[He gives her the courtesy of pausing to seriously consider her question.]
That is a... complicated question, Madam Lutece. I look at you and I see an intellectual equal. In matters of chemistry and science I consider you a compatriot. I have little use for someone who would simply bend to my will. A clash of ideas and debate leads to some of the most fantastic discoveries. I do not wish for you to be needlessly contrary, but I would never ask you to dim your curiosity and fervor.
In matters of courting... you vex me. I am not a man accustomed to... any of this. I have not been terribly interested in relations for a very long time. There are more fulfilling things I find to do with my time. Since they are a fact of life here, though, and because this place has seen fit to mark me as a lesser, I feel I must make some effort to retain my control. In that way, I would wish you would not press at me or my temper so sometimes.
[It's a far better answer than a flat no, though her heart beats a little faster as he continues on. It's hard to control her temper around him, she finds, and this is a topic that leaves her heated anyway.]
If it matters, Jonathan . . . it isn't just you. And you're certainly not the first person to ask such a thing of me.
[Though she privately thinks some men could use a bit of an ego adjustment, but. Whatever.
She steps forward, approaching him.]
I'm used to needing to be blunt. To demanding instead of asking. It isn't a result of-- of Dominants or Submissives, nothing like that. I don't see you as lesser.
[A beat, and she smiles faintly, just a little amused.]
Frankly, Jonathan . . . I've never dealt with any matter of courtship with a man from our time. Robert and I knew each other from letters before we ever met; by the time we did, he already had my heart. And I deliberately sabotaged any other men who wanted to try.
So in some ways, while I know how to-- to demand things, to goad others into them, to get what I want . . . nor have I ever faced a man and simply . . . gotten on with him. Certainly not in courtships, but not even in day to day interactions.
[The mention of Robert has Jonathan frowning, leaning back slightly.]
We should not be courting. Perhaps that is part of the trouble between us. A thing known, but never spoken of. You have your Robert. I have my Elisabeth. We know this connection should not be so, and so, we sabotage it. Each in our own way.
I use courting because you seem uncomfortable each time I use the word fuck. But I have no delusions that you're falling for me, Jonathan. This isn't a courtship, you aren't trying to earn my adoration or my love, nor I yours. Your bed, perhaps, and your company, but . . .
You've never just slept with someone solely to sleep with them, have you? Perhaps that's the difference. I have.
I fulfill my quota each month. [He glances away, shame prickling at his spine. All of his quota for the past month has been thanks to Nissen and what he's done to them.] I know that certain physical things may not mean love, but I... I should like them to mean something.
[He's a man of science, but there are certain matters, matters of the heart, where some of his poet's soul creeps in.]
[She regards him for a few seconds, silent and contemplative. She's still a little tense, uncertain as to what they're doing or how to navigate it, but some of the frustration has faded.]
Come here.
[She reaches for his wrist, slender fingers wrapping around it. Tugging him along, she pulls him into her bedroom. Not for sex, although he might be forgiven for thinking it. But no, just to sit somewhere a little more intimate while they discuss this, rather than simply standing in the hall, half-arguing.
Unlike the rest of the apartment, which is solely a lab and little else, this, at least, feels homey. Painted in deep reds with gold accents, there's books stacked neatly here and there, a desk with a journal on it-- and around that, several pieces of paper. There's drawings there, lightly sketched in pencil: a young man, a city, a lighthouse . . .
But for now: she sits on the bed.]
Tell me, now, and tell me plainly: what is it, exactly, you'd like some kind of-- of sexual relationship to mean?
[He follows her and he does think she means to have him, but they only sit on the bed and that settles him more than the prospect of some carnal encounter when his mind is scattered about with different feelings for her. He looks down at her hands where she's holding him, and Jonathan twists his wrist so that he's holding her hand.]
Plainly? I... do not know. Connection? Friendship? Those acts I have engaged in absent some... outside force, they have been with those I feel closest to. I've used equipment for such encounters, asked leave of my friends not to participate for fear of losing myself and harming them. I have not been with a woman here as you ask. And so, I do not know.
[His hand is pleasantly large, his fingers interlacing with hers. He's cooler than she always expects, but it's no bad thing. And she can admit: it is rather nice to be here like this, quiet and, if not intimate, at least softer.]
And what is it you would like, if you and I went to bed now? When we aren't clouded by-- by drugs or lust or whatever other affects this city forces upon us. When it's just you and I.
[Jonathan wavers for a moment as he sorts out an answer that isn't 'more of your blood,' which is the immediate response that comes to mind.]
To have you? Gently. I know that I am... that we have not been gentle with one another. I should like to try it, though. Not all of me is rage and violence. I would like to show you that.
[Is it a bad idea to do such a thing in this space, so like her bedroom at home? Almost assuredly. And yet what he wants isn't so far from what she does too: something that isn't drenched in hedonism and sadism. Something easy and soft. Something intimate.
So she reaches for him, leaning up to kiss him. Not the spiteful, defiant kisses of the alley, but rather something soft, their lips meeting sweetly.]
[He tenses up for a moment, but then relaxes, parting his lips and tilting his head to meet her more fully. Jonathan slips an arm around her waist, pulling her a little closer to himself. When they break for a moment, his voice is quiet, but firm.]
If I try to bite you, we must stop. You must vanish away. I do not want... I cannot stand that part of me being a part of this.
[This moment when he's trying so desperately to just be human again.]
[She really will, too. Because he asks for his sake, not hers, and she has no problem with acquiescing to a desire like that.
She shifts, moving with his hand-- and then, impatient to the last, moves altogether, kicking off her boots and perching in his lap. It's much easier that way, in her opinion; she settles easily, her legs spreading a little, skirt rising as she leans up to kiss him again. It's still a slow kiss, for all she's in his lap. She has every intention of doing nothing but kissing, languid and heated, for a fair amount of time.]
[Jonathan doesn't mind the shift, really. His hands slide to her hips, then down as he moves to pull up her dress and settle them on her thighs. He hums a deep, pleased note against her lips and closes his eyes, trying not to think about Elisabeth. About the fact that he's giving this thing that should be hers to a woman who looks so very much like her.
He'll try to take some control of the kiss, not quite acquiescing immediately to allowing Rosalind free reign over his mouth. He doesn't want her dealing with his fangs really, and that and his care with his claws likely make him come off as very hesitant in her arms.]
[Control is fine. Hesitance less so, but she'll forgive it for the moment. His mouth grows harder, setting the pace, and she matches it hungrily, eagerly, her hips rocking down in a quiet sign of approval. One hand blindly lifts, reaching back, tugging at the pins in her hair, til it falls down in thick strands around her face.
She's panting when she pulls back, licking her lips and savoring how swollen they feel already. She draws in a breath, seems to think better of it, and instead:]
Help me with my dress?
[A question, not a demand-- and a far gentler way of easing into this than her simply stripping it off herself.]
[His hands are already under her skirt, but he lifts them out to reach for her bodice and undo the hooks or buttons of it. He takes his time, looking up at her as he goes.]
I like your hair like this. It's... fire, the flames wrapped round you. Caressing, but never burning.
[Oh . . . that's sweet, if not a little cloying. But it reminds her of Robert, his blatant plagiarizing from Marlowe as he endeared her to him with clumsy poetry and earnest intentions.
So she's smiling, but it's not in mockery. Just pleasure, as the front of her dress falls open, revealing black lace and pale skin. He moves so slowly, taking his time, his fingers gentle as he pries open button after button, til at last she shifts, tugging the garment over her head.]
Few get to see it this way. I very rarely have it down.
[Even when she sleeps with others, she usually keeps it in a braid. Her fingers reach for him, sliding gently over his cheek, through his hair, before dropping down to tug at his shirt's buttons. She moves just as slowly as him, almost delicate in the way she bares him for her, her eyes locked on his throat, his chest-- and it's all very routine, if not intimate, until--]
Oh.
[She says it softly, entirely to herself, and presses her lips together a moment later, hating that she'd said anything.]
[Jonathan closes his eyes at her touch, leaning into the warmth of her hand on his cheek for the moment that it's there. While she's after his shirt, Jonathan strokes his hands up along her sides, letting his claws trail light pink scratches along the way. Her quiet exclamation does catch his attention, though, and he directs his attention down to where she's looking, wondering if there's something amiss.
Nothing immediately jumps out at him. It's just his body.]
Is my... mark unusual?
[He cranes his neck a bit and sits up straighter to look down his own shirt, hands pausing on her.]
I hadn't realized it was so soon after the war for you.
[But while she'd been embarrassed at her mistake, she isn't embarrassed by her attraction. Pushing his shirt off, she slides her fingers down his chest, over the sharp curve of his abdomen, biting her lip a little as she does.
She glances up at him, and it's with a great deal more warm amusement. She leans in, kissing him again-- and it's most certainly hungry this time, as her palms go flat against his shoulders, his chest, sliding over him in languid exploration.]
[It's pleasant, the warmth of her hands sliding across the cold plains of his body. Jonathan draws in a deep breath out of habit and sighs just before her lips press to his once more.
With her top out of the way, he lets his own hands go wandering. He's touched her before, of course, pawed at her with desperate need, mind addled with mistletoe. But this is less a conquest and more a sortie. He lets his claws stroke, his icy fingers drag and tease, at her sides and up her back.
The compliment has freed him of some of his initial trepidation, as have Rosalind's ready lips. The temptation to bite her teases at the back of his mind. Just a nip, just a tiny bit of blood. It would barely be anything, and he suspects she'd rather enjoy it, masochist that she is.
They start to break for her to take a breath and Jonathan catches her lower lip with his teeth. One of his fangs rests just so, a little more pressure and she'll be bleeding.]
[Her panties are growing wet, rocking against his growing hardness-- and for once in this city, Rosalind is fine with that. She's a little impatient, but not overwhelmingly so.
She likes this, she finds. She likes going slow, sweet; she likes being able to arch her back and feel his cold fingers slide over her skin (and oh, she shudders, her nipples peaking in an instant; she leans forward, pressing herself against him, moaning softly at the contact).
His fang presses against her bottom lip, and she inhales sharply. It's beyond tempting to let him taste her. Just a tip of her head and he'd draw blood, and oh, she'd love that. She really would, and so would he.
But he made her promise that they wouldn't involve blood in this, and she values consent more and more here. With a sharp inhale she pulls back, licking her lip (still uncut).]
I don't mind. I'd like you to. But do you want that? To-- to taste me that way?
[Her hips keep rocking down gently, grinding against him, not so much teasing as simply keeping things going. The last thing she wants is for him to go stiff again, balking at the hint of sadism or vampirism.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2019-01-11 07:37 pm (UTC)From:[A beat. Something seems to occur to her, and she adds:]
If I ask you something, will you give your honest opinion? Not a polite one, but what you truly think.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-11 07:46 pm (UTC)From:[He does try not to be rude.]
no subject
Date: 2019-01-11 10:31 pm (UTC)From:[This is a fun foreplay talk.]
no subject
Date: 2019-01-12 01:36 am (UTC)From:That is a... complicated question, Madam Lutece. I look at you and I see an intellectual equal. In matters of chemistry and science I consider you a compatriot. I have little use for someone who would simply bend to my will. A clash of ideas and debate leads to some of the most fantastic discoveries. I do not wish for you to be needlessly contrary, but I would never ask you to dim your curiosity and fervor.
In matters of courting... you vex me. I am not a man accustomed to... any of this. I have not been terribly interested in relations for a very long time. There are more fulfilling things I find to do with my time. Since they are a fact of life here, though, and because this place has seen fit to mark me as a lesser, I feel I must make some effort to retain my control. In that way, I would wish you would not press at me or my temper so sometimes.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-12 01:48 am (UTC)From:If it matters, Jonathan . . . it isn't just you. And you're certainly not the first person to ask such a thing of me.
[Though she privately thinks some men could use a bit of an ego adjustment, but. Whatever.
She steps forward, approaching him.]
I'm used to needing to be blunt. To demanding instead of asking. It isn't a result of-- of Dominants or Submissives, nothing like that. I don't see you as lesser.
[A beat, and she smiles faintly, just a little amused.]
Frankly, Jonathan . . . I've never dealt with any matter of courtship with a man from our time. Robert and I knew each other from letters before we ever met; by the time we did, he already had my heart. And I deliberately sabotaged any other men who wanted to try.
So in some ways, while I know how to-- to demand things, to goad others into them, to get what I want . . . nor have I ever faced a man and simply . . . gotten on with him. Certainly not in courtships, but not even in day to day interactions.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-12 05:54 am (UTC)From:We should not be courting. Perhaps that is part of the trouble between us. A thing known, but never spoken of. You have your Robert. I have my Elisabeth. We know this connection should not be so, and so, we sabotage it. Each in our own way.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-12 06:00 am (UTC)From:I use courting because you seem uncomfortable each time I use the word fuck. But I have no delusions that you're falling for me, Jonathan. This isn't a courtship, you aren't trying to earn my adoration or my love, nor I yours. Your bed, perhaps, and your company, but . . .
You've never just slept with someone solely to sleep with them, have you? Perhaps that's the difference. I have.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-12 10:58 pm (UTC)From:[He's a man of science, but there are certain matters, matters of the heart, where some of his poet's soul creeps in.]
no subject
Date: 2019-01-13 04:13 am (UTC)From:Come here.
[She reaches for his wrist, slender fingers wrapping around it. Tugging him along, she pulls him into her bedroom. Not for sex, although he might be forgiven for thinking it. But no, just to sit somewhere a little more intimate while they discuss this, rather than simply standing in the hall, half-arguing.
Unlike the rest of the apartment, which is solely a lab and little else, this, at least, feels homey. Painted in deep reds with gold accents, there's books stacked neatly here and there, a desk with a journal on it-- and around that, several pieces of paper. There's drawings there, lightly sketched in pencil: a young man, a city, a lighthouse . . .
But for now: she sits on the bed.]
Tell me, now, and tell me plainly: what is it, exactly, you'd like some kind of-- of sexual relationship to mean?
no subject
Date: 2019-01-13 06:53 am (UTC)From:Plainly? I... do not know. Connection? Friendship? Those acts I have engaged in absent some... outside force, they have been with those I feel closest to. I've used equipment for such encounters, asked leave of my friends not to participate for fear of losing myself and harming them. I have not been with a woman here as you ask. And so, I do not know.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-13 07:00 am (UTC)From:[His hand is pleasantly large, his fingers interlacing with hers. He's cooler than she always expects, but it's no bad thing. And she can admit: it is rather nice to be here like this, quiet and, if not intimate, at least softer.]
And what is it you would like, if you and I went to bed now? When we aren't clouded by-- by drugs or lust or whatever other affects this city forces upon us. When it's just you and I.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-14 05:22 am (UTC)From:To have you? Gently. I know that I am... that we have not been gentle with one another. I should like to try it, though. Not all of me is rage and violence. I would like to show you that.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-14 06:06 am (UTC)From:[Is it a bad idea to do such a thing in this space, so like her bedroom at home? Almost assuredly. And yet what he wants isn't so far from what she does too: something that isn't drenched in hedonism and sadism. Something easy and soft. Something intimate.
So she reaches for him, leaning up to kiss him. Not the spiteful, defiant kisses of the alley, but rather something soft, their lips meeting sweetly.]
no subject
Date: 2019-01-15 04:05 am (UTC)From:If I try to bite you, we must stop. You must vanish away. I do not want... I cannot stand that part of me being a part of this.
[This moment when he's trying so desperately to just be human again.]
no subject
Date: 2019-01-15 09:51 am (UTC)From:[She really will, too. Because he asks for his sake, not hers, and she has no problem with acquiescing to a desire like that.
She shifts, moving with his hand-- and then, impatient to the last, moves altogether, kicking off her boots and perching in his lap. It's much easier that way, in her opinion; she settles easily, her legs spreading a little, skirt rising as she leans up to kiss him again. It's still a slow kiss, for all she's in his lap. She has every intention of doing nothing but kissing, languid and heated, for a fair amount of time.]
no subject
Date: 2019-01-16 06:38 am (UTC)From:He'll try to take some control of the kiss, not quite acquiescing immediately to allowing Rosalind free reign over his mouth. He doesn't want her dealing with his fangs really, and that and his care with his claws likely make him come off as very hesitant in her arms.]
no subject
Date: 2019-01-16 06:42 am (UTC)From:She's panting when she pulls back, licking her lips and savoring how swollen they feel already. She draws in a breath, seems to think better of it, and instead:]
Help me with my dress?
[A question, not a demand-- and a far gentler way of easing into this than her simply stripping it off herself.]
no subject
Date: 2019-01-19 03:36 am (UTC)From:[His hands are already under her skirt, but he lifts them out to reach for her bodice and undo the hooks or buttons of it. He takes his time, looking up at her as he goes.]
I like your hair like this. It's... fire, the flames wrapped round you. Caressing, but never burning.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-19 04:29 am (UTC)From:So she's smiling, but it's not in mockery. Just pleasure, as the front of her dress falls open, revealing black lace and pale skin. He moves so slowly, taking his time, his fingers gentle as he pries open button after button, til at last she shifts, tugging the garment over her head.]
Few get to see it this way. I very rarely have it down.
[Even when she sleeps with others, she usually keeps it in a braid. Her fingers reach for him, sliding gently over his cheek, through his hair, before dropping down to tug at his shirt's buttons. She moves just as slowly as him, almost delicate in the way she bares him for her, her eyes locked on his throat, his chest-- and it's all very routine, if not intimate, until--]
Oh.
[She says it softly, entirely to herself, and presses her lips together a moment later, hating that she'd said anything.]
no subject
Date: 2019-01-20 06:06 pm (UTC)From:Nothing immediately jumps out at him. It's just his body.]
Is my... mark unusual?
[He cranes his neck a bit and sits up straighter to look down his own shirt, hands pausing on her.]
no subject
Date: 2019-01-20 08:18 pm (UTC)From:[This is stupid, and she goes a little red again.]
I wasn't expecting--
[She gestures impatiently-- and then, lest he take offense:]
I was, ah, expecting an academic's body. Not a soldier's.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-22 05:13 am (UTC)From:[Well. That's... a compliment. Certainly.]
I... I'd only just disembarked from the boat coming back from the front.
Thank you?
no subject
Date: 2019-01-22 05:18 am (UTC)From:I hadn't realized it was so soon after the war for you.
[But while she'd been embarrassed at her mistake, she isn't embarrassed by her attraction. Pushing his shirt off, she slides her fingers down his chest, over the sharp curve of his abdomen, biting her lip a little as she does.
She glances up at him, and it's with a great deal more warm amusement. She leans in, kissing him again-- and it's most certainly hungry this time, as her palms go flat against his shoulders, his chest, sliding over him in languid exploration.]
no subject
Date: 2019-01-23 06:18 am (UTC)From:With her top out of the way, he lets his own hands go wandering. He's touched her before, of course, pawed at her with desperate need, mind addled with mistletoe. But this is less a conquest and more a sortie. He lets his claws stroke, his icy fingers drag and tease, at her sides and up her back.
The compliment has freed him of some of his initial trepidation, as have Rosalind's ready lips. The temptation to bite her teases at the back of his mind. Just a nip, just a tiny bit of blood. It would barely be anything, and he suspects she'd rather enjoy it, masochist that she is.
They start to break for her to take a breath and Jonathan catches her lower lip with his teeth. One of his fangs rests just so, a little more pressure and she'll be bleeding.]
no subject
Date: 2019-01-23 06:32 am (UTC)From:She likes this, she finds. She likes going slow, sweet; she likes being able to arch her back and feel his cold fingers slide over her skin (and oh, she shudders, her nipples peaking in an instant; she leans forward, pressing herself against him, moaning softly at the contact).
His fang presses against her bottom lip, and she inhales sharply. It's beyond tempting to let him taste her. Just a tip of her head and he'd draw blood, and oh, she'd love that. She really would, and so would he.
But he made her promise that they wouldn't involve blood in this, and she values consent more and more here. With a sharp inhale she pulls back, licking her lip (still uncut).]
I don't mind. I'd like you to. But do you want that? To-- to taste me that way?
[Her hips keep rocking down gently, grinding against him, not so much teasing as simply keeping things going. The last thing she wants is for him to go stiff again, balking at the hint of sadism or vampirism.]
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