Moore
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Oh, Sweet Ambrosia!
Posts: 63
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Post by Moore on Nov 19, 2009 22:49:56 GMT -5
"Well, I know why," Moore says simply; quick with that clever tongue of his. Oh, Julian Moore liked Rhiannon, yes, but she was far from his tolerable side at that moment. He was mildly annoyed and the recognition that he had been struck - and badly at that - was beginning to dawn on him; after all, Rhiannon had been the reason behind the chant. She had been the reasons behind a number of things tonight and if she hadn't...if, if, if...would he be walking straight? Mayhap. Who knew?
There were too many possibilities that life often gave one person but man only had one choice before sauntering down their path. It's this that changes people for better or for worse. As for this moment? Despite feeling a slight be irked at Rhiannon, Julian knew that he wouldn't cling to this mild bit of annoyance. He couldn't. He should have kept his head about him. At least not Rhiannon was here and she was tending him somewhat; his face leaning toward her somewhat.
"You're beginning to sound like Shamus, Rhiannon. Always telling me I'm pretty. Sometimes I wondered who looked better; me or my sister," he breathes out heavily. "I think I got to the point where I thought I did," he says simply; falling silent then. It wouldn't make much sense to her but that admission meant almost too much to him. He had forgotten his sister briefly within his height of fame; his streak of countless wins and eventually winning the world heavyweight title; defending such with ease at every turn. He quickly dismisses such thoughts though; dispelling them from the forefront of his mind before shifting his mother's eyes onto her.
He couldn't help but think about Rhiannon though.
What would have come of them if given the chance? That was a long time ago though and now there within a different element altogether albeit reminiscent to the night they met. Strange and all too funny how things like that work out. Julian's mouth purses and his eyes fall shut; head lolling to the head rest of that backseat. It felt good to sit down. It felt good to give in and let someone take care of you. It felt good to have a woman at his side worrying at him instead of waking up within some cold dank room with the smell of beer and stale air. How sweet life had become.
How horrid, truly. Life's far too short for this sort of thing. His hand lifts then - and only then - to brush against Rhiannon's cheek as his mouth turns toward a slight frown. His eyes flit to the hem of her dress then and he knew what she was about to -- ah, it's far too late. She's already ripping at such and his hand - lifting to dismiss her actions - falls back to his knee as she presses the fabric against his wound. His eyes search her face quietly as she speaks; he smiles a slight. Irony, truly. All within the flesh. It's how God loved to tease him!
"Just get me home and patch me up," he says simply, "and you won't owe me anything after albeit I'd like a coffee and a long talk with you," he says simply; quickly adding that last bit for some sort of effect. Would she smile? Would she like that idea? Would she think of staying a tad bit longer or rush away from the man who scraps within the dark alleyway?
It wasn't long until their gallant cab driver was pulling over and eying them warily; almost half-expecting not to be paid. Julian wouldn't blame him with the two blood-covered city-slicker ragamuffins within the backseat as they were. Julian wanted for Rhiannon to pay; after all, he had given her that responsibility. When that had happened he was following Rhiannon out with her assistance before enveloping her shoulders with a one-armed embrace to pulled her against the hard line of his body. His eyes flit over the brownstones before his freehand was fishing within one of his pockets whilst simultaneously steering her forward.
"This way," he says simply.
He had chosen one quickly but truth be told one would be hard-pressed to know which was his. There's little differentiating each brownstone apartment building besides the building's address number. Sauntering up the stoop with surprising grace, Julian shoves his key within the lock and twists; hearing that click left him giving a satisfied sigh of pleasure. Home, sweet home. There truly wasn't anywhere else he would have rather been then as he led her within.
It was a few odd moments then and there that Julian would have been hard-pressed to recall. His mind had been swimming but he recalled having her stop for him to check his mail - yeah, his mail - before leading Rhiannon up the stout steps of the inner-building proper.
There were a number of sounds thrumming throughout the building; faint music pulsing from the first floor and then the rattling of pipes under the walls and floors upon the second. The third floor was quiet but for the dull droning of stand-alone fans and a television set with the volume cranked too loud for the time of night. Then there was the second floor; peace and quiet. He's leading her toward his door and shoving the key within the lock as he had with the front door and soon that's being pushed open to darkness and then, within the span of a few moments light explodes within the small hall with a faint flicker. This, truly, was home; with boxes stacked and lining one side of the hall. There was little to see at first as they entered and Julian - carefully slipping his arm from Rhiannon - motions to shut and lock the door.
"Welcome," he murmurs before dropping his keys within a small bowl upon a tiny table nearest the door. He lifts a hand to clutch at the side of his head then as his freehand reaches out to grip at her shoulder. "I don't have much furniture," he confesses. He had a kitchen-table with two chairs but beyond that he didn't really have a need for living room furniture. "And I need to be cleaned up," he says. "Kitchen, first right, yeah; no, that's the bathroom, here," Julian says; leading her down the hall and upon their first right - and right across from that being the bathroom - the kitchen was somewhat spacious and revealed little to nothing of interest beyond newspaper clippings and two well-worn binders that held something of importance. He lets go of her shoulder here to saunter to one of the chairs and lower himself within with a heavy sigh. His eyes flit to her then.
"It took nearly forever but here you are now," he breathes out, "at my place," he says and smiles with clear weariness crossing his features. His eyes pinch shut. "There's whiskey in the cabinet and a first-aid kit there but simple stuff," he says simply; nothing well out of the ordinary and something someone could purchase at any drug store. "Fuck me," he murmurs and rubs at his unmarred brow.
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Rhiannon
CITIZEN
You wasted life, why wouldn't you waste death?
Posts: 27
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Post by Rhiannon on Nov 19, 2009 22:52:30 GMT -5
The houses in front of her reminded Rhiannon of the small suburbia she had grown up in. Each house looked almost identical to the one beside it, ducks in a row with little way to tell one from the other. Where one began and another ended. The same front stoop and steps with the same wrought iron railings, with the same wrought iron bars over the first floor windows. Buildings built out of the same brownstone, almost brick for brick. Rhiannon was silent as she climbed the steps to the one that he called his and didn't say a word of protest when he stopped to check his mailbox. Nor did she speak as the pair made their way up the stairs toward whichever apartment was his. Her dark eyes watched with sharp observation was he lead the way, steps ahead of her, ready to try and catch him if he wavered and fell backwards in her direction. But he didn't. Such a man, so together and in control of himself even in his moments of weakness. The apartment building reminded her of every other apartment building she had ever visited - imperfect. Pipes banging, someone playing music or the television too loud - the hum of city life being lived behind thin walls.
Behind his door were the signs of a life that wasn't at its prime, not anymore. Her eyes flitted over the boxes with curiosity although she didn't say a word, merely glancing at him while he turned the lock behind her. Locking her in with a murmured "Welcome" before ambling off deeper into the apartment. Rhiannon looked one way then the other, stepping forward for him to hold onto her as he gave her a short guided tour. She made note of where the bathroom was, peeking in. When he let go of her though he walked as though nothing was wrong. Bravado? Naturally.
"It took nearly forever but here you are now, at my place." Somehow his words sent a cool shiver down her spine and Rhiannon bit her lip while he went on to tell her where the first aid kit - and whiskey - were.
"Only a year and a few months," she murmured under her breath as she nodded, turning on her heel to go to the cabinet he directed her to. Her hand wrapped around the handle, pulling it open to peek inside. As promised there was a bottle of whiskey and a white box decorated with a red cross on it. Rhiannon grasped the kit in one hand and the neck of the bottle in the other, closing the door with a bump of her knuckles before turning back around to look at Moore.
Here they were. No Quinn, no Shamus, no cameras. For a moment all she could do was stare at the man who had changed her life. The man who had cost her a championship, the trust of her coach and jeopardized the trust that her father had in her. The first man whom she'd felt attraction to and lust with. There was a long moment as she simply watched him, taking in the sight of the boxer as he was now and comparing him to the man she remembered with his snazzy tie and shined shoes. What else had changed, had she known him well enough back then to know the differences now? There wasn't anything to go on if she didn't stay longer. Would she stay longer anyway? Her eyes roved over him and his injuries as the silence prolonged. Finally she moved forward, crossing the room slowly but without caution.
Rhiannon set the bottle of whiskey down on the table close to him before opening the first aid kid, taking out the little packets of alcohol pads and antiseptic, with a handful of bandaids. Her fingers ripped open one of the pads, taking out the miniature towelette and leaned over him, hesitating before giving the cut on his head a gentle dab, knowing that the alcohol would sting. Her teeth closed on her lower lip again.
"What in the world are you doing fighting in streets, Moore?" she asked quietly, her eyes glancing away from the cut down to his face for a moment. "You're better than that..."
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Moore
CITIZEN
Oh, Sweet Ambrosia!
Posts: 63
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Post by Moore on Nov 19, 2009 22:53:52 GMT -5
Only a year and a few months she says, and he's quick to say: "like I said, forever," he utters with a smile. That's Moore for you. The entire world could be crumbling around him and this damn man with those pretty blue eyes would still be smiling. Would he act at least an ounce differently? Maybe. Who knew? He seemed the epitome of a calm and collect mind. It's why there's still enthusiasm and life within those eyes despite the loss of blood and the gash upon his brow. He needed to be cleaned up badly. Oh, and a shower wouldn't hurt either; with the smell of sweat upon him mingling with blood. All the while he watches her.
"You look good," he says suddenly. Yeah, that meant he was eying her up and down without shame and his tongue smoothing over his lower lip. It had been far too long since he had a woman and that wasn't even making mention of the fact of a younger woman as Rhiannon herself. He could still recall chasing her skirt albeit with more grace and nobility about such. Not that one was saying he didn't have the class anymore because Moore still had such a way that he could gain any woman's attention. He still had that swagger any other man would envy.
He still had that face of his unbroken but for the faint lines of scars marking his brow and forehead. He was still very much the same man down albeit somewhat downtrodden now. What had happened within the time they had met and now? Would he even bother telling her of such things or keep them a secret? He wasn't sure. He didn't want her pity. He also didn't want her to look at him like some shadow of the man he once was. He was far from that...wasn't he? His mouth purses and his eyes flit quietly to the bottle of whiskey she sets down before eying the way she handled the first aid kit.
"How's your face?" He asks of her suddenly before being questioned himself and his eyes lift to her within time to meet her gaze levelly. "I could be asking you the same, no? Why were you out there?" He asks of her almost defensively before frowning. What did that make him out to look like? He wasn't som sniveling child. He knew what he was doing and something told him that she didn't quite mind beyond the fact that he was hurt. That and he should have more respect for himself. Yet, boxing was a dying art and he the faltering artist.
"I'm doing what I do best," he says simply before leaning forward to reach for that bottle of whiskey; only he's soon stopping and leaning back with a grunt to allow her room to work. He peeks up at her under the soon blood dappled towelette to eye her quietly.
"A lot of things changed since the day we met, Rhiannon. Something tells me that's much the same for you..." He trails off and narrows his eyes before his gaze softens. This wasn't right. His voice falters from that strong crescendo which it had taken only moments prior. He had been ready to let his tongue loose and tell her everything and berate her simply out of frustration for his own life. Now he sat there looking nigh defeated and genuinely concerned for her own well being.
"You aren't the girl I kissed that night," he murmurs. "There's something about you..." Except he didn't know what off the bat. Mayhap because his mind was still swimming and vision still a slight darkened at the edges. He watches her quietly; wolfishly, rather.
"Why are you here, Rhiannon? You're too pretty to be here amongst monsters."
Irony, no?
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Rhiannon
CITIZEN
You wasted life, why wouldn't you waste death?
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Post by Rhiannon on Nov 19, 2009 22:54:25 GMT -5
"You look good."
His words caught her completely off guard. Rhiannon couldn't help but pause as she turned face ever so slightly to face him. Her dark eyes flitted over the boxer with uncertainty, part of her not entirely sure how to interpret his comment even though she knew all too well how he'd meant it. She was standing in the locker room again except this time there wasn't Quinn or anyone else to keep his mouth censored, no photographers hiding behind menus at the restaurant. That last lingering twinge of - no, not hope - doubt was crushed away when those blue, blue, unbearably blue eyes moved over her scandalously from head to toe and back again, and his tongue slid over his lip before pursing as those eyes drew away from her form to look at the whiskey.
"How's your face?" Her lips parted to answer but he didn't give her a chance - though the way his eyes suddenly and unexpectedly met hers stole her voice anyway. "I could be asking you the same, no? Why were you out there?"
"I already told you," she replied, dropping the blood and alcohol saturated pad back onto the table. Fingers ghosted over the other packets she'd taken out before claiming a cotton ball. "I was looking for you." Christ, the lie tasted even fouler the second time around. She didn't divulge more though and she didn't have to. Moore was beginning his own justification and explanation for why he had been where she had stumbled across him.
"I'm doing what I do best." That he was. Rhiannon took out an alcohol pad, her fingers ripping it open as he leaned forward, hand moving for the whiskey before he stopped and sat back again once more. "A lot of things changed since the day we met, Rhiannon. Something tells me that's much the same for you..."
Her teeth closed around her bottom lip silently, sucking in a silent breath. More than he knew, far more than he knew...Things had changed so much and yet so little. She had gone from being an only child to being a member of a large family that was just as loving as her parents back home. All the things that she had hoped to have someday - college, namely - were now options. She was a vampire. The world was her oyster.
"You aren't the girl I kissed that night. There's something about you..." There was a pause. "Why are you here, Rhiannon? You're too pretty to be here amongst monsters."
If her heart had been able to beat it would have stopped. Instead it merely quivered within the cavity of her chest. Her hands paused as she was about to wipe clean his sweat and blood covered head. Eyelids closed over her dark honey eyes as she exhaled slowly. He hadn't meant it the way she'd taken it, she knew that. He didn't know, he couldn't possibly know...This was her paranoia. If he did know he would reject her totally and completely. But would that really be for the worst? He was human and therefore prey. If he knew what she was then he would avoid her, it would be safer for him. She was too pretty to be amongst monsters?
She was the monster.
"We've both changed," she finally breathed, gently dabbing at the cut as the bleeding slowed. "There isn't a doubt about that, Julian. And I told you, I was looking for you." That dishonesty grew increasingly bitter every time she recited it. You might be a monster but you're my monster.
Rhiannon swallowed hard and thanked God that she hadn't spoke those words aloud.
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Moore
CITIZEN
Oh, Sweet Ambrosia!
Posts: 63
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Post by Moore on Nov 19, 2009 22:55:58 GMT -5
This time they weren't separated by the scandal that was age. It's funny how much damage two numbers put together can do. He was older than her back then, and yet, even now he still was that much older. Except for the fact that she was legal now. It's amusing to say the least. If only Moore had the press at his heels now, they wouldn't make such a horrid deal out of this as they had back then, but that was then and here was the now with Moore bleeding from an open wound and Rhiannon nigh equally as hurt. They'd still be scandalous.
"Doing what I do best," he says again and adds to that quickly, "beating the shit out of others and looking good while doing it," he says with a grin and soon after whincing. "Well, maybe not as good now with the cut and all," he confesses with one shoulder lifting with a shrug of dismissal. It's then he quiets down for the moment as she touches upon him; cleaning him up well and good to say the least. His eyes flit after the pad when she sets such upon the table. Then her words. She was looking for him.
"It took you a long time to find me," he says simply as he peers up at her face. "You weren't looking for me. You found me, but you weren't looking for me," he says calmly, but didn't sound upset or disappointed by that at all; after all, she did find him. Just not in a state he would have preferred.
It was a strange passing of silence then and there. Whatever was crossing Rhiannon's mind was privy to her and only her. He had little to no idea of what she thought, but Moore knew one thing of himself. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be within this city or near him lest he harm her within some way, shape or form. He didn't want to hurt her. He didn't want to break her.
She looks so lovely with every subtle curve beneath the clothing she wore, and she smelled heavenly to him. He could practically taste her upon his tongue past the blood and sweat that belonged to him. He wanted to breathe her within and grasp her so tightly that the life would flood out of her. He wanted to feel her cave beneath him and not within the way he wished to claim her that once upon a time ago. Instead, he wanted to feel her flesh being crushed beneath him and...His mind settles and churned with thoughts coming to a standstill and he swallows.
"Gentle," he murmurs. "Just because I can take a punch doesn't mean that doesn't sting," he adds quickly when she's dabbing at his cut. His eyes flutter shut then as his mind tries to work why she was here of all places and not back home where she'd be safe.
Mayhap he was being a tad bit too strict and judgmental? He truly shouldn't be speaking when he had been the one rough housing within some back alley like some animal. Yet, she had likewise come out hurt as he had. So, maybe the two of them should take a step back and look at what they had done wrong? Ah, of course not! His hand lifts to catch her wrist then and pull her toward him. It's as close as the two had gotten with the exception of using her like some crutch.
"I've won a fight. I've won money. I've taken the girl home...And I haven't even gotten a kiss," he says. "At the very least you could give me the truth, Rhiannon, or a kiss. Either way, I want something out of this other than a damn scar," he says simply; his oh, so blue eyes meeting her own evenly and rather demandingly. All the while his warm, calloused fingers are tight upon her wrist and his touch upon her draws her closer to him as his face tips to nearly brush against hers.
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Rhiannon
CITIZEN
You wasted life, why wouldn't you waste death?
Posts: 27
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Post by Rhiannon on Nov 20, 2009 13:11:43 GMT -5
"Doing what I do best - beating the shit out of others and looking good while doing it.”
To that a small, quiet laugh escaped her lips. Cocky as ever, but rightfully so. Rhiannon flashed all too quickly back to Boston and watching him in a proper boxing ring. But that thought dragged her later into the night. His hand on the small on her back, her pressing against his shoulder to look at a photograph of his sister. Back pressed against the wrought iron fence, willfully pinned and lips on lips. Cameras flashing dragged her back to his apartment and the alcohol swap pinched between her fingers.
"Well, maybe not as good now with the cut and all..."
“I wouldn’t say that,” she couldn’t help but say. “Don’t let the lighting fool you - you still look quite good...” She shouldn’t have said that, but it was a touch too late to take it back so instead Rhiannon merely bit her lip.
"It took you a long time to find me. You weren't looking for me. You found me, but you weren't looking for me.” No reply; silence. His bluntness and astuteness was almost startling but she admitted nothing. From the corner of her eye she saw his throat work to swallow. "Gentle...Just because I can take a punch doesn't mean that doesn't sting.”
Rhiannon’s lips pursed but she nodded, her touches growing lighter. He was hardly bleeding now. She had been reaching to set the blood saturated swab down on the table when Moore’s hand wrapped around her wrist, twisting her around. Rhia gasped softly, a subtle intake of air as the wet cloth in her hand flew from her loose grasp to land wetly on the table. Her balance went off in her heels as the boxer turned her around and pulled her close. The scent of him was strong and made her instantly heady. His sweat - his blood. Her lower lip quivered and her tongue slid across to moisten it. Hunger suddenly gripped at her.
"I've won a fight. I've won money. I've taken the girl home...And I haven't even gotten a kiss. At the very least you could give me the truth, Rhiannon, or a kiss. Either way, I want something out of this other than a damn scar."
Oh God. Her exhalation came out in a ragged shudder as Moore pulled her closer still. Part of her wanted to turn her head away - she could feel his warm breath on her mouth. She should pull back. She shouldn’t be this close, not when he was injured. All too tempting was the carnal urge to sink her fangs into his flesh and take what she wanted of him. Her body shook gently with restraint. His voice, the way he spoke, his accent, his touch on her wrist made her defenses begin to crumble. Don’t fall against him, don’t fall against him, she told herself while her knees weakened as quickly as her resolve. The truth or a kiss, he wanted one or the other although she was fairly certain he would take both if she let him. She couldn’t let him know the truth. If he knew what she was, if he knew what monstrous demon she was he would push her away. Maybe strike at her, try to kill her. For the first time in her life she wondered if she wanted to die a virgin. Like it would make her death any more meaningful if she wasn’t.
Still unsteady on her feet, her hands reached out and pressed against the firmness of his chest to find her balance while her dark eyes flitted over him. His allure couldn’t be ignored; it demanded her rapt attention. She felt feverish and the heat he was radiating was burning her up. Rhiannon felt like a woman possessed - there was nothing she wanted more at that moment than to give her across the pond boxer a kiss. Her breathing slowed as she leaned her slight weight on him to bend her neck and tilt her head. A hand slid from his chest over his shoulder to let her fingers curled into his hair as she grazed her lips over his. Lightly and filled with reluctance; her entire body trembled. It took near more self control than she had to begin to pull away.
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Moore
CITIZEN
Oh, Sweet Ambrosia!
Posts: 63
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Post by Moore on Nov 22, 2009 13:03:14 GMT -5
Rhiannon hadn't done much speaking then but who could blame her? Hell, who could blame him? With that easy smile of his and sudden quiet that seemed to take over with their breathing mingling over one another; hot breath upon eachother's mouths. There's simply no doubt to the need between them and that more carnal part of them crying out for one another.
It had been one kiss once upon a time ago. It had been one simple kiss that could have meant nothing to anyone. Yet, here they were and Julian's mouth grew nigh impatient as Rhiannon's touch was upon him and her face was tipping closer to his own. She looks so pretty then and utterly attractive to his eyes with that soft hair and proportioned face of hers; those dark eyes and her soft mouth that he wanted to claim with his own since that day.
Mayhap Moore should stop her? He could be cross with her and demand an answer. Yet, Rhiannon was giving him what he wanted and this would have been something he would have stolen with or without her answer. Maybe he had grown a tad bit more loose with this sort of thing. He certainly wouldn't have done this around her master before had. He had a silent respect for men of contact-sports; so, mayhap that's why. Then the fact that she was young. Now? Legal. Older. She's all long legs and a tight body under her clothes. And she's kissing him.
Her touch lingers gentle upon him with her fingers nestling within his hair and her mouth on his. She tastes wonderful. Yet, that's something Moore could still recall. He would always be a man who could remember a face and much more. Now things were different though. They were alone together within his apartment without the risk of photographers snatching up that moment for a quick buck. Now they were here and with Rhiannon's gentle touch clashing with Moore's fervor.
His hands lift to cup her cheeks gently; palms warm and fingers splaying outward to touch at the ends of her soft hair. He pulls her closer and his mouth falls open against her own as his face tips to deepen their kiss. With tongue, lips and teeth does he bestow his kisses upon her. It had been far too long since their first kiss and longer since receiving any semblance of warmth. He had forgotten how this felt. He had forgotten how it felt to be wanted nearby and to have someone within his life even for a brief moment. It's strange to have no one. It's even stranger to be so volatile and expose his neck to the elements that's society as a whole.
Now he had her here under his touch and nearly pulling her onto his lap until finally his mouth draws away from her own so he may catch his breath. His face tips and brow bumps against her own albeit mindful of his own wound. It's then that his hands drop from her face and one smooths down that column of her throat where he could feel her very life bustling beneath the flesh. Then his hand strokes down the curve of her side and back to settle at the small of her back and lower even then to cup without shame against the curve of her rear before finally choosing to settle against the swell of her hip. He draws her against himself and without a word pulls her onto his thigh to perch upon as he leans within his seat quietly.
"You're going to be the end of me, Rhiannon," he murmurs suddenly but could not hide the smile his face nor the burst of heat smoothing throughout his body as a whole. His blood crying out for her touch and comfort. His chin tucks toward his chest and his eyes flit over her face. Then something crossed his mind. Something so sudden that such felt like a cold hand wiping down the line of his spine. It left him trembling ever so slightly that the motion was subtle.
"If I close my eyes...You aren't going to disappear, right?" He questions suddenly of her.
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Rhiannon
CITIZEN
You wasted life, why wouldn't you waste death?
Posts: 27
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Post by Rhiannon on Nov 25, 2009 11:45:33 GMT -5
Pull away, the voice in her head had said, and she’d begun to obey. But nothing ever went as planned in her life, did it? Her lips had barely touched his when she began to part them from him, but Moore had plans for more. Once Upon a Time he might have returned her soft kiss with equal tenderness. This wasn’t Once Upon a Time though, was it? Those days were a long, long ways away. The boxer’s calloused fingers were touching her, holding her face lightly before drawing her closer still. A quiet gasp escapes her mouth at the suddenness of it even though she should have been expecting it. Then he ravaged her mouth. A year and a few months of waiting pressed into one singular kiss. His teeth closing over her lip, dragged slightly before his tongue met hers in a heated tango. Rhiannon breathing was growing ragged but the onslaught wasn’t finished. Instead Moore pulled her body closer. Off balance, her long legs shook for a second before finding weak footing. Only then did the boxer break the kiss. The room was silence but for the sound of their sharp inhalations as the pair breathed in time with one another.
Goosebumps rose over her flesh as his hand travelled down her side, grasped her, then slid lower still before coming to a stop. A gentle pull of his hands took her footing and Rhiannon surrendered to gravity, letting herself settle in his lap. Only then, with her secured in his grasp, did Moore speak. His words caught her as off guard as the depth of his feverish kiss that had her mind still reeling. Her fingers were tight in his hair though; she loosened her grasp now.
"You're going to be the end of me, Rhiannon.”
Only if I hadn’t already fed, was her immediate though. She kept it to herself.
He was smiling and even as her cheeks burned she could feel herself smiling back, though with her shy innocence. Her other arm snaked around to entwine her fingers together behind his neck, still leaning her head against his as lightly as she could, mindful of his injuries. Fingernails raked over the heat of his flesh. Gentle. Then Rhia felt his body shake beneath her, a shudder.
"If I close my eyes...You aren't going to disappear, right?"
Another surprising question that at first she had no idea how to answer. Instead she sat there on his lap, trying to catch her breath and clear her thoughts while another part of her mind was processing what he said and trying to figure out what he’d meant. Her fingernails didn’t stop in her motions. It took a moment for her to lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead, clear of any fresh wounds though she could feel the texture of a scar beneath her lips. If her heart had a beat it would be racing.
“No,” she finally whispers. “If you close your eyes when you open them again I’m still going to be sitting here.” The beginnings of a teasing smile were playing with the corners of her lips. “I’ve been around all night. I was the one that made the crowd chant ‘We want Moore’ and distract you badly enough that you took a haymaker for the team. But just in case that didn’t convince you that I’m really here...close your eyes. Then open them. I’ll still be here, sitting in your lap.” Just please stop bleeding…
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Moore
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Oh, Sweet Ambrosia!
Posts: 63
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Post by Moore on Dec 10, 2009 10:40:27 GMT -5
No. She had said no. She wouldn't disappear amongst the flash of bulbs and raucous calls of the paparazzi. She wouldn't disappear amongst the swell of chaos that drama begins to cause. She wouldn't fall under the press of the world all around them and they wouldn't be parted by some damn pond between countries. If lady luck would serve him tonight then he'd have her as his own for now and thensome; she'd be within this city and he wouldn't have to look hard for her because she'd be there smiling up at him with her hands tangled behind his neck. He had thought about looking for her once when they had parted ways before. He had thought of seeking her out and at the very least calling her. That's before he had gotten caught up with other women and eventually married one. That was before all the alcohol and promiscuous nights with others. That was before all he smelled of was smothering perfume. Now, though, he had grown up; he had become a man who had left behind that life as a whole and now - out of some luck - he had found her, or rather, she found him. He couldn't help but smile though and feel warmth beneath the surface of his flesh, and even a fluttering within his heart as a whole. They had only known each other for one day once upon a time ago but that one day had been enough for her to make a mark on him. "Again, you're going to be the end of me," he says playfully. "It's been a long, long time since any one chanted my name, Rhiannon. It did take me off guard," he confesses with one shoulder lifting simultaneously to shrug his dismissal of such. It's then he's looking up at her. He's searching her face quietly as she tells him to shut his eyes; to close them and reopen them. He looked younger then. He looked boyish and unsure; uncertain of the actual truth. Yet, there he's shutting his face and he's quiet for what seems like an eternity and his mouth moves subtly. He's saying something but she couldn't hear such because the words - although being mouthed - were only uttered within his mind. It's a prayer and naught else. Then his eyes open and they might have looked suspiciously wet, but men did not cry, of course. She was the first thing of his past to actually resurface; the first being within his life that had come back and planned to stay, or so he hopes. It's no doubt to why he kissed her then again. Kissing her soft at first and then harder. He kissed her to assure that she's there and tasted as she did. She felt so cool underneath his warm touch and his loins ached. He couldn't help but want to make her warm; to fill her with what churns deep within his groin. After all, he is a man first but nonetheless wants her for what she stands as for him. "We should get you cleaned up too," he says suddenly as his hand strokes gently along the arch of her back and cups over her hip. His head lolls back so he may watch her all the while. "What do you say to that?"
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Rhiannon
CITIZEN
You wasted life, why wouldn't you waste death?
Posts: 27
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Post by Rhiannon on Dec 11, 2009 16:46:06 GMT -5
This was too much. No, he was too much but still not nearly enough. His smile was infectious and her own lips parted to mirror the upturned corners of his. He says again that she'll be his demise and she resists the urge to lap up his blood and warn him how close to the truth he might be. Part of her wanted to tell him that it was dangerous to be so close and to be so tempting, but Rhiannon bit her lip. She knew better. Cody and made sure that she fully understood the Masquerade and what breaking it meant - and that, above all, breaking it should never happen. The world was in her hands. A man she had coveted and desired for endless months, who she'd dreamt of and occasionally shed a tear for the loss of even though there'd really been nothing to lose back then. Here in front of her and she could do nothing but tell him lies and hide what she had become from him. He would hate her, fear her...She couldn't bear that though. Already the almost skeptical look he gives her, full of uncertainty and lack of his usual self assure, pained her that he might doubt she was there and that she'd stay. Could she stay? She wouldn't make a promise she couldn't keep. She would stay but she would never be able to tell him the truth or be entirely honest. She would live a lie.
All she wanted was Moore.
Rhiannon waited, holding her breath while Julian's eyes were shut. She watched his lips but couldn't read so instead she waited. Seconds were dragging by and her jaw trembled before his fear hit her. Would he still be here when he opened his eyes? Was she dreaming all this up? Some kind of terrible nightmare this would be if he wasn't real, if he didn't exist the way he was right now. He'd open his eyes and she'd be back in some dank bar clinging to Cinderella dreams that would never come true. Because this is real life and Cinderella's coach was a pumpkin.
When he opened his eyes Rhiannon didn't see any semblance of tears, because she was the one crying. Swelled up in her eyes, saltwater beads that came rolling down when he pulled her lips to his once again. Rhia's grip tightened on him, clinging to this reality that she'd feared was a mirage, and kissed him with every bit of passion she had ever felt. She tasted a tear as it slid into the kiss but she ignored it. She had Moore. He was here and for now he was hers and he wasn't going anywhere. When he pulled away the backs of her hands immediately brushed her cheeks dry, the moment of weakness gone as she looked at him with dark eyes.
"We should get you cleaned up too. What do you say to that?"
She nodded without protest, bending her head to kiss him once again before rising to her feet. The urge was there to take his hand in hers and let him guide her to the bathroom but she didn't, instead keeping it as her side while she waited for him to lead the way.
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Moore
CITIZEN
Oh, Sweet Ambrosia!
Posts: 63
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Post by Moore on Dec 13, 2009 20:43:30 GMT -5
She's so quiet. It's somewhat unexpected of the young woman who had been brash that night at dinner. She had said a few things; enough to make Quinn send her out. He could still remember taking his own breath of fresh air that night; a breath that ended with theirs mingling and their mouths hard against one another. Either way, her silence was somewhat surprising after their reunion, but then again, their silence was a comfortable sort; one that needed no uttered words.
So, she kisses him once more time; his mouth nestling against hers and lips parting. His tongue lolls outward to lap softly at her pout before his hand lifts to tangle within her hair but rather too late. She's already coming to her feet and drawing away from him and all he could do was watch her and smile. She's so lovely. He's breathless then and for good reason to say the very least. Moore didn't think he'd ever find himself this...well, lucky.
He comes to his feet then and without a word his hand slips within her own. It's a familiar touch, somehow. He's not sure how to be quite honest when considering they hardly knew eachother, truly. Yet, they had a day fueled by a connection not many would understand, nor even him.
Strange, really, but Moore savored every passing moment. Especially now.
His bathroom was not so far off from his kitchen. Also, the apartment as a whole was rather quaint and more meant for one than an actual family. Yet, Moore did live alone, no? For now at the very least. Was this the beginning of having someone else beside him from now on? His breath catches at the thought as he leads her to the bathroom; back pressing against the door jamb as he pulls on her hand to sweep her within.
"Maybe you should shower," he says simply as his eyes roam over her face briefly and his mouth spreads somewhat toward a smile. "I do hope I don't have your tongue," he adds suddenly. What's that supposed to mean? Teasing her, obviously; after all, she did get quiet on him. It's then he leans more toward her. Shouldn't she be showering? Shouldn't he be leaving her to her own devices? Yes, but he didn't. His hands not on hers any longer; not on her face but lowering to her hips as fingertips seek out the hem of her dress.
"If you can't think straight then how can I knowingly leave you to your own devices?" He questions of her as his face brushes close and brow bumps against her own. It's then his fingers curl beneath the hem of her dress; fingers pulling upon her skirt to draw such upward and along her thighs albeit only a slight.
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Rhiannon
CITIZEN
You wasted life, why wouldn't you waste death?
Posts: 27
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Post by Rhiannon on Dec 13, 2009 23:54:43 GMT -5
This was dangerous - he was trouble and she knew it, but that wasn't stopping her or slowing her down. Rhiannon's lower lip was trembling as he rose to his feet. She swore she felt her still heart pound out a stammered beat as Moore read her mind, his warm hand reaching out to envelope hers. And she let him. Laced her fingers betwixt his and felt the heat of his palm grazing against hers. The pressure and contact of skin on skin was torturous and not nearly enough - he was turning her into a glutton for punishment. So it was obediently that she let the boxer lead her down the hall.
His hands drew her forward sharply and Rhiannon breathed deep. He smelled like street, bar, blood and sweat. Underneath all that, though, she could smell him. Not quite the way he had smelled in Boston but still there rang a reminiscent touch of something familiar. Julian Moore's flesh and blood. And he was holding her so close. She could breathe in his breath.
"Maybe you should shower." She didn't disagree, but then again she couldn't. She was almost as filthy as he was - except he made it look good. She probably just looked...Rhiannon couldn't find anything low enough to finish that thought with. Her lips parted slightly to answer but no sound came out. "I do hope I don't have your tongue."
"No," she says quickly, her voice almost a squeak if it weren't for how quiet it came out. Suddenly she was right back in Boston again, him saying nearly the same words now that he had then. It was almost like history was playing itself over again with so much of the same overlapping, stitching itself into the present. Moore came closer; Rhiannon held her breath. His hands fell past her waist to touch upon her hips, then lower to the torn hem. What had been fairly modest just above her knees she had sacrificed to near mid-thigh. The callouses of his fingers were rough as they brushed over her skin, taking the material of her dress in hand.
"If you can't think straight then how can I knowingly leave you to your own devices?"
Again her lips parted to respond but not a sound came out as their foreheads touched. Then she felt the graze of the boxer's dangerous hands raise the hem even higher. For a moment her breathing went ragged and Rhiannon felt the knees of her lean legs go weak. Her slight weight leaned against him a touch more, letting him support her. Rhiannon's tongue slipped out to moisten her pout, forcing her thoughts together. She'd felt lust for this man over a year ago but it paled in comparison to what she was experiencing now, clutching her to the core. Except then there had been so much stopping them, so much in the way. Quinn, their age difference, a waitress, cameras. But now there was only a few layers of clothes and her willpower to resist - because she knew without needing his confirmation that if she let him, he'd have her. And he'd have her as many ways and as many times as she could take. Seconds were ticking by and she still hadn't responded, breath still caught in her chest.
"How can you?" she managed to murmur back rhetorically, looks at him from beneath dark lashes. Her hands fell on his chest before sliding lower to the hard washboard of muscle she felt beneath her palms, just above the waist of the boxer's jeans. The desire for his blood was fast taking a backseat to the desire for his flesh. There was an inexplicable draw to him for her. The athleticism, his confidence, right down to the deep love he had for his sister. Everything about him sucked her in closer and she knew she was being a sucker, but she couldn't make herself stop. And he wasn't going to help her to brake.
"I should be able to manage," Rhiannon finally whispered, swallowing hard as her last shred of desire to maintain her innocence and virtue spoke up to draw a weak, wavering line. She forced her chin to lift so that she could meet his eyes - mistake. Those eyes looking at her with desire was almost too much for her to resist. So she turned her head toward the shower, forcing her feet to turn with her as she took a step away from his touch and farther into the bathroom; she felt so cold now without the Scot's hands on her. Her legs shook ever so slightly and she put her back to him so that he wouldn't see the tightness of her features as she tried to pull herself together again. "Where's a towel I can use?"
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Moore
CITIZEN
Oh, Sweet Ambrosia!
Posts: 63
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Post by Moore on Dec 16, 2009 1:32:55 GMT -5
Of course she could manage. She had been able to without him since the day they met. This was simply him attempting for warmth and any semblance of affection. This was Julian Moore longing for something denied to him by Quinn; by the flashing lights, too. He had been destroyed within the public eye of America for such a thing; tabloids eagerly pecking at such and throwing out their opinions for all those who were willing to listen. That had been a long time ago though. Now, he's watching her with hunger clear within his eyes; wolfish, truly. His tongue smooths over his lower lip and he's struggling not to salivate. He wants to feast upon her ravenously, and taste her flesh crush beneath his mouth; the heat of her blood pooling at the back of his throat. He wanted her to sate his hunger for flesh - oh, how utterly sickening! His nostrils drink the scent of her and he swallows as hands are drawn away by her sudden movement. His fingers are left to curl and fingertips bite against his palm as he watches her. Hunger replaced by need of the physical nature. "I can find one for you." It's what he says but he doesn't step away. He should have known better though, truly; after all, he stands there watching her. He's half-expecting her to turn and give herself to him and the other part whispers within his mind for him to take what he wanted. That that's what she's waiting for. That what she wanted was to simply be mounted with the hem of her dress hiked about her waist and his hips bearing down against her with his breath grating against her ear. He nearly groans audibly at the thought as he draws closer and lifts a hand to brush beneath her hair and over the nape of her neck. His fingers are rough. Yet, they're gentle upon her cool flesh as his mouth draws close to her ear. She'd feel his breath there; bathing her skin achingly slow with each exhale. She'd also feel the draw of his breath then; him breathing her within...savoring her with pleasure clear upon his features even from what little she'd be able to see on the mirror adorning the wall above the sink. His lips part and press against her ear gently. He's so close that his hips brush against the swell of her backside and his chest draws close against her shoulders. She'd feel the heat there and the undoubtedly ecstastic thump of his heart beneath; even the hitch of his breath. There's no doubt to what he wanted to do... ...to smother her and leave so little untouched. Then...his voice teases against her ear as he wrestles with what to do. "I'll get you that towel," he breathes out albeit reluctantly, "and something to wear," he adds before his fingers tangle within her hair and he upturns her face only to tip hers toward his. With his height, Julian was left easily able to tip his face over her own and claim a kiss. Soft. Warm. Quick. Then he's releasing her and he's cold without her as he steps out of the bathroom. All the while he swallows and his mind swells with thoughts of Rhiannon. His Rhiannon.
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Rhiannon
CITIZEN
You wasted life, why wouldn't you waste death?
Posts: 27
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Post by Rhiannon on Jan 1, 2010 11:22:57 GMT -5
He was rattling her away to pieces and Rhiannon had to fight for every breath, struggling hard. She could feel his gaze on her, devouring her with every passing second. She felt so much like prey, even though she was the hunter here. Knew that she could rip him limb from limb and leave him lying lifeless and dead on the tile floor. She could throw him around like he was some kind of rag doll - him and all of his boxing matches and glory days were a dull shoeshine compared to what she was capable of. He was so human. Breakable and finite. For a moment Rhiannon could see how some vampires looked down on them with disgust.
"I can find one for you."
She didn’t hear him move. Holds her breath when he does, then shudders as the warm air he’s exhaling brushes over her skin. Goosebumps rose and Rhiannon closed her eyes tightly. A small voice whispered that she should turn around a kiss him. Pull him against her and fall back against the wall. Let him pin her and have her in whatever way he desired. Rhiannon felt her legs growing weak. With each breath her resistance and restraint lessened. Fire raced up her spine as he drew near. Her hands reached out and grabbed onto the edges of the sink to steady herself but not moving away, not wanting to lose the feeling of his body against hers.
Cody.
"I'll get you that towel and something to wear."
Rhiannon let out a gasp as his fingers slipped into her dark waves and twisted her head slightly, and his mouth captured hers again. Legs trembled underneath her. She wanted him, she wanted him to stop, she wanted him to keep going, she wanted to push him away, she wanted to pull him closer. Before the devil and angel on her shoulder could face off properly his lips parted from hers and Rhiannon was left cold as Julain left. A hand went to cover her heart, half expecting to feel it skipping beats - but it was as still as ever. She was reluctant to undress, leaving her clothes in a pile on the floor as she stepped into the shower. Hands twisted the knobs and she was hit with a pounding hot spray of water. Her dark eyes roved around the small space. Shampoo, rinse, soap. Rhiannon moved the suds over her lithe body, trying her damnedest not to think about wanting Moore.
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Moore
CITIZEN
Oh, Sweet Ambrosia!
Posts: 63
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Post by Moore on Jan 3, 2010 21:35:43 GMT -5
It's not very easy for Moore to step away from something so tempting as Rhiannon's young and supple body. He wanted her and could feel the thrum of blood within his groin; oh, blissful arousal. Yet, somehow Moore had managed to push his mind away from such. He had a task at hand, and that alone seemed to help, or rather, somewhat at the very least.
"Bugger," he grunts when searching through a hallway closet to find...well, not much of anything. Yeah, Moore wasn't exactly the most cleanly of people. That can be blamed on the fact that he didn't exactly have a woman to look after him. You see, Moore had never truly needed to worry about the workings of a home. His mother had taken care of things, and his sister later on within his life. Then there had been that brief stint with his wife. Yeah, Moore did very little house work.
He had always brought home the "bacon," per say. It's not easy to skip childhood and be thrust straight toward adulthood. It's even harder to have nothing but the worn out leather of his boxing gloves and sneakers; having so very little on his back with the exception of what was given to him. How many nights had he fought without even food within his belly? How many times had he lied to his little sister that he was full and gave his plate up to her?
Sacrifices.
"Fuck me," he grunts and stares up at the closet that's full of nothing but sheets. There's nothing that he could use here and much less anything Rhiannon can make use of - unless she wanted the couch. He pushes that door shut and seeks his bedroom. It's plain and not much to look at with those cold, drab blue walls that's cracked and faded. The floors are wooden and old; chipped and uneven. The dressers are covered with a thin line of dust, but undoubtedly would be clean beneath that one television set and stacked folders and articles of folded clothing. It took him only a moment to find his closet then and there, and soon a stack of towels. He snatches up one and draws such to his nose to breathe within; clean. With that he tucks such beneath his arm and leaves.
Next was a shirt. He didn't exactly have women's clothing, and obviously that's for the reason that he didn't cross-dress. So, what to do? He had nothing exactly "small," so, would she mind anything large? It would have to be comfortable to say the very least. It wasn't long until Moore settled on a white button-down shirt. It's fresh and recently cleaned, but with obvious wear and tear from the months, and even years, that have passed from use. He seeks out the bathroom with these in tow.
Maybe Moore should have knocked. He certainly could have but didn't. It was his apartment, and as far as Moore thought, he believed that they had come to some...well, "point" of sorts. He presses within the bathroom and tucks the towel upon the toiletseat for easy reach before setting the shirt upon the sink's counter out of splash-range lest she ruin that. His eyes flit to his discarded clothing.
"I trust you don't need any help?" He questions from beyond that curtain the shields her from himself. He crouches to sweep up her discarded clothing and press them against his chest; holding such within one arm as he sets his freehand upon the sink's counter. His eyes roam over the curtain; her silhouette clear as ever as his brow furrows and nose wrinkles.
"Don't take too long," he says suddenly. "I've got to shower too. Unless you like sleeping with someone smelling like sweat and the streets," he points out with a short laugh. With he falls silent. Yet, he doesn't move; he stands there and watches her, or rather, her silhouette.
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