03-29-2014, 07:10 PM
The lingering trail of those fingers had a far more immediate affect at waking a man up then the coffee in his hand, but he wasn't complaining. She swayed deliciously as she drew closer and took up a haunt against the counter, and he appreciated the valiant job his shirt did to shroud her, giving devilishly teasing hints to the perfectly feminine curves beneath, and he studied her quietly as she busied herself with a piece of fruit.
He knew his way around a kitchen well; one learned such things over time when you lived alone. Self sufficiency in all things was how he stayed alive as long as he had. Of course, knowing how to work in a team had certainly helped.
"There are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth."
The quote was from a German philosopher of the 1800s, Friedrich Nietzsche.
Of course, it was those very depths that he enjoyed so much about her company. She was a dangerous woman, competent and a queen of her domain. Hers was a world he did not belong, and she to his, which made these painfully rare encounters they shared all the more glorious. There were few women he had met in his life that so well understood him, and those few who did could not stand what they had glimpsed.
He stepped towards her, one iron-gripped fist tangling in her hair, the other sliding down her thinly clothed side, pressing a warm hand into the small of her back. He pulled her head back enough that he could lean in and kiss her, tasting the fresh fruit on her lips and tongue, then carefully freed his hand from her raven locks, carefully smoothing a few errant strands from her eyes.
"Have I aged so poorly that I have to rely on toys to get a rise out of you?"
He smirked slightly, referring to the weapons that sat on the counter behind her. He was not the most handsome of men, but looks alone were not what he relied on to draw a woman's attention.
He knew his way around a kitchen well; one learned such things over time when you lived alone. Self sufficiency in all things was how he stayed alive as long as he had. Of course, knowing how to work in a team had certainly helped.
"There are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth."
The quote was from a German philosopher of the 1800s, Friedrich Nietzsche.
Of course, it was those very depths that he enjoyed so much about her company. She was a dangerous woman, competent and a queen of her domain. Hers was a world he did not belong, and she to his, which made these painfully rare encounters they shared all the more glorious. There were few women he had met in his life that so well understood him, and those few who did could not stand what they had glimpsed.
He stepped towards her, one iron-gripped fist tangling in her hair, the other sliding down her thinly clothed side, pressing a warm hand into the small of her back. He pulled her head back enough that he could lean in and kiss her, tasting the fresh fruit on her lips and tongue, then carefully freed his hand from her raven locks, carefully smoothing a few errant strands from her eyes.
"Have I aged so poorly that I have to rely on toys to get a rise out of you?"
He smirked slightly, referring to the weapons that sat on the counter behind her. He was not the most handsome of men, but looks alone were not what he relied on to draw a woman's attention.