tristranthorn | [026] OOM - There's no place like home

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Current Location: room 314 - milliways bar

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oom,
yvaine

[026] OOM - There's no place like home

His shoulder and arm are - thankfully - healed completely at this point. It has been many weeks, but the help of pain medication, good stress-free rest, and delicious food helped splendidly in his recovery.

However, the time to return to Faerie draws near. On the one hand, Tristran is quite glad of it. It is their home, after all, and he is looking forward to really starting...well, things with Yvaine. But on the other, there is the ever-looming realization that he will soon have to inherit an entire kingdom and the responsibility of it all is somewhat staggering.

His shoulder is still a little stiff from the lack of use, but at least he is now able to do things with both of his arms. It is a very good feeling.

He glances over at Yvaine.

Now it is simply a matter of bringing up the whole ... going home thing - if she doesn't bring it up first.

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"You could try," he says - and there may be a hint of something (mischief, perhaps?) in his voice.

If you listen closely enough.

"I could," she agrees, lips twitching slightly. "Should do something nice."

She straightens fully, arms rising to thread themselves into the curls at the base of his neck, leaning close enough that her eyelashes fan against his cheek.

The sudden grin is very nearly a tangible thing.

"Room's clean."

Well, then.

"Good." he responds, his voice low, his breath no doubt hot against her skin, as the two of them are close enough.

For a moment, there is simply warmth and tingling and a charge of tension. It is unmistakable.

And then in one slightly breathless moment, Tristran pulls back and clears his throat. "I'm glad."

Wait. Wait - what?

That is the entirely wrong answer.

She slumps a bit, rather like a puppet with its strings cut, and lets out one hitching, slightly startled breath - looking rather decidedly put out.

Her lips are tingling in an entirely misleading way.

Tristran had totally expected that sort of response.

Still, he isn't doing anything to rectify the situation just yet.

"So, what do you suppose we'll need when we head back to Faerie?" he asks casually.

That - that's just unfair.

She's supposed to be the one who wins these games. She's better at these games. Something is wrong with the universe.

"Might need your overly attractive head still attached to your too-bloody-fucking-attractive body, she grumbles under her breath, fingers to her lips and eyes narrowed at the flooring.

Tristran?

Starts to smile. Just a bit. His hands rub up and down both her arms. And he tries to look into her face.

"You cannot expect to tease me without being teased in return," he tells her, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before she can pull away or protest.

He might suck at it on a whole, but he's learning. (You should be proud, Yvaine.)

She is.

Or, rather, she would be - if she wasn't working on maintaining a rather perfect state of sulking dejectedness.

... not that its perfection wasn't already marred by the rather obvious flush across her nose. (Darn being pale.)

The glare flickers upward, "But I was going to kiss you after."

He grins.

"Well, you are welcome to kiss me now," he says innocently.

You know you want to.

"I could," she agrees easily enough, fingers still curled around the edge of the bedside table - though the holding is a bit more forceful. "Might not be inclined to anymore."

It doesn't sounds half as convincing as she had intended.

Tristran might pout at that - if he was the sort to do so.

As it is, he does move a little closer towards her, quickly closing whatever distance had been between them. There is a very light hum along his skin where he touches her.

"Perhaps I could change that," he suggests, then adds, "if I may."

Oh, that's very nice.

Very unfair, but very nice.

The response is quiet - breath coming out in a rush and eyes closing, chin tilting upward unconsciously.

"Cheater."

He takes the opportunity to kiss her, then - because that is what cheaters do. When they cheat and succeed, they get to collect their winnings.

Or, you know, kiss the girl.

"It seems I am," he says, solemnly. "Sorry."

She hums, quietly appreciative, into the kiss and her fingers rise to the formerly flushed line of his cheeks - lingering there once she pulls back, blinking vaguely to regain her balance.

"I thought I was supposed to be apologizing," she murmurs absently. "Or was that before - why are we sorry again?"

"Doesn't matter anymore, does it?"

His voice is hushed as he leans in once more, simply breaths against her lips before he kisses her again.

No, it certainly doesn't seem to matter at all.

Wait - wait, should be ... something, yes?

She wrinkles her nose (being responsible sucks) and even as she sticks a quieting finger in the way, she's leaning forward - toward him.

"Supposed -" she manages, breath hitching and short against the back of her hand. "Supposed to be going somewhere."

"Home," he says, grinning as he straightens. He can better speak to her like this, anyway (though he'd rather just do the whole kissing thing instead).

"I haven't forgotten. I simply thought we could do this first. The cleaning can wait a little."

He makes a very compelling argument - a very compelling, intriguing, attractive argument.

(Slightly ruffled, even.)

She's up and after him before the sentence has very much of a chance to end at all - on her toes the best they can carry her and one set of fingers tangling tightly into his hair, while the other snags his shoulder for a possessive sort of leverage.

She cleaned an awful lot already. This is much nicer.

His soft laugh is quickly muffled and cut off against her mouth as he catches her in his arms.

There are times when he is quite good at arguing - and winning those arguments. It's the whole reasonableness. (Really, he's got the makings of a great king.)

Other arguments may have more evidence and a far more researched and thorough background for their cases, but he is extraordinarily reasonable - and warm, and hers.

(That part is pretty much all that matters.)

She grins against his lips, leaning with a great deal of care - he's still breakable - and laughs out a quiet, "Terrible distraction."

He makes a sound against her lips, inaudible to be heard. Not like it really matters what he said anyway (and not like he can particularly remember anymore, either).

One hand is at her back, warm and strong, the other rests momentarily at her hip.

Oh, well if he's going to be so attentive there's no reason to try and pay any proper attention to anything else - she's terribly willing to be distracted.

And not quite so quiet about it.

Carefully, and slowly, Tristran begins to lead her back towards the bed, more or less still attached to her - no point in standing around when they can get far more comfortable.

He doesn't quite brush all their folded clothes away so much as he moves the two of them towards the part of the bed that is empty.

They could be here for a while more.

The star lets herself be led backward until the edge of the mattress is at her back - she stumbles a bit and her leg buckles with a vaguely unpleasant twinge, fingers snagging his collar and tugging him after her.

Oh, yes. Leg. Forgot about that.

"Ow," she mumbles, lips twitching upward and eyes crinkling at the corners with a helpless sort of laugh. "Oops?"

"Are you all right?" he asks, breaking apart for a moment.

He still looks a little breathless, but there is concern there, too.

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