[She glances down at him, soaking wet and staring up at her so sincerely. He's very close now, nearly in her space but not quite, and this time she can't help the impulse: she glides her fingers lightly against his shoulder, pleased at the easy way they slide over slick skin. It's almost an idle gesture, and certainly Rosalind doesn't seem to pay it much mind.]
To their satisfaction, at any rate, though I wouldn't call it a happy ending. But yes. I was finally freed from that debt, free to pursue my own pleasures as I saw fit, and then the world had the audacity to end.
[ He leans into the touch instinctively and sighs, relief washing over him. It's as if he'd been waiting for physical reassurance. Otherwise, he doesn't react too obviously, with only his lashes fluttering in surprise over the initial contact. From his recollection of their night in the VR, Rosalind hadn't been overly keen on intimate contact. Practical, yes, but interested — that's new. ]
You're still free here, yeah? [ He perks up, his smile returning as easily as it had disappeared. They're not entirely free here, with the city bounded and their futures uncertain, but it could be far worse. ] So... what pleasures did you want to pursue?
[ which sounds far more like innuendo when repeated back in his rougher tones. A slight flush would indicate that he's aware of the verbal misstep, particularly given how close they are. ]
Besides getting your feet wet by yourself, I mean. [ 'cause he has to tease her for not fully enjoying the beach. ]
[ He won't do anything about the hand on his bare shoulder unless she moves to take it away. It's just nice, resting somewhere quiet with a familiar face. ]
[One eyebrow ticks up, suggesting that little bit of unintended innuendo wasn't lost on her, but she doesn't take offense. But that hesitance and flush is sweet, and she keeps her fingers where they are, the tips lightly tracing over the line of shoulder.]
I don't take well to crowds.
[Sad but true: she's simply not a people person. Rosalind hums softly as her fingers keep tracing him: closer towards his neck, towards the jutting bone of his clavicle, her touch more exploratory than anything else. There's a very small part of her staring in horror at the rest of her, because what is she doing, what the hell is she doing, this is a boy she barely knows (one night of curling up close aside) and she's feeling him up like she's a right to it--
But that's a very small part, emphatic but quiet, drowned out by this cove.]
. . . truthfully, Eggsy, I don't know. W-- I hadn't really thought that far, frankly, and most of the vague thoughts I had involved doing things now utterly inaccessible.
[It's a bit hard to visit New York in 1922 or Japan in the 80's when the whole world is destroyed.]
So I suppose for the first time in nearly two decades, I'm simply winging it.
[ No, the touch isn't comforting or reassuring — Eggsy doesn't know what it is, exactly, but he finds it difficult to keep his flush from spreading down his throat in reaction to her, ah, exploration. Again, he considers how divergent her behaviour is from the VR, especially when he's hardly clothed. Hard not to think, then, of how close they were in the cave and of how pleasant it might feel to touch her like that again. With his thoughts scattering, and her fingers inching near his neck, he ought to shake her off.
Yet pulling away seems impossible, especially when her answer proves more vulnerable than he expected. Perhaps she is from another time, making her transition to this world uniquely difficult. Regardless, he recognises the feeling of uncertainty. ]
That ain't easy. [ It's his way of saying I'm sorry without invoking pity. He closes his hand over hers, flattening her palm against his chest. After a moment, he tugs her hand away from his skin, holding it captive to brush his fingers over her knuckles. ] Even though I get the feeling you'll figure something out. [ Clever and intrepid as she is. Suddenly, the corners of his mouth tick up over a delightfully bold idea. ]
[ in a drawl: ] 'Course I'm around, if you ever want a wingman. [ He lifts her hand to his lips, smiling into the chaste kiss. ] Madam Lutece.
[ It's witty 'cause he's acting posh around someone who unironically introduced herself as Madam. He doesn't know whether he hopes she laughs or blushes. Any reaction would be thrilling, when she appears so composed. ]
[It startles her, that's for sure, and for an entirely stupid reason. From the moment she woke up, she's gotten used to brisk handshakes and loose formalities-- a brief exchange of names, a curt nod or two, as casual as a swap of currency. Introductions lack the grandiose manners and formalities she'd grown up with, and while that isn't a bad thing, it is different.
And so to suddenly have something even remotely resembling something from home-- something from someone charming, someone she's even a little endeared to, sets her heart racing.
(Robert, her heart sings miserably, Robert Robert Robert, but he isn't here and it's unfair to compare someone to him; it's unfair that such a charming little action reminds her of him, but he was the only one to ever manage to straddle the line between genuine graciousness and impudent charm, how can she help but think of him?)
So she laughs, startled and amused and endeared. It only lasts a moment; soon she's pressing her lips together, biting it back.]
What a charming offer.
[She has absolutely no idea what wingman means, but that's all right, she can fake it.]
[ Having won a laugh and a compliment, he beams up at her. Although his actions achieved their desired effect, he doesn't release her hand just yet. ]
Means I'll be your back-up, if you want, while you're winging it 'round here.
[ A play on words and a genuine offer, if she ever wants someone around in this new world. He can't imagine navigating Kingsman without Roxy or exploring Olympia without Harry. Knowing someone's in your corner, even in small ways, makes all the difference. ]
[He hasn't let go of her hand, but to her surprise, she doesn't tug it back. She has before. She's loathed when men took too many liberties, who held on just to say they had, who take and take and take simply because they can.
But this isn't that. Rosalind feels no sense of entrapment; she's certain he'd let go if she gave the slightest inclination she wanted him to. But no: he's holding on, and it's lovely to have those rough fingers sliding over her own slender ones, just as it was nice to feel his cool skin and the lines of his body.]
That had best not be a prelude to you leaving me now.
[But that's a very kind offer, and good god, she's still smiling. It's faint, but it's there.]
Come up here. I'm going to get a crick in my neck if I keep looking down.
[Or I mean, she could go into the water, that would be fair too, but fat chance of that.]
[ He almost says as much. Why not join me? (Or even I've heard I look best from this angle.) But she remains over-dressed, and he doesn't want to press her, lest she lose interest in being near him entirely. He sighs, making a show of being put-upon, squeezing her hand and guiding it back to rest on her knee. Not touching her there, mind, merely avoiding dropping her hand into the water. ]
Wouldn't dream of it. [ of leaving now, though he sounds amused by the implicated she'd like him to stay. ]
[ Dropping beneath the water, he enjoys a last refresher before planting his hands on the side of the pool and easily lifting himself up beside her ]
'Course you might still get wet. [ — from the water running rivulets down his skin, pooling beneath the damp fabric of his shorts and where his hands meet the ground, centimeters from her. Intentionally or unintentionally, following her orders has nearly pressed them side-by-side. He cants his head to give her a sideways glance, the curve of his mouth evident even from her intimate vantage point. ] Better for you?
[It certainly is a nicer view, she has to admit. Her eyes flick up and down his form, lingering on the curve of his hip and the leanness of his torso, and she really doesn't mean to give him a once-over, but it's hard not to stare at all that. He's a sight, and he is getting her wet, her shirt is getting damp by proximity and that ought to annoy her, but she can't be bothered to pay it mind.]
. . . you'd be a scandal where I come from, you know. This would be a scandal for about twenty different reasons, but you alone might just do it, Eggsy.
[ Oh, well then. It all sounds posh and a little roundaboutly phrased, but surely that's a chat-up line. Chatting of some kind is happening, alright. If she's looking at him (and seeing far more than he can), he's allowed to peak at her, isn't he? To flick his eyes over her wet shirt for a moment and then refocus on her sharp features, particularly her pink mouth. No. Back to the eyes.
Regardless of her intentions, the thought of being a scandal is delightful. It sends mischief sparking across his eyes and a grin blooming wide enough to reveal the little gap on the left side of his teeth. ]
View ain't bad from here, either. [ said in low tone as he leans toward her, sending more water droplets to dot her clothes. ] But would you mind a scandal?
[ because kissing her, like he's consiodering doing right now, would be scandalous. ]
[Well then indeed, and for just a moment, Rosalind pauses. It isn't a hesitation, but rather a moment in which she allows herself the room to think.
So. So there's a man leaning in, clearly eager to kiss her. What does she want to do about that? No, wait-- there's only two real decisions she can make, so rather the question becomes: what are the factors that contribute to each one?
Emotional, that's the first thing that comes to mind, but ah, there's nothing here to worry about there. Flings, kissing and flirting and all that, have never been a problem when it comes to she and Robert. Love, that's another thing entirely, but Ros very much doubts Eggsy is the sort to take a kiss or two as an indication of love. No, if they do this (whatever this is), it's going to be something purely self-indulgent. It might be more on the sweet side (because he seems very sweet beneath that pride), but it won't be anything approaching romantic.
Is that selfish? Perhaps. But she hasn't gotten to be selfish since before her death, frankly. A hundred and twenty-two trials, god, watching the same man fail over and over, a hundred and twenty-two exercises in futility and then when it had finally all gone right, she and Robert had been denied their reward. So isn't she owed a bit of selfishness?
It's scandalous, too, but honestly, that's barely a thought. She's never much cared about the standards of others beyond what she needed to know to get ahead. And anyway, even if this was forbidden at home, they're hardly in Columbia, are they? The whole beach would be considered a scandal at home; a bit of kissing on top of it isn't worth much.
And he's quite appealing. And she's very warm, and her shirt is starting to stick to her skin, and while the logical little core at the center of her mind is impatiently listing out all the reasons she oughtn't do this (she doesn't know him, she doesn't know the repercussions, simply because he seems sweet doesn't mean he is, she's still establishing herself and what if he goes off to tell stories, what if this damages her reputation in some way, what if she can't find a job because of this, this is stupid, this is silly, she doesn't need this, she ought to just get up and go and dive into her work), she doesn't seem to really be able to hear them all that well.
All of that flashes by in a moment, and then her smile turns decidedly sharper.]
Would you? I'm at least a decade older than you, Mr. Unwin.
[ He remains unsure of what to think of the edge to her smile. Eggsy believes he isn't so fragile as to cut himself on it — but he hardly knows her, really, even if he believes he knows enough. Her age hadn't even been considered as a factor (the age she hails from had been a more interesting thought; a distant past, perhaps). 'Course he knows she's older, given her titles. Doctor and now Madam.
Any tension from waiting bleeds out in a light laugh. ]
Oh, come off it. You're well-fit. [ Ah, will she understand that? ] Pretty, I mean. [ and she must be aware of it. She carries herself with confidence, even if she doesn't strike him as the sort to usually kiss young men ten years her junior. ] And I'm already a walking-talking scandal, aren't I?
[ He pulls back just a touch, however, not wanting to push her more than his brazen request already did. Eggsy has always been of the mindset that people will act with interest, if they're interested. They'll say what they want, if you're only willing to ask. And if someone wants a kiss — well, they won't pass up the opportunity for one. Maybe that makes him a romantic. ]
[No, she's very confident in her own appearance, though it's not something she has any particular pride in. Rosalind raises an eyebrow when he draws back, not certain if he's changed his mind, but-- oh. no. No, he hasn't. He's giving her the option to plunge on ahead, and it just reaffirms what she'd thought before: sweet.
She isn't, but he is, and that's nice. Rosalind hooks two fingers beneath his chin, tipping his head up just a little. Her smile is still there, sharp but not unfriendly. After a moment, her grip shifts, her fingers wrapping lightly around his chin so she can brush her thumb lightly against his bottom lip.]
But you are that. If I hear word of this outside this cove, Eggsy, I'll be quite disappointed.
[ There's no mistaking the soft glide of her fingers on his chin and the brush of her thumb against his mouth — Rosalind must have an interest in scandal. He feels his pulse quicken under his skin. It's not that it's been a while since he's kissed a girl, exactly, with Dutch catching him shortly after his arrival on Thesa Station. What he hasn't had since before Kingsman training is this: tension ratcheting and coy insinuations, circling each other until someone finally gives. And not with a girl from his neighborhood or a boy on a night out, no, but a woman secure in her skin, who wouldn't look twice at Eggsy, if they ever had any reason to meet in London.
He parts his lips invitingly and leans forward once more. He may be sweet to the core, but he's very attracted to her, too, eyes glittering with interest over being able to touch her — and the idea of having to keep his mouth shut because she asked, though he doesn't dwell on that line of thought. ]
[ His voice drops to a low murmur. ] Well, I'd hate to disappoint you.
[ With that, he brings a hand to the nape of her neck, toying with the hair there, and presses his mouth to hers, firm, chaste, testing. ]
[Strictly speaking, it's only been a few weeks since she's been kissed herself, but still Rosalind leans into it just as eagerly as if it's been ages. His mouth is hard and he kisses with confidence, and god, but she's hungry for it. Her hand settles lightly on his shoulder, but that doesn't last.
Because, see, Robert is, of course, the ideal man. No one could or will ever match Robert, not in Rosalind's mind. But Eggsy is very attractive, and very wet, and very shirtless, and how is she meant to resist that? So no, her hand doesn't stay on his shoulder. She drags it over his torso like she's got a right to it; like they've done this often enough that she knows she's allowed. Down the lines of his body, over his torso, her fingers firm and ever-moving.
(What is she doing? She'll wonder at this later. She'll be horrified at this later, frankly, but not for any reason to do with Eggsy himself. Madam Lutece can't ever go around kissing anyone, not ever, and especially not some strange boy ten years younger than her. She'll burn with embarrassment and choke with the horror of what might have happened, but oh, that's for later).
For now, she opens her mouth to it, her tongue slipping forward, because what's the point of being older and more experienced if you don't do anything with it?]
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originallutece) wrote2017-09-22 05:41 pm
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[She glances down at him, soaking wet and staring up at her so sincerely. He's very close now, nearly in her space but not quite, and this time she can't help the impulse: she glides her fingers lightly against his shoulder, pleased at the easy way they slide over slick skin. It's almost an idle gesture, and certainly Rosalind doesn't seem to pay it much mind.]
To their satisfaction, at any rate, though I wouldn't call it a happy ending. But yes. I was finally freed from that debt, free to pursue my own pleasures as I saw fit, and then the world had the audacity to end.
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You're still free here, yeah? [ He perks up, his smile returning as easily as it had disappeared. They're not entirely free here, with the city bounded and their futures uncertain, but it could be far worse. ] So... what pleasures did you want to pursue?
[ which sounds far more like innuendo when repeated back in his rougher tones. A slight flush would indicate that he's aware of the verbal misstep, particularly given how close they are. ]
Besides getting your feet wet by yourself, I mean. [ 'cause he has to tease her for not fully enjoying the beach. ]
[ He won't do anything about the hand on his bare shoulder unless she moves to take it away. It's just nice, resting somewhere quiet with a familiar face. ]
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I don't take well to crowds.
[Sad but true: she's simply not a people person. Rosalind hums softly as her fingers keep tracing him: closer towards his neck, towards the jutting bone of his clavicle, her touch more exploratory than anything else. There's a very small part of her staring in horror at the rest of her, because what is she doing, what the hell is she doing, this is a boy she barely knows (one night of curling up close aside) and she's feeling him up like she's a right to it--
But that's a very small part, emphatic but quiet, drowned out by this cove.]
. . . truthfully, Eggsy, I don't know. W-- I hadn't really thought that far, frankly, and most of the vague thoughts I had involved doing things now utterly inaccessible.
[It's a bit hard to visit New York in 1922 or Japan in the 80's when the whole world is destroyed.]
So I suppose for the first time in nearly two decades, I'm simply winging it.
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Yet pulling away seems impossible, especially when her answer proves more vulnerable than he expected. Perhaps she is from another time, making her transition to this world uniquely difficult. Regardless, he recognises the feeling of uncertainty. ]
That ain't easy. [ It's his way of saying I'm sorry without invoking pity. He closes his hand over hers, flattening her palm against his chest. After a moment, he tugs her hand away from his skin, holding it captive to brush his fingers over her knuckles. ] Even though I get the feeling you'll figure something out. [ Clever and intrepid as she is. Suddenly, the corners of his mouth tick up over a delightfully bold idea. ]
[ in a drawl: ] 'Course I'm around, if you ever want a wingman. [ He lifts her hand to his lips, smiling into the chaste kiss. ] Madam Lutece.
[ It's witty 'cause he's acting posh around someone who unironically introduced herself as Madam. He doesn't know whether he hopes she laughs or blushes. Any reaction would be thrilling, when she appears so composed. ]
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And so to suddenly have something even remotely resembling something from home-- something from someone charming, someone she's even a little endeared to, sets her heart racing.
(Robert, her heart sings miserably, Robert Robert Robert, but he isn't here and it's unfair to compare someone to him; it's unfair that such a charming little action reminds her of him, but he was the only one to ever manage to straddle the line between genuine graciousness and impudent charm, how can she help but think of him?)
So she laughs, startled and amused and endeared. It only lasts a moment; soon she's pressing her lips together, biting it back.]
What a charming offer.
[She has absolutely no idea what wingman means, but that's all right, she can fake it.]
And what does that entail, dare I ask?
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Means I'll be your back-up, if you want, while you're winging it 'round here.
[ A play on words and a genuine offer, if she ever wants someone around in this new world. He can't imagine navigating Kingsman without Roxy or exploring Olympia without Harry. Knowing someone's in your corner, even in small ways, makes all the difference. ]
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But this isn't that. Rosalind feels no sense of entrapment; she's certain he'd let go if she gave the slightest inclination she wanted him to. But no: he's holding on, and it's lovely to have those rough fingers sliding over her own slender ones, just as it was nice to feel his cool skin and the lines of his body.]
That had best not be a prelude to you leaving me now.
[But that's a very kind offer, and good god, she's still smiling. It's faint, but it's there.]
Come up here. I'm going to get a crick in my neck if I keep looking down.
[Or I mean, she could go into the water, that would be fair too, but fat chance of that.]
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Wouldn't dream of it. [ of leaving now, though he sounds amused by the implicated she'd like him to stay. ]
[ Dropping beneath the water, he enjoys a last refresher before planting his hands on the side of the pool and easily lifting himself up beside her ]
'Course you might still get wet. [ — from the water running rivulets down his skin, pooling beneath the damp fabric of his shorts and where his hands meet the ground, centimeters from her. Intentionally or unintentionally, following her orders has nearly pressed them side-by-side. He cants his head to give her a sideways glance, the curve of his mouth evident even from her intimate vantage point. ] Better for you?
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[It certainly is a nicer view, she has to admit. Her eyes flick up and down his form, lingering on the curve of his hip and the leanness of his torso, and she really doesn't mean to give him a once-over, but it's hard not to stare at all that. He's a sight, and he is getting her wet, her shirt is getting damp by proximity and that ought to annoy her, but she can't be bothered to pay it mind.]
. . . you'd be a scandal where I come from, you know. This would be a scandal for about twenty different reasons, but you alone might just do it, Eggsy.
Which isn't to say I mind the sight.
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Regardless of her intentions, the thought of being a scandal is delightful. It sends mischief sparking across his eyes and a grin blooming wide enough to reveal the little gap on the left side of his teeth. ]
View ain't bad from here, either. [ said in low tone as he leans toward her, sending more water droplets to dot her clothes. ] But would you mind a scandal?
[ because kissing her, like he's consiodering doing right now, would be scandalous. ]
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So. So there's a man leaning in, clearly eager to kiss her. What does she want to do about that? No, wait-- there's only two real decisions she can make, so rather the question becomes: what are the factors that contribute to each one?
Emotional, that's the first thing that comes to mind, but ah, there's nothing here to worry about there. Flings, kissing and flirting and all that, have never been a problem when it comes to she and Robert. Love, that's another thing entirely, but Ros very much doubts Eggsy is the sort to take a kiss or two as an indication of love. No, if they do this (whatever this is), it's going to be something purely self-indulgent. It might be more on the sweet side (because he seems very sweet beneath that pride), but it won't be anything approaching romantic.
Is that selfish? Perhaps. But she hasn't gotten to be selfish since before her death, frankly. A hundred and twenty-two trials, god, watching the same man fail over and over, a hundred and twenty-two exercises in futility and then when it had finally all gone right, she and Robert had been denied their reward. So isn't she owed a bit of selfishness?
It's scandalous, too, but honestly, that's barely a thought. She's never much cared about the standards of others beyond what she needed to know to get ahead. And anyway, even if this was forbidden at home, they're hardly in Columbia, are they? The whole beach would be considered a scandal at home; a bit of kissing on top of it isn't worth much.
And he's quite appealing. And she's very warm, and her shirt is starting to stick to her skin, and while the logical little core at the center of her mind is impatiently listing out all the reasons she oughtn't do this (she doesn't know him, she doesn't know the repercussions, simply because he seems sweet doesn't mean he is, she's still establishing herself and what if he goes off to tell stories, what if this damages her reputation in some way, what if she can't find a job because of this, this is stupid, this is silly, she doesn't need this, she ought to just get up and go and dive into her work), she doesn't seem to really be able to hear them all that well.
All of that flashes by in a moment, and then her smile turns decidedly sharper.]
Would you? I'm at least a decade older than you, Mr. Unwin.
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Any tension from waiting bleeds out in a light laugh. ]
Oh, come off it. You're well-fit. [ Ah, will she understand that? ] Pretty, I mean. [ and she must be aware of it. She carries herself with confidence, even if she doesn't strike him as the sort to usually kiss young men ten years her junior. ] And I'm already a walking-talking scandal, aren't I?
[ He pulls back just a touch, however, not wanting to push her more than his brazen request already did. Eggsy has always been of the mindset that people will act with interest, if they're interested. They'll say what they want, if you're only willing to ask. And if someone wants a kiss — well, they won't pass up the opportunity for one. Maybe that makes him a romantic. ]
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[No, she's very confident in her own appearance, though it's not something she has any particular pride in. Rosalind raises an eyebrow when he draws back, not certain if he's changed his mind, but-- oh. no. No, he hasn't. He's giving her the option to plunge on ahead, and it just reaffirms what she'd thought before: sweet.
She isn't, but he is, and that's nice. Rosalind hooks two fingers beneath his chin, tipping his head up just a little. Her smile is still there, sharp but not unfriendly. After a moment, her grip shifts, her fingers wrapping lightly around his chin so she can brush her thumb lightly against his bottom lip.]
But you are that. If I hear word of this outside this cove, Eggsy, I'll be quite disappointed.
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He parts his lips invitingly and leans forward once more. He may be sweet to the core, but he's very attracted to her, too, eyes glittering with interest over being able to touch her — and the idea of having to keep his mouth shut because she asked, though he doesn't dwell on that line of thought. ]
[ His voice drops to a low murmur. ] Well, I'd hate to disappoint you.
[ With that, he brings a hand to the nape of her neck, toying with the hair there, and presses his mouth to hers, firm, chaste, testing. ]
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Because, see, Robert is, of course, the ideal man. No one could or will ever match Robert, not in Rosalind's mind. But Eggsy is very attractive, and very wet, and very shirtless, and how is she meant to resist that? So no, her hand doesn't stay on his shoulder. She drags it over his torso like she's got a right to it; like they've done this often enough that she knows she's allowed. Down the lines of his body, over his torso, her fingers firm and ever-moving.
(What is she doing? She'll wonder at this later. She'll be horrified at this later, frankly, but not for any reason to do with Eggsy himself. Madam Lutece can't ever go around kissing anyone, not ever, and especially not some strange boy ten years younger than her. She'll burn with embarrassment and choke with the horror of what might have happened, but oh, that's for later).
For now, she opens her mouth to it, her tongue slipping forward, because what's the point of being older and more experienced if you don't do anything with it?]