Meg’s place was a cosy apartment where everything led off the small hallway. The living room led into the kitchen, the largest space and where she spent most of her time. Plants of various sizes took up every free corner or surface the healer could put them on without hindering one's movement around. Most were various types used in healing while a tarped off section held Meg’s potent batch of elfroot. Most who came around were used to this space, the kitchen table, the familiar spot where she’d patch up or save a life, like she’d done for Nairn.
Her chest swelled as he confessed wanting to see her, growing equally as shy and red when noticing the one spreading across his lips. Yeah? Well I’m pretty easy to find, still teasing while she tentatively reached for his hand.
Her head tilted, a grin began playing on her lips as she watched the cogs turn behind his eyes, the slow realisation that he had no idea what came next. Later Meg would dwell on how adorable it was but in the moment decided on showing him in, guiding him by the elbow. How he tripped, may have had to do with the damn rug she insisted on keeping for the pattern but that sent her somersaulting on occasion. Perhaps that’s why the couch was there.
In the fracka of trying to catch him, Meg’s leg somehow entangled itself with his turning the two into a spin causing the healer to land on top of him. Oh bugger it. You okay? squeaked out of a breathless chest as the elf scrambled to lift herself up to check him over while the two braids fell over shoulders and across his chest. Only once catching his eye, she’d freeze again, face flushed crimson all the way to the tips of her ears. Um, Hi. I’m not hurting you, am I?
Nairn hadn't had a chance to respond, to her jest that she was easy to find (this statement is very much a true statement and there's a brief look of shame in his eyes, prior to tripping). As they tripped, and she fell on top of him... he was studying her, carefully from this new angle.
I'm f-fine, he didn't sound very convincing, but the look in his eye was anything but nervous, though she was scrambling to get off of him. When he realized this, slow because of all the alcohol he had consumed, he grabbed her hip. Mmm, don't go. 'nother hic kiss. He suggested, the hand not gripping her hip reached for her braids, gathering them in his hand to pull her back down.
This time, his kiss was more certain. Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps it was simply the fact she was as nervous as him. It didn't change the fact this kiss was slow, not as rushed. It didn't change his hand on her hip had wandered, taking his time feeling her up. When the kiss ended, he exhaled softly, and squeezed her hip again.
Mm-more than f-fine. He decided, tugging her braids gently, S-stay? He wasn't clear if he was asking permission to stay, or asking her to stay, and if he was asking her to stay, in what way did he mean? Stay right as they were right now? Stay in the same room?
Her panic ebbed away the more he studied her with a look she wasn’t familiar with. Clarity, but deeper, a sense of certainty even if his voice quavered. He meant every word he said, even if it took him a minute to get it out. Being physical was entirely different. That line had never blurred until now, fuelled in part by alcohol, but rooted in concern for her wellbeing. Despite her knowing this, it still took time for her mind to remind the healer of the assassins curious, but usual disposition.
Between his gaze and touch she couldn’t… wouldn’t dare move, cheeks turning a deeper shade when he bade her not just to go but pulled her into another kiss. All she could offer was a muffled squeak, the surprise fading, melting away as his mouth and hand lulled her into blissful putty offset by the grip on her braids. The nip of pain the tipping point of control the elf had, hands cupping his face to then slide into his hair.
The kiss ended naturally but not before she stole a further few small ones before out of reach. Confirming he was fine Meg could only dumbly nod, struggling with her words and letting her shy grin turn feral. Again he’d tug at her hair, and if standing, her knees surely would’ve buckled. Meg’s teeth pulled under her lips to nip in an attempt to keep herself in check, biting back a whine. Nope. Not the time.
In the space of a second though it melted back into a smile. Stay? Do you see any office hours? The door's admittedly a way nicer way, you... gonna come that way again? she chuckled, growing sheepish even while brows wiggled teasingly. Probably your second best idea. You gotta be veeery drunk right now, what if someone jumped you?
Nairn grinned, as she tugged her fingers through his hair, ponytail loose and falling out. Gonna c'm'in the door always, he mused, lazily playing with her hair. What's my first? Idea, she'd said staying was his second best idea.
'm not drunk enough to forget, he grumbled, as she teased him. He adjusted how he was on the couch, moving to sit properly rather than be sprawled under her.
Mmmm, you taste good. How I 'magined. It's said so offhandedly, that for a second he's not realized he spoke out loud, and it's clear when the realization hits, because he flushes. He didn't know it, but he had a history of complimenting the healer when blood loss left him forgetful.
Her eyes roamed from watching her fingers play with his hair, head tilting as she thought about how nice it felt between her digits, twirling it idly. They then travelled over how his grip teased the tails of her braids, even lazily, causing her to swallow and take a deep breath. Um.. Well.Shit. Eh.. Coming back? Meg answered hesitantly, withdrawing a little as guilt gnawed at her. She didn’t want to hold it over his head. You thought I wouldn’t notice… but I did.
Grinning, Meg chuckled at his complaint. Good, but if you need reminding… She’d hum, body beginning to move, but then pausing before sliding back into his lap, This… ok? If not she’d slide to one side giving him most of the couch space, turning her head to check the alternatives while waiting for his answer.
And then he complimented her and it didn’t matter. She laughed, settling into his lap like she belonged there as the hesitation melted away. Meg’s arms slid around his neck lazily, playing with the hair at the nape. Well.. You taste of peach schnapps right now, buuuut… nuzzling into his neck she’d breathe him in, mumbling against the skin with, You still smell of sandalwood.
He hummed, settling an arm around her middle when she considered getting out of his lap. Stay. How else will I play with your hair, if you move? He'd noticed, she enjoyed having his hands in her hair. Tightening his hold on her, he gave her hair another good, purposeful tug.
Mmm. Was pretty stupid, avoiding you. This is a much better arrangement. He smirked up at her again. She informed him how he tasted right now, as she nuzzled against his neck, murmuring that his scent was sandalwood.
Quietly chuckling, he'd let his hands leave her braids, trailing up her back, simply exploring her body with careful, thoughtful touches. Relaxing, the longer she was in his arms. Eventually, he was no longer on edge, nobody else could see them, and the alcohol provided just enough inhibition that he wasn't overthinking.
No more dates with others. He murmured, another kiss to the side of her ear. Jus' me, mmk?
@Megara Fern OOC Note: I imagine Ruth peeking through the window after Nairn doesn't run out five minutes in. lsdkfslkdf
She was trying her damnedest to remain respectful, but he was making it difficult not to melt completely. His arm cemented her in place and Meg leaned into him, croaking out a small whine as he called her out. Meanie, came out as a whisper, her own fingers gently returning the tug. Embarrassed, Meg’s head dipped into her chest in some vain attempt to hide from him but it was of course impossible.
Humming approvingly she continued to nestle into him, the easy comfort he brought soon settling them into a comfortable silence. Each pass of his hands had her torn between comfort and a stirring desire to return the contact, to ease any lingering tension he ha-...
Why was Ruth waving through the…
Staring over Nairn’s shoulder towards the window, Meg’shorrified gaze met the smirking look of one Ruth Yoesif. Instinctively she pulled Nairn tight against her, partly hoping to answer him without answering and gesturing hurriedly, but discreetly a telekinetic nudge to lower the curtain completely.
Closing her eyes, Meg silently sent up a prayer to the gods before letting Nairn’s kiss along her ear had her give out a content sigh. Promise. So… does this count as our first date?
Nairn completely missed how she used magic to tug the curtains closed; drunk enough he wasn't watching their every-surrounding for danger. A dangerous mindset, but temporary one. She buried her face against him, and he grinned to himself, shaking his head slightly as she asked her question.
I 'lways thought our first date was that city tour I gave you, he mused, This is our first sleepover. Because she'd already invited him to stay on the couch. He yawned, and ran his fingers through her hair absently, not tugging this time.
Ruth's been mad at me, for avoidin' you. We were s'posed to head back to the C, he grumbled, half-heartedly.
She’d deal with the shithead tomorrow, forgetting Ruth for now.
Yeah? It’s a good one. I think about it every time I’m down that way, she’d admit. Everything grew warm as he said this would be their first sleepover, meaning there would be more and she felt herself dancing inside, struggling to keep the grin threatening to split her face under control.
Tilting her head, Meg tried not to stiffen as he mentioned their friend the brief panic quickly evaporating as it wasn't related to his appearance at the window. Ruth’s always mad about something. He’s also a big boy, he can find his way back fine. Do you really wanna talk about Ruth? She mirrored his hands movements, playing with the untied locks while an idea played on her mind. Maybe another night, when he wasn’t drunk but… Can I… braid your hair tomorrow? You can say no.
Nairn chuckled, nodding at the information that she thought about the little gardens, often. Perhaps Ruth knew more than he'd told his friend. Mmm, fuck hic Ruth. Don't wanna talk about Ruth. He confirmed, leaning for another kiss.
The half-elf gave her braids a proper tug, when she asked to braid his hair in the morning. ...What kinda braids? He inquired, considering what letting her re-braid his hair meant.
Chuckling, Meg shook her head. No, definitely not, but... what would you like to talk about? Or, her smile broadened as leaned in for another kiss, giving in immediately. Or are you wanting to snuggle and sleep, Mr Yawny… gonna need to get a blanket either way. Which meant moving and she’d pout pathetically at the thought.
Yet he would tug her hair again, teeth chewed her lip, a hiss whistled through the gap. Meg flashed him a weak pleading look, ... The tidy kind… still teasing him a little before her confidence melted and she sheepishly shrugged. Her hands began picking at his shirt, rolling the fabric between her fingertips to distract, maybe with a knot… if, uh, that’s allowed. Don’t want you datin’ anyone else either.
Nairn tipped his head, and his fingers finally let go of her braids. He leaned back on the couch, and hummed thoughtfully. Could do with some snuggles. And a good sleep, early morning. It'd been dumb to stay and drink, after they'd kicked the shit out of the guy.
When she stated how she might braid his hair, he raised his eyebrows, and let his gaze focus on her. Don' see why not. Nothin' too visible, though. He reached out to tap her chin, thumb trailing across her cheek, Being here right now, letting you mark me hic that outright, could make you a target. 'lotta people don't like me, he stated, letting his hand trail down her arm, slowly but sure in his motions.
Wanna keep you outta the limelight. The message was clear. Publicly, he'd be single — even if he did let her knot the underlayer of his hair, and hide it in the braid itself.
Meg’s smile spread broadly across her face, eyes softening while a hand played with his hair. A snuggle, some sleep aaaaand pancakes, she’d nod, sinking down into his arms, sounds like perfection. I’ll get us a blanket in a sec.
Cheeks flushed, even drunk as he was, Nairn was trying to keep his ailing focus on her, his touches both reassuring and grounding them both in the moment. Okay then, nodding excitedly as permission was still given despite the caveat of hiding it for now. I can tuck it in somewhere only you and I will know.
Keeping things quiet was fine for the moment, but Meg’s eyes narrowed a little. You know I can take care of myself. Besides, a lotta people like me, they’ll like you by proxy, but I get it Nairn. I still like you, even in secret. She’d tug the collar of his shirt three times. Promise.
He chuckled, as she declared they'd snuggle, sleep, and she'd make pancakes in the morning. Mmm, can you? He tipped his head, as she declared she could take care of herself, Hurt a lotta people, Megara. He tapped her nose. They're always lookin' to hurt me back.
How many spouses had he killed for stepping out of line, or just because the job paid too good to pass up? He didn't want to think about it, he'd certainly back out of whatever this was. 'sides, secrecy means nobody'll bother us. He yawned, as he said it.
One hand patted her hip, Promised me a blank't. Another yawn.
For you, I’ll make ‘em special, she’d confirm, grinning as he chuckled. The taps to her nose though claimed her complete attention, unsure at first if his meaning was an effort to scare her or not. Adorable. Talking about it now would be futile, there would be no arguing with him under the influence of drink nor did she want to ruin the moment. They hurt you, I’mma fix you right up, I’m not afraid of blood, Nairn.
Strength came in all sizes, shapes and forms and while Megara hadn’t yet faced her greatest challenge she had the depth and a current he would come to understand in time. Too long to some people.
She’d snort though, Oh you think so eh? Weren’t you drinking with Ruth? How long you think that fishwife is gonna keep his mouth shut? Certainly not too long since he caught them through the window.
His yawns though, began to infect her, nodding, Okay, Okay. Lemme get it without movin’ though. Gently, she’d push herself upright to outstretch her palm toward the blanket draped over the armchair, fixing her gaze intently. Fingers flexed and a breeze kicked up, catching the blanket into the air to drift over like leaves travelled, fluttering into a pile over her shoulders and over them like a tent.
Giggling, Meg gestured, pushing the fabric upwards, Our blanket, Serrah.
