distractly | CC: INBOX.

I'd much rather spend the night before with you.
I'd much rather spend every night with you.
Don't keep any comments to yourself. Do tell.

[ See? Romance. ]

I think that can be arranged.

( cue that reddened hue to her cheeks she's still not entirely used to. )

Giving a girl quite a lot of freedom, Baby.

What if I told you I'm already in one of your shirts? It's becoming a habit, slipping into them after I get some decent training in at sucker punch. After a shower, before I crawl into bed. I don't know, is that silly?

I feel more comfortable in them. Like you're there.

[ He's immediately taken to a place where he can see Isabelle in his shirt, too big, hitting her thighs, comfortable, hot as hell. ]

it's not silly, it's really hot. And I'm glad being in my clothes means comfort to you. I want that, and so much more.

Do you want me to be there? I'll come over.

( she hadn't exactly thought of it on an appealing scale, given she's so used to being relatively done up, seemingly put together at all times. seeing her so underdressed, sweet rather than emboldened in her usual black wear, it's not something many get to witness.

like there's something private about it, intimate even. )

What else is it you want, exactly? ( you know her affinity for detail, baby. )

Of course I want you to be here. I just put tea on, the apartments still being put together, so if you don't mind that?

[ What else? Oh, where to start. ]

I want to be the one you call for anything and everything. The little things and the big things. I want to be the one you fall asleep with and keeps nightmares away. I want to be here when you wake up and cook you breakfast. I want to touch you, all the time. I want to make you happy.

I'll be there in 10.

[ And so he is, his shirt looking a little too big and his hair all over the place, like he's been tugging at it. ]

( it all sounds awfully cliche, but god if it doesn't wrap scarves of warmth about her chest just thinking of it all, actually having it said to her. she's left chewing at the inner of her cheek, fidgeting weight between her slippers where she's leaned against her counter. )

I don't think I'd mind you being that one.

There is... absolutely nothing on that list that I wouldn't like. Want. I've never had something like this before, been able to look forward to such little things that... aren't really so little when you're actually experiencing them.

Let me know when you're outside.

I never have, either. And it feels like a lot,
and I want all of it, so much. I want so many firsts, and lasts, with you.

Oh, and btw, I'm here.

[ He texts so when he's in front of her door, a soft smile clinging to his lips at the mere thought of getting to see her again, even though he did so recently. ]

( there's an answering smile before bare limbs even make it to that door, slipping from sheets she'd comfortably been strewn within to tread across the quiet, wooden floorboards of her apartment. she's waiting, as mentioned, just on that other end in no more than one of his maroon tops that she may or may not have been all too delighted he'd left behind, normally deep ruby lips carrying a bit more a nude-pink shade. natural, a hint of sleepy. )

Hi there, romeo. ( a claim of teeth to lips, eyes instantly finding his to leave features warming all the further. a nod of her head in indication to come in, leaning against the frame of the door to give him proper room. )

[ When he sees her in his shirt, he has to actually think on when he must have left it behind. One of these nights where he came too late to see her, got warm in the night, sleeping behind Isabelle in her luxurious sheets.

And now she's wearing it, and he steps into her apartment, eyes fixated on her. ]

That looks so much better on you than me.

( she'd held no part in ensuring he didn't remember his shirt on the way out, of course not. maybe she's just becoming a fiend for the whole mundane form of comforts; it still carried the faint smell of him, grazing the upper of her thighs, covering just enough to be deemed mildly appropriate—for her own apartment, of course.

she doesn't move with the normal sway she otherwise would when aware of a set of hues on her; everything about her is shyer with him, subdued, brazen nature waiting for the utmost comfort, the utmost trust between them to let itself be heard. she doesn't doubt she's quite a handful, if only he knew the extent. )

I think that might be bias, Baby. ( a glance over her shoulder, sure he can see the sweet curve of her lips even with no more than a soft light atop the stove lighting the entry. ) Do you want some tea? I had just put some on.

[ It might be bias, but Baby isn't so sure. His shirt is covering her all the way down to her thighs, showing the expanse of her legs, creamy skin making him want to reach out. She has the sleeves rolled up along her forearms and exposing runes there, the shirt obviously too big on her and yet looking like it was made to be on her frame.

He follows her to the kitchen, toeing off his shoes on the way, and leans against the counter as she moves around, trying not to look too obvious in the way he looks at her - and probably failing.

He's not much of a tea drinker, but it's too late for coffee, and anything to stay gravitating her orbit. ]

Sure, I'll have tea. What are you doing still up?

( surely it helps that she has the proper curves to otherwise fill it out, though stark in it's contrast to the normally hugging fabrics she often wore. beneath there's nothing more than a pair of black panties, of which, aren't peeking through, and wouldn't unless she stretched up onto her toes just right—for now, at least, it isn't in her intentions to tease.

tea was one of the few piping luxuries she found during late nights in the institute, reaching for a twin mug to set aside her own as she adjusts the water on the stove, still hot, but not curling with the necessary tendrils in order to steep the tea perfectly.

while it heats, she's digging out two tea bags, curling their strings around porcelain handles, eyes set on her motions as she speaks. ) I have a difficult time sleeping somewhere I'm not entirely used to.

( all she's ever known is those gothic-like ceilings, a room in which only the decor had changed while she'd grown. ) I'm getting better. I've always preferred the night, though. So much quieter, not as demanding.

[ Baby just watches her move around her kitchen, comfortable, and feels himself relax in increments. He huffs out a soft laugh through his nose, sounding very fond. ]

Actually, yes, I have experience with your texts in the middle of the night.

[ And coming over after barely being prompted, all too glad to do so, only to be by her side, hold her through the night as she needed. ]

Hey, do you have an iPod dock here? I could play what I was listening to. You'd like it.

( that laugh is enough to wrap tender little scarves about her chest, unable to help the way lips furl all the more upward in response, that and the fact that he has definitely witnessed her said struggles with finding sleep. often times, his arms woven around her was the only way she did. )

Guilty. ( a little shrug, a playful apology writing itself across her features before the kettle upon the stove begins it's quiet hum, water within teeming. you're going to have to forgive her, baby, even when ipods were all the rave, obtaining one, let alone a dock, hadn't been something she'd partaken in. ) I don't, but there's bluetooth?

( then she's holding up a single digit, killing the heat beneath the water before she's sauntering off down the darkened hall of her apartment, returning with a palm-size speaker that'll hopefully fit his needs. new wave technology, and all that. )

That should work, no? ( holding his gaze a moment before she's drifting back to the stove, carefully carrying the kettle toward the mugs she has prepared for them. )

[ He takes the speaker from her, nodding in thanks and agreement. He sets to connect his iPod to it, thankful that it's a version recent enough that it has bluetooth.

A moment later, music starts filling out the space between them. Languid, romantic, beautiful and sharp. No wonder why it reminds him of Isabelle.

He leaves the speaker on the counter next to him, fingers twitching atop an imaginary piano keyboard. ]

If I was good enough, I'd play something like this, tomorrow. Although it's not an orchestra hall, so it might not be appropriate.

( once the drifts of the piano begin to score sweetly throughout the kitchen, a perfect accompaniment to tea and moonlight, she's sinking smiling teeth into her lips. careful, limbs carry her back over toward him with a mug in each hand, wisps of steam curling about their surfaces. it's a blueberry green, something subtle, soft enough to compliment the mood that's been placed over their evening. )

It's beautiful. ( chords begin to synchronize, notes tumbling faster and yet never once losing their effortless laze. it's tempting to close her eyes, let him hold her against his chest, and just listen. it wasn't often enough that she let herself in to such mindful medicine, though she has a feeling the more time she spends with him, the more habitual, the more normal it will become.

cradling her own mug she hums happily, lids drifting shut a moment leaning lower back to the island counter just beside him. )

Something tells me you're well able to play something just as lovely, Baby. You're here for me to quiet those doubts, remember? ( kisses and all, she'd promised. )

[ It is beautiful, he agrees. Everything in this moment is; the music, swelling and growing more impetuous, Isabelle herself, pressing herself against Baby in such a sweet, almost innocent way, the smell of the tea, almost as intoxicating as he smell of Isabelle's hair, the moonlight, dancing across her features when Baby looks down at her. For a second, here, it's like they're stuck in time, and Baby takes a mental photograph of it, wanting to remember this at any moment. ]

It's just going to be jazzier. Sinatra, Ellington, Davis, Charles. I don't think the owners want me to play anything classical.

[ He's trying to pretend like he's not that worried, but it's still obvious that he is, fingers now tapping rhythms and melodies along the length of Isabelle's arm, like nervous energy. ]

( even when she isn't raveled up against him, she stays close, soaking in the heat of the tea to her palms, inviting itself beneath her skin, warming her bones. it's a different sort of life, being with baby—mindfully quieted to the tongue of music keeping them company, and every so often it nearly overwhelms her. that she'd found him, here of all places, that she'd been so close to just staying where she was. )

Where you're from, did you sing there? ( for others, she means, though she feels he'd understand. she's seen for herself what it does for him, music, always tucked into the shell of his ear, how his fingertips can't help but to follow the rippling octaves as the music takes on a bit more of a minor tone. she takes a tiny sip of her tea, careful not to burn the palette of her mouth, steam holding hints of blueberry in it's wake. )

For what it's worth, I'm eager to see you. To hear you, so open like that. ( a glance up to find his gaze, shifting so it's her hip pressed to the edge of the counter so she can face him. )

[ Baby looks out to the window for a moment, memories rushing past his eyes; his mom and his mixes and getting caught. All sorts of things he associated with making his own music that weren't pleasant, and yet, here he still was, craving for more.

He shakes his head finally, a finger circling the rim of his own mug. ]

No, I didn't. Or rarely, but only in the house, and my foster dad is deaf, so it really was for myself. My mom, she sang for other people.

[ When Isabelle mentions being eager, something clicks into place in Baby's heart, and he realizes - out of everyone in Cadelle, he wants her to be there the most. He wants her to hear him. ]

I could sing you something right now, if you wanted. Something just for you.

( it strikes her, then, how little she knows of the life he's led other than what he's chosen to share. the little intricacies of day to day that she's never been a part of, the two from entirely different places, different backgrounds. coming to cadelle gave them, in a sense, a clean slate—but also stripped away most of what came with getting to know another. made you rely a bit more on talking, sharing, leaving a cloud of doubt upon the girl to the thought of anyone truly knowing her at all—other than baby.

he says foster dad, and there's a pang in her chest, one she isn't sure she has the right to touch on just yet. it's always been a 'when you're ready' type thing with them, hasn't it? there's no denying how her features grow alight at the offer, steering her from wondrous thoughts. )

I'd like that. ( words spoken almost in a whisper, but there's no hiding their sincerity, how unexplainably willing she is to be part of something so intimate he's choosing to share. ) If you're comfortable?

[ He expects that, to truly know Isabelle, it will take him years. And he is willing to put in the time, to let time allow them to learn about each other in fits and starts, moments like these, nights where everything seems to make sense and he feels like he is right where he belongs. ]

I am. [ He smiles when she asks if he'd be comfortable to sing for her, and sure, he might feel a hint of self-consciousness, but if there is someone he's more than willing to share this with, it's Isabelle. He looks up at the night sky outside the window once more, scratching his throat before he starts singing, his eyes closing as he does. ]

Edited (positioniiiiing) 2017-09-26 16:51 (UTC)

( she remains quiet, more of respect, yet equal parts ardency as she awaits what might spill from the bed of his throat. music, singing, she can't imagine that he wouldn't pour himself into it as he seems to with everything else, as he seems to with her, and still she hadn't expected the voice that arises when he shifts, lets his eyes fall closed, and gives in to it. she supposes, really, there was no way she could've properly prepared, that even if she had, it's just him, it's baby that never ceases to bloom her adoration further.

she watches the way the hollow of his throat opens to the chords, the way he nearly hums into every proceeding line after the slightest of pauses, a breath, a purposeful break. it's a wave that breaks through her, rushes and sweeps and threatens to put her off her feet, causes brows to give the tiniest furrow as it hits her, like it always seems to in unexpected moments, how much she cares for him. how much he's opened her up to feel, things she'd never thought she'd have, all standing right before her.

and so when he finishes, she's only able to marvel, a delicate awe in the way she looks at him, still, cant stop looking at him, before gently- and just as slowly,
she's pressing to the tips of her toes. and it's only once fingertips lithely use the edge of his jaw to angle him down to her that her mouth greets his. it's impossibly soft, sensual, because she doesn't know how else to tell him how she appreciates what he's done for her.

what he's given her, that he's comfortable enough to be vulnerable in a room with just the two of them. she kisses him because it's the only thing she knows to do, all she can understand, and it isn't haste nor need that dictates it, but her own whisper of a thank you in movement alone. )

[ He sings, and for a time, he forgets about everything. He forgets about where he is, and the choices he's made; the life he's left behind for now and the uncertainty of the future. He sings, and everything makes sense. He's all too aware of Isabelle's presence by his side but she doesn't interrupt, doesn't do anything until he's done, letting the song die on his lips before his eyes flutter open when Izzy tips his head down.

The kiss is soft, but it says a lot - it says a lot to him, anyway. It speaks of the inadequacy of words sometimes, of feelings being too much to fit around anything else than a kiss. Baby moves into the kiss, turning further into Isabelle and sliding a hand to her hip, his mug of tea left abandoned on the counter by their side.

He never thought his voice could ever elicit anything quite like this. This kind of response is making his stomach tumble over itself and his whole body come alive. He's definitely not going to sleep anytime soon, at this point. ]

( there's so many things she wants to tell him, so many things she isn't quite sure how to voice, and much like the way he'd sang to her, there's just as much tender fervency beneath her kiss. it blooms slowly, quietly, and for once she doesn't want thoughts to dictate her, doesn't want to let them take over; she just wants to feel him. this, the way he leans into her, how receptive he is to lips that now couldn't dare part from his.

she could pull away, finish their tea and fall asleep beside him like she has so many nights before, but her hearts thundering for something else. a knowing, a decision thrumming to the very tips of her fingers on what she wants. they'd taken their time, been so patient with one another, but just as he'd let her in, exposed himself for her, she wants to give him that same trust in kind.

lips fold over his lower, and when the kiss breaks she can't bring herself to pull any further away than to touch forehead to his, noses stumbling and breath that escapes her slightly ragged, still quiet. she looks up at him beneath thick, sooty lashes, every inch of her suddenly restless, needing him. ) Come to bed with me, Baby.

( never has she spoken such words; instead a 'sleep with me', a murmured request to hold her through the night, but there's something else hidden in her tone. something on the edge of desperate. )

[ His stomach just drops further at her words, eyes searching her face for any sign of this not being what he thinks it is; not a tease, but just another night of holding her. But he can't see it there, in her eyes. He can only see need, and it makes him want to grab her, carry her to her bed and lay her down himself, lavish her wish kisses and touches until she can't take it anymore.

Instead, his fingers tighten a fraction over her hip, and he nods, soundless. ]

Okay.

[ Last time they were any sort of intimate physically, they had both been wearing their clothes, and they'd been in semi-public. Baby had walked home uncomfortable after coming in his boxers, and he still thought it somewhat embarrassing, bar for making Izzy feel good.

But now, they are in private. Alone, nobody to come knocking, and Isabelle already wearing much less. He swallows thickly as he follows her to her bedroom, barely managing not to trip over his feet. ]

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