no further explanation. And she didn't think it did. Either they would have amazing sex and be done or they would have amazing sex that would culminate into something more.
Taking every ounce of willpower to not lean in and kiss the delicate curve of her neck or pull her body close, Oliver simply nodded silently to the unfinished statement. They didn't need the words to convey what would unfold between them. Leaving Romilda would hurt - damn would it hurt - but it was better than the relationship continuing limping slowly to it's painful death.
Reaching out once more to softly stroke the inside of Genevieve's arm with the back of his hand, Oliver sighed longingly and pulled away before the light-headed feeling clouded his judgement any further.
After a brief moment of pause, he reached out to grasp her hand once more.
"Do you just want to, I dunno, just float here for a bit? Might be a bit nice, yeah?"
Gen felt a little flip in her stomach as his finger slid over her arm, but he was pulling back, and she wasn’t going to push any more than she already had. The reservations she'd developed during that argument hadn't magically disappeared, but she was willing to give him the benefit of doubt. Stress could make people do stupid things, and with all the pressures he had to be experiencing on multiple sides were likely very stressful.
He surprised her then by taking her hand, but she smiled at him and let her fingers curl around his hand. "Yes, that does sound nice." Perhaps just another way to drag things out and torture themselves, but if they managed to not get into another discussion about where things could go, they should be just fine.