moritat | some nasty librarian shit

He picked up on the hint!

That she shouldn't have dropped. Bad, bad girl. Down. Leave him be. Presence his attraction, redirect it, because she isn't strong enough to deny him the small tokens of affection that burgeon into something bigger. And they will start.

Traitorous longing surges into her throat. "The Radcliffe Camera? Bridge of Sighs?"

"Anywhere and everywhere you like!" At least it helps him forget his embarrassment, if only for a moment, to look back up and beam at her.

"We could go into the city, there are plenty of thing to do in the East end." High class things.

Another glance at his sweetheart's eagerness and she forgets her caution, proving once and for all that Paloma isn't very old in the end. The giddiness crinkling the corners of her eyes is pure girlish glee.

"Oh, I'm like a bat, only getting out and about at night. Does that scare you off?" Her voice is light yet warmer than honey.

"I'm a bit of a night owl myself, I often sleep through the day and go about my business at night. That works perfectly." He won't question it. "Do you like theatre, or orchestras?"

Henry speaks to her spirit. That must play a part in the indulgence. At the introduction of the arts she lifts higher in her seat, pearly whites flashing. Paloma seems about his age again.

"Mister Henry, it's like you already know me."

He only just introduced himself as Henry, it would be weird to ask for Harry or to drop the mister, wouldn't it? It's kind of charming though, even if he was the one that started it. "Someone in the library sciences must have an appreciation for the things with which it goes hand in hand!"

While she's happy to drop the coy formality, he must be brave and ask. His own fault for insisting on 'miss' directly after she'd said he could use Paloma. Just Paloma.

She draws swirls with the tip of her finger around the empty mug, feeling years younger in proximity to his excitement. "Art history was what I studied in the first place, so you couldn't be more right. Where should I meet you?"

So illicit, 'meet you'. Like a secret rendezvous in the making.

Edited 2017-06-29 10:21 (UTC)

"Well, I could come for you?" Wait-- "to you, that is! I could come to you!"

FUCK FUCK FUCK HE DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT??? but also he would do that too....

Of course, if he hadn't made a big deal about it, the wording wouldn't be even a little strange.

He'll have fits left to his own devices. An unladylike giggle escapes her, smothered in part by fingers curling over her mouth. Her free hand crosses the table and rests over his trembling one.

"Sssh, please. Where would you come for me? Not Oxford... "

"I'm sorry--" GEEZ. He blushes far too much, especially after feeling her hand in his.

"Anywhere that would be convenient? At home or here, a landmark of sorts? It doesn't much matter to me." Same with where he'd fuck her, tbh

Edited 2017-06-29 10:36 (UTC)

He is smoldering. In fairness, so is she, although the smolder is difficult to turn off when one is Toreador to the bone. Or more accurately: to the blood.

Either way, Paloma's lashes lower specifically so as to gaze furtively up to his flushed face. Her thumb moves just slightly. "Bernadette Park?"

He nods. "That sounds nice." He tries very hard not to think about all the hideaway spots a park offers. Because he's not a degenerate.

"Let me know if there's any particular shows you would be most interested in, then. I'll make sure we have good seats." Let him be her young sugar daddy??

He could turn to the expert on hideaway park nooks and crannies, who named this particular park first because it's a favorite hunting ground. She hides a wince at the morbidity of the suggestion and making the dinner table into a rendezvous.

"-- So soon? Won't those have been taken?"

A hint of anxiety in the tap-tapping of her finger over his wrist.

Hey it's good to have her expert opinion! He'll be very glad for it, find them somewhere nice for a little makeout......

"Most of them, perhaps, particularly in the orchestra, but I...I have a box." A private box that belongs to him. That's only sold at the very last minute if he hasn't taken it.

He has the decency to seem humbled about admitting to be a card-carrying member of the bourgeoisie.

With a curling smile she forgives him his wealth, even with a trickle of wariness. Her cautious nature is overridden by what she sees behind his eyes. Were he to flaunt and strut in a misguided attempt to impress Paloma, this talk would've ended before it began.

"You're hiding more surprises, I'm sure."

Attending Oxford should be enough to make him seem like a rich bitch, he doesn't want anyone to take it the wrong way! Yes he's been born into money, but it hasn't made him a stuck-up jerk. Just the opposite, he hopes.

"I'm sure you are yourself!" Haha, yeah, hiding surprises... Yeah, she could say that, he certainly is. Some a little more serious than others. Some like Hyde. Still, it makes him smile. "I would love to know you better."

I ran across an ocean inside a private jet's cargo hold to escape my sire's politics. I've bled you a few times already. You're delicious. I magicked the headmaster into giving me this job and these hours with a talk and a kiss, and more.

I'm a Goddamned vampire who knows better.

Her laugh is strained. "You think that now!" Slowly, delicately, she trails her hand away. "Ah. It's already near closing time." And the tea and muffin haven't been touched.

As if he's any better...

"Ah-- I really did sleep the night away!" At least if they're going to part, the temptation will be gone. So will his embarrassment. More or less. But he's just so foolish, "May I walk you to the car, or wherever it is you're going, then?" Because it's dangerous at this time of night, of course!

Very dangerous, and nowhere more so than at her side.

The teeth she flashes him are white, dazzling, and blunt. Not even a hint of fang in the lot.

Dawn is some scarce couple of hours away, and her car is in the nearest parking area in case a quick getaway is ever needed. With Jekyll, though, she takes her sweet time walking past rows and rows of neat gardens. Her hands clasp harmlessly away, buried in her skirt. Deep inhales remind her of what there is to lose if she jeopardizes this paradise. The internal wrangling hasn't subsided when they arrive at the nondescript (borrowed) vehicle.

She hesitates.

It's so tempting to offer his arm or a hand even, to be a proper escort, and to be closer to her. But it seems too forward. This date they're planning is just as friends, right? So he needs to forget about his crush and raging hard-on for her. But her hesitation makes him wonder, and hesitate as well. How should he say goodbye? A handshake? That seems too stiff. A kiss is far too much. A hug might be too much too. So he just. Fidgets.

"I suppose I'll be seeing you tomorrow night, I'll try not to fall asleep and make your job more difficult, this time."

The anxiety in him is so vividly apparent that she arrives faster to a read of his desires; his reluctance to leave, or to leave things as they are. He's both pitiable and endearing as a puppy with its paws wet.

Paloma takes that unwise step forward, just a foot away, to trace the back of his hand inquisitively. She's not unused to looking up. "You're confusing difficulty with good fun. Would you like to check out a thesaurus?" Her lips part.

"Is it? I think I need a dictionary then." He laughs a little not only for the misconception but also for her fingers on his hand. It makes him even more nervous, he shouldn't be left alone with someone he finds so attractive, it's very dangerous.

It's a shame even if he looks down she's able to see his face. Especially if he looks down. It's far too reddened, and far too hot, and his heart could jump right out of his chest as he takes the plunge into curling his fingers around hers.

He's a rather noisy boy even when saying nothing. His rushing blood, blooming close to the surface of his skin-- thud-thud-thudding heartbeats-- the beginning of sweat, although that tickles her nose more than her ears.

It piques her interest and her appetite. Paloma rocks forward and back, sighing almost imperceptibly, because how could she possibly feed on Henry Jekyll from here on in?

"Thesaurus will do you better."

He's rather a weenie. It causes quite a bit of that thudding and sweat.

"Well, I am prone to being...rather tongue-tied..." He gives her a little smile. But it's quickly back to bashfulness in working up the courage to kiss her cheek. Actually doing it is just pathetic, as quickly as he does it, he's pulled back and taken his hands back to himself.

"Good- goodnight!"

She's also intrigued to see him moving, bravely breaching the little distance between them. Her exclamation of is as soft as it is disappointed, against Paloma's better judgment.

Cold night air replaces the warmth his hand brought when it clung to hers, yet the small smile doesn't leave along with him. "Oh. Goodnight."

(no subject)

cagedinflesh - 2017-07-02 09:32 (UTC) - Expand