scorpioides | ( two )

[ Cambridge hadn’t been asleep for very long by the time that Oxford dropped by. In fact, he had been caught out by the sudden wave of weariness that had struck him just as he had decided that perhaps a shower was in order. Reasoning that perhaps he could just lie down and rest his eyes for a few minutes before the shower had obviously not worked out very well: fourty-five minutes later, he was still delicately laid out on top of the sheets wearing only his boxers. The lights had switched off when he had, plunging the room in to darkness and leaving him in the state that he is to be found in now.

And Cambridge is nothing but receptive; when Oxford lays his hand on his back the first time he can feel the rolling clouds of sleep falling away. Consciousness floods back quickly and Cambridge shifts sharply in response to the press of Oxford’s fingers. He twists, squinting in the darkness at the deeper shadows of the man leaning over him, and reaches out to grasp Oxford tightly by the shoulder to pull himself up. ]

A present? [ His mouth hasn’t quite yet caught up with the speed of his brain and he repeats Oxford’s words dully as he presses the heel of his palm in to his vision as if to clear away the lethargy. ] You’re too kind...

[Despite his bone-weary tiredness and the innate desire to not move until morning come hell or high water, Durham is hard-wired to both recognise and repel Oxford even in this state. There's little -short of unconsciousness itself- that could prevent him from grimacing at the other operative's voice, his own body tensing the moment an arm winds around him. He's not expecting company and he certainly isn't expecting Oxford's.]

What on Earth! [The speed at which he rips himself from that arm and out of the bed still leaves much to be desired where all things relating to grace are concerned. When he arrived it was tiredness that robbed him of it and this time, in his stomach-clenching mixture of abject horror and indignant fury, he's fallen out of the bed and on to the floor.]

[It's instinct more than a clear thought-process that alerts Durham to the constriction around his chest and urges him to act accordingly. Those now weak tendrils of sleep slip out of his reach and though he's fought hard to stay sleeping, consciousness returns to him alarmingly quickly.

Some people, on hearing about the Order for the first time, proceed to assume that it's all based and set in a James Bondesque sort of world with vodka Martinis and a Walther PPK slid under a pillow just in case. Some of them may go on to play that kind of role but, for Durham, his own role doesn't really follow along in those lines. For half a second, Durham wishes it did if only so he could slip his hand under his pillow and pull a weapon out, the panic and terror that freezes his blood cold in his veins for that millisecond before adrenaline kicks in unmistakable. It's simply Cambridge's very good fortune that he speaks before Durham finds something solid to grab on to behind him, arm already drawn up to do far more damage to one side of the other man's ribcage than he needs to.

His hesitation is framed by the relief that crashes through those same veins to settle his bubbling blood, heart thumping hard against his own ribcage and pulse point in his neck throbbing even at the back of his tongue. The pause, though only a few seconds, is followed up by a struggle, his hand clamping down over the other man's forearm to try and prise it away from his torso, legs trying their utmost to use the mattress as some form of leverage to get out of bed.

When he speaks, finally, his voice sounds loud and angry even to his own ears:]

What do you think you're doing?

I wouldn't want to disappoint you seeing as you love my company so much!

[The brief flash of a toothy grin is in response to those lips against his wrist, eyelids fluttering shut for the barest of moments of enjoyment before he's moving again. Half of the reason there's never a dull moment with Eros is that he finds it verging on impossible to stay still, even for a second. He constantly needs to be moving and active, especially in bed, and Ogmios' greeting has given him all the permission he thinks he needs to make the most of this particular liaison.]

I've brought you a present too. [His lips gentle graze the curve of Ogmios' ear from the position he's taken up, both knees planted into the bed either side of the other god's hips and hands wrapped gently around his face. Without warning and in a complete abuse of his own powers, rose petals start raining down from the ceiling, Eros' smile amused and mouth finally pressing a line down towards Ogmios' collarbone.]

[Face tilting up to nuzzle into the warm underside of Uriel's jaw, Raphael lets a long and strangely necessary breath out as fingers curl around the other archangel's opposite shoulder. His relief at finding his brother in one piece and resting like he's promised he will more often is clear in the way his shoulders start to relax. All he wants is for his family, for his brothers who are injured time after time, to be well.

It takes a second or two but, eventually, he gets his wings into a comfortable position too, the one draped over his brother fanning out until feathers stretch apart lazily, a sign he's ready and now feeling safe and comfortable enough to surrender his consciousness for a while.]

Thank you. [He doesn't need to speak to know that Uriel will hear him.]

[ Oxford remains rather a steady pillar as Cambridge uses him as a handhold, though he keeps himself very much within the other man's personal space, hoping to make his desire for a more simple intimacy tonight clear enough without having to spell it out. He hasn't even any sexual motives, shockingly enough, he merely wants the company of another human being tonight and he would prefer for that human being to be Cambridge. Oxford shifts his position, sitting down and leaning to one side so that his hand is propping him up on one side of Cambridge's hip, settling himself a little more comfortably on the bed. ]

Aren't I just. [ The quirk of his little smile is audible in his voice. ] I just happened to be walking through reception when I overheard a waiter telling the concierge that he'd found a pair of shoes, can you believe it - an expensive pair, apparently, very stylish - and wondering what to do with them. Apparently, it's a shame to let such good shoes go to waste.

Now, you can imagine that this little story caught my attention, and I thought there might be a chance that these could be your shoes. I had my doubts, of course, since the waiter made out that they hadn't been ruined, and we all know how difficult it is for you to keep your shoes both on your feet and in tact. [ Oxford loves telling a story, his words languid and theatric. ] So I took a chance and asked about these shoes, described them to the concierge and waiter, and what do you know? Your shoes are quite safe and perfectly sound.

Edited 2012-03-04 16:42 (UTC)

[He presses a kiss there, just above her collarbone and chuckles. That is one thing he loves about time with Cassandra. With everything in the world that is complicated, they two just seem... simple.

The laugh is a bit gravelled with sleep, but sleep is the last thing on his mind, now.]

I should count myself a very, very lucky boy.

[Cassandra shivers at that kiss, making a small happy sound in the back of her throat.]

You should. I don't just crawl into anyone's bed at random.

[She stretches a little in place, arching closer to him as she does so.]

If you want to go back to sleep, babe, I'll still be here when you wake up....

[Gods her body. He will never get over it.]

Sleep? I'm sorry... what's that, again?

[He rolls a bit more on top of her, grinning wickedly and a bite in his lip.]

Ohhhh no. Not happening.

[In thinking about all the things he'd like to do other than sleep, fully reacquainting himself with her is at the top of the list. Getting her breakfast is close second... so long as they get to eat it lazily in bed.]

[He's decided to roll more on top of her? Okay, she can play that game. She arches up, pressing her body against him as much as she can.]

Good. Because I would have watched you sleep and pouted....

[Eating in bed is fine.... But only once she's worked up an appetite.... Which he's more than welcome to help her with.... but first he'd have to get her out of the cami and boyshorts she was sporting.]

[Uriel does, and he smiles as Raphael finally finds a place of comfort in his arms. For all the times his brother works diligently to see to his health, Uriel finds himself troubled with worry oftentimes in those moments Raphael finally reaches out for rest. He knows it isn't easy for any of them. Unconsciousness is a state that feels, in many ways, like a vulnerability to him. He can only imagine how it troubles his loved ones.

A thumb pushes gentle yet soothing strokes into Raphael's back, beneath the wings, a comforting gesture for his brother, despite that it is Raphael who comforts Uriel by being there. One might find it funny that the larger, fighting angel should feel safer in the other's arms. Uriel never saw it that way. A shield out of love is something to be revelled in... whether in dire situations, or there on a quiet day in the sheets.

Uriel is happy it is the latter. His breaths are deep and long. No, thank you, brother..]

[She supposes she knows what he's talking about. She had a vague sense that regardless of all the shit she pulled, her mother wanted nothing but the best for her, the best for them. The problem with her mother was that she was too wild a heart, stuck to a dream of ravenous romance that was only fuelled by the Harley Davidson her father left her. She still remembered the occasional scent of alcohol, gasoline and fumes that stuck to her mother's clothes, even when they were huddling together for warmth under the patchwork blanket she wore now as a tunic every now and then. She figures that parents were always like this, a little reckless but always well-intended.]

[So she sighs, and her voice acquires a small, nostalgia-laced and fragile lilt - one that is rare, unconsciously smothered by that "move on, move on, move on" attitude that adds the gait to her walk.] You can't really blame them, right?

I can't have that. [His voice is breathy as he leans down to capture her mouth. She's not only woken him... she's begun to rouse something else that presses back.

He bites her bottom lip teasingly.]

No pouting, you.

[He takes the chance his positioning offers him to run a hand up her thigh, feeling the little clothes she dons and the fingers making plans to get rid of them fairly quickly.]

[There's a sharp intake of her breath as he nips at her bottom lip and she can feel him pressing back. She really can't help the smile in response to all of that....]

Mmm... only because you said so.

[He may notice the shiver she gives in response to that hand running up her thigh... One of her own hands is currently tracing patterns onto every inch of his chest, lower and lower as she's able to.]

[It's not difficult to get Fabien to fall back asleep. He was naturally inclined to be lazy, but pushed himself to fill his days with work at the bar, responsibilities, lovers, Eros. He keeps up with everything, but when he needed to sleep, he really did need to. He does try, though, to hold onto awareness a little longer, but he hadn't woken all the way and Eros' presence and touch are soothing, warm and familiar. He manages to lace his fingers with the god's, murmuring,]

Always welcome.

[And then sleep takes him again.

He has no idea how long it is until he stirs awake again, but the room is much lighter and opening his eyes isn't quite so difficult. He shifts, turning over carefully, smiling sleepily when he sees Eros is still there.]

I'd just have to do something about it if you weren't so generously accommodating.

[His fingers hook in the waistband, and he gives a slight run over the skin on her waist before giving a good tug on the fabric. He's enjoying the feel of her fingers on his chest, and he rewards her with a thorough kiss for it.]

You're still welcome to do something about it....

[Well, with rewards like that, why would a girl ever stop? Her fingers continue with the exploration of his chest as she squirms into his touch, eager for him to continue what he is doing as well.]

Oh, I intend to.

[He dips a thumb to pull up the middle seam on her boyshorts, taking his time because there was a certain pleasure in it. A little pressure, then he abandons that fabric for tracing a hand over her shoulder, following the line of the strap keeping her cami there.]

Unless you're just being a glutton for punishment.

[He likes to tease her, whether it's through what his fingers are doing or through a little remark, just so.]

[There are hitches in her breath with those touches and she bites down on her lower lip..... Then a smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth and she arches in closer to him, nails dragging lightly on the skin of his chest. When she speaks, it's practically a purr.]

I think you should punish me, Will.

[Well, that's an unexpected response. Sure, he's adventurous, but he hadn't been setting himself up for it. He raises his eyebrows, surprised.]

Oh do you? Hmm.

[He traces along the edge of that, his finger following the neckline so that his finger dips between her skin and her clothes.]

Then I should really take my time, shouldn't I?

[Unexpected in a good way, she hopes. Still, she's smirking so much as he continues what he's doing. She's sure he can feel the goosebumps raising on her skin as he continues, and if not? The change in her breathing for sure.]

Mmhmm. Take as long as you need.

( two )

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it really is :')

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