[ And if he didn't deserve it, there's still plenty of time for him to earn it. He raises his eyebrows during her compliments—conducted yourself well, that doesn't sound like him at all—and glances down at her hand.
He doesn't move. ]
Did someone tell you that I'm easy?
[ Decorum. Manners. He looks back up from her hand, head tilting sideways as if in contemplation. ]
I am. But if someone is saying so, I would like to know who.
[ Beleth looks horrified by the accusation, and quickly moves her hands up defensively. ]
What--? No! I don't--
[ And then her hands on her hips, fidgety from nerves that are being driven straight off a cliff by this chucklefuck. ]
--I don't gossip with people about. Things of that nature. And why would I? I just thought--
[ She attempts to run a hand through her hair, and promptly snags it on a particularly vicious chunk of curl. At least she can distract herself with freeing her fingers from the tangle. ]
--Though I'm clearly atrocious at that task. Thinking, that is.
[ If she were human he'd move forward—not because he cares one way or another, but because the question of who has the power to pressure who into what and who ought to clearly signal interest to prevent the other from being a creep would be less murky. She's his superior. She's also an elf. Kostos doesn't move from where he's standing.
He also doesn't argue with her. He isn't that nice. He keeps his head inclined, still and watchful, and hums vague agreement. ]
[ How do you just stop thinking, there are so many things that need thought. But then again, part of the reason she was even attempting this disaster was because she wanted to stop thinking, for a little bit. ]
I suppose you are the expert in that.
[ Maybe she should stop arguing--or whatever this was. But Kostos wasn't, so. And speaking of the whole thinking, another thought occurs. She raises her hands up, like she's trying to pacify him. ]
Just so you know, I don't--I mean. Surely, you know I would never try to use my position to put any...Um. Pressure on you. [ She tries, at least, to make sure that even in routine advisor duties, he's not doing anything he's not willing to do. Except fancy parties. ] You're under no obligations, and you won't incur any requital--Except when you're rude, which you are all the time, anyway.
[ Not that Beleth has ever actually done anything about Kostos being a big rude jerk. ]
[ Kostos’ eyebrows go up a little when she says he’s an expert in not thinking, then a little bit further when her hands go up—which could be pacifying or could be a barrier—and then reverse course and go down, eyes narrowing into a disbelieving squint, when she calls him rude.
That part is true. More true than the not-thinking part. But still: ]
You are absolutely right. And I apologize for making you have to bear witness to it.
[ She closes her eyes for a moment, and takes a breath. Okay, not thinking. She can do this. Maybe. She opens her eyes, and looks at Kostos, hands on her hips. ]
Kostos, I think you are remarkably attractive and interesting man, and I like that thing you do were you stare really intently at someone. Would it be alright if I kissed you?
[ This is an absolutely terrible idea for multiple reasons. She's his superior. He has possibly not made clear that he's only easy once, after which time he's nearly impossible. Would it be alright if I kissed you is potentially a more complex question than the more-familiar do you want to fuck. Or, on the other hand, forgetting any potential awkwardness or expectations on her end, she's the scoutmaster and (he's heard) a bard, and if he isn't a threat to the Inquisition he's still keeping a few fairly dangerous secrets about a few fairly dangerous friends, and isn't this sometimes how they go about what they do?
Plus: the door isn't locked.
But because—beneath the camouflage of reticence and confidence—he's a disaster who frequently makes absolutely terrible decisions and is presently not allowed in a whole list of taverns, he says, ] Better, [ and moves in closer to put his hands on the desk on either side of her. ]
[ Beleth is, obviously, not doing much better on both being a disaster and making terrible decisions fronts. She tries to make good decisions, she tries to be cautious and careful and self-contained. She's been trying, and everything is still burning down around her.
If her life is taking a dive right into the void, she might as well make sure she enjoys the ride. And, while she'd never tell Kostos this, she trusts him--At least enough to be comfortable doing this. That he wouldn't make it weird, or use it against her, or do anything sketchy. It's more trust than she has in most people.
At his move, she grins up at him, taking his collar in her hands. ] I'll commit it to memory. [ And that's all she has to say before she pulls him down to press her lips against his. ]
It wasn't that much be— [ Never mind. It was good enough.
Best would have been not talking about it at all, of course, but there's no erasing the past. Or thinking about it. Or thinking about the future. That's a large part of why he likes this. Another part is that he's good at it. Other people's mildly insulting commentary aside, this is a better use of his mouth than talking. He's nimbler with his tongue. More judicious with his teeth.
But he isn't a romantic. They're only at it for thirty seconds top before he's moving his mouth to his neck and his hands in search of the hem of her shirt—vest—whatever is in his way—and the skin underneath it. ]
[ Several things occur to Beleth at once, which is several more than should be. The first is that Kostos is the first human that she’s hooked up with. There’s nothing different there, right? Surely someone would have mentioned that to her by now. The second is that they are quite literally a stones throw from her bedroom door, which is locked to the outside, as opposed to her office.
The third is that she really likes his mouth on her neck. It’s this last thought that she chooses to communicate, with a pleased purr hum. One hand moves from his collar to the back of his head—carefully, trying to give him room to decline anything she tries. The other she uses to help her shimmy a little more properly onto her desk. Thank the Creators she’d chosen a sturdy one.
Not that the Creators would approve of any of this. They’ll survive, probably. And more importantly, she’ll do more than survive. ]
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no subject
He doesn't move. ]
Did someone tell you that I'm easy?
[ Decorum. Manners. He looks back up from her hand, head tilting sideways as if in contemplation. ]
I am. But if someone is saying so, I would like to know who.
no subject
What--? No! I don't--
[ And then her hands on her hips, fidgety from nerves that are being driven straight off a cliff by this chucklefuck. ]
--I don't gossip with people about. Things of that nature. And why would I? I just thought--
[ She attempts to run a hand through her hair, and promptly snags it on a particularly vicious chunk of curl. At least she can distract herself with freeing her fingers from the tangle. ]
--Though I'm clearly atrocious at that task. Thinking, that is.
no subject
He also doesn't argue with her. He isn't that nice. He keeps his head inclined, still and watchful, and hums vague agreement. ]
You could stop.
no subject
[ How do you just stop thinking, there are so many things that need thought. But then again, part of the reason she was even attempting this disaster was because she wanted to stop thinking, for a little bit. ]
I suppose you are the expert in that.
[ Maybe she should stop arguing--or whatever this was. But Kostos wasn't, so. And speaking of the whole thinking, another thought occurs. She raises her hands up, like she's trying to pacify him. ]
Just so you know, I don't--I mean. Surely, you know I would never try to use my position to put any...Um. Pressure on you. [ She tries, at least, to make sure that even in routine advisor duties, he's not doing anything he's not willing to do. Except fancy parties. ] You're under no obligations, and you won't incur any requital--Except when you're rude, which you are all the time, anyway.
[ Not that Beleth has ever actually done anything about Kostos being a big rude jerk. ]
no subject
That part is true. More true than the not-thinking part. But still: ]
You are remarkably bad at this.
no subject
[ She closes her eyes for a moment, and takes a breath. Okay, not thinking. She can do this. Maybe. She opens her eyes, and looks at Kostos, hands on her hips. ]
Kostos, I think you are remarkably attractive and interesting man, and I like that thing you do were you stare really intently at someone. Would it be alright if I kissed you?
no subject
Plus: the door isn't locked.
But because—beneath the camouflage of reticence and confidence—he's a disaster who frequently makes absolutely terrible decisions and is presently not allowed in a whole list of taverns, he says, ] Better, [ and moves in closer to put his hands on the desk on either side of her. ]
no subject
If her life is taking a dive right into the void, she might as well make sure she enjoys the ride. And, while she'd never tell Kostos this, she trusts him--At least enough to be comfortable doing this. That he wouldn't make it weird, or use it against her, or do anything sketchy. It's more trust than she has in most people.
At his move, she grins up at him, taking his collar in her hands. ] I'll commit it to memory. [ And that's all she has to say before she pulls him down to press her lips against his. ]
no subject
Best would have been not talking about it at all, of course, but there's no erasing the past. Or thinking about it. Or thinking about the future. That's a large part of why he likes this. Another part is that he's good at it. Other people's mildly insulting commentary aside, this is a better use of his mouth than talking. He's nimbler with his tongue. More judicious with his teeth.
But he isn't a romantic. They're only at it for thirty seconds top before he's moving his mouth to his neck and his hands in search of the hem of her shirt—vest—whatever is in his way—and the skin underneath it. ]
no subject
The third is that she really likes his mouth on her neck. It’s this last thought that she chooses to communicate, with a pleased
purrhum. One hand moves from his collar to the back of his head—carefully, trying to give him room to decline anything she tries. The other she uses to help her shimmy a little more properly onto her desk. Thank the Creators she’d chosen a sturdy one.Not that the Creators would approve of any of this. They’ll survive, probably. And more importantly, she’ll do more than survive. ]