milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

ace (pyro),
spoon

(no subject)

Ace, most days, does very well keeping her various quirks on a very firm leash.

But some days are harder. Just because it's nearly impossible to be totally in control all the time.

Thus, Ace is curled up in an armchair by the fire, feeling shifts of air with whiskers she doesn't have, and trying very hard not to drown in the multitude of scents this place is full of. There's also the remains of a very large meal nearby - it really doesn't do to get hungry on days like this.

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Spoon, when he finds her, settles down on the floor at her feet with a plate of fudge (no catnip; you don't fuck with people on bad days) and a cup of tea. The tea is for himself, ta.

He smells like male, and cinnamon, and chocolate, and wolf. Like goats, and Cora, and home.

Her face twitches in manner that would look natural on a cat, reacting to change in the environment. It just looks weird on Ace. She also tenses, needing an extra few moments to combine 'wolf' and 'male' and 'Spoon' into an order that doesn't result in finding a new, safer perch.

Once she does though, she shifts so that she can bury her face in Spoon's hair. He smells like good things.

"Hallo, Ace-luv." Spoon says, in a quiet and soothing voice, "Brought you fudge."

"Had food." Her voice turns a tad petulant. "Wasn't geckos." She wanted geckos, sweet scared little geckos that she could chase. The vegetables were nasty. Moving in a more fluid manner than she ever manages on good days, she slithers off her chair and into his lap, her fingers twined in his hair. Shiny hair.
"Wasn't rats either."

"I'm sorry, luv." Spoon says, petting down her back soothingly and tilting his head to make the beads pick up firelight for her, "Don't have to have fudge if you don't want it."

'You are very very strange' says Ace's expression, as she frees a hand to grab at the fudge-laden plate.
"Need," She notes, munching on her fudge while fingering his beads, "T'make gecko fudge."

The narration is going to go gag now.

"I can't do that." Spoon reminds her gently, "Can't have meat around. Besides, the blood would get nasty. Easier to make explosive sour candies."

Ace pulls a face.
"Dunno, don't like healin' bits of jaw." She protests, licking melted fudge fastidiously off of her hand.

"I know, but you could give them to people that you didn't like." Spoon may be trying, just a bit, to get her brain into less cat and more pyromaniac thought patterns.

Ace grins, bright and rather feral.
"Easier to track and hunt." Her mate comes up with such brilliant ideas.

Okay, so she's severely, severely cat-brained today. He can deal with that, shaking his head to make the braids jump and rattle for her pleasure.

The one good thing about dealing with Cheetahs is they are very easily distracted. Unless they are actively hunting - then all bets are off.

Of course, now Ace has pounced on Spoon's head and is gently gnawing at one of the beads, so perhaps it's just as well she's recently eaten.

Spoon laughs just a little bit and shifts his arms until he's holding her under the knees and behind the shoulders, "Don't hurt your teeth on the bead, love. Regrowing them is a pain."

Grumble, says the kitty, who doesn't care about broken teeth!

Or rather, won't care until it happens, and then she'll care quite a lot. This whole 'planning for the future' thing doesn't jive well with Cheetah thought patterns. But he's her mate, and so she stops gnawing on the bead. She'll gnaw on his hair instead.

He's alright with that, rocking her gently in his arms and humming at her softly. He can't purr for crap, but he can hum and it makes a low happy-rumble in his chest when he does.

Pretty soon she gives up on his hair, since it is entirely too stringy and not very tasty. She flops back in his arms with a sigh, being rather bored.

And her gums ache. But the only way they'll stop hurting right now is to go a step further with the cat than she's really comfortable with, so they'll just have to go on aching.

There is another moment of rocking, then Spoon says, "D' you want to play footy with me, luv? I can go get the ball."

By play with me he means beat the hell out of me at. She's faster than he'll ever be, but it's a running and jumping and tackling kind of game, "Or we can dance."

Her inclination is for football - running is good, and that game involves running. But it's cold and wet and nasty outside, which really doesn't appeal.
"Dance with me?" She asks hopefully, twirling one of his braids around her fingers.

"Dance with you." Spoon agrees, standing up slowly and setting her down, "Of course I'll dance with you."

"Oh. Good." She bounces, suddenly possessing too much energy entirely, around the couch in a peculiar hop-skip dance. "What kind?"

Spoon blinks at her, "There is no way you're up for anything less slinky than tango right now." he points out clearly.

"I can not-slink!" She protests, and proceeds to try to do so. It's a little like Ace trying to slink when she's on the opposite end of the cat-human spectrum.

And more than a little silly, as not-slinking is evidently SRS BZNS.

"But I like you slinky." Spoon says, holding his hands out so that she can smell how much he likes her.

And loves her.

And lusts for her.

That... is asking for a different sort of dance entirely. The gold of her eyes darkens precipitously, and she pounces, because she likes that invitation.

She also, evidently, likes snogging him. That of course isn't news.

Face it, his Ace gets him where he lives, "TARDIS?" he manages between snogging, hands gripping her arse.

She pauses long enough to give him a good 'what are you going on about' stare before she remembers the rules of this place. Oh, yeah. Maybe right here isn't the best spot.

Fancy that.

With an annoyed and rather frustrated sort of rumble, she untangles herself from him and begins tugging towards the back door.

Spoon allows himself to be tugged, grinning and watching her arse as she moves. Then he leans down to start whispering suggestions into her ear.

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