Sep 17 09:25:24 105 PA
From Chronicles
The current game time is: Thu Sep 17 09:25:24 105 PA.
Cheapo Apartments - Aimee's Rooms(#1900R)
A large airy room, painted white with bare, polished floorboards. In one corner a cheap wardrobe has been painted white with some flowers hand painted on, bright yellow against the paleness of the room. A chest of drawers next to it has been given the same treatment. Near the two, a large metal bed is a pile of colourful cushions on it, none the same colour or pattern. The throw over it matches the covers to the pillows. An elderly couch has been pushed to one side of the room, and has an elderly but cared for throw tossed over it. The throw appears hand made, patches sewn together to form a brightly coloured mosaic. To one side, there is a kitchenette. Clean and functional, with two small cupboards on the wall. A little table stands nearby in this corner, simple polished wood with two chairs. The wooden floor has a few small brightly coloured rugs on it. Off to one side of the main room, a bathroom holds basic things like a sink, toilet and a shower. The shower curtain has sunflowers all over it.
Despite the late, or perhaps early hours, Aimee's light is on at her old home. The door, as it always was, is unlocked and inside, Aimee herself is lying on her bed. Her bare legs are upright, leant against the wall beside the old bed that was left here, and the ancient man's shirt she wears just covers the tops of her thighs. Her hands are behind her head, and the music that is being belted out by the stereo has her eyes closed in pleasurable enjoyment.
Desmond found himself, when his minutes of sprint ended, already on his way to this place. The 'old apartment' as one might term it, though not so long ago she did live here. He's been there before. Found it empty and has not lingered. Breathing deep and heavy, he slows and considers the path he'd taken without thought. Slowly as he masters himself, he lets his thoughts roll over many a thing. In the end he continues on, though this time he walks without so great a level of haste, but with purpose in his stride. It won't be a until he as entered the Cheapo Apartments and come to stand be fore her door that he notices that there is light on inside. He hesitates. THen slowly he lowers his hand to the doorknob, giving it a gentle twist to enter, should the door be unlocked as expected. Or to make noise if he finds it locked.
Aimee is lost in a world of music, almost a flashback to old times, her head tilted back on the edge of the bed, dark curls showing against the bare mattress. Her mouth curves, amusement rising into her eyes, as she opens her mouth to join the female vocals, singing a line from a song, a french invitation that Desmond has heard before. She stretches her arms over her head, unaware of the unlocked door's handle turning, lost in her moment.
Desmond enters slowly, ears perked as the voice within comes clearer. A calm steals over him and he slips into the room silently. Glancing towards the sound of Aimee's voice to spy her. Intent upon her for a moment before he closes the door slowly. Quietly. Turned back into the room, he enters slowly. Moving, perhaps, halfway across the room before he goes still. His stance relaxed, gaze fixed towards her as he listens to her singing with a soft sense of contentment. For at least a minute he will linger there quietly, should she not yet realize he is there. Letting the height of emotion known less than an hour before fade and dissipate. Reason returning in force as the beast within quiets once more.
The song continues for long moments, and throughout them Aimee is lost in the world of her music, voice raised in joy. Her hands fall back, resting on her stomach as she sings, her breaths between words causing the outline of her body to rise and fall. She lightly runs one painted toe along the other bared leg, bending the first until the toe reaches her knee, the movement flashing the shirt, revealing a lack of other clothing.
"Aimee." Deep rumbled, that word. Warm.. Desmond moves closer slowly, his steps without haste, his eyes fixed to her. Drinking her in deeply. "My Flame.. I could never betray you." Wha? He doesn't seem to consider that his words might make no sense to her, despite the fu ll earnestness in them. "No matter the temptation, no matter the offer, I could not. Would not do such a thing. I would not betray your trust." He goes on with that as he nears, coming down onto his knees slowly when he nears the bed, fingertips laid on the edge. Regardless of the posture she takes, he will look to her intently as he tells her, "There is no other to replace you."
At his voice, her eyes fly open and her moment is lost in the scramble to both cover herself and to right herself. She ends, kneeling on the bed, one hand holding the unbuttoned shirt together, the other pulling its hem down for modesty. "Desmond!" The name is a thing of shock in itself, spoken with eyebrows lifted and a look of disbelief on her face. "Betray me?" The words finally penetrate and she shakes her head. "What offer? What temptation? What other?" The confusion in her face speaks volumes and she stays, kneeling, facing him, merely inches away.
"It said it could be you," Desmond explains fervently, his voice rising. "It.. it became you in form. It said it would be compliant and soft, but that is not My Aimee." His expression firming. "That would not be you.. a shell is not you. You are more. I would not feel for a lie what I feel for you. I could not betray my love for you. Betray what trust you have in me. Never.. you are my future." His hands reach for her, but it is a hand he desires in the now, to engulf in his own. "Think what you may about me, My Flame, but I would never betray you. Never." That last said with a determined, focused intensity to deny.. whatever has tempted him.
She lets him take her hand, confusion on her face mingling with concern and then worry. "Desmond, mon chat, I don't know what you are talking about. Do you have a fever? Are you unwell?" She reaches forward with her free hand to touch his forehead, her own creasing with the concern in her words. "What it? What betrayal?" She gently squeezes his hand, the movement intended to question, to draw him back to sense.
Desmond might still be a bit warm from his run, though the sweat has dried upon him in his walk here. But her touch, her words seem to help him focus. To realize he speaks of things incompletely. "There was.. something in the park. Iw as there.. walking.. thinking." A pause. "About us." Another pause, just as brief before he continues on. "It was there.. it looked like Mala at first. It was.. a perfect likeness." She can feel his fingers tense as he speaks of this, though he has enough presence of mind that the grip does not become uncomfortable. "But it was not Mala.. she's gone. It.. it wanted.. my emotions." A bit hesitant there.. still not quite understanding. "It offered to be you for me.. to be Mala." He shakes his head. "Foul creature.. I would not accept such a lie.. I would not betray you." HIs anger starting to lift again as he recalls the recent encounter.
Aimee's forehead creases more, finding the heat beneath her hand. "Mon chat, you are seeing things, you are ill." She comments, the tightening of his grip causing her gaze to slip down, and a small familiar heat to rise briefly in her eyes before she moves to sit on the edge of the bed. "You should lie down, perhaps? Non, perhaps it isn't safe to sleep with a fever..." She bites her lower lip, nipping at it hard as she looks at him. "You are seeing something that offered to be Mala and I?" She questions, "Mon chat..."
Desmond shakes his head slightly at her claim that he was seeing things. "I touched it.. it was real. I pressed it from my path and my flight brought me here.. to you. My Aimee." Her concerns for his well being dismissed. Suddenly, he feels perfect and balanced. His steps brought him here.. yes. He leans forward and will look to wrap her up in his arms. This embrace purely that. A warm, close hug that speaks to his affection for her, a soft squeeze giving her just the right balance of strength and comfort against him. A balance perfected over the weeks of their relationship to give her his strength without harm. "No lie can replace Mala.. no lie can replace you," he rumbles lowly.
She leans into the embrace, the fight forgotten in the worry over his visions. "Mon chat, perhaps you thought it was real..." She questions him softly, speaking against the skin of his shoulder, her breath brushing against the fur there. "I think, perhaps, you are seeing things. I wonder if there is a healer or a doctor..." She slides to the edge of the bed, a leg either side of his knelt position, hesitating as she works out the best thing to do.
Desmond draws back slowly as she moves to rise, releasing her gently. But he lingers near her on his knees, keeping their gazes more level. "It matters not if it was vision or real. I feel well and I know my path. It remains, as ever, with you. Even if your own path takes you away from me, mine will follow. I have said it before and it remains still my truth." His hands lift again to slip back into a familiar place. Resting along her hips with warm gentleness. His expression warming, his voice relaxing from the tension of his telling of tales. "You heal me.. I feel calmer here, with you. I felt I might destroy that creature for what it had done.. to tempt my emotions. But now.. now I am calm.. I feel in control. Here with you."
She hesitates before rising, as his hands rest on her hips. The heat in her eyes suggest the opposite of his words. "You truly think you saw something?" She questions softly, her knees pressing against his sides. Her hands move up to his shoulders, the fight forgotten in the moments as her concern turns to confusion, anxiety lost as her body finds the habit of responding to his touch. "You came in here like a storm, like you used to..." She whispers.
"I saw it.. I denied it. For you." Desmond's statement of the truth. With his tale told, his mind calmed, he realizes her posture, her tone. And he bends with it without a need to consider. "I came for you," he repeats, letting his fingers tense slowly as he pulls her against himself slowly. Firmly, with a soft air of possession. His own blue eyes warming in that way that is for her alone, lifted to fix to her own. "I have missed you so.. missed this." 'This' indicated by a soft squeeze of her hips, another soft tug of her against him.
She nods slowly, her lips parting slightly as she listens to him. A soft noise breaks from them as he pulls her against him. "Mon chat..." Her voice is breathless and his movement is willingly allowed, her hips moving to press against him. "You haven't been like this, mon chat..." Her comment is spoken softly, forced to be so from the lack of breath. her green eyes widen, darken and heat. "So fierce, storming ..."
In that moment a simple truth comes to him. So simple.. so obvious it is.. yet aren't many life secrets so? The revelation visible as a brief pause for him before he comes back to the moment. His hands will relax, but the closeness doesn't end, for he will curl one arm about her legs, just below her buttocks for support before he rises smoothly with her balanced securely. His other hand brazen in slipping up, deftly slid under the back of her shirt to stroke his fingers along her bare back slowly. "I want My Aimee," he states without a hint of question. A forward step letting him lay a knee to the edge of the bed, perching there as he holds her easily, not yet employing claws.. but the promise of them could not be denied, even if delayed.
Aimee's lips part in a soft whimper as his fingers touch her bare back, and the demand is met with a submissive nod, a blush and a rise of heat in cheeks and eyes. "Mon chat..." She murmurs, leaning back into the hands that hold her body easily, her gaze staying on his face. "Please..." For a moment, she closes her eyes, the lashes sweeping down to hide the heat, but then they open, the green is rich and dark. She presses her bare thighs against the knee that leans onto the edge of the bed, her hands rising to hold his upper arms.
Desmond rumbles deeply as he bears her to the bed. Such a sweet sound, that request. His great frame bent over her, self supported, leaving her 'captivity' a soft thing. His hand drawn from beneath her back in a slow, lingering slide that lets her feel the tips of his claws drawn against her skin softly. His hand draws free as it slips from behind her and he will gaze into her eyes briefly before pressing upward firmly. The bed shaking slightly from the force of it. Straddling her then, he shucks his jacket in a firm sweep. The utility belt undone and ripped away. Done quickly.. eagerly before he starts on his own shirt, drawn off in a smooth upward sweep.
FTB Tags: aimee, desmond
