Dangerous Liaisons [Open]

[bel]

“Ya seem the type,” Bel mutters in reply, brow lifting skyward. The type of what, exactly? The type of guy who got away with murder. Maybe not so literally, though Annabel didn’t know much about this young man, and he very well may have gotten off on his looks and debonair alone. It could happen, especially over a jury of middle-aged women. Bel’s not so sure how she’d rule on that case, to be honest.

She may be inclined to let this man off scott free!

But not tonight. Tonight Annabel’s mouth had pressed upon his in retort to his own assault. And now they were loitering, it was as simple as that. The two of them were standing within some downpour with thunder clapping overhead and the sight of lightening bearing down upon the two of them. Dangerous? Maybe not technically. The odds of being struck by lightening were very slim. But lightening, and flying, and swimming in the ocean seemed to be natural sort of fears for all human beings, despite the fact that they’re all reasonably safe circumstances.

Bel isn’t afraid. She is, however, almost achingly cold. Her jacket had somehow soaked through, or maybe that wasn’t even it. Had she even bothered to button up the damn thing in the first place? Whatever the case Miss Annabel Lee was soaked and cold, and had Blaise not been egging her on and encouraging her to splash within those puddles, she probably would have retreated to the confines of her apartment some time ago, changed into her pajamas, and simply tucked into bed. Maybe watched some TV, or picked one of the many books she’d yet to read off of her floor. Whatever she did she’d be warmer than she was now.

Though she’s not complaining.

Her brows simply furrow beneath his touch, and a slow sort of smile spreads across the breadth of her pleasant features, “I do,” she confesses, tossing a quick glance toward where her apartment may lie. Was he hinting toward something? Should she invite him over? Heaven knew what would come of that. He was trouble, and Bel knew it, though she couldn’t quite explain what kind of trouble he was. Call it intuition.

Whatever, though. There was truly no time to hesitate, or even hint toward the hesitance which was churning within the back of her mind. What’s the worst that could happen? Nothing so horrible, or so Annabel thought.

“I believe this is when I coyly invite you over, for coffee, or tea, or something,” Bel murmurs, a hand lifting to rake rain slick locks away from her brow, “So, how about we go back to my place?” she offers with a widening, and almost sweet-looking smile. The ball was in Blaise’s court now, though Annabel would be willing to place a bet that he’d accept her offer, whether or not the two of them would indulge in coffee or something more has yet to be determined.

[Blaise Blackwood]

Right on cue, she picked up on his intentions. There was no point in trying to play it otherwise, right? She did not flinch beneath his touch. She did not recoil, or balk at the fact that he was a stranger. There was a man, deep down inside of him, that wanted to berate her and tell her that she shouldn’t be so willing to invite strangers home. But it didn’t matter, not now. He wasn’t going to harm her, not physically anyhow. Nor was he going to steal from her. Nothing consequential or concrete. Nothing that she would miss.

Blaise chuckles and steps away from Bel; “And yet, in the end, you invite me for no reason at all.” He said, teasing.

“Though I wouldn’t say no to some coffee.” He said; it didn’t matter that his blood ran hot and that he could withstand the elements, for reasons that even he didn’t understand. The lifestyle he had was one that he’d lived with since he remembered. He’d never been sick, and so had never had to go to the doctor. Nobody had ever told him he had something wrong with him, and he was the only one who knew that there was something different about him. It was something that he’d learned to keep secret. It wouldn’t work, if he didn’t keep it secret. But to get back to the point. Although the cold didn’t affect him like it should, ordinarily, he was still subject to its whims. Because it was raining, and the wind was cold, a scalding hot coffee sounded heavenly.

Not that he planned on sitting around and chin-wagging all night. No, that would be a waste of a perfectly good storm. And he did wonder, when considering their laced conversation from before, what kind of woman she would be when seduced.

He gestured in the direction which she’d glanced; the direction in which he assumed her home lay.

The rain continued to pour. By now, Blaise knew his storms by heart. This one was not a weakling. This one was not the kind of storm that lasted only five minutes, and then was blown away. No, this one was going to last the majority of the night. And they couldn’t very well stay out of doors all night.

[bel]

What was the difference? Truly, was there a difference between meeting some stranger at a bar and dragging them home for a night’s fun, and meeting someone on the boardwalk and doing very much the same? Truth be told there was very little difference between the two situations, save for the fact that the two of them would save on cab faire. It was no more than a hop, skip, and a jump to her apartment building, and a set of stairs to conquer before the two of them would be left alone within the confines of that one-bedroom apartment.

In Bel’s opinion, it didn’t so much matter how the two of them met, or that they were strangers, and she was laying her trust in him. “Maybe not for no reason,” Miss Annabel Lee reasons with a flutter to a single dark lash. A wink. Perhaps it was lost in her frantic blinking amongst this downpour. And perhaps not, either way, it’d been offered up to him. If anyone could keep up with Blaise’s flirtatious banter, it would be Bel. She’d no qualms with flirting with just about anyone. Good friends, girls, guys, strangers. It was exciting, and Annabel by far enjoyed this playful way of being as opposed to the more harsh realities of life.

It was simply fun, to be blunt about it.

“C’mon, Sweet thing,” Annabel finds herself beckoning, slipping her hand within the confine of Blaise’s own, without a hint of hesitation nor embarrassment in that moment. Sure, most people considered hand-holding a more intimate thing - something boyfriends and girlfriends may do with one another. Not a couple of strangers. Whatever, though, this seemed simplest, and Annabel wasn’t really one to over think things such as this.

So, hand in hell Bel skips along. Well, not so literally skips, but the thought is there. The eager leading of someone else. Excitement thrumming within her body and from her fingertips to his. Maybe he couldn’t feel that, but maybe he could. It didn’t so much matter to Bel, as after all, the walk to her apartment wasn’t exactly a long one to be had, and soon enough the two of them came to a halt before that locked door.

It’s late by now, what time was it, anyway? Far too late for the majority of her neighbors to be awake. The lot within this building weren’t particularly elderly. Middle aged is perhaps the best way to describe them, either way, the majority were to bed by at least ten o’clock. More often than not Bel could get away with stroking her hand down those call buttons until someone bothered to simply let her in. It eliminated the need for a batch of keys. But tonight she’d be courteous, and avoid both waking the neighbors, and getting those looks with raised brows when they peeked out into the hallway to see who may have buzzed them in the first place.

After all, Annabel hand-in-hand with some handsome young man wasn’t exactly a common site, evermore considering that she’d been out for less than an hour! Oh, the looks she’d get then, oh, and let’s not even think about the hushed whispers had around the communal mail box unit. The murmurs of her being some sort of promiscuous young woman. Of course not all middle aged women were kind enough to use such indirect words. Slut, they’d call her.

Instead Annabel releases his hand only to rifle through the confines of her pocket.

The door was soon opened and Bel presents, well, the hallway to him, “We’re going up the stairs,” Bel informs him with a broad sort of grin. Her backside presses upon the swing of that door to hold it open for Blaise. A slight backward by the way of chivalry, but, well, was anyone really chivalrous anymore? Annabel didn’t think so, or at least no instance of it came to mind.

So with Blaise in her apartment building Annabel likewise steps inwards only to ruffle fingertips through wet hair. It would be nice to dry off, or so Bel thought. She’d been cold outside, and now with the warm air pressing upon her form she’d realized just how cold it’d been out, and how nice it was to be warm again. Annabel eagerly peels her peacoat away from bare shoulders, taking those stairs - eleven of them - up and toward her apartment.

She leaves it unlocked for cigarette breaks like this, after all, she hadn’t expected to be out in the rain for so long, “Oh,” Bel recalls suddenly, “I have a dog,” she announces, kicking to the base of her door to shoo that fat pup away. No doubt he’d heard her coming, “Don’t worry, he’s too fat to do any damage,” she assures him with an impish grin, daring to slip inwards and likewise tug Blaise in, pulling the door closed behind them before that portly bulldog has a chance to slip free.

[Blaise Blackwood]

Blaise was starting to think that this experience was going to be far more than he had bargained for. Bel had no qualms about inviting him back to her apartment, and blatantly hinted at the reason why they were headed back so early. There was no point in trying to cover up his actions with chivalry or gentlemanliness. He could pretend that he only wanted to escort her back to keep her safe, but they both knew it was a rort.

The two of them were not exactly inconspicuous as they cantered along beneath the torrents of rain, Bel tugging Blaise along with a healthy grip on his hand. He kept up with her strides well enough, however. And he supposed it wouldn’t look all that unusual. They were a couple running to get out of the rain. As they reached the more populated areas, he saw there were plenty of other people doing the same—running from their cars to their intended destinations, or vice versa. Except no one else was absolutely saturated. No one had had the clever idea of playing in the rain before running for shelter.

But there it was. There was a buzz that emanated from Bel’s fingertips, produced by the endorphins in her blood, he supposed. He never had quite figured out where these things came from or why they made him feel so damned good. But he chose to be grateful for them, regardless. Unbeknownst to her, Bel had acquired a flavour, and behind her back Blaise grinned hungrily.

They finally arrived at her apartment complex and Blaise waited patiently as she fumbled for her keys. She had the door open soon enough and Blaise passed by her into the hall with an impish grin, eyes trailing up the stairs and around the inner room. He didn’t have much time to appraise the hall, however, before she was leading him up the stairs. There were no keys needed for her door (something Blaise noticed, and kept locked away in that mind of his). He was quite ready to get through that door and immediately push her against the back of it as soon as they were both inside.

But it seemed a smaller beast would somewhat deter his plans.

She stated that she had a dog, and assured him it would do no harm. Her foot flailed at the base of the door to keep it from running out, he supposed. And Blaise did not get a good look at the dog until they were both inside and the door was closed firmly behind them.

He immediately crouched down to the dog, getting closer to its level in order to calm it if it did indeed think he was going to cause its owner harm. It was an English bulldog, and though the breed had a mean looking exterior, Blaise knew them to be quite cheery little things.

“Hey there, boy.” He cooed, roughing up the dog’s ears and trailing his fingers over his back in an affectionate sort of way. Women, he supposed, didn’t take well to strangers not liking their pets. At least, in his experience they responded far better if he took a liking to their pets, and especially so if their pets took a liking to him.

He glances up at her, then loving the way her bare shoulders look as they’re smeared with water, her dark hair clinging so enticingly to her skin. A bolt of energy shot through his limbs, but he remained where he was. He was a master at control when he wanted to be, and it made for a far better climax, anyway.

“What’s his name?”

[bel]

Annabel pinches a pretty eye shut. Would her having a dog be a deal-breaker of sorts? Well, maybe. After all, having a dog was a lot like having a kid, though thankfully pups weren’t quite as needy as mewling children. Still, Holmes was a direct result of an ex boyfriend, much like children were nowadays. Still, she couldn’t have left the poor pup with that horrid man, and so here she was now, smuggling a dog within her apartment.

“Holmes,” Miss Annabel Lee utters with a wrinkle to her nose. His name sounds almost awkward upon her tongue despite having uttered such for a good three years, blame it on the accent.

Now, Annabel loved that damned dog, and there was truly no questioning such, but it seemed he’d make any further advances on Blaise a slight awkward. Heaven knew she wouldn’t want to scar her baby with those unholy acts the two of them would no doubt partake in. Sooner or later she’d have to muster up the discipline to shoo that poor little pup off and into his kennel. A task in itself, to be sure, as Annabel wasn’t so use to bossing that dog around. Still, it would need to be done.

“Coffee, or tea?” she asks of him motioning to fill a small container full of water to either dump within the confines of the kettle on the stove or that ever-waiting coffee pot situated near the refrigerator. Whatever his choice was, Annabel poured the water accordingly only to abandon the container within the confines of her sink. It didn’t really need washing, but she didn’t want to come off as the dirty type. Well, at least not the physically dirty type. Mentally, emotionally, well, she’d leave that decision up for Blaise to find out. As for the measuring cup, well, she’d take care of that later, maybe after Blaise went home, or tomorrow morning.

She pushes the thought of dishes to the back of her mind, it’d all be taken care of later. But what of the rest of that one-bedroom apartment? Was that clean? Did it even really matter? Probably not. Annabel wasn’t the most digusting thing ever, that was, and her apartment certainly reflected such. Sure, there may be a shirt or pants tossed upon the floorboards, but there certainly wasn’t any sort of stray slices of pizza to be found beneath the couch, or popsicle sticks wedged between the couch cushions.

“Go get Watson,” Bel demands of that pup. The dog replies with a tip to its head and an almost baffled sort of look ‘who? me?’ he was simply too busy to be basking in the affection bestowed upon him by Blaise. Should she scold Blaise for spoiling that puppy of hers?

Nah, there was no reason.

“Go,” she demands once more, with a toss to her pretty head. Her soft lips purse with an all too stern look. Reluctantly the portly pup waddles off, and into what could be considered the living room. No doubt it would take some time to find that one special stuffed toy amongst the mass of all others. “He’s a people-person,” Bel mutters almost apologetically, teeth bearing down upon the lower tier of her pout thereafter.

It’s then Annabel steps closer only to draw warming fingertips through Blaise’s hair before he could motion to his feet, nails raking delicately upon his scalp as she does so.

[Blaise Blackwood]

“Holmes, ingenious.” Blaise muttered, continuing to pet the dog, who’d rolled over onto his stomach. His eyes wandered the apartment to find Bel, puttering around in the kitchen. Of course he was glad that she wasn’t some kind of slob—no matter how energetic he felt, or how much he wanted her excitement, if the place was grimy and unliveable, it would have killed the mood instantly. But the place was like any apartment should be. It wasn’t too clean to make it look like a hotel room, and was messed enough only to show that it was lived in. He liked the ‘live-in’ feel. It made it feel homely, and warm.

“Coffee, please.” He said, even though he wasn’t even sure he’d be consuming. Too much of this idle chit-chat and the mood would be killed, too. If one looked close enough, one might able to detect the sparks of energy flitting across Blaise’s eyes.

And then the dog was ordered from their presence, told to go get ‘Watson,’ as baffling as that was. Was Watson another dog? Or something else? What did it matter? Blaise stopped petting the dog and, upon discovering that it was no longer being pampered, it sauntered off to do as it was told. Blaise watched the retreating dog for a moment, ready to stand again and assess the situation.

But Bel was already in front of him raking her hands through his hair.

Holmes was a people person. Blaise smiled, and looked up at Bel. The look in his eyes was pure cheek; he was glad that her hands did not contain steaming cups of coffee, and that she did not suggest they sit at the table and talk.

“And so are you, it would seem.” He said, admitting the truth, so far as he could get at it. How could she not be a people person? She’d invited him up here readily enough. No non-people-person would ever have considered doing so with so little persuasion. But he was not complaining. Blaise like people-people. They were his kind of people. He definitely was a people person, and would never be ashamed to admit it.

Swiftly, he stood from his position and wrapped an arm around Bel’s waist, the other raking her own hair away from her face, bundling it in his grasp at the nape of her neck. He captures her lips, then, and took a few steps, swivelling her toward whichever wall was closest, pinning her to it so that he could nip at her jawline, at the tender skin beneath her ear, down her neck to her collarbone—the bare, warm skin that he had not been able to access beforehand due to copious amounts of clothing. Yes, this was so much better.

He then smiled against her skin, lips tracing a line back to her ear.

“Mmm, my favourite kind of coffee.” He said, obviously teasing.

[bel]

Was Annabel a people-person? Almost definitely, though she wasn’t the overly enthusiastic type that one would stereotype as a people person. She simply didn’t mind the majority of humanity, and was fine with the buzzing of life about them. She enjoyed people for what they had to offer her.

“Suppose I am,” Bel agreed with a lazy lift to a single shoulder, all whilst her hands busied themselves within Blaise’s rain soaked hair. His scalp was warm beneath her fingertips, and hair slick and soft between the pads of her forefinger and thumb. It was a more than welcomed sensation upon her cooled fingertips, though it seemed her grasp wouldn’t last much longer, and soon enough Bel was nigh literally being caught up, and the curve of her spine falls heartily upon that sunshine yellow wall of hers. (Kitchens should be yellow, or so Bel has deemed.)

And Miss Annabel Lee Courcel is more than eager to accept the touch of his mouth upon her own with a tip to that pretty head of hers.

All the while Annabel’s body thrums with excitement, from the heat beneath her fingertips, to the flicker of mischief within those mossy green eyes of hers, to the arch of her spine away from her kitchen wall, Bel’s form is alight with excitement, and near buzzing with electricity. As she’s sure Blaise’s is likewise. Hell, his energy is near palpable, but then again, that could simply be Annabel’s imagination running away with her in the heat of the moment.

“Really?” Annabel breathes when he speaks of coffee amongst the taste of her flesh beneath his mouth, and she can‘t help but offer up a pleased sort of sigh, “I’m partial to hazelnut,” Miss Courcel confesses, of course it’s more than obvious she’s simply teasing him within those moments. There’s a smile playing across that warm mouth of hers, though soon enough it was being stifled by the press of her teeth upon her lower lip, her eyeteeth bearing down upon the soft flesh, tugging upon such easily.

A sly hand sneaks downward then, drawing from the press of her fingertips from that smoothed and cool surface of her sunny kitchen wall, only to touch first upon Blaise’s side only to smooth downward to his hip, and further still to cup oh so innocently over the young man’s backside. Could Bel be blamed? She was convinced he had a fine one of those, seeing as near everything else of him was damn close to perfect. With that hand upon his rump, and the other rested warmly upon his hip, Annabel simply tugs the young man’s closer, without hesitance or embarrassment; her breasts pressing warmly upon his chest and soft hips nudging dangerously close. Once more her face tips to press her pout upon his own.

Soon enough Annabel’s mouth falls from Blaise’s and those green eyes of hers meet his own. She can’t help the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. It’s almost boyish, and no doubt edging on the sleazy side, a brow perks skywards then, offering up all which should be said, though Annabel lacked the grace to say - the ‘Is this gonna happen?’

He fingertips creep upwards and beneath the hem of his shirt to seek out bared flesh.

[Blaise Blackwood]

It was odd, how two complete strangers could mix so headily. The sparks of energy flew between them, each charge electrifying the other. And it’s not the kind of spark that romantics talk about, either. Not that silly thing that’s supposed to let two people know that they’re meant to spend the rest of their lives together. No. This spark was more the kind found when two live wires of electricity accidentally (or otherwise) find themselves touching. It was action and reaction. It was a completely natural way for two strange bodies to come together—to find that they actually have something in common.

Their need for satisfaction.

The energy flying through all Blaise’s limbs wants to send him in several different directions at the same time. Like a live wire, he’s unpredictable and nigh unable to control himself. Inside, he’s laughing as Bel grasps at his backside and tugs him closer. The inner laughter translates to a low, purring growl—an indecipherable sound, to be sure, but one that clearly indicates his pleasure.

His entire body is lapping up the excited pulse that she’s emanating, and being closer to her body brings him closer to his satisfaction. She is the socket, and he is the plug—he needs that inexhaustible energy of hers in order to recharge, else he’d be nothing but a useless lump of meat.

At her insistence, his lips massage hers once more, before she’s pulling away and giving him an impish kind of grin; her digits play upon the bare flesh beneath his shirt, and the whispering touch sends shivers of anticipation down his spine. Well, hell—if that wasn’t hint enough at what she wanted...

And he was very likely to give it to her.

The grin he offered back was equally impish, and he released his hold on Bel to swiftly remove his jacket. The heaviness of the leather fell to the floor at their feet, only for Blaise to kick the garment aside so that it wouldn’t trip them up later. He’s obviously very skilled at this—within moments he has his shoes removed and his belt buckle undone, but between the removal of each item he’s placing a kiss on Bel’s lips, each one more sensual than the last.

Nor did he move away from her, her hands still beneath his shirt—he lifts his arms skyward, then, so that she might remove it easily. It peeled from his torso, which delighted in the coolness of the air as it hit his dampened skin.

And the impish grin grew devilish, then, as he lowered his arms, his own fingers seeking out the hem of her shirt; an eye for an eye, yes? That’s how this situation worked, wasn’t it? If this had been his apartment he’d have swept her up in his arms, then and there, and taken her to his bedroom like some prize trophy, to lay her neatly upon the bed. But this was not his apartment, and though he was a little devil when he wanted to be, he still adhered to social etiquette.

[bel]

Then his shirt was gone, and Annabel truly had no lingering regrets. No “my mother would be disappointed in me,” no second thoughts, or what ifs, or anything of the sort. Bel was simply fine with where this was headed, and in fact, she couldn’t wait to get there.

Heated fingertips fall to smooth along the ladder of his ribs, before sidling downwards to tuck upon the dip of his sides.

Yep, there was certainly nothing wrong the current happenings, even if god, her mother, and her next door neighbors disapproved. Whatever, she never liked her neighbors, anyway, they were simply too old fashioned, and them and Annabel were on complete opposite ends of that spectrum. And as much as they hated it, Annabel was still young. Though she’d no time to worry about her neighbors filing a noise complaint if the two of them were to get a slight too noisy, no, she’d deal with that when the time came.

Annabel’s arms, too, fly upwards so Blaise may tug the fabric of her shirt from her tender form, offering up bared shoulders, and abdomen, and perhaps the least impressive of any bra that she could have been wearing. Though there was no time to be worrying about the state of her underwear, it’s not as though it were ratty and old, saved for laundry day underwear, they’re simply… plain, to put it best, though to be fair, she’d not expected herself to be doing any sort of seducing on this eve.

“Bedroom,” Annabel recalls suddenly, lowering her mouth to sweep upon Blaise’s collar one final time before she dares to nudge from beneath the weight of Blaise’s body so she may catch fingertips within the waistband of his pants to tug him onwards and through the short width of her living room, in order to nudge her bedroom door. It seemed that Holmes was very distracted with something or other - sleeping probably, laziness played a heavy factor in his weight gain - and the two of them would be getting away with this little foray scott free.

Just fine with Annabel, and almost easily she kicks the heel of her foot toward the door to send it falling closed.

What came next could have been considered a slight unexpected, while it’d already been proved time and again that Annabel wasn’t any sort of delicate flower, it was commonly believed that women were meek in bed. So, that hand tugs Blaise’s form all the closer so her body may press upon his own, albeit briefly before those hands of hers are first and foremost tending to the fly of his pants. An easy enough conquest to be sure. Annabel finds herself giving a quick nudge to Blaise’s form to push him downwards and to the lip of her bed.

Once more Annabel offers up one of those decidedly perverted smiles before stifling such with the press of her teeth upon lower lip, easily moving so she may settle within the young man’s lap; her knees settled toward either side of his hips.