01-06-2019, 01:20 AM
Every time they meet, they play a dangerous game. In some aspects, their relationship reminds Wishbone of a pair of wolves. They are both brave and rugged and determined, two Alpha wolves constantly colliding with tooth and nail. Perhaps if they learned to compensate and put a more heartfelt effort into actually trying, they might be able to sleep nestled under a blanket of stars with their tails and noses curled close together. Most of the time, a heated debate will end in an even more heated discussion in the bedroom (and not the type with words). But if push came to shove — if the real world kissed their savage one — Wishbone isn’t quite sure what would happen.
That game they dare to play involves eye contact. One slender hand, kissed with a scattering of thin scars across her knuckles, removes the aviators from her face and places them on the table between them. The faintest hint of a smile tugs at one corner of her mouth at his comment — damn, he’s still bitter about her disappearance. Wishbone doesn’t blame him (she’d be pissed if he suddenly vanished into the night with not even a whisper of goodbye or where he was going; even if that’s something he would do) but the lingering anger proves that their makeup sex is going to be very good.
Her eyes drop away from his gaze then (and she’s okay with losing this battle) to travel down his body with a look that lets Ivar know exactly what she’s thinking. “I thought about it, but I think I might get too carried away.” A smoke-and-sex smirk does find her lips this time, just as her hazel eyes are finding his own eyes again. “And I don’t really plan on scarring any children today.”
Wishbone finds it enjoyable to simply sit and watch him eat the last of his burrito. Although the wilderness of their relationship brought instincts and primal lust upon the both of them, she can’t deny there are tightly-bound cords of tenderness for him that wrap around her heart. It had surprised her, at first — the way her chest would feel warm at the sound of his full laughter, the simple content she would have as they lay in bed together twisted among the sheets, how her heart would quicken at the sight of the heat she could see simmering beneath his dark eyes.
The sound of the paper bag rustling as it fell into the recycling bin drove her away from those simple, rose-gold thoughts. Wishbone moves to stand, grabbing her sunglasses off the table as she does so. “‘Somewhere’ is not nearly as good as you, Ivar.” She doesn’t wait for him after that; her long legs turn on a dime and head toward his apartment, certain he will follow.
@[Ivar]
That game they dare to play involves eye contact. One slender hand, kissed with a scattering of thin scars across her knuckles, removes the aviators from her face and places them on the table between them. The faintest hint of a smile tugs at one corner of her mouth at his comment — damn, he’s still bitter about her disappearance. Wishbone doesn’t blame him (she’d be pissed if he suddenly vanished into the night with not even a whisper of goodbye or where he was going; even if that’s something he would do) but the lingering anger proves that their makeup sex is going to be very good.
Her eyes drop away from his gaze then (and she’s okay with losing this battle) to travel down his body with a look that lets Ivar know exactly what she’s thinking. “I thought about it, but I think I might get too carried away.” A smoke-and-sex smirk does find her lips this time, just as her hazel eyes are finding his own eyes again. “And I don’t really plan on scarring any children today.”
Wishbone finds it enjoyable to simply sit and watch him eat the last of his burrito. Although the wilderness of their relationship brought instincts and primal lust upon the both of them, she can’t deny there are tightly-bound cords of tenderness for him that wrap around her heart. It had surprised her, at first — the way her chest would feel warm at the sound of his full laughter, the simple content she would have as they lay in bed together twisted among the sheets, how her heart would quicken at the sight of the heat she could see simmering beneath his dark eyes.
The sound of the paper bag rustling as it fell into the recycling bin drove her away from those simple, rose-gold thoughts. Wishbone moves to stand, grabbing her sunglasses off the table as she does so. “‘Somewhere’ is not nearly as good as you, Ivar.” She doesn’t wait for him after that; her long legs turn on a dime and head toward his apartment, certain he will follow.
@[Ivar]