Open RP Post

[andfire]

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

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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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Comments

[hanssome]

[Hans, at his core, is a man who desperately seeks indulgence and validation. The city fans the embers of desire that burn in him, heeding him to act on impulse and craving more than rational thought and decency. It's practically impossible to carry himself with the air of a good and true prince when he's encouraged to be anything but that. And yet, it brings him a sort of private pleasure to go about his life acting that way, drawing people into his web by allowing them to imagine he's more gentle-hearted than most. If only they knew, perhaps they wouldn't be so surprised when he lets himself slip.

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.

[andfire]

[There is something about the way that he holds her -- one hand at her back, one hand at her cheek -- and the way that he kisses her -- firm, protective -- that seems to stoke a metaphorical fire in her gut. Makes her heart race, makes her breath catch. It's hard to not be distantly, vaguely intrigued by it. Most people regarded her as a fragile trinket that needed to be preserved, never touched. For some, it was out of respect for the family she was born into; for others, it was out of some sort of latent flight response: the feeling that there is just something not quite right about her, but being unable to properly identify what that is.

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.]

[hanssome]

[If anything has been proven time and time again to Hans, it's the fact that Elsa is powerful. Perhaps there is some fragility internally and externally, but she doesn't strike him as someone who needs a light touch. If she's truly spent her life surrounded by fear mongering and careful interactions, it would take strength and prescence to assure her that she's in good hands.

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.]

[andfire]

[Her eyes move between his as he holds her gaze; left, right, left. There's something distinctly searching in her expression. A light wash of goosebumps works its way down her back along with his hand, and she almost finds herself wanting to arch along with the touch -- at least until his hand settles on her rear, and she falls still.

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.]