milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There's an Endless in the bar.
It's shocking.
Desire. In the bar. Who would have guessed?
... Well. Perhaps anyone even vaguely familiar with this particular Endless, but that's neither here nor there.

Desire seems to be without intent this evening, just staying at the usual table, smoking the usual cigarette, and a simple glass of champagne in hand.

An undirected Desire is a bored Desire.
Bad news for anyone who wasn't looking to become Desire's evening entertainment...

[OOC: I've had to slowtime because I'm out of practice -- I'll get back to this!]

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"Tch. Nothing to apologize for, mĕilì, they do tickle the nose some. -- Here, take the edge off."

And call Desire a wúwàng de làngmàn, but he's offering Kaylee one of the more beautiful strawberries off the plate, held the breadth of a small bite away from Kaylee's lips.

Desire, maybe; Simon definitely. Seeing as he was the last one to do this for her.

-- if it's what she thinks it is, of course. But how couldn't it be? If it wasn't -- then Desire would tilt the plate toward her, or -- it wouldn't be right in front of her mouth. Waiting.

Mĕilì, Desire says, and Kaylee's had such a very rotten month or two and an even worse last couple of days, and she licks her lips, bites her lower lip, gives Desire an uncertain look --

But she does want it.

She leans forward, just enough. Sinks her teeth in slowly.

And she can't meet his eyes when she does it, but that works out. Hers are closed.

Champagne and strawberries. Yìqĭ shēn hūxī.

Sometimes, a strawberry is just a strawberry.

... Then again, this is Desire.
Nature of the equation. They help and -- they hurt. At once.
Desire doesn't seem to notice that Kaylee's eyes are closed: He doesn't mention it, at any rate.

The berry is gone, and there's a fever-hot hand against hers on the champagne flute, urging her to pick it up.
"Try the champagne now," Desire suggests, gently.

She feels it before her eyes open, and her hand tightens, a little, under his.

A slight intake of breath.

Kaylee's eyes open, and her hand makes no move. Soft, and wondering (and maybe just a little knowing), "You do like to deal in what's intense, don't you."

Desire offers Kaylee a duh look clearly borrowed from River, and then smirks.

"It enhances the flavor, you know."

"I'm all for that," she says, and lifts the flute, and it doesn't tickle this time at all. "Don't get me wrong. It's just -- " And a flash of a grin. "Not all that subtle, you know?"

Kaylee clearly caught Desire off-guard, from the way he blinks when she lets him know he's less than subtle: Once upon a time, those were fighting words.

...To some degree, they still are.

"Tch." Desire sits back slightly, that dangerous smile flirting at the edges of his mouth. "If I were doing this intentionally... Well."

Desire might be on the edge of a demonstration.

...you know what they say about curiosity and cats.

"...well what?"

... Satisfaction brought her back?

Desire just smirks in response, nimbly plucking the flute from her fingers and catching her hand between both of his. "Never mind, mĕilì. Just the mouthing off of someone old enough to know better."

That doesn't seem to be stopping Desire from settling in to give Kaylee a Perfectly Innocent hand massage, fingers seeking out lines of tension with almost a surgeon's precision.

Kaylee's expression is very interesting.

It shifts from surprise, to hesitancy, to something almost sheepish -- but it's never not a smile.

Very quiet (and not, if you might be listening for such things, entirely steady), she says, "That feels nice."

"Well, I hope you'd tell me if it hurt," Desire returns, his tone airy as the grin. "It's certainly intended to be nice."

Those fever-warm fingers keep at their work, circling, circling.

...It isn't subtle, say true, but neither is it strictly overt.

Kaylee certainly isn't going to complain.

Her eyes are on their hands, watching; in the same tone, she asks, "How come your hands are so warm?"

Desire's lips purse, hands pausing a moment to brush fingertips over her upturned palm.
Cold hands, warm heart.
"They just are -- Warm hands, and all that."
Warm hands, cold --
Desire is always undeniably warm.
"Is it a problem?"

She can't stop herself from taking a sudden, sharp breath. "No." Kaylee shakes her head. "Just -- wasn't expectin' that."

Desire laughs quietly: Whether it sounds cruel or kind entirely depends on where Kaylee's interpretation sits, what with those wicked hot fingers picking up their work again.

"And what were you expecting?"

Kaylee doesn't necessarily expect kindness out of Desire. More like pleasure.

It makes Desire's laughter kind.

"Whatever number it is that most humans got for normal body temperature." Her eyes flick up to Desire's face; she's got a tiny smile.

"Tch. There's your problem right there." Desire's grin is as kind as his laugh, and those too-warm fingers move in a spider-like tickle up the inside of her wrist.

"What I am is all in the eye of the beholder, mĕilì."

Her mouth opens slightly -- and then she bites her lower lip. A little uncertain, and a little unsteady: "So you're just tellin' me I'm pretty because that's what I think you think I want to hear?"

"Oh, no. You're very pretty, Kaylee -- I'm the one that's subject to change."

The tickling stops as abruptly as it started, both Desire's hands resting on the table and cushioning hers.

"I may be a lot of things, but an outrageous liar isn't one of them."

She relaxes visibly -- though not consciously -- and gives Desire a grin.

With warmth, of course.

"Good to hear," Kaylee says, also with warmth. "Kinda confidence-inspiring, you know?"

Something else that isn't consciously done: she turns her hand over, clasping one of his.

It's a friendly gesture.

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