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[ALEKSANDRA]
As the August heat embraced her like a long lost lover, Aleksandra ran her fingers through her honey scented hair and stepped from the worn campus curb. The light to the office behind her flickered twice before it shut off, surrounding in her a darkness that would have been considered dangerous – had she still be human. Instead, she merely cast a glare over her shoulder at the cracked door, her hand itching to slam into the peeling wood and demand that the man on the other side to give her another chance. In the end, however, she forced herself to focus on the paved street ahead of her, the sound of her heels echoing off the surrounding brick as she hastily put distance between herself and Chef Diego.

She had been mad to believe she had what it took to train beneath one of Canada’s most prestigious chef’s. The second she had stepped into his office, with the moonlight reflecting off of his awards, and the scent of vanilla and smoke perfuming the air, she knew she had made a horrible mistake. Still, she had tucked her dress beneath her thighs and took claimed the chair across his desk, the cracked and worn leather filling her mind with images of a thousand other nervous, trembling applicants. As she hesitantly toed at the strap of her heel, Chef Diego had glared at her from over the rim of his glasses.

He had kept that glare on her until she felt bile rise up her throat, fingers digging into the chair until the leather broke beneath the strain. Now the marks on the old cushion made sense. The interview had lasted only a few minutes, but by the time she had broken through the exit, it had felt as though an eternity had passed. Now, as she made her way down the vacant street, she could finally breathe again. She wasn’t taking in oxygen to survive – she was breathing lungful after lungful of the humid air to remind her sanity that she /shouldn’t/ turn around, storm back into his office, and scream.

That would get her nowhere.

Rounding the next corner, she brushed her trembling fingers against the metal of the street sign, the sound of flaking rust assaulting her ears. Jerking her hand away, she rubbed her fingers together to remove some of the shards of metal from her skin, before glancing up as light began to illuminate the pavement. It wasn’t until she heard the steady beat of music that she realized where she had ended up. It was if her heart knew something her mind refused to believe, and instead of allowing her to go wallow in the silence of her empty apartment, it had lead her straight to her boyfriend’s door. That same boyfriend that she hadn’t seen since their first night together – the one that, while they texted a few times – they had barely spoken, either. It wasn’t as thought she had expected anything different.

She had her interview to prepare for, and he had his dance. They both knew that going in, and even with that knowledge in her mind, she couldn’t stop her feet from leading her towards the door. Tugging at her dress, she straightened the dark red material until it was in perfect condition, the deep v-neck pulling tight across her ample breasts. She had been told the interview required her to dress ‘appropriately’ and after a quick call to Stacy and two hundred dollars later, this was the result. While the length was tolerable, the way it wrapped around her body and accented her assets left her feeling exposed and vulnerable. The heels hadn’t helped, other than to add enough height so when she cowered beneath Chef Diego’s booming shouts and heated glare, she was still standing.

Approaching the studio’s vibrating door, she pressed her hand to it and carefully opened it. The memory of her first night there, stumbling in and making a fool of herself played in her mind, causing her to be cautious. This time, she stepped carefully over the threshold, and with her head held high, she made her way down the hall – and to his office, where she hoped he was – and not on the floor with the class.


[BLAIZE]
Laura -- dependable, hard-working Laura -- had called in sick. It was the last minute. She'd taken care of the afternoon classes but Blaize had woken to a frantic message; he had to take the evening class. Just this once. Had to, she hadn't had time to cancel it and she felt like death. Just the evening class, and she'd organise someone else to take the next day's classes. Blaize, unable to argue and with only fifteen minutes to get to the studio after sunset, begrudgingly drove helter-skelter to get there on time. The students had already gathered, waiting for Blaize to unlock the door; he'd grunted at them as he ushered them inside, voice lifting only to tell them that he was standing in tonight, and that they'd better be good.

When the class was almost over Blaize was at his wit's end. It had been a couple of nights since he and Aleksandra had been reunited; if he'd been thirsty then, he was ravenous now.

"Fourth position, Jessica! Fourth, not third! Christ. People ask me why I don't teach. When they ask me again I'll say 'Jessica Lippman is why I don't teach.' Jessica Lippman and people like her, who don't listen. Fourth position!" he said, striding across the front of the room. They were all slightly terrified, of course. They all knew exactly what the man was. The room was surrounded by mirrors and he appeared in none of them. The jig was up and Blaize really couldn't give any fucks. Not right now.

"Brett, buddy, you need to go to the gym every day, you hear me? You want to be a principal you need to be able to lift. You've focused too much on arm strength and not enough on leg strength. See? You're struggling to lift not because you lack upper body but because your legs are weak. How did you even get this far without knowing that? You fall in the middle of a life and it's not your career you're destroying, it's hers. Go, get out. Go to the goddamned gym. Alistair!" he called, calling up the only other boy and hoping that he at least had some sense. "Now, everyone... FOURTH f--" he staggered and stopped. The door had opened and a vision in red had wandered in. Not just any vision in red, but Aleksandra. Aleksandra in a dress fit for the devil. It was distracting, to say the least. Blaize's eyes followed her as she hot-footed it toward his office. Because he's stuttered for the first time that night, everyone else turned around, too. Two seconds later and Blaize remembered months ago the encounter with Aleksandra, her overwhelming anxiety, the way she'd hated the way people watched her -- whether they were or weren't.

"Oi! Eyes forward!" he bellowed. He sucked in a breath, ready to tell them to repeat what he'd told them before. His eyes flicked between them, their eyes wide, their faces read, sweat gathering at their shoulder blades and soaked into their hair, breathing heavy, their hearts a cacophonous melody of potential meals that he could not have. He glanced at the clock over the door. "**** it. You get an early mark. Go," he snapped. There were numerous sighs of relief. No one talked aside from the few mutters and mumbles, none of which Blaize chose to pay any attention to. While they filed off to the locker room, Blaize crossed the space and headed for his office.


[ALEKSANDRA]
It was the shouting that alerted her to his mood – the way his voice echoed off the walls and caused the mirrors to tremble slightly. “Poor things,” she chuckled, though her eyes were downcast as she wound her way across the various overturned bags, towels and tossed aside t-shirts. She had felt their stares the moment he had noticed her, the way her skin tightened – and not from pleasure. Already, there were a thousand small bugs crawling through her veins, and her throat felt as if it were closing up. Digging her painted nails – red – into her palms, she hissed in a breath – and released it, when she heard his next words, the command holding enough power that it threatened to shatter glass.

Instantly, the weight of their curious, frightened stares was lifted, and she was able to pull air into her useless lungs. The panic that had started to grip her mind eased, and in its place was curiosity. He had been known to watch the crew – not join them. He had never stood at the front of the class, yet there he was, his body wrapped in his usual attire, his face hard – and his eyes frosted. Where there was a usual chill in the air, tonight it had been filled with a powerful heat, his frustration evident in every move and angered growl as he watched his crew flee for their lives the moment he dismissed them.

Pressing her hand through her thick hair, she kept it pulled over her shoulder as she stepped into the sanctuary of his office, her bright eyes closing for a moment as she took a steadying breath. Her hands slipped across her dress, brushing a few pieces of imaginary dust from the fabric before she leaned into the desk, fingers curling around the edge of the treated wood with an embrace tight enough to whiten her knuckles. She didn’t understand why she was nervous – she had just been with him – but the closer she felt him approach, the more her nerves ignited. Would he have changed his mind? Was he mad that she had – once again – interrupted his class?

With her back to the door, she clutched the desk tighter and waited for him to enter.


[BLAIZE]
The students weren't all terrified. Only the meek were afraid of Blaize of Monroe, and they were the ones who wouldn't make it in this industry. There were a couple, however, who had the stamina and the guts to push their way up the ranks of the elite, and it was one of these who watched Blaize's trajectory and let out a loud wolf whistle, one that echoed in the confines of the vast studio. Blaize grinned and turned; there was Alexis and Alistair, both glistening with sweat, red-faced but beaming. They'd taken the beating Blaize and given them and were thrilled because of it, not disheartened. They still had the adrenaline, the energy, to retain their happiness. And to know that he was just a tough teacher -- which didn't always mean he was an asshole all year around.

"You get that ***, Monroe!" Alexis called, and Blaize merely waved them off as he slipped into the office and closed the door behind him. Whatever horrid mood he'd been in had lessened the moment he'd seen Aleksandra, and had eased even more as Alexis and Alistair reminded him that not all the students were complete ******* idiots.

Aleksandra had her back to him when he entered and he gave her very little opportunity to turn and face him. As soon as they were closed off from the studio he had his hands around her -- one snaked around her waist, and the other slid up between her breasts until his fingers were lightly curled around her neck. A neck that he nipped playfully before he mumbled at her ear;

"I thought I was joking when I called you a distraction..." he said. His flesh rested against hers where the dress revealed a triangle of torso. The dress left very little to the imagination and, of course, he thought it was all for him.


[ALEKSANDRA]
There was a downfall to being a vampire – the heightened senses. Smell, sight, and hearing. It wouldn’t have mattered were to door shut or open – she would have heard the shrill whistle, the shouted words that spilled from the dancer’s tongue like gasoline to the flame of her anxiety. The ignition of her panic wasn’t completely negative – the room didn’t start to shake, the lights didn’t flicker. The only change was her embrace on the desk, the wood threatening to chip beneath her fingers and the violent fluttering of butterfly wings as they brushed frantically against her rib cage. “Get it together.”

Her words were a quiet whisper as she slowly began to uncurl her fingers, splinters of wood floating to the ground. There wasn’t enough damage for a normal person to take notice to, but she wasn’t positive on how strongly the attention was he played to miniscule, inane details such as the cracks in his desk. It was only a matter of seconds between the perverse words and the way her body thrummed with electricity when his arms wrapped around her body. His touch was like a balm, soothing the frantic pulse of her anxiety as it flooded through her veins. As his teeth scraped against her neck, she bit into her lip to quiet the soft sound of pleasure that that threatened to escape her throat, fingers reaching up.

Curling them around his wrist – she didn’t pull him from her – and instead, reached them higher so they could tangle into his hair. “You should have known better. Is this going to be a problem for you?” Her words were breathless as she chuckled, the evident tension of her night slowly easing from her muscles as she leaned back into him, one hand in his hair, the other resting over his against her skin. “Did you miss me?”


[BLAIZE]
Blaize could feel it as soon as he had touched her, the way her body was tensed. Why? It amused him that his students were afraid of him, but if Aleksandra was... but no. He didn't think about it. She'd just walked through a crowded studio where all eyes had been on her, even if for a short time. His mind raced to catch up with him, seeking the memory of their texts. He remembered now. Where he'd assumed this special outfit was just for him, perhaps it wasn't. She'd been doing other things before she'd come here, and surely if this had been a set up she'd have been face him when he came through the door, coy and seductive. The tension in her skin, he assumed, had to have more to do with her activities before arriving than with him.

The question shouldn't have caught him off guard but it did; he considered the way he had Aleksandra wrapped up in his arms, the way he didn't want to let her go. He felt the way his body responded to the gentle touch of her fingers in his hair. The thirst he felt had him wanting to flip tables and smash windows at the slightest provocation, but as soon as he'd seen Aleksandra he'd felt better. When had he ever missed someone? Besides Lyonel, of course.

"I think I did," he finally replied, barely able to mask his own surprise. He leaned back, encouraging Aleksandra to turn around so that she could face him. So that he could see her face, her expression, and whatever clues her eyes might hold. "Did you... you had an interview tonight, right? How did that go?" he asked, bright, moss-green eyes sweeping down the length of her body again; his hair was ruffled and spiked where she had pushed her fingers through it, his cheek bones sharp. The line of his mouth was as soft as it could be, however, brow arched somewhat dubiously.


[ALEKSANDRA]
“I missed you, too.” There was no pre-amble in the admittance. The words, soft spoken, danced easily from her tongue. She had no reason to lie or pretend around him. Even if her back was to him, eyes hidden behind thick lashes, he would feel the truth in the way her fingers scraped against his skull. Savoring the feeling of his arms around her for a moment longer, she expected his hold to loosen. It was as if he had read her mind, the strong band of his arms relaxing, allowing her the room she needed to turn, her fingers lifting to intertwine behind his neck. Even there, she kept them in his hair as she studied the softened curve of his lips and the mixed emotions in the green of his eyes.

She didn’t know what he saw when he looked at her. She couldn’t convince herself that her eyes weren’t turbulent, that the blue didn’t resemble an ocean in the midst of a category five hurricane. She wouldn’t lie to herself and tell her that her smile held that same tender warmth that she realized was reserved for him – or that her expression was still soft, as if she’d never faced a hardship. “It went,” she began, her voice hoarse as her throat thickened from the tears she refused to cry. It frustrated her! It was embarrassing, how she had stood in front of Chef Diego, and allowed him to tear her down.

Running her tongue along her lower lip, she dropped her gaze as her shoulders slumped. “I don’t understand. I am far more qualified than any other applicant, but he…” When she laughed, the sound was bitter, and her eyes were once more on his, the defeat shining bright. “He’s always treated me like I was trash, but tonight, baby, it was… I swear, I can still feel his glare as he all but laughed be out of the office. It was just awful.”


[BLAIZE]
It went, she said, and Blaize knew that meant it was nothing good. Nothing great, anyway. Though sometimes he wished he were a fly on the wall with Aleksandra; he wondered if her anxiety didn't get the better of her, and that these situations weren't as bad as she thought. Not that he would tell Aleksandra this; not with the way her voice thickened, as if she were holding something back. She was upset. Blaize didn't have to know how to date to know not to dismiss a woman's emotions. And he had only to continue to listen to Aleksandra to instead dismiss the idea that she was overreacting.

"I don't like him," Blaize said. Outside, he could hear the laughter of the students as they all slowly filtered out. It was easy for them to laugh when he wasn't glaring at them or insulting their poses. But he paid them no mind, his attention fully upon Aleksandra. His hand drifted, fingers light as a feather as he caressed the rise of her chest, eventually resting over her collarbone, tickling at her neck, thumb brushing over the lobe of her ear. He was still completely mesmerized by the dress, by the way it clung and pushed, the way it fit so damned well. This was what she wore to the interview? And she was laughed out of the office? Was the guy blind?! Not that it mattered, no. He wouldn't mention that. Nothing should be given to her because of the way she looked. It should be given to her because of her talent. And she was right.

"He's threatened by you, obviously. Why do you need him?" he asked. He didn't know how the cooking world worked. "Start your own place. Do you actually honestly need him?" he asked. "I'll go talk to him. If you do," Blaize said. He tried to keep his voice steady, he tried to keep the anger out of it. Tried not to let her know that 'talking' to Diego was the least of what he wanted to do.


[ALEKSANDRA]
His touch danced across her skin, each brush of his fingers causing the tension to flee, as if frightened by the calming, almost seductive power of his grazes. “I used to,” she said, honesty sparking in her eyes. “When I first met him, I thought he walked on water. He was amazing.” Tipping her head back, she rose up on her tip toes – even in heels, she was still small – and brushed her lips over his jaw. “Of course, then he decided to open his mouth, and he was tarnished. I still had to learn from him.” She realized she was rambling, each word falling off her tongue in a quiet whisper as she tilted her head into his touch.

“I need him if I want to make it on my own. Think of your dancers. Some of them are talented, they could make it on their own – but without your teachings, without your name, how far would they make it?” Shrugging a shoulder, she leaned back into the desk, her hands sliding along his side, nails scraping absently against his tattoo. Absently tracing the design, she chuckled quietly. “I doubt having my boyfriend defend my honor would gain me any points. It’d probably make it worse, to be honest. He likes to think the women of us his class have no one else, that we /need/ him.” Her tone turned bitter then, and she shook her head as her lips found the corner of his. At first, it was a simple touch.

She was quickly reminded of the taste, however, as the power electrified her veins. Turning her head, she brushed her lips over his, and deepened the kiss, fingers winding into his hair. Pulling back – though not far - after a minute, she smiled delicately and ran her fingers over his jaw. “Thank you, though. If it ever gets too much, I will gladly tell you where to find him. I just needed you tonight. I’m sorry for distracting you.”


[BLAIZE]
Blaize did think about his students. He thought about himself as a student -- and suddenly, just like that, the calm expression slipped. His mouth snapped shut, his jaw twitching as his teeth ground together. There were things he had endured as a student, things no young teenager should ever have to endure for their passion, and yet he had done so. Eventually the culprit had been caught, he was reprimanded, fired -- if only Blaize could get his revenge, now.

When Aleksandra kissed him, he relaxed only a little. Her words bounded around in his head, tangled with memories from the past. Aleksandra was older than he had been when he'd been taken advantage of. She would know how to fight back if it got that far, wouldn't she? She would tell someone, rather than keep it to herself like Blaize had. Blaize, who'd thought he would not be able to achieve his dream if he didn't keep silent, if he didn't stay.

"I want you always to distract me for things like this, okay? If he touches you, you will tell me," he said. That a man should prey only on the women, as if it gave him some kind of power trip to lord it over the 'weaker' sex -- he was a slug, slimy and detrimental to the ecosystem. And he should be eradicated. Not that it crossed Blaize's mind that he would kill the guy. Blaize wasn't a murderer, not on purpose. Suffice to say, it was probably a good thing that he did not know where Diego lived. The grip tightened where his fingers were hooked at Aleksandra's neck, and at her waist. An insistent grip, not a violent one. "I'd say it's not worth it to suffer for your art, but that would make me a hypocrite. Just... don't let it go too far. Okay?"


[ALEKSANDRA]
His emotions were as sudden and volatile as the storm that had brought them together – from the way his expression turned thunderous, to the flash of anger in the green of his eyes. Quickly, she began to search her memory, turning over each second that had passed from the moment she had walked into the studio, attempting to pin-point what could have erased the serenity. Her lips parted on a soft gasp, the word in her mind, but refusing to form on her tongue. Did she ask what happened, did she let it go?

The question spun chaotically in her mind and danced in her eyes, but she never removed her touch. Instead, the pad of her thumb brushed along his jaw, each touch one designed to ease the tension. “It’s okay,” she finally whispered, her glossed lips finding their way once more to his. It was just a quick touch, one meant to soothe, and soon she was back on her heels. The sounds of laughter and voices traveled from beneath the door, reminding her that they weren’t alone – at least for now. Somehow, she needed to reel him back in, to melt the ice that had frosted his gaze.

“You know that I will,” she began, her second hand lifting from his chest to reach into his hair. Her nails pulled over the nape of his neck, tracing a slow design to try and relax the tensed muscles. Releasing a quiet breath, she remained still, even as his fingers tightened against her skin. There was no flare of panic as his fingers tightened on her skin. The touch wasn’t threatening. Her expression was calm, and despite the slightest hint of darkening in the blue of her eyes, she seemed unbothered. “I won’t, sweetheart, I promise. He won’t hurt me, okay? It’s going to be fine.” Pulling her hand from his cheek, she curled her fingers around the wrist that held her throat, her touch gentle as she peered up at him.


[BLAIZE]
Blaize took a deep breath, allowing the stagnant air of the office to fill his lungs; more, he pulled in Aleksandra's scent and allowed her presence and her reassuring words, her touch, to convince him that it would be alright. His fury was for Aleksandra alone; his own past was gone, dusted, water under the bridge. But he knew what it was like, to want to succeed and to do so at any cost. He knew how passionate Aleksandra could be. And if he could save her from the same hardships, then at least it all won't have been for nothing.

Not that it was for nothing anyway -- he had succeeded. His name was known in the world of ballet, hushed in quiet locker rooms and in the offices of the elite. Not only because of his talent, either. The world outside of Harper Rock may remain oblivious or unbelieving of the vampires that inhabited this small Canadian city, but that didn't stop the rumours.

The tension in Blaize's muscles eased where Aleksandra touched him; the breath he'd been holding was released, jaw unclenching. "Good," he said. On the surface he had relaxed, but deep down he held that anger, the distrust of the man Aleksandra hoped to work with. His hand dropped from her neck, both hands now upon her waist; the fabric there was tight. A lingering kiss was stolen, before he pushed back, putting enough space between them that he could again appraise Aleksandra's choice of outfit. "You look... phwa..." he said, barely able to put into words how good he thought she looked.

"Too good to be hanging around a dance studio. Should I get dressed? Should we go somewhere...?"


[ALEKSANDRA]
Watching as the tension began to seep from his muscles, she trailed the smooth tip of one nail across his jaw before resting her hand on the center of his chest. His control in all things was mesmerizing, the power that he wrapped around himself like a second skin was addicting. Only seconds ago, his eyes had been lined with anger, lips hardened with stress, and now he was looking at her as if she was the finest thing he'd ever seen - or, at least, that was what her mind believed.


“I think I like you just like this,” she chuckled, fingers drumming against his chest before she shook her head. It was that easy to lose herself in that electricity that hummed to life whenever he was near. The moments spent locked in Diego’s heated office, squirming beneath his perverse, twisted glare was forgotten the second Blaize had swept his radiant gaze over her dress. He had been in the back of her mind when she purchased it, and she'd be lying if she tried to say she hasn't chosen it with his reaction dancing around her skull.

Pulling her fingers from his hair, she dropped both hands to the desk, her palms already aching with the need to touch him again. Instead, she curled her fingers over the edge, her head tilting back so she could smile at him. The days from him had been too much - but as much as she wanted to hook her legs about his waist and kiss him until he was begging for her, she didn't. This was all so new to him - and it part, to her, too. She didn't want to push him, to make him uncomfortable or to turn him off.

“What do you want to do, love?” The question was quietly hummed as she tightened her hold on the desk, eyes locked on his as she pulled her lower lip between her teeth. The soft skin was once again abused by her, body adjusting against the desk as she arched her back. It was a self-conscious movement, one meant to stretch out the muscles in her back, and it wasn't until the material of her dress tightened over her torso - and pulled against her chest - that she realized how it might look. Biting harder into her lip, she slowly resumed her original position, one hand moving to dust at her dress.


[BLAIZE]
There were a few contributing factors that led Blaize to believe that Aleksandra didn't want to leave the studio at all. There was no storm outside tonight. They had power. A couple of dancers could still be heard talking loudly to each other, their voices echoing from the locker room. They weren't completely alone, though they would be, soon enough. That dress which fit Aleksandra in all the right ways was only accentuating everything she had to offer, the way she presented herself to him now; that lip caught between her teeth that he wished was instead caught between his, that stretch of fabric over a chest that he'd only glimpsed, naked, for half a second becore it had been covered by his nightshirt. Now he just wanted to rip the dress free, careless of who might walk in on them or that he was technically still on the clock.

"What do I want to do..." he hummed, as if it were a particularly hard question. In fact, it was harder than he had immediately assumed. "I want to do the same thing I wanted to do to you nights ago, but resisted out of respect. What I would have done, had we not got in the car and driven home. Because if it's respect I want to give to you, it's not going to be given in this room. Or on that desk..." he said. In fact, now that he looked at the desk he thought of Ruelle. Regardless of whether she and him had even entered the office, it was as if the studio were already tainted with his past deeds. It reminded him of all the ways he shouldn't treat Aleksandra, if she was to be his only. He blinked, tearing his eyes from Aleksandra's body even as he took another step back. On the chair in front of the desk was his bag, on top of which was tossed the clothes he'd driven to work in that night. Clothes he should change back into.

"Otherwise, I don't know. What to boyfriends and girlfriends do together? We can't exactly go to a restaurant..." he said. They couldn't have a nice candlelit dinner anywhere. "A movie? Bowling?" When was the last time he had done either? "I think the last movie I saw was... I can't actually remember..." he trailed off, reaching for his shirt. Now he was just trying to find ways to distract himself.




[ALEKSANDRA]
The voices just outside the door should have been enough incentive for her to leave. He had a job to do – he had his passion, his career. Dance was his life – and she intruded upon it. His students deserved his undivided attention, that same attention he was giving her now. Of course, she could only hope that the heat that had entered his eyes as he studied her was absent when he watched his dancers. Dance was embedded in his soul. She never wanted to take that away from him, nor did she ever want to be the reason he faltered. His passion for his dream was one of the reasons she wanted him as she did. It was something they shared, one of the things they couldn’t live without. Even though she knew she should walk away – she should tell him to meet her at his apartment, she didn’t move.

She was his distraction – and he was quickly becoming her addiction.

Releasing a quiet sigh, she raked her fingers through her hair, the silken strands bouncing freely as her hand dropped back to the desk, fingers curling around the edge of the wood. His eyes burned as his gaze washed over her skin, heating her from the inside – and she didn’t seem to mind. “You mean, this desk?” She had no idea what she was doing – she knew she shouldn’t play with fire, but as it had been the first night, she couldn’t seem to control herself. Gripping the edge of the desk, she jumped up, her motions fluid enough to appear graceful. Once she was seated, she leaned back, palms pressed to the cool wood as she casually crossed one leg over her knee, heel dangling precariously from her toes.

“What makes you think I’m the desk sort of girl?” Amusement sparkled in her eyes, brightening the blue as it vanquished the residing panic that the evening had caused. It only grew as she watched him pull further from her, the distance between them increasing until she was left feeling frozen. “I can’t imagine you sitting for hours in a dark theatre and keeping your hands to yourself,” she chuckled. “We could, though. We could also rent a movie, go back to my place, and I could change.” Her gaze never wavered, even as she traced her nails over the hem of her dress idly. “Or we could go dancing? If you’re truly free, though. I don’t want to take you from your work. I can always wait.”

[BLAIZE]
"Why... are you always going to do this to me?" Blaize asked even as he pulled the shirt over his shoulders. He moved by instinct, by habit -- he'd been dressing himself since he was six years old and he knew how it went. Every nerve was telling him he was going the wrong way, that he shouldn't be getting dressed. And yet, even with a t-shirt covering his torso, he was still wearing tights. The tights would have to come off if he was going to blend in to the world outside. Blaize was suddenly understanding what it was like to be indecisive, and it was wrong. It went against his common behaviour. His thumbs slipped beneath the waistline of his pants, breath sucked in.

If she could tease him the way she was, then he could do the same. He didn't even bother to turn away as he peeled the tights over his backside, as he pulled them down and tugged them from one foot, and then the other. "I don't know what kind of girl you are. I'm still finding out," he said, grabbing at his jeans to pull them on. She hadn't taken the option of the movies or bowling, and instead had offered him two more. The dark jeans were fastened at his hips, looser than usual given his semi-malnourished state. He had to find the belt in order to keep the jeans from falling off completely.

"Rent? Who rents these days...?" he asked, absently. Didn't she have a topbox? Something that would connect to the internet through which they could hire a movie, digitally? Or was she still living in the dark ages, with a DVD player attached to her TV? He did think that Aleksandra's place was probably warmer than his place. He was stuck on the idea of renting. Stuck on the idea of Aleksandra's place. And yet she'd also suggested dancing. "And you think I'll be able to keep my hands to myself in a club? It would be no different to a theatre..." he said. Regardless of where they went or what they did, the chances of him keeping his hands to himself were enormously slim. He glanced down at his attire.

"... I'm not dressed for dancing."


[ALEKSANDRA]
The sudden shift in the air was all it took for the slender brunette to slide from the desk, her heels connecting silently with the cool tile of the floor. “What kind of question is that? What am I doing to you?” Her voice was quiet, even as that familiar guilt reared its head. Had her thoughts been loud enough for him to pick up on? She wasn’t entirely sure of the powers he possessed – but that question, posed in his usual calm, unassuming tone, had sent a quick spark of shame through her chest. It was her anxiety, she told herself quietly, even as her eyes watched every quick movement he made.

Pressing her hand through her hair, she didn’t notice when she began to fidget, her fingers dancing across her lip, her arm, before she began to drum them against the bared skin of her torso. Her eyes burned, and she had no idea why. It was the curse. It was the voices outside, the whistle from before. It was the hum of the lights, the steady footfalls as the dancers prepared to leave, the bass of the music. Pair it with the reaction she had when he began to undress, the flash of skin, the strength of his muscle that she wanted to slide her hands over, she was nearing insanity at a breakneck pace. She refused to give herself /that/ glimpse, however, the one that would forever be burned into her mind.

It was too soon for that – though she was beginning to doubt her own control – and she wasn’t prepared. “I wouldn’t worry too much. You might never figure me out,” she laughed, thankful that the sound of her voice wasn’t as chaotic as her inner emotions. Making her way across the floor, she slid her hands along his chest, quickly straightening out the collar of his t-shirt before she smiled. “That would be me, sweetheart. College student, remember? I’m a waitress. I can barely afford my rent and my tuition, so my cheap, archaic DVD player is all I have.” She wasn’t ashamed by her stance. It was how she had to live – it was what she had prepared for when she had trekked from Australia to Canada.

Taking a step back, she took his ‘I’m not dressed for that’ statement as another excuse to drink him in, teeth sinking once more into her lower lip as she chuckled. “You’re still hot enough to get attention, especially with the way you move,” she vowed, before tapping her nails against her lower lip. “I don’t know, you seem to be doing a pretty decent job of keeping your hands off me right now. My place it is, though, I just realized I can’t dance, and I’d rather have you to myself for the evening.”


[BLAIZE]
He hadn't been very clear. Blaize knew that -- but the question had been rhetorical. The kind of question people didn't ask out loud. It was the kind of question they asked themselves in a bid to try to figure it out. It wasn't a question he expected Aleksandra to be able to answer, because if she could, that would mean she was completely aware of what she was doing. That would mean she was doing it on purpose. Was that possible? Blaize peered at the brunette curiously. Could she be that cunning? No, she seemed genuinely perplexed.

"Mm. It's called willpower," he said, referring to her statemenet about his hands and their distance from her body. Could she seriously doubt herself while wearing that dress? In equal measure, however, he did not feel her hands on him, either. Her hands did not stop him from getting dressed (nor undressed, though why would she?). Blaize flicked his hair from his eyes and straightened, shoulders squared. He knew he could dance. And he knew he could thank her for the compliment, though he didn't. That was not the way Blaize functioned. He didn't thank people for telling the truth. It was cocky. He'd been called cocky. It was a flaw he was willing to embrace.

"Truth is, I don't want to keep my hands off you but I'd prefer to go somewhere I can explore your curves properly, not in this office. It's not a very nice office," he said, looking around. It was old. It needed to be refurbished. It was where he dealt with drug dealers and desperate students. One could almost smell the desperation in the air, the sweat from both the nervous buyers and the overworked dancers. There was mould in the left wall, seeping through from the locker rooms and showers next door. "I'm not an indecisive person but you keep throwing me for a loop. I don't know where to put my next step and that's fatal, for a dancer. So yes, I would like to go back to your place with you. And no, I don't want to stop and rent a movie because honestly I think it's just pretense. It's just going to be background noise," he said. He tried to picture it. And he didn't want the background noise, either. If they were going back to her place there was only one thing on his mind, and he wanted no distractions.

"But, if you want to keep going slow -- and that's your prerogative -- then we'll go dancing. And you'll fly, at my side," he said.


[ALEKSANDRA]
When he tore his gaze from her to study the office, she took that brief moment of reprieve to pull a lungful of stale air into her lungs. Feeling the dead organs contract, she held her breath and fought to control the panic that filled her mind at the nine words he had strung together with ease. To him, they might not have meant anything – he might not have realized the effect they would have, but when he spoke of not wanting to keep his hands from her, he ignited a complex fire that couldn’t be doused.

On one hand, she wanted to tell him to hell with the stance of the office and crawl back onto the desk – while on the other; she wanted to step away, to put enough distance between them that temptation was no longer a factor. Of course, she doubted that would even be the case. Being in the same building with him, even across the room, where she couldn’t reach him – he would still be tempting. Doubt filtered into her thoughts, and she found herself wrapping her arms across her stomach. As she twisted her nails into the fabric of her dress, she studied his profile, teeth abusing her lip until it tore. If she gave in – would he stay with her? What if this was just a physical thing? What if she wasn’t /good/ enough?

The doubts were as cliché as the break-up lines Lance had fed her, and she raked her fingers through her hair, nose crinkling at the bitter taste of her blood on her tongue. It was then that she realized he was still speaking, and her eyes focused on his lips while her mind quickly pieced together his sentence. “Relationships aren’t like dance, love,” she reminded him gently, her hand reaching to brush through his hair as her worried smile turned warm. “You’re meant to be off balance. You’re not the only one on uneasy ground here. Remember that.” She hoped her words wouldn’t scare him off – but she couldn’t allow him to think that everything was going to be easy. It wasn’t. Nothing about their relationship was going to be simple and quick, nor were they always going to have the answers. That included her.

“I think someone is a little presumptuous. What part of going back to my place said that we were going to do anything other than cuddle on the couch?” Her voice was light, and she laughed as she scraped her nails gently against his skull. It was that damned temptation again – she couldn’t stop.


[BLAIZE]
The difference in height was noticable when they stood so close, side by side. He looped his arms loosely around Aleksandra's waist as her fingers once again found his hair, his eyes rolling behind closed eyelids momentarily as he indulged in the sensation -- like a puppy gifted an ear rub. "But they are a dance," he murmured, arguing back not for the sake of arguing but because that's not how he saw it. "To someone watching, a ballet isn't an opera of mathematics and timing. It's... passion. It's heartbreak and despair, joy, fear -- the whole rainbow of human emotion. Dance is fraught with both love and tension. Isn't that what a relationship is supposed to be?" he asked.

"Full of tension and... presumption," he added, dropping his hands from Aleksandra's waist and holding them up, surrendering, shifting on his feet. Did he want to go back to her apartment just to snuggle and cuddle on the couch, to watch a movie he may or may not have had any interest in watching? There was never the urge to sit in front of the TV for the sake of it. He never went to a movie theatre. If he did happen to find himself sitting in front of a television he flicked channels constantly, unable to settle on one thing, always thinking about other things that he could be doing.

"I'd ask if we could at least make out, but..." he shrugged, and sighed. It had started as a joke but the innuendo was lost on him. So he had been presumptuous. He had been honest and his honesty had only led to a sort-of rejection. There was that voice in the back of his head telling him to decline. He had a dance to choreograph. If she wanted, she could stay and watch. But his eyes were hooked on hers and, as much as he couldn't promise that he'd entirely keep his hands to himself, he conceded. "... is that what couples do? Snuggle on the couch?" he asked. If he'd had time to see anyone about it, growing up, they might very well have diagnosed the dancer with some form of ADD. He tried to look at it as a challenge -- a challenge to see how long he could sit still for.


[ALEKSANDRA]
When his arms came around her, the tension began to ease almost instantaneously. There was something about his touch that calmed the demons in her mind, as if he was the only one in the world that could frighten away the curse she had been plagued with since birth. Tipping her head back, she watched him quietly as he spoke, his passion for his words reflecting in his eyes. It caused the green to glow, and she wondered if he had ever noticed it himself – before he lost the ability to see his reflection.

“You’re right,” she conceded, her fingers still working through his hair, even when he began to pull back. “I didn’t think of it that way.” She knew that it wasn’t often he heard he was wrong – in this case, however, he wasn’t. His description of love and dance was far more accurate than something she could ever concoct, and she shook her head as her own hands finally fell from him, fingers now tugging anxiously through her own hair. The smooth chocolate strands slipped from her fingers and danced around her shoulders, before she gathered them up and began that familiar, nervous braid.

Allowing it to fall from her hand, she kept it over her shoulder before reaching forward, fingers carefully lacing with his to pull him back towards her. Once he was close enough, she stepped back into his embrace, that hold on his hands easing his arms back around her waist. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” Pressing her lips to his throat, she gave the sensitive skin a quick bite before offering him a quick kiss. “It is one of the many things couples do together. It often leads to other things, if you play your cards right. If you’re sure you’re truly finished for the evening, we can get going. I don’t live too far away.”


[BLAIZE]
There are times that people will consider things in a mock way; they'll narrow their eyes and tilt their head from side to side as if considering something that the other person already knew the answer to. When Blaize did it, however, he was serious. Was he truly finished for the night? In the end, as much as he couldn't keep his hands from Aleksandra, he wouldn't be angry if there was no sex tonight. He didn't go out on a nightly basis looking for sex. Once a month, maybe, if that, he would find a woman to sleep with and discard. He could do without. There were things he could do -- he was never finished, not really. But they hadn't seen each other in two nights. He'd been so busy with his unfinished routine ... and **** was going to hit the fan if he didn't give a little, right?

And he wanted to give a little. That he was considering meant that he wanted to give a little. If he didn't care, if this relationship wasn't something he wanted to try, then he would have already walked away. He would have already told Aleksandra that he had routine to finish. And wouldn't it have sounded silly if he said he didn't have time to sit and watch a movie? They were vampires. They had eternity. And besides, that nip to his neck sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine that he just could not resist. Where she'd wound his arms back around her waist, his grip resisted moving further south. If nothing else could be said about the red dress, it certainly did highlight Aleksandra's assets.

"I can be finished. I'm finished," he said. He'd already changed out of his tights. "I've just got to lock up," he said. He tugged his lower lip between his teeth -- a lip cracked as if dehydrated. He chewed at a piece of the dried skin, tempted to ask how one goes about playing their cards right. But he knew he could figure it out. Don't push. Be respectful. Let her choose the movie. That kind of thing, right? He ducked low for another kiss, and pulled back just enough that his lips hovered a breath away from hers. "You know we've got to let each other go, again. If we're going to get anywhere..."


[ALEKSANDRA]
Unable to keep her hands still, she began to drum her fingers against his spine, her ever watchful gaze noting the way he tilted his head. The narrowing of his eyes almost made her smile. If he had given her a direct answer, had laced their fingers and tugged her to the door, she would have stopped. If he had done anything other than take those precious moments to analyze the question, to weigh the pros and cons of her offer – his answer wouldn’t have been genuine. She had been at his side long enough to know that he wasn’t someone that did things on a whim. He had made that clear, just minutes earlier, when he had accused her of putting him off-balance. Of course, thinking back on it now, she couldn’t bring herself to truly feel guilt over making him miss a few steps of his routine.

When it came to her – and her alone – she wanted him unsteady.

As his continued to process in his own way, she ran her tongue over her lower lip, the taste of her strawberry gloss still prominent, even after the affection they had shared and hours of wear. Filing the note away to mention to her best friend, she moved her hands up his back until she found his hair once again. Her fingers tangled gently into the shortened strands, and she kept still. It wouldn’t be fair for her to further entice him to her side, especially if he /did/ have a dance to finish. It didn’t matter that she wanted to scrape her nails across his skull, pull him down to her, and kiss him for centuries. It was a choice he had to come up with – without any further help from her. So, she remained still.

When he finally spoke, his words breaking the silence and causing a warm smile to grace her features, she nodded. “I can help you lock up. If there’s anything you need me to do,” she offered, her mind turning to the list of things /she/ had to do when it came to closing time. Bussing tables, washing dishes, mopping the floors, cleaning out the trash – the list was endless. Of course, this was a dance studio, and not a cheap, twenty-four hour diner that worked her to the bone. Had she still been human, she was certain she’d have been dead of exhaustion by now. Clearing the thoughts from her mind – with the help of his kiss – she tenderly swiped her tongue across the rough flesh of his lip.

He needed to feed. It was clear in every part of his body, from the rough lips to his baggy clothes. He needed sustenance – and already, as he pulled back, his lips taunting her for another kiss, she began to calculate a plan. It would take a few nights, but she would figure it out. She would just have to keep an eye on him until then – which, with the way he was looking at her – wouldn’t be that difficult. Leaning up, she pulled him back to her, lips claiming his for another kiss that lasted far longer than it should have. She lost herself in the taste of him for a moment, and when she finally broke free, she grinned.

“You’re the one with the control. Remember?”


[BLAIZE]
Blaize looked around and shook his head. "I have a janitor on staff," he said. "I'll make sure all the showers are off I suppose, turn off the lights, lock the doors. That's it," he said. It wasn't really the dance studio that made him his money; it was the background business that was both intricate and easy. Drugs were always in demand, always needed. Blaize had never partook, and he was glad of it. He was glad that he'd never had an addiction he'd had to lose. His addiction was one that passed over into eternity; an addiction to the Art of Movement. Which could be transcribed in many ways.

The lights remained on, however, and if there were showers dripping they continued with their minute cadence while the two danced their dance of reluctance and indulgent care. While Aleksandra kissed him, Blaize's hand shifted lower, fingers digging in. Oh, how much he wanted to lift her up, to let that dress ride higher while her legs wrapped around his waist. Just like he was shouting at Brett earlier about the gym and lower body strength, Blaize had it in spades. He could hold Aleksandra for hours and feel no fatigue.

But, he didn't. The kiss broke and she told him he was in control, to which Blaize shook his head. "No, I said you were in control. You make the decisions. But, I can see you can't be trusted," he said with a wink. "Showers, lights, lock up. Are we going to the video store?" he asked, slipping out of Aleksandra's reach as he shoved his tights into his back and zipped it up, retrieving the studio keys from a side pocket. Video shop. They used to go often when he was a kid, before he found his obsession. It was a weekend thing, mostly -- he'd go with his mother after school, when there was no homework on the weekend. The video shop was always a treat. They mostly hired VHS, and it was such an exciting time when DVDs started to take over. Still, he was stuck in the habit -- video store. There was a back door which led through to a back room, small as it was, but it was where the unsavoury business was conducted. Blaize checked the deadbolts to make sure they were secure, before slinging the messenger bag over his shoulder.

On his way out of the office he flicked off the lights -- and assumed that Aleksandra was in pursuit.


[ALEKSANDRA]
“You should know by now that when it comes to you, I am /never/ to be trusted,” she teased, hands dropping from his hair so she could scrape her nails against the back of his neck. He was right. If things were to go any further, they’d need to move from his office. She didn’t want to think about what had occurred on the desk she had sat on minutes before, or why the air was thick with the scent of sweat and desperation. How many hearts had he broken behind that door? Not just women, either, but dancers. How many students had been rushed from here, head down in shame? She could almost picture it in her mind, the stern glare of his gaze, the harsh curve of his lips. He was gorgeous.

Realizing that she had lost herself in her thoughts again, she shifted beneath his strong grasp, the fingers in her skin a promise of things to come – if she allowed it to go that far. The longer she stood, her body pressed to his, her lips aching to brush over his skin, she wanted to give in. In that second, she wouldn’t care about the broken hearts, the women, or the tears – she just wanted to feel him. How could one man drive her as far to the edge as he had in such a small amount of time? The more she was with him, the more she lost sight of her sanity – and she didn’t seem to mind. Stepping into him, she nipped at his jaw with a quiet chuckle, before finally dropping her arms so he could pull away. He had the control.

“We can,” she called after his back as she smoothed her dress out and straightened out of her hair. “There is one on the way to my apartment. Stephen is usually just about to close up, but he’ll make an exception for me. Otherwise, I have a few already that we could choose from.” Her heels echoed off the walls as she followed after him, her mind suddenly pulled from thoughts of him – to thoughts of his reaction to her apartment. Oh, god. What had she been thinking?


[BLAIZE]
Blaize nodded absently. Whether it was something they hired or something Aleksa already owned, it didn't matter. There was a good chance, regardless of what route they went, he wouldn't have seen what was on offer. Still, surely she would prefer something she hadn't already seen? "... though I suppose if you're on first name basis with the guy at the video store, you've probably already seen everything," he said, voicing the last of his thoughts out loud. And why would Stephen make an exception for Aleksandra? It was obvious, of course, as soon as Blaize looked at her. Though that was an unfair assumption. Stephen could be married or gay. Aleksandra was a nice person. She had a sparkling personality when she wasn't weighed down with her anxiety. That, as much as anything else, could get her VIP access to the video store.

A quick tour of the locker room assured Blaize that all of the students had left. None of the showers were dripping, and he only collected a couple of stray towels to dump in the laundry before he switched off the lights there, too. The windows were all closed and locked -- not that anyone thought that breaking into a dance studio would get them anything special. The place was safe, mostly, unless one of the drug addicts decided to try their luck. Blaize's customers, however, weren't really addicts. They were just students hoping to stay awake longer -- or harder longer -- kids who needed to take the edge off their stress levels.

Just in case, however, he made sure the office door was bolted before heading toward the exit -- still exhibiting willpower and self control to keep his hands and eyes off Aleksandra. "It's up to you if we go to the video store or not," he said, holding the front door open for Alexandra -- an echo of their night so many days prior, lights flicked off in their wake.


[ALEKSANDRA]
Once again, she found herself wishing that she possessed a power that allowed her to see into his mind. She had always valued privacy, but when his eyes held that odd glint that disappeared within seconds, she wanted to dissect it. Her fingers itched to crawl into his hair, to pull him back towards her so she could stare into the green, and pick apart every single thought to better understand him. Of course, she hadn’t been blessed with /that/ particular power after her death – no, she was just an emotional wreck that could eat – which, wasn’t far off from when she’d been alive. Shaking her head, she laughed quietly to herself as she followed him through the studio, her brow rising as his unfinished thought was voiced.

“Are you talking about Stephen?” Of course he was. Who else would he have been thinking about? “He’s been working there since I moved here. He asked me out once, but he’s too…” Trailing off, she brushed her thumb across her lower lip as she tried to piece together the best explanation for the wiry, freckle faced shop manager. There had to be a reason that didn’t make her seem shallow, right? It wasn’t his looks that had made her decline – and retreat to the store three blocks away – but his personality. It was in the way he held himself, shoulders slouched and eyes downcast. “He lacked confidence.” That didn’t make her shallow, did it, to want to be with someone that was… well, Blaize.

Pressing her hand through her hair, she cast a quick glance – and then another – over the studio, ensuring that everything was as it should be. While she didn’t know much about the place, she knew that the doors should be locked, the lights dark and the water off. Once she could convince her anxiety that nothing was amiss – she stepped around him and onto the sidewalk, gaze finding his just as she reached out, fingers curling around his arm before sliding down the exposed skin to lace with his. “You don’t really seem into the whole movie thing, so we can just head to my apartment. Did you drive?”


[BLAIZE]
"Ouch," Blaize said in response to Aleksa's story. Poor Stephen, spurned for lacking confidence. Though he had to have enough confidence to ask a girl out. Which was saying something, right? The dancer realised it was completely immature to now push that they go to said video store, so that Blaize could wander in with his arm over Aleksa's shoulder, maybe kiss her in the way they liked in the middle of their decision process. That would be ridiculous. If this was going to be a regular thing, anyway, maybe he'd have the opportunity to rub himself in Stephen's face in the future, sometime.

"I did," he said, nodding to the Skoda which, he now realised, was parked rather haphazardly. It wasn't even in the lines. He'd been in a rush. "How far away is your place?" he asked. They could walk if it wasn't far, otherwise he was happy to drive them. "Wait. Did you drive...?" he asked. If so, they could take her car back to her place and he could leave his behind. Even if it was parked ridiculously.

"Honestly, babe," he said, repeating that term of endearment that Aleksandra was so fond of using. "I don't know if I'm into the whole movie thing. I think I was a kid the last time I sat my *** on a couch for two hours to watch a whole movie. The experience is foreign to me. Maybe I am into it! We won't know until we get there. So, if you want to hire something you've not seen before, we can do that," he said. There was no irritation in his voice. No frustration. He reached out, hand brushing Aleksa's hip as he sought some cloth to pinch, but couldn't really do so without pinching her in the process. So he didn't. "The decision is yours. Pay no attention to me."


[ALEKSANDRA]
“Oh, come on. You haven’t even met the man,” she laughed, eyes dancing with mirth as she gently squeezed his hand. Stephen was… well, there was no other way she could truly describe him. He lacked the confidence, and if there had been witnesses to his painful show of admiration, he would have died of mortification. He had prospered over the last year, of course. He ditched the glasses, and started dressing in something other than torn comic-con t-shirts, but he was still… well, just Stephen. “For all you know he had accepted by decline with a smile.” He hadn’t. He had run off in shame, but still!

Turning in the direction he indicated, she tilted her head as she studied the way the car was tucked into the spaces. One wheel was over the line, the other – no, she wasn’t even going to start. “Someone was in a rush this evening,” she hummed, unashamed in her amusement as she chuckled. “No. I don’t drive. I pretty much walk everywhere. My car is…” Trailing off, she crinkled her nose as she thought of the large piece of wasted metal sitting in the lot of her apartment. There wasn’t an inch of it that had been left unscathed by the engine blowing. She just never got around to fixing it – nor could she afford to.

“I can’t just ignore you.” She hadn’t overlooked the endearment – and she had no intention of calling him out on it. The way it had rolled off of his tongue caused her to shiver, and she bit into her lip as she gestured down the street. “We can take the car. I live about ten minutes that way. It’s the apartment complex that looks pretty much abandoned? I mean, it basically is, but it’s all I can afford.” Shrugging a shoulder, she headed for the Skoda, mind racing as she tried to remember cleaning up. “I think I have a movie I haven’t seen yet. I can also just make you watch Cupcake Wars,” she grinned deviously.

[BLAIZE]
Blaize doubted that any man would accept Aleksandra's decline with a smile. Blaize wouldn't know what he would have done, would he? Who even, out of the two of them, had made the first move? He couldn't really figure it out. It was organic -- and they'd argued before they'd even begun. What did that say about how their relationship would turn out? He was dubious, but curious.

"Mm. I woke up to a message from Laura. She was sick as a dog and the students were already arriving. I had to get here," he said. Though now that he thought about it, he didn't. He could have arrived late to tell them the class was cancelled. But they were in this game to win, and to cancel a class would be cruelty. It would do them no favours. And Blaize wasn't a quitter. This was his business, ultimately his responsibility, and as boss he was required to step in every now and again. It was the way things worked. As lazy as he could be in certain aspects of his business, happy to let others take care of the menial tasks, he still had strong work ethic. He rounded to the driver's side and shrugged.

He paused when she mentioned her apartment complex, and remembered when they had first met, when she was first turned. She'd mentioned it; he'd tried to get her to move out, but she was independent. And they barely knew each other, then. Blaize wasn't exactly poor -- Lyonel even less so. "...you're still there?" he asked. There was an undertone of anger though he knew he had no right to be angry. He was more frustrated with himself that he'd let it slide, and that he hadn't been more insistent. He shouldn't have assumed that Aleksandra would have found a safer place to live by now. He didn't say anything as he opened his door and slid in, reaching across to unlock Aleksandra's. He still said nothing when she got in the car, lost in his own thoughts as he turned the key in the ignition.

He wouldn't say anything yet. He wasn't sure, yet. He couldn't be certain that living together was the best proposition given how new this whole thing was. But he knew she couldn't stay there.


[ALEKSANDRA]
At the mention of Lara, she had to swallow down the bitter remark that danced across her tongue like poison. There was no reason for her reaction to the blonde, yet every time she was brought to her attention, she couldn’t help the wave of pure dislike that assaulted her. It was childish, immature, and completely unwelcome, yet as she curled her fingers around the handle to her door, she twitched. “How tragic,” she muttered when she heard the lock slide out, the door swinging open a moment later. Sliding inside, she kept one hand on the door, the other on the hem of her dress to keep it over her skin. It was far too much like the first night, with his damp shirt clinging to her skin. “I hope she’s okay.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. While she obviously disliked the woman, she didn’t wish any ill to come to her. For all of her antics and her anxious dramatics, she wasn’t cruel. Pressing her elbow to the edge of the door, she curled her fingers into her hair as she raised a brow, her eyes finding his across the console. “Yeah, I am,” she said slowly. The car suddenly felt like a trap, the undercurrent of his anger warming the air. “It ties back into the being a student. I mean, I get decent tips from the late night crew, but it’s not enough to sustain myself on. I can afford what I can afford.” She wasn’t defensive. Her voice remained calm and quiet as she watched him carefully, waiting for whatever was going through his mind to settle.
Resting her head back against the seat, she tried to think back to if she had ever taken him there. They had spoken about it when he had first turned her. He had demanded she move a few things into his other apartment, and she had – but she hadn’t given up her place. It’s not that she had any attachments to the cheap wallpaper and cracked tile, but it was all she could find on her budget – and she had barely known him at the time. Now, she knew him, but the dynamic had shifted. She wasn’t just his progeny.

She was /his./

Shaking her head, she turned her attention to the window, confident that he knew how to get to there. She was suddenly far more anxious than she had been. This wasn’t a good idea. If he was already upset, what would he do when he stepped into the place? When he saw her neighbors? Oh, god. What if he met Richard? Biting down on her lip, she squirmed a bit in the seat, her fingers starting that anxious drum against her thigh as she twisted the fabric of her dress up, bunching it into her fist. It was going to be fine – everything was going to be fine. It was just another night together. It was fine.


[BLAIZE]
Blaize had no reason to think that Aleksandra wasn't genuine; he just shrugged. He was sure Laura would be fine, unless she was lying about the flu. If it was just the flu she'd be back on her feet in no time. She'd been hired for a reason, and Blaize hadn't regretted it once. She worked hard. She worked through her illnesses, most of the time. Which was probably why she was so sick now. There weren't any classes for a couple of days, so at least he'd be off the hook -- unless she was lying and was actually in hospital. But he had his doubts.

When Aleksa confirmed her living arrangements he continued to frown -- it wasn't anger so much as indecision, and maybe a little frustration, too. He thought she'd moved into the apartment that he'd offered to her. Which was why he'd got himself another one. Like they were just items to be bought on a whim! He'd needed the space to himself, and he'd thought the other apartment was occupied. Why hadn't she kept it? Why hadn't she stayed there? "Do you still have the key to the place I offered you...?" he asked. They were so close and yet still so distant, that these were the things that still had to be clarified.

"Why aren't you there?" he asked. They were already out of the University and into the streets, the Skoda moving at a hasty pace -- a Blaize pace, who never wanted to be a passenger and always preferred to be in the driver's seat. He headed into the seedy part of town, and as he took it in he tried to remain calm. She was an independent woman and he wasn't her keeper. He couldn't demand her to do things even though he would always try, she was not obligated to listen. "It would have been your place. I'd have been a respectful landlord and given you plenty of notice if I was ever going to come around..." he said. Though he never had. How had he not noticed this before? It was telling, really, how little attention he had paid.

Well, everything would be different now.


[ALEKSANDRA]
It would be fine.

She kept repeating those four words as she watched the city pass her by. This time, there was no rain to obstruct her view, and she could make out the exact moment the buildings began to change. The brick started to deteriorate, and the windows went from housing displays to being boarded shut. For a second, she felt a twinge of shame as a light burst overhead, and then she remembered all that she had lost to find her way here. She had given up her life, her money, and her father.

Pressing her head into her palm, she studied the streaks of dying grass as they whipped past homes that needed a little more care and waited for him to speak. She didn’t need to be in his mind to know that she had somehow upset him with her choice, and as she uncurled her fingers from her dress, she sighed. “We were strangers then.” It was a weak defense, one that she knew he would rip to shreds if she gave him the chance. Shifting in her seat, she bent down, her fingers sliding down her leg to adjust the twisted strap of her heel. She couldn’t sit still – not with her nerves ruling her.

“You wouldn’t have just been my landlord, babe. I was already – I mean, there was --- it would have just been strange. I wanted to make sure I had somewhere to go if things…changed.” The words stumbled off her tongue hastily, and she shook her head as she raked her fingers through her hair. It shouldn’t be this hard to admit to him that she had started to fall for him long ago – he knew it. It was evident in how they ended up where they were now. It shouldn’t have been difficult for her to say that it was his place, and if he had come home with someone else, it would have hurt. When her apartment came into view, looking as though one gentle breeze would knock it over, she sighed.

“It’s not that bad… is it?”


[BLAIZE]
It was fair. Blaize had to admit that. It would have been strange for her to use the apartment of someone she'd only just met -- in equally gruesome and intimate circumstances. She'd evaded death and, he supposed, there needed to be room to find one's own feet again, without pressure or outside influence. It hadn't taken Blaize long to take Lyonel up on his offer to stay somewhere better, however, and reminded of where he had once lived Blaize shook his head.

"It is what it is," he said. He didn't commit to admitting whether it was bad or good. It wasn't good -- but sometimes the bad had to be suffered. Not everyone could live the high life. "I'm not judging you, Aleksa, I hope you know that. I just want you to be safe. I always have," he said with a glance sideways -- long enough to take her in before turning his attention back to the road, and the building he assumed was hers, given her reaction. He doubted that his beat up old Skoda would be a target in this neighbourhood and felt safe enough leaving it on the side of the road. She should have guessed, given the car that he drove, that Blaize wasn't accustomed to luxury.

"Before I met Lyonel I lived in a tiny apartment with four other people, not counting the vermin. We evaded landlords. There was often no hot water. The life of a dancer who hasn't made the big league isn't glamorous. For all the work put in, it barely pays -- if at all," he said. It was why when he'd bought the studio, with the help of the Wests, he'd started the drug trade on the side. It was always better to have something on the side, too. Now, business was booming. And he could afford the luxuries he never could before. Having experienced the near bottom of the barrel, however, he wouldn't judge where others lay their head -- it wasn't often a choice they'd make if they had somewhere better.

Aleksandra had had somewhere better. But Blaize couldn't think about that. It didn't matter now. They were here. She was fine. And he was in a better position to convince her to amend her living arrangements. Not now, though. Later, when they were relaxed -- and she was more amenable to his suggestions.

"Don't worry about what I think," he said as he retrieved the keys from the ignition and exited the car. "Make sure you lock the door," he said, nodding to the passenger door. There was no central locking, and though there wasn't anything to steal in the car, he'd prefer not to risk it.


[ALEKSANDRA]
Even with her eyes closed, she knew the moment that they pulled from the road and into the lot by the sound of gravel as it spun from beneath the tires and beat against the undercarriage of his car. “They promised to pave this,” she muttered, her voice quiet as she dared to open one eye. In an instant, she regretted it. Glass bottles littered the ground, and she could already make out Richard’s heavy, swaying form as he paced back and forth in front of her door. “Great.”

Her fingers were already on the lock before he spoke, and as she stepped from the car, she carefully dusted a few specks of debris from her heels. “I didn’t think you’d judge me,” she lied, her nose crinkling as it often did when she attempted to deceive him. “Lance did. He said he couldn’t be with a woman that lived like a crack whore.” It was easy for her to talk about it now. She didn’t feel as though she’d be suffocated beneath the shame. “It got a real laugh out of his friends.”

Pushing her hand through her hair, she stepped around the hood until she was at his side, wary gaze on her balcony. “I need to get rid of Richard. Just don’t kill him, okay? He’s harmless, truly.” The moment the last word fell from her painted lips, she dropped her hand to interlock their fingers and started to lead them up the stairs. Each step she took, her heels clashed with the rusted metal, the sound echoing off the beaten down building and through cracked and broken windows. A few curses rang from inside, and she tried to quiet her steps, even as a broken bottle came flying out.

“I apologize, Ramirez!” Only a growled curse answered her, and she gave his hand a squeeze as they finally made it to her landing, only to be met with Richard’s burly, dirty glare. “Who t’**** is that?” The hint of sour whisky and cigarette smoke hit her, and she maneuvered herself around the man, his dirt coated beard trembling as he tried to slur out another insult. “This is my boyfriend, Richard. Go on, now. It’s fine,” she replied sweetly, completely oblivious to the leering stare the older man gave her as she brushed past him. With her back turned, key trembling as she tried to insert it into the lock, she missed the way he licked his lips and winked at Blaize, hand dropping low.

“I warn you,” she called over her shoulder, the door screeching on its hinges as she pushed it open, fingers reaching inside for the light. “Give King a chance to meet you. Oh! I haven’t mentioned King, have I? Just don’t try to pick him up until he gives you the signal.” Laughing quietly, she stepped inside and dropped her bag on the floor, one hand holding the door open to allow him in.


[BLAIZE]
What the **** was wrong with this Lance? If he were right there with them, Blaize would have knocked him flat. Blaize didn't even have to be dating Aleksandra to want her to move, but he'd done it out of concern, not because he wanted to tease her about how and where she lived. Why any man would call their own girlfriends crack whores, or close enough to it -- it made no sense. What had she seen in him?! She'd obviously come to her senses. Lance was no longer in the picture. And if he tried to get back into the picture, he'd have Blaize to reckon with.

Blaize didn't know who Richard was, though he assumed he woudl find out, soon enough. Abuse pored from every crack in this god-forsaken heap of broken bones and with every step they took up, Blaize grew only more determined to get Aleksandra the **** out of there. Richard was just the cherry on the top of the cake, when finally they reached Aleksandra's door. His sweat was no longer sweat, but booze. It leaked from every crevice of his skin. Blaize had zero empathy, no sympathy, no care to even find out why Richard was the way he was. He was a worthless excuse for a human being and Blaize itched to push him over the railing. Would the fall be far enough to kill him?

And yet, Aleksandra was so sweet to him, as if she were a stray worthy of her good grace. Blaize admired this about Aleksandra but sometimes, he just wished she wouldn't. He was prepared to just idle by and follow her into her apartment, but his features hardened as soon as the drunk licked his lips and winked at Blaize, as if they were both in on an inside secret. Aleksa was already babbling about 'King', who Blaize assumed must be some kind of pet, but he was still stuck on Richard. His fingers curled into fists and, with no compunction to stop himself, Blaize slammed his knuckles into Richard's nose. Bone cracked and blood spurted from the break. He had Richard by the scruff of his filthy shirt and, right up close, seethed. "You even look at her sideways again and I'll ******* slit your throat in your sleep," he said, before letting go and shoving Richard back, sending him stumbling down the walkway. The scent of blood caused the muscles of Blaize's jaw to twitch, his nostrils to flare -- but it was so entrenched in the scent of body odour and booze that it wasn't hard to quash the nearing-desperate thirst.

He was aware of Aleksa holding the door open, but he didn't move -- he waited to see if Richard tried to make a move, talking himself out of slitting the drunk's throat then and there.


[ALEKSANDRA]
Even as she held the door open, the wood rough beneath the smooth palm of her hand, her mind was racing with a thousand and one reasons she could use to change their course. They didn’t /have/ to stay here, where the walls held no insulation and the windows were cracked. He didn’t have to see her uniform, tossed carelessly across the unused marble countertop, the stained yellow polyester hiding the scratched surface. “Damn,” she breathed, her fingers pressed tight to the switch, the plastic hot beneath her touch as she waited for the hum of electricity to come to life.

When the lights finally flickered, bathing her – and the entry way – in a dim, yellow glow, she realized that her one saving grace would be her need for order. She had managed to control the chaos and destruction by adding her personal touch to the apartment. The walls, with the peeling wallpaper and old cigarette smoke stains, were adorned with photographs from her past life. The couch, a steal that she had managed to get the first day she had stepped into Harper Rock – was pristine, the leather barely worn from her weight. It was the bed that saw the most action from her.

The maroon sheets were bunched up, the comforter tossed on the floor, with King curled within the middle, his massive body rising and falling with his purrs that vibrated the weak floorboards. As a smile curved on her lips at the sight of him, some of the tension eased from her muscles – and then she turned. That same smile that had only just formed froze, and she watched as the scene unfolded far too fast for her mind to process. One second, she had been about to reach for him, to push her worries behind her and bring him into her apartment, and the next, she was watching the rage flash across his handsome features and darken his eyes as he swung for the poor, drunk man.

“Blaize!”

His name was sharp as it rolled from her tongue, and she pulled her hand from the door, the wood slamming shut to rest against her heel as she watched Richard stumble towards the steps. Right before he made it to the edge, he turned, his perverse gaze causing her to tremble. “Y’won’t always be there, pretty boy. ‘M her man,” he slurred, one hand pressed to his broken nose as the other tapped his chest before he practically fell down the stairs, laughing manically.

Raking her hand through her hair, she sent the chocolate curls tumbling wildly about her shoulders as she groaned. “I’m sorry.” She had no idea what she was apologizing for. Was it because he had to resort to violence because of her – or was it because she had /liked/ it? Something about the way his features had morphed and the words he had practically growled had warmed her – and as she sank her teeth into her lower lip, she pushed the door back open. “Come on, baby. He’s harmless.”


[BLAIZE]
The sharp crack of his own name had Blaize pulled up short. Fury broiled in his gut, fingers still curled and clenched, as the drunkard stumbled his way down the stairs. The fact he considered himself anyone's man was ******* laughable. How had he even got the impression that Aleksandra was in any way his?! He didn't say what he wanted to; he didn't shout threats and corrections down to the drunk. He didn't need to. Blaize knew his own mind, and it was made up. He hoped that King turned out to be a Rottweiler with sharp teeth and a keen instinct. He turned and passed Aleksandra by to find out.

"I didn't kill him," he mumbled, slicing a sharp, unapologetic glance at Aleksa as he went. He had done as he was told and there was nothing to apologise for. Threats were not tantamount to action, and Blaize wondered, given his guilt complex, whether he could even follow through. In that moment, he knew that he would. Knew that he could. All he needed was the anger. Guilt was something that came afterwards; it was never the thing that stopped the violence.

Still, he entered that apartment like he owned the place, headed straight for the kitchen and the tap, where he could scrub the blood from his knuckles like it was poison, like it was acid burning through his skin. "I might have felt better about you staying here if that," he said, nodding in King's direction, "were a vicious dog. You can't stay here, Aleksa. You clearly didn't see the way he looked at you. Like you were a piece of meat and he was the carnivore, waiting until you were fattened up enough to rip to shreds," he said. The blood was gone almost as soon as the hot water hit it, but that didn't stop Blaize from picking up the scourer. He didn't realise that it wasn't Richard's blood going down the drain, now, but his own. He was too furious to feel the sting.

"You're too trusting. It's not a bad thing, not always, but in this situation you need to be a little more cautious. I'm not some stranger anymore so I really think you need to reconsider my offer," he said. Hell, he'd start helping her pack right now.


[ALEKSANDRA]
The door trembled beneath her hand as King lifted from his make-shift bed and took off across the floor, the hardwood bending beneath his substantial weight. His paws slid across the tile when it made it to the kitchen, before coming to a step right in front of the door. “You’re a fat ***,” she chuckled, even as her darkened gaze remained locked on the tense muscles of his back. Pressing her leg against his side, she gave the massive main coon a shove, sending him slipping back towards the living room as she stepped inside. “No, you’re right. You didn’t kill him, but you were going to, weren’t you?”

Curling her fingers around the rusted knob, she jiggled the door until it fit the frame, free hand quickly twisting the locks into place. She was independent – not stupid. Once each lock was secure, she moved towards him, her heels threatening to catch on the cracks in the floor until she made it to his side. He had walked in with a confidence that she had grown to love, a certainty that he /belonged/ - but to her, he didn’t. He was far too strong for a place like this. He stood out against the yellowed, floral print wall-paper, taunting her with his air of confidence, even as his anger threatened to scorch the walls.

“Calm down, love. There’s no need to hurt yourself,” she sighed, her chest pressing to his back as she leaned around him, slender fingers freeing a tattered cloth from the cupboard. Without waiting for his permission, she pulled his hand from the spray and danced her tongue across his knuckles, the taste of his blood – while toxic and sour – almost… addicting. “I’ve been here for two years, haven’t I? He hasn’t done anything to hurt me. I doubt that he ever would.” Her gaze softened as she wet the cloth and quickly dabbed at his skin, her lips brushing slowly across his jaw as she waited for the skin to mend itself.

“If you are worried about me, and if you truly think I’d be better elsewhere, we can /discuss/ it. I only kept this place to give you your space. I didn’t want you to grow tired of me,” she admitted, her voice no more than a whisper as she tried to fight the sudden emotions warring for her attention. There had to be something wrong with her, to feel this… need… when he was enraged. “No one has ever defended me like that.” Pulling the cloth from his hand, she dropped it onto the counter and sighed.


[BLAIZE]
"No," he said. Was he going to kill Richard? He didn't know. He wasn't going to say yes if he didn't know. And he didn't like the uncertainty of 'I don't know'. So he said no. It was with reluctance that he let go of the scourer and gave himself over to Aleksandra, eyes bright as he watched her lift his wounded hand to her lips, pulling in a sharp breath as the caress of her tongue helped the healing process along.

"Doubt doesn't amount to certainty. You don't know he wouldn't do anything. I think you'd be able to take care of yourself if he tried but what if he stumbled in here somehow during the day? What if you couldn't wake up to it?" he asked. He told himself he was just worried about her safety; he knew it couldn't be jealousy because there was nothing to be jealous of. But he wanted to protect her, even from baseless scrutiny.

"I don't need my space. I never did. I have the penthouse. I have my apartment. And I only go there to sleep. I barely use it," he said, most of the anger having eked from his tone. They could discuss it, yes. And he realised he was coming at it from the wrong direction. She shouldn't give this place up because he demanded it but because it was a shithole -- though he could appreciate the ways Aleksa had tried to spruce it up -- and wouldn't she prefer somewhere better?

"I'm not sure what gave you the impression I'd get tired of you. And you're going to have to get used to me breaking the noses of men who have no respect," he said.


[ALEKSANDRA]
He had said he wasn’t planning to kill the man, yet she couldn’t shake the wariness from her mind. It was one thing to hear him say that he had no intention, but she had seen the look in his eyes. It had been almost animalistic – though now when she looked at him, her gaze scanning his features, any sign of rage had dimmed until it was a controlled fire. Twisting the towel around her fingers, she began to pick at the tattered cloth until it unraveled, her nails scraping at the peeling design until it was all but cleared away. “You’re right,” she heard herself say, voice sounding far away, even to own ears.

No, he wasn’t right. Richard wouldn’t have done anything to her – he never had. He protected her, he watched out for her. Didn’t he? Whenever something was wrong, he was there. When she had caught her stove on fire, he had come in, fire extinguisher in hand. He was often prepared for situations like that, and she had wondered once or twice how a homeless man had such tools – no. This was foolish. Shaking her head, she pressed her hand through her hair and tipped her head back, gaze steady as she pressed her fingers to his jaw, bringing his attention to her. “I don’t know what could happen, but I do know that I’ll be fine,” she whispered, lips brushing over his with a gentle smile. “You’ll be there.”

She wasn’t the type of woman who thought she needed to be saved. She didn’t need a man to hold her hand, or lead her across the street. She didn’t need him to fight her battles – but she also wasn’t the type of woman to think she could handle the world on her own. Brushing her hand across his throat, she slid her palm down until it rested against his chest, teeth once again chewing on her lip. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it, baby. It was kind of frightening and hot all at once.” The words flew unbidden from her tongue, and she quickly dropped her head, her curls hiding her face as she stepped back.

“I should change into something else. We’re still, the movie, right?”


[BLAIZE]
Blaize considered the suggestion. He would be there. Yes. He would, wouldn't he? Though they hadn't been in contact the past few nights, he knew now he wanted to step it up a notch. If he wasn't here with Aleksa -- should she choose to stay in this decrepit place -- then she would come with him to his place. Or they could go to the penthouse, couldn't they? Lyonel might be there. He would certainly be around. It would be nice, every now and again, to stay at the penthouse. Maybe he'd finally meet his Demi, and he'd be able to figure out if she was just as obnoxious in person as she was on the internet.

And then he was grinning, the anger and fury vanquished to the back of his mind. Frightening and hot. It shouldn't have had him grinning like he was, but he couldn't help it. Aleksa had her hand against his chest and he lifted his -- still damp but at least healed -- to curl into the softness of her hair. "I don't want to frighten you," he said. And he didn't. Aleksandra should never be frightened of him. He would not nothing to harm her. He thought that he would do nothing to harm anyone, but that clearly was not true. "But I'll take the second part," he said as she moved back. A sigh flared from his nostrils and he nodded.

"Yeah, we'll watch a movie," he said, fatigue suddenly claiming him, tugging at his eyes as if he yearned for sleep though he knew the sun was still hours away. He blamed it on the adrenaline. It was gone now, and he had to adjust. "I'll try acquaint myself with your jungle cat..." he said, looking around for the beast that he'd only glimpsed as he'd come striding through the apartment. He was more of a dog person, but that didn't mean he hated cats. He could tolerate them, though he preferred the ones that acted like dogs. "Does he play fetch?" he asked, happy to move on to lighter subjects. For now. The topic of moving could wait until later -- especially now he'd decided that he'd do all he could to keep Aleksandra from being here alone. At least until he'd gauged whether Richard had understood and acquiesced to the blatant threat.


[ALEKSANDRA]
There were a thousand things that drew her to the man, but when he smiled, lips curving into that devious grin, she couldn’t remember a single one. Instead, she was focused on his features, the way his eyes darkened as his fingers curled into her hair. Suddenly, she was reminded of the studio, the way he had looked at her when she walked in, the tension that built between them as it often did. She didn’t understand why she pulled away then, or why she had to put distance between them, when all she wanted to do was drag his mouth to hers and kiss him until neither of them remembered their names.

“I know you would never hurt me. Not intentionally,” she whispered, lip tugged between her teeth as she chewed the soft skin until it was raw. The pain meant nothing to her as she finally lifted her gaze to his, her smile warm, even as she leaned up to brush a quick kiss to his cheek. “It was mostly hot,” she breathed against his ear, before she was once again moving away – this time around the counter, towards the flimsy door that lead to her bedroom. “He does. He has a mouse around here…” Trailing off, she paused by the ancient couch, the garish yellow of the fabric peeking out from beneath the maroon blanket she had covered it with. Bending down, she got onto her knees to peek beneath it, hand stretching into the abyss to curl around the hidden toy. The moment it’s bell chimed, King came running, his eyes wild as he began to make a strange sound – something akin to a dying meow.

“Here it is! He loves this thing. Just don’t expect him to be too fast. I mean, look at him,” she laughed as she clambered back to her feet and tossed the toy in his direction. “I won’t be too long, babe. Make yourself comfortable, the remote is on the table there and the DVD’s are beneath the television. I have a couple of horror flicks, but most of it is… well, you’ll see.” Without another word, she disappeared into her room, the door too broken to shut fully, and left him to play with the cat – and go through her handful of cooking discs and chick flicks.


[BLAIZE]
Not intentionally, she said, which had Blaize snapping back -- only subtly -- because he didn't like the way it sounded. He didn't like that she thought he could hurt her without intending to. But hadn't he been the one to warn her that it might happen? He had no idea what he was doing as far as relationships were concerned, and she wasn't doing a great job at convincing him that a good boyfriend shouldn't break another guy's nose because he looked at her the wrong way. Now, Blaize didn't think he'd get jealous over every other man. Aleksandra could have male friends. She could hang out with other men. That wasn't an issue. He just didn't trust Richard, and didn't think that Aleksandra should, either. The guy was a creep. Couuld she really not see that?

They'd already had that conversation, however, and he let it drop. For now, he was with her. There was nothing that Richard could do to her. For now, he was not mildly surprised that Aleksandra's cat played fetch. Whoever had heard of a cat playing fetch?! As soon as the toy was retrieved the cat came running. Blaize caught King's toy and jiggled it, the cat following its movements like a hawk. Blaize threw the toy across the room and the cat ran after it, pouncing it, big paws capturing it. Poor little mouse had no hope.

Blaize dropped down onto the couch and, though he collected the remote he didn't yet turn the TV on. Within seconds the cat was back, big, fluffy body winding around Blaize's legs as the mouse was dropped. "Well, I'll be..." Blaize muttered, swiping the toy from the ground and again tossing it for King. The remote was discarded, Blaize far more entertained by the cat instead of by anything he might find on the television. He rarely watched it. He had no idea what was on, or if anything good was on. And nor did he care what movie they watched. "You said you had things you hadn't seen," he called out, assuming Aleksandra would hear him through the bedroom door. "You can choose when you come back," he said, laughing as, again, the toy was returned to him. Laughing, despite the lingering guilt that he had no reason to feel. The guilt that Aleksandra thought he had the potential to hurt her.

[ALEKSANDRA]
The moment she stepped into the bedroom, she bowed her head, fingers raking anxiously through her hair. It was one thing to remain strong in front of him, but once she was behind closed doors, her anxiety was let loose. Digging her nails into her scalp, she dropped down onto the lone chair in the room and untangled her fingers from her hair so she could loosen the straps of her heels. Kicking them off, she wiggled her toes for a moment, dark eyes admiring the shimmer of paint in the moonlight that streamed through the broken window. It was the only room that wasn’t safe from the sun – and it was for that reason it was used as a rather large closet than the bedroom that it was supposed to be.

Working her fingers against the arch of her foot, she sank her teeth into her lower lip as her attention turned towards the door. She could hear the heavy thud of King’s paws against the floor, and she knew that somehow, her sire had managed to win the beast over. She had thought it to be unlikely – King wasn’t fond of any men after Lance – yet, she wasn’t truly surprised. There was something about the blonde that made the world forget that he was supposed to be cold. Or maybe it was just her. With a quiet laugh, she reached towards the drawers and quickly pulled out the first article of clothing she could find – a thin black number that once put on, would barely contain her assets. “Absolutely not,” she groaned before quickly tucking the lingerie into the back of the drawer.

“I can, if that’s what you want to do. I’m almost finished in here,” she called back, her eyes widening as she took in the cracked screen of her alarm clock. She’d been in there a while already, and she knew that he wasn’t one to wait around forever. Quickly working the dress from her form, she unsnapped her bra and tossed it along with the tight material into the hamper, before pulling out a simple red tank and a pair of candy cane striped night shorts. Stepping from the room, she made her way for the television, her knees sinking to the cold floor as she started to rummage through the selection. “I have… Jeepers Creepers, the new Beauty and the Beast and Pitch Perfect – do any of those sound good, love?"


[BLAIZE]
There'd been a dog in the house, growing up. They'd bought the dog hoping to encourage Blaize to be a normal child with normal child-like interests, but the dog was mostly ignored by the boy. It was Blaize's sister, Bunyip, who ended up adopting the dog; who took the dog with her when she moved out of home. Blaize couldn't even rememebr the dog's name. It surprised even him that he was playing with the cat but, each time King brought that little toy back, Blaize was fascinated. He picked it up and tossed it, over and over, until the door opened and Aleksa came sauntering back out to join him. The colour of her outfit was the same, mostly, and he couldn't tell whether she was showing more or less flesh than she was previously. But she looked comfortable, and it wasn't as if Blaize was unaccustomed to seeing women's bodies in all their natural glory.

King gave up the game as soon as his 'mother' was in view, and instead opted to rub his fluffy body up against Aleksa's hip, trying to circle around her while she made her choice. Blaize shook his head. "None of them mean anything to me, love," he said, the term of endearment a tease upon his lips. He sat back, settling into the couch and grabbing for one of the cushions, holding it to his chest by wrapping his arms around it. He wasn't nestled right in the corner of the couch, but nor did he take up the middle. He was just slightly off centre. His knee swung back and forth -- he had never been able to sit completely still.

"Beauty and the Beast well. I played the Beast once. In the ballet version," he said absently. "That story is already etched into my head and I'd really rather not. So one of the other two," he said. His head cocked to the side, quite happy for Aleksandra to take her time so that he could admire her from behind.


[ALEKSANDRA]
“Do you not like it when I use endearments?” Her question was asked with her back turned to him, so he couldn’t see the hint of a smile that curved her lips. His response wouldn’t matter. If he hated it, she would continue to use them – he would just have to get used to it. However, that didn’t stop her from being curious as to his reaction to them. When he called her love, or babe, she felt warm. She had never once cared if someone referred to her as anything outside of her name, but with him, she did. Even if he was using the words to taunt her, it meant that he cared – at least in her mind. Lifting a hand, she raked her fingers through her hair and brought the bunched curls over one shoulder, her eyes dancing between the remaining two discs. She wasn’t much for horror. Her mind was a nightmare as it was.

That left Pitch Perfect. She had heard enough about it to purchase it. The hype had been endless, but it had remained wrapped and one her shelf since the day she bought it. Now, she quickly slid her nail against the plastic wrapping and unwound it, her back still turned to him, even as King tried to push her over with his weight and take the plastic from her. Rolling her eyes, she brushed the cat aside and popped the disc into the tray, the old TV whirring to life when she pressed the power button. “This is supposed to be a musical. I heard the lead man is gorgeous,” she teased as she made her way across the floor, tossing the case onto the unmade bed before she dropped down at his side.

She didn’t ask for permission as she leaned into him, her head dropping to his shoulder while she searched for the remote. Once she had it, she pressed play on the menu screen, and brushed her lips over his jaw with chuckle. “You really can’t sit still, can you?”


[BLAIZE]
Blaize considered the question; it wasn't about liking or disliking. They amused him, these terms that he'd never been the recipient of. The silence spread between them as he considered, and eventually shook his head. "They're fine. I think the last term of endearment anyone ever called me by was 'darling' and that was my mother. Still is, I suppose, if she's ever trying to get me to go somewhere..." he pondered. It wasn't often that he spoke to his mother. Every now and again she attempted to invite him to important events. Most of the time he refused to show, given she and the rest of the family refused to show to his important events. Who knew? It was the dilemma of the chicken and the egg. It could have started anywhere.

"Love, though. I mean..." he shrugged his shoulders, watching as Aleksandra rose to her feet, the DVD now whirring in the DVD player. There were so many connotations attached to that single word, though did it mean anything if it were not joined with the other two? He ignored the teasing about the lead man and refrained from complaining about the fact she was going to make them sit there and watch a musical. If he'd known, then he might have suggested the third choice. Though it didn't matter, did it? As soon as Aleksandra was beside him, her body fitting to his like a glove, teasing him about his restlessness... he wondered whether they'd even watch half the movie.

"I can't remember the last time I sat still on purpose. If that answers your question," he said, though he hadn't noticed that he hadn't been sitting completely still. He tried it, now; all his limbs came to a complete stop, and he had to force all the tension from his muscles. He swallowed, chin jutted as if it were a challenge he'd silently accepted. He moved only to slip an arm around Aleksandra's waist. "I can do it, though," he said, shifting his weight as he pressed a kiss to the rise of Aleksandra's cheek. "We'll watch a movie. I'll sit so still you won't even know I'm here," he said, tearing his gaze from the woman to focus on the television.


[ALEKSANDRA]
“I won’t call you darling, then,” she teased, though her eyes closed for a moment as she chewed on the inside of her lip. It shouldn’t bother her that he seemed disinterested in the endearments, but something about it unsettled her. What relationship thrived without the use of pet names? For as long as she could remember, her father had called her mother every name under the sun – and some that should have been left buried deep beneath the ground. It was a habit, one that she refused to break – even if it meant getting under his skin with each one that he used. It came naturally for her, and her only hope in that moment, was that it would come naturally for him, as well. He was new to this, after all.

“It doesn’t mean anything.” The words came quickly, and she found herself pushing her fingers through her hair as her eyes suddenly trailed to the screen – and remained glued to it. She hadn’t thought that by using /that/ endearment, he would think that she was saying she loved him. It was too soon. She cared deeply for him, she couldn’t deny that, but love? Running her tongue over her lower lip, she chuckled suddenly, her fingers reaching to give his thigh a pat as a thought suddenly entered her mind. “Are you afraid that I’m going to fall in love with you because of an endearment?” Her voice was light, and she found herself pressing closer to him, her lips finding his throat momentarily before she stilled.

The movie was playing, and already, she could tell that she was going to love it. The songs weren’t typical of a musical – and the sound of the lead man’s voice caught her attention for a moment. It wasn’t long, though, before /her/ man snagged her once more, her brow rising as he froze. At first, she thought she might have broken him, and then his arm fell around her waist and he was pulling her tight. “You know, you’re still moving if you’re kissing me,” she taunted, her fingers lifting so she could scrape her nail against the nape of his neck. It was unfair. He was trying, she could see that. He wanted to see if he could sit still, and so, she let her hand drop, her laugh quiet as she tucked her head back against his shoulder, attention once more on the movie, even as King began to roll around on the ground.


[BLAIZE]
"I'm not afraid of anything," he said, stubbornly keeping his eyes forward. He regretted saying anything, he regretted using her endearment as a tease. He regretted the fact she felt the need to ask whether they annoyed him. In truth, he quite liked it. He'd like it when his mother had called him Darling. He'd like the way it garnered warmth and care, the way it had endeared him to her in a way a son should feel loved by his mother. Now, the endearment was lost and when she called him Darling it felt like a ploy, like now she used it not because she meant it, but because she hoped it would convince him of something. It was merely a tool.

Truth be told, it was just an adjustment period, learning to understand again that the endearments were genuine. They were natural. These were words he did not speak, the weight of them expelled from his lungs in a sigh.

"I won't kiss you then," he said. He wanted to smirk at Aleksa, to see her reaction, but to do so would mean moving. And he didn't want to move. He lied to himself when he said he was comfortable where he was, that he'd be able to sit there for... two hours? How long did this movie go for? He tried to watch, tried to pay attention. There were amusing parts and, it wasn't so hard to begin with. His fingers twitched, watching the lead male and wanting to push his hands trhough his hair, distraction abound as his mind drifted to the conversation they'd had not too long ago. He'd considered going back to his natural brunette. He hadn't yet done so. He wondered if he should.

Eventually, he shifted. Just a tiny bit. As if his backside were getting numb from sitting in one position, though no such thing had happened. It was a mere tiny shift of the hips, to begin with. And soon enough he did push his fingers through his hair, elbow on the back of the couch as his fingers played with the blonde strands. And then those same fingers were back on the cushion, drumming the fabric as he tried to entice King up onto the couch beside him. Oh, how he itched to have a cat to pat...


[ALEKSANDRA]
As King rushed back and forth across the floor, the heavy thud of his paws echoing off the paper-thin walls, she couldn’t help but smile. It was unusual for the massive beast to move more than an inch if food wasn’t involved, but it was as though Blaize ignited something within the feline. “I think he’s showing off for you, love,” she whispered against his ear, the endearment rolling easily from her tongue. She knew it would happen – she knew that she wouldn’t be able to stop. It was as natural as breathing had once been for her, and to not put her feelings for him into those simple words seemed… wrong. She had heard his frustration in that one sigh, and had she been another woman – she would have asked him. She would have demanded that he tell her every thought on his mind, but she knew him. That sigh said everything that he wasn’t prepared to say, and she wasn’t going to force all of his secrets from him.

He’d tell her when he was ready.

Instead, she turned her attention from the screen – and her cat – and watched him from her peripheral. He had said he struggled to remain static, and as she watched him, she saw the truth of his words. He looked as if he were ready to rip apart at the seams, his fingers tapping nervously before he shoved his hands through his hair. With every second that ticked past, the strain darkened in his eyes. “Are you sure you’re going to be able to sit still for two and a half hours and /not/ kiss me? You’ve barely made it fifteen minutes.” Mirth danced within her eyes as she continued to watch his struggle, her fingers finding their way deeper into the depths of his blonde tresses. As she wiggled the digits against is skull, she scraped her nails over the sensitive skin, the mirth slowly darkening with mischief. “I don’t think you can, baby,” she challenged, her lips finding the soft flesh of his jaw once more.

She didn’t know what she was doing. She had told herself that she would behave, keep her hands to herself, and watch the movie with him – but then he issued his challenge. He was a man of control. If he truly set his mind to this, she knew that he could see it through, even if it drove him crazy in the process. She knew that he could, but that didn’t mean that she was going to make it easy for him. How could she, when every fiber of her being was pushing her to press closer to him, to tease him until he broke? Her mind warned her she was playing with fire, but her heart told her to act, to give his jaw a nip. “Only one hour and forty-five minutes to go,” she chuckled, her attention once more turning to the movie as if nothing had happened.


[BLAIZE]
If there was a challenge involved, Blaize would not give in. He knew that Aleksandra wanted him to; he knew that he himself wanted to. His own eyes echoing the darkness of hers, his head swivelled so that he could look down at her. From his advantageous height he could see... well. He could see everything that he wanted to touch, and then some.

But Aleksandra, if she wanted him to move, if she wanted him to kiss her, had done the exact opposite of what she should have. Rather than offer the challenge, she should have just told him to come and get her. She should have said he didn't have to sit still, if he didn't want to. Now, he merely tugged his lower lip between his teeth -- a lip already too lacking in blood to show white where his teeth dragged across it -- and shook his head.

"You can't tempt me," he said. "It's a good movie. An hour and forty-five minutes. Easy. I'll kiss you at the end of it," he said with a devilish smile. He'd never tried to play hard to get. He'd never seen the point. But now that he'd had a taste, it was far too delicious to give it up. King was too busy 'showing off' as Aleksa put it to jump up on the couch and relax beside Blaize. Instead, he grabbed hold of that cushion once more and contented himself by playing with the zip at the cushion's edge. The near-inaudible zzzp, zzzp vibrated through his fingertips -- his knee again taking up its subconscious swing -- as he continued to watch and, this time, actually follow the plot of the movie.


[ALEKSANDRA]
She should have known from the moment she issued the challenge that it wouldn’t work in her favor. He possessed far too much control to let it go in just one night. That didn’t mean she didn’t continue to try, however. What fun was there in a relationship if there wasn’t a bit of tension involved? “If you say so,” she hummed quietly as she shifted against his side, her body melding against his as if she were made to fit there. It amazed her how easily they connected, even with the vast differences between them. Shaking her head, she pulled her hair over her shoulder as she rested her cheek against his shoulder, hand easing to reside on his thigh. As the movie continued to play, she did allow herself to get caught up in for a few minutes, her fingers dancing slow circles against the material that hid his skin.

“They weren’t wrong,” she suddenly spoke over the sound of the zipper, free hand motioning to the screen with a slow, teasing smile. “He’s gorgeous, and his voice, too! He’s the entire package.” Her words were finished with a soft laugh as she tipped her head back, lips finding his jaw once more. He had said that she couldn’t tempt him, and while she knew that was a lie, she did doubt if she could /break/ him. Lifting her hand from his thigh, she pressed her fingers to the other side of his jaw and angled his lips to hers just long enough that she could brush a ghost of a kiss against them. “I’ll be back.” Without waiting for him to react, she leapt to her feet and made her way to the kitchen, King wrapping around her legs as she gave a rough pull to crack the seal on the refrigerator.

When it finally cracked open, she bent low to shuffle through the bottom drawer, fingers finding one of the few cans of food that King hadn’t already helped himself to. “You’re such a fat ***,” she chided as she peeled back the lid and tossed the contents into a bowl. With a howl of excitement, the massive Maine Coon tried to hop up onto the counter, and with a bit of help from the allurist, he made it. Running her fingers along his fur as he began to eat, she made her way back towards her boyfriend, her smile innocent as if nothing was at all out of place as she slid onto his lap instead of taking her place at his side. “Enjoying the movie still, baby?”


[BLAIZE]
It was when Aleksandra got up and moved to the kitchen that it fully clicked what she was trying to do. This was a game, and they were now racing to the finish line. Who would win? Blaize, if he held out. Aleksandra, if she managed to break his focus. Although he'd frowned at the guy on the screen, trying to figure out exactly what they were right about (he honestly did nothing for Blaize; he'd seen and heard better, and even then he'd not been swayed by other men). There'd been plenty of rebuttals residing upon Blaize's tongue, none of which had been uttered. He had the ego to match that of an alpha Lion, head of the Pride, and to ask whether Aleksandra might prefer a singer or a brown-eyed brunette went against every sinew of pride. The lack of response had allowed Blaize the time to recognise the taunt for what it was. And when Aleksandra claimed a place on his lap he knew for certain.

Honestly, she was this close to succeeding. But two could play at this game.

"It's great," Blaize nodded, and even grinned. It would seem as if he were grinning because he thought the movie was wonderful (when he'd probably never watch it again, unless coerced). His arm slipped around Aleksandra's waist, hand inadvertantly half sliding beneath her blouse. Fingers caressed bare skin and, though the proximity tantalised Blaize he otherwise kept perfectly still. Now that she was close enough, he leaned in to nip at the lobe of her ear. It wasn't a kiss. He'd not give in. He settled back and nodded at the television screen.

"You're missing bits. You should concentrate," he said. From the outside it might look like he was now completely still; the cushion was gone and his knee had stopped swaying. But beneath that blouse, his thumb swept back and forth, a light caress that could not be helped, that -- just like the former swaying of the knee -- was not realised.


[ALEKSANDRA]
Swallowing her nerves as she settled into his lap, she wound her arm around his shoulders, fingers brushing steadily through his hair. Her nails came into play for only a second, a quick scrape against the sensitive skin of his neck, before her hand calmed against his bicep, fingers twisting idly with the sleeve of his shirt. She had started this. She had issued the challenge, and now, pressed against him, she was at a loss. It was unchartered territory and she found herself over-thinking every move she made. When she had been with Lance, it had been so easy. She pressed a kiss to his throat, he ripped her clothes off, pushed her down, and was gone within three minutes.

There had been no spark, no tension, and she definitely hadn’t felt as if she had swallowed a million butterflies. Turning her head to the side at the sharp, quick bite to her ear, she closed her eyes as she forced herself to remain still. “I’m not missing a thing,” she countered, voice quiet – despite the rasp to her tone – as she tilted her head. /Focus, Aleksandra,/ she chided herself silently, even as she shifted her weight in his lap, her foot tapping against the couch with each brush of his thumb. “How could I not? He’s gorgeous.” In truth, she hadn’t watched a single second of the movie. She heard the voices, the songs they sung, but her attention was focused on Blaize. Did he notice the way her body twitched with each gentle glide of his fingers?

She knew she had to do something. They were both on edge, both balancing on the precipice of losing control. Even as still as he was, she could see it in his eyes, the tightening of his jaw. She had never felt the need to break someone before, but as she witnessed him gather his control and turn to stone, she craved it. Leaning against his chest, she shifted once more in his lap before tipping her head, brushing a kiss to the hollow of his throat. Instead of pulling away soon after, she trailed a leisure line of affection across his skin until she reached the corner of his mouth, where she stilled.

“Are you sure you don’t want to kiss me?”


[BLAIZE]
It wasn't easy for Blaize to focus but he did; as the minutes passed, his eyes remained glued to the television and he fell into rhythm with the movie and the plot. He thought that Aleksa had done the same, until she shifted again. Her actions contradicted her words. If the guy on the screen was so goddamned gorgeous she'd be enthralled, watching him, rather than pressing her lips to Blaize's throat. His Adam's Apple bobbed as he swallowed, as he eventually tore his eyes from the screen to look down at Aleksandra, minx that she was. His breath was cool against her lingering lips but he didn't move to kiss them. Oh, he was imagining all the things he could do to her, on the couch and off of it. But he didn't act upon them. Not yet.

"No," he said, shaking his head. No, he didn't want to kiss her? Or no, he was unsure? A bit of both? Clarification was required.

"I don't want to. If it's just a ruse, part of the game. And you're teasing me, making me break, making me kiss you when I said I wouldn't. And when I do, what will you do? Crow victory and leap off the couch to do an accompanying victory dance and then refuse to let me kiss you some more? In which case... no. I don't want to kiss you until the movie is over," he said. Because, even in this private setting with this woman that he cared for, Blaize was competitive. He didn't like to lose, and he hated having his nose rubbed in it if he did. And, being as competitive as he was, he'd often had his nose rubbed in it in the past when he'd lost, as a form of punishment, he supposed. Something to incite shame. Which is why he often worked so ******* hard to never lose.

And yet, Blaize's gaze didn't shift back to the television. He continued to peer down at Aleksa, with eyes full of sharp want, need, hot desire. He'd started to chew on the inside of his cheek. His fingers had crept from Aleksa's waist, the caress now consciously sliding up her spine, revelling in the bare skin -- the lack of a bra strap to hinder its progress.

"If you say the challenge is over, the game is up, and I'm free to do what I please, then I'll kiss you. Do you want me to?"


[ALEKSANDRA]
All it took was that single word and she was pulling away, her slender form seemingly turning to stone. She had known that he was one for willpower, and she had already wrapped her head around the knowledge that she wouldn’t win this battle – but she hadn’t expected the sudden harshness of his words. Tightening her jaw, she adjusted herself on his lap so she was facing him completely – legs on either side of his, arms on his shoulders, fingers locked behind his neck. In this position, she couldn’t see the television, but the movie no longer interested her. Something he said had left her unsettled, and she was determined to have the entirety of his attention before she decided that they could continue.

“You don’t want to kiss me because you think that I’m only wanting you to so I can win?” The question, even to her own ears, sounded completely ridiculous. It astounded her how this man could think that she was capable of such things. She didn’t care about winning, not in the way he seemed to think. She wanted him to kiss her because she wanted him, not the victory. Narrowing her eyes, she mustered her best glare – which, in truth, wasn’t all that frightening. She wasn’t exactly an intimidating person. Her face was too angelic, her eyes too bright, and when she did let her anger and annoyance show, it didn’t have the same affect that he would, were the situation reversed.

“I want you to break and kiss me, because I want to kiss you. Do you honestly think that I would have you kiss me, then toss you out into the street because I won? Blaize, do you not know me at all?” Her voice trembled for a second, and she shook her head as settled back on his knees, uncaring about the way her shorts rose higher up her thighs. It wasn’t important – she didn’t care about decency right then. “I wouldn’t stop if you kissed me. I want you to. I want to feel that you want me as much as I want you. That’s all. There’s no ulterior motive. I’d never do that to you,” she finally whispered, words catching when she felt the movement of his hand, the gentle path the caress took.

When she finally allowed herself to relax, the annoyance vanishing as her body reacted to his touch, shivers dancing along her skin, she nearly melted beneath the look in his eyes. Biting into her lip, she swallowed the quiet sound that dared escape and pulled her hands from the back of his neck, palms pressing to his jaw to tilt his head back, lips a breath from his. The game was unnecessary for her. She didn’t care if she won or if she lost – the outcome was the same for her. She’d be with him, and that was all that mattered to her, that was all that ever mattered to her.

“I’m yours. You win, Blaize.”


[BLAIZE]
Blaize couldn't honestly answer the question. He'd have to be an idiot not to realise that Aleksandra was angry, or hurt, or both, though it took a while for him to understand why. And even when he did think that he understood, he couldn't be completely sure. It said something about Blaize himself, that he might have expected Aleksandra to treat him like a prize. Did it mean that was how Blaize treated other people? Items to be shuffled around on a game board, only mildly interested in where they ended up so long as he won? Or did it say something, instead, about how Blaize had been treated to expect as much from Aleksa? Even he could not answer, he could not say which it was. He could only shake his head.

"I warned you," he said. That was his excuse. He didn't know what relationships were supposed to be, nor could he slip easily into affection--expecting it, or giving it. He'd told Aleksandra, and he'd been waiting to slip up, waiting to make her angry, waiting for her to call him out. And now it had finally happened. Finally, he said to himself, and yet it had only been a few nights.

There was more that he could have said but didn't, because it wasn't in his nature to do so. Words were like a dance. Everything was like a dance. And for Blaize, dance had to be perfect without a step out of place. He couldn't answer her question, couldn't possibly tell her that no, he didn't know her very well--he knew well enough it would only be digging a deeper hole, one which he didn't feel like trying to crawl out of. They barely knew each other in this particular setting. They were still learning. Just as he was beginning to learn that relationships were not competitions. All he should say was that he wanted to get to know her in every way, shape and form. And he didn't have to do that with words.

Now both his hands were beneath her blouse, palms spread over the bare skin of her back. Those strong arms wrapped all the way around her, fingers digging into the flesh of waist and upper torso. She had him pinned to the couch but that did not mean he could not pin her to himself. There was no more pretense, no more words -- just his lips against hers, the challenge broken and, he would hope, they were both winners in this particular game. Her lower pout was devoured, that plump lip nipped affectionately, tongue dancing over its enticing curve. Slow, steady, and deep. There were no cheap tricks, here. This was what he'd been wanting to do for however long they'd been sitting on that couch. It was just any kiss. It wasn't just a kiss. It was only the beginning, because he wanted to kiss her right. He wanted to know how she kissed, and how she liked to be kissed.

Because this, too, was new.


[ALEKSANDRA]
The confusion was clear, despite the heated want within his sharp gaze. Even has his hands moved along her skin, she could tell that his brain was working. It never rested. His mind consistently continued to move, to try and piece together every piece of a puzzle that was delivered to him. Even as she watched him, her fingers gentle against his jaw, she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what she had said to cause that brief flare of curiosity, and she found that she honestly didn’t care. When he spoke again, his reminder of his warning clear, she didn’t even bother to hide the quick roll of her eyes. “You did,” she chuckled, exasperation clear in the sound, “but this hardly counts as important.” She didn’t bother to explain what she meant, and instead, she saw the moment he decided to let it drop – and she was fine with that.

She could have pushed. She could have crawled off his lap and moved once more to his side, but she didn’t. She never truly understood why there always had to be conversation, why every little thing had to be talked out, explained, and gone over until both were exhausted. He had angered her, yes. He had more or less accused her of wanting to use him, to shame him, and discard him. She could spend hours explaining to him that she wasn’t going to do that, she could tired the both of them out with conversation, but in the end, there was no proof that it would matter. She had said all she needed to say. She knew that he knew her – at least, he knew enough about her to know she wasn’t cruel.

At the very least, she had proven that since the night he had turned her. She had thought, at least, in the night that they got together that she wanted him. She had fought for him, she had fought with him. He would just need to be reminded, it seemed, and she filed that notion away for later. For now, she would prove to him just who she was – at least when it came to this, to being with him. As his hands crept along her skin, blunt fingers digging into her flesh, she scooted on his lap until her body was flush against his. She didn’t say another word – there was nothing her voice could do in this moment that her actions couldn’t. When their lips met, she didn’t bother to quiet the hint of a sound that vibrated from her throat when she felt that heat flood her system. When he kissed her, she forgot everything else.

The only thing that mattered was him, the pressure of his kiss and the taste of his lips. Pulling her hands from his jaw, she slid her fingers through his hair and clutched the blonde between her knuckles, body pressing even closer to his, as if she couldn’t get close enough as it were. There was no rush. It was a slow, steady fire that burned between them, one that threatened to consume as she parted her lips to grant him access, tongue gliding along the cracked, wounded flesh of his mouth. Even the flaws of his lips didn’t deter her. It was him, it was her. It was /them/. His kiss caused her to tremble, and she applied a bit more pressure, as if she needed to feel more of him, to have him consume her.