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Open RP Post
♦ All characters are allowed to interact, regardless of being in a game with Elsa or not.
♠ This is an IC-spam post; only character journals, please.
♥ Doubles and threadjacking are allowed for maximum derp.
♣ 4th-walling: is allowed; Elsa can take it. She will likely just think you're crazy.
♦ Wank and OOC matters will be deleted.
♠ Crit will be redirected to the HMD
♠♥♣♦
This post has no established setting, to allow for any sort of thread. Voicetesting, smut, derp, violence, angst, crack, memes, any other shenanigans I might be missing are acceptable.
Also backtagging.
Lots of backtagging.
♠♥♣♦
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Nothing happens, of course. There's no magic with which to make it happen.
She takes her hand back, anyway. Not when his fingertips brush against it, but rather when he leans in to look at her. The action is a little rushed -- she lightly fists her hand over her heart, just over the cut of her gown -- but she tries hard to remain poised. Blue eyes meet green with a look that is almost a little owlish.
But she doesn't step away, even if she does consider it.]
It's a little sweeter, here. [She murmurs, reigning in her expression and finally bringing her tea back up to take a sip. Future Queen or not, her bottom lip comes back wet. She brings her hand up to brush it dry, and returns to watching his hand.] I believe it's the honey. It's different.
[Different, in how it makes her tongue and lips faintly tingle. Or maybe that is just her imagination.]
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He feels powerful in this moment, to be caressed by the Ice Queen with no ill effects. It's as if she just unlocked a door that she'd had closed for years, as if she discreetly granted him some form of permission, but for what he could not say.
There is a subject they've managed not to really breach. Sex. For all they're surrounded by it, for all he engages with others to protect himself, they've managed to stay within their bubble quite well. There's only so long they can exist here and pretend that there isn't something between them. Chemistry is powerful, the little sensations of attraction are intensified when it becomes clear that such feelings should be indulged.]
A lot of things are sweeter here. [He says that casually, conversationally, bringing his tea back to his lips to blow faintly on the amber liquid. His eyes don't leave hers through the gesture, though his expression remains innocent enough.] I don't think I mind it so much. [It's hard to say whether he means the tea or being here.] A little change never hurt anyone, after all.
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His eyes might not leave hers, but hers briefly drop down to his lips when he speaks. Briefly follow their curve. She would be a liar if she said she wasn't at least vaguely curious about them. Vaguely curious about the way they might feel, vaguely curious about the way they might taste --
She busies herself with sipping the tea once more. Her tongue tingles again.
A little change never hurt anyone, after all.
It's impossible to not think that the words were directed at her. Tightness constricts across her chest, and she finds herself lightly turning her head in a way so as to search his face a little closer.] No, it hasn't.
[She hardly knows this man, at least in the capacity that Elsa believes that she should know a man, and yet that fact is becoming more and more mutable as time goes on. There's a part of her that regrets the feeling that her practicality is slipping. There's another part of her that is screaming at her to let be what will be.
Let be -- she reaches out again, this time to tug at the cuff of his jacket sleeve, as if to straighten it-- what will be.]
I think I find it a little exciting, actually... [It's probably a bit (a lot) of an overstatement, or perhaps something said out of trying to reassure herself of this fact, as if that would make it more real. Her hand lingers at the cuff of his sleeve for a moment, before she draws her fingers over the fine threads and ghosts her fingertips back up his arm and to his elbow.]
fuuuuck december
She's the one who will approach it as she will, he's just being conversational.]
What's the saying again? A life without risk is a life not lived? Although I rather like to think they weren't talking about tea. [That one was a little less subtle, but it's said as her hands reach out for him again. She's bidding him closer, so he moves in. Just a little. Enough that his height can cusp over her with more intimacy, so he needs to look down at her rather than across at her. He ducks his head some, keeping his eyes fixed on hers when he does.
He's a tease. He won't kiss her, he won't touch her. He'll just enter her space and bid her right back. It's an open invitation, but a vague one at best.]
no subject
A hint of color flourishes across her cheeks. The air is suddenly very thin. Curious.
Elsa's hand ticks back away from his elbow when he moves in, as if suddenly afraid to touch it. She lowers her own head, suddenly finding the starch collar at his throat very interesting.]
I believe it's something like that... [Come to think of it, though, his throat is very interesting, especially in conjunction with the curve of his jaw, and the shape of his lips.]
[It's hesitant, and she almost stops herself halfway through, but she brings her hand up to rest her palm against his jaw and draws her thumb over his cheek. Warm. The corner of his mouth is almost touching the heel of her hand, and for a very brief moment she pictures him turning his head just enough to touch them against her palm, which leads her to wonder what it would be like to feel them there, and against her neck, and against the hollow of her throat --
-- she doesn't even realize how she's moved closer to where they are almost belly-to-belly, now.
Without bringing herself to look away, she sits her tea down on the counter.]
Yes.
[It's hard to say if that is to confirm her previous thought, or to grant him some kind of unspoken permission. It's probably a little bit of both. Her hand moves back just enough so that her fingers can curl behind the nape of his neck, and she draws him down to her. Her lips touch his as her other hand takes his own tea to rest it on the counter as well. It isn't really a kiss; it isn't really not a kiss, either.
For a brief instant, she's content to just free his hand from holding his tea to let him do with it what he pleases. But the instant is over just as quickly, because she's guiding his hand to rest against the sequined fabric of her gown at her hip. Her lips part against his in something that is a little more genuine. Hesitant, but genuine.
The air is still thin, and her heart is pounding, but it's impossible to ignore the flutter of excitement in her chest.]
no subject
Every rise and fall of her chest, every flick and flutter of her eyes and lashes, shift of her stance and twitch of her fingers is leading to a point she's slowly making. He's enthralled by what she's showing him, and he can't hide that from his eyes. His interest is burning in them, he's barely breathing when her soft hand that's just barely warmed by the tea rises to touch his face.
His eyes flick down, as if feigning something polite when he knows where she's going with this and wants for her to proceed. It could be called submissive to take the observant approach, but he wants for this to be entirely initiated by her.
Though he bends easily to the hand on his neck, he draws in a gasp of surprise as she connects their lips together. His eyes widen, but he feigns that hesitation briefly until she goes so far as to take his tea from him. His eyes flicker down to being almost shut, but not enough that he'll miss the whole show. His hand hardly needs the guidance, but the assurance that she wants to be touched is enough for him.
His hand slides past her hip to splay on the small of her back, the other trailing up her spine to trace his fingers into the fine ends of her hair. The part of her lips is enough for him to cusp their lips better, letting his bottom lip drag over hers gently and coaxingly]
no subject
Ah. This is... Probably not what Prince Hans had in mind when he had offered to escort her home from the ball. Not that Elsa wouldn't put it past some of the more less-than-savory characters Ariel had to offer, of course, but Hans had never treated her with anything less than undivided respect. It would be intolerable of her to take advantage of that--
-- the neckline of her gown is cut to leave most of her shoulders bare, and one of those shoulders begins to rise, as if she is about to push herself away, at least until something flashes across her eyes (something a little wild, and not easy to put into words) and she brings one hand to draw her plait over her shoulder, as if to move it out of his way. She takes a deep breath as her eyes fall back down to the curve of his bottom lip.
-- and everything moves in one swift motion. Her eyes sweep back up to his, as if asking for the briefest confirmation (she even gives a faint nod, yes) before falling shut again as she brings both of her hands to his face, keeping him in place as her back straightens again and she meets him in a far more definitive kiss. She takes a quick breath through her nose and holds it as she cants her head to meet him openly, daring a quick taste of his bottom lip before trapping it between her own.
She twists a little in her place so that her back meets the counter, drawing him along with her so that she is effectively trapped between it and him, and dares another quick taste of his mouth.
Followed by another. And another; each one more fervent than the last.]
no subject
Even so, he hadn't particularly expected much to come of the evening with Elsa. He had understood that anything he'll get out of her would be the result of persistence and patience. He isn't disappointed that the chase was cut short by any means, he was never one for such a long play. Now that she's shown her interest he knows he holds some sway here, that isn't a thread he intends to ignore.]
Elsa..
[He barely breathes that out, freely allowing himself to sound intrigued and not uncertain. He watches her movements carefully, and it seems too obvious for her to just shy away as if nothing ever happened. Predictable, perhaps, but easy enough to influence. He does not, however, account for that wild moment. He barely has a chance to fully comprehend the look she's giving him before she's nodding and moving.
Nothing about his expression or stance indicates a disinterest in her pursuit, even if his features are veiled with surprise when her hands find his face. His heart is thudding harder than it has for some time, the sheer momentum of this situation is drawing it out of his hands and control. For the first time in his own recollection, he doesn't entirely mind.
He allows himself to melt into her kiss, giving her unhindered opportunity to indulge her curiosity. His hands move to her waist and perch there politely until he sees fit to place a hand on the small of her back where it is spaced from the back of the counter.
A small laugh, an almost sincere one, escapes his lips when she dusts kisses over his mouth. It almost sounds perfectly innocent, but there's a lilt to it that indicates something sly in his feelings. His free hand moves upward, fingers grazing over her cheek as he cups her face and tilts her face upward. His mouth moves in, pressing his own warm and protective variety of kiss against her lips. His movements are solid and decided, his hand firm on her back as he ghosts his lips against hers and moves in deeper for a more intimate contact between their mouths.
no subject
But this is nothing like that.
-- it's the way he laughs, low and almost mischievous, and the way he doesn't hesitate to taste her. How those things, at least to Elsa, seem less constructed and put-together; how the curtains seem to pull back and the walls seem to crumble away. To grow up in the shadow of aristocracy meant living a life of constant expectation and standard; but here, there's very little of that. Everything is raw, genuine and real. Visceral.
It's brilliant. Liberating.
There is a kind of delicate give and take. His kiss is deep, and she yields to it with parted lips, back drawing a little more straight until they are almost completely flush against each other. And then just as her lungs start to burn (when had she started holding her breath?) she breaks away in a series of kisses. Twice on his lips, once on the corner of his mouth, cheek -- until her lips part against the curve of his jaw, and she tastes skin down the side of his neck. Her hands splay over his chest, and then move to try and work his coat open so she can push it off his shoulders.]
no subject
He wants to measure how candid he is about all of this, but he doesn't want to be too bridled by morals and customs that don't apply here. Were they important at all, he'd not have escorted Elsa home and he'd not be alone with the Queen so late in the evening. It's about time they experienced everything this place had to offer.
The kiss is everything he'd hoped it would be, curious and experimental. Full of passion and curiousity and it lingers long enough to be satisfying while leaving him wanting more. Elsa seems to have as much covered with her kisses and he gladly shrugs off his coat, removing his hands from her so he can pull it off and put it to the side. When his hands return, they're scooping against the sides of Elsa's face so he can cup her cheeks and hold her gaze for at least a moment.]
Forgive me if it's bold to ask.. [He trails off, a smirk tugging at his lips so she knows that he knows it's a ridiculous thing to be concerned about.] How far are you willing to go? [Some concern shows in his expression and his hand drops down, ghosting past her shoulder and back until it rests on the curve of her rear.] I don't want to cross any lines you aren't willing to see me past. [And as if to test her limits, his hand begins to knead slowly and softly.]
no subject
It's an obvious limit, but she tries very, very hard to ignore it.]
You have been very kind to me. [Says the queen who obviously doesn't know what happens in her future.] Not just tonight... [She takes a small step forward so that she's lightly pressed to him, and reaches for his hand to bring it around to the small of her back; it's a little like granting him permission to hold her.] ... but you have always been very kind to me.
[She's a little mesmerized, with how close they are now, and her eyes keep moving between his as she reaches up to stroke her knuckle against the side of his face.]
I trust that you won't cross any unwarranted lines.
[Dangerous words, perhaps, but soft and truthful.
Her eyes fall to the side -- to the door leading into her bedroom -- and there's a pause before she meets his gaze again. Wordlessly, she draws away... but not without lightly taking him by the elbow along with her.]