distractly | CC: INBOX.

[ 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. ]

( he'll find nothing hidden within her features other than countless layer upon layer of want; she doesn't know what it is, maybe that the last time she'd had his mouth against hers, they'd been nose to nose and tangled limbs, breathless as he'd made her cum just by rutting himself against her. maybe it's that he'd sang, that she knows it isn't something infantile for him to do so, that there's far more meaning behind his music than she remotely knows.

she's not the bold girl who might otherwise easily tug someone to her bedroom, not with him; there's still confidence, a strong sense of self and comfort with her sexuality, her body and how she can use it— but it's different with him. everything was different with him. she laces their fingers together while she still has his gaze, only breaking it to lead him toward her bedroom.

it wasn't that small entry apartment they'd all been granted, but something that was hers, a bed only she'd touched, a bed she only wants to share with him, and it's only once they're standing beside it that she faces him again, digits unweaving from his own in favor of finding the hem of his top. hues flicker to his in question, seeking permission she knows is there, before she's slowly beginning to raise the fabric along his midsection, lower lip drawn beneath her teeth as she does. )

Edited 2017-09-26 17:45 (UTC)

[ He doesn't hesitate to let her undress him. He's surprised to manage that much control, as it is, keeping himself still under her touch, under her gaze, his skin burning whenever her fingertips graze. There's an intensity in the act, in the look on her face and the way he leans into her touch, wanting it and so much more, an intensity he can't quite comprehend, more than anything he's ever had before. And at the same time, it's soft and unrushed, Isabelle taking her time undoing him, from the inside out.

He lifts his arms over his head for his shirt to be discarded, and then reaches out to her, his fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt, lifting it off of her a little, exposing the black panties she's wearing. He feels like he can't breathe, eyes devouring her as he slowly lifts the fabric to show more of her to him. Nothing he's never seen before - she is fond of midriff baring shirts, and he's thankful for it. ]

So gorgeous.

[ The words leave him in a whisper, awed and distracted, but completely heartfelt. ]

( the quiet of the room is almost swallowing, putting each of their breaths on display, the tiniest of hitches sure to be pronounced for the other to hear. it only adds to the thrill of it all, the current that's existed between them from the moment she'd leaned against the driver's sill of that car, ducking in to meet him for the first time eye to eye. there's an intimacy here that isabelle's never been given, never has given herself, and lips press tightly together as an uneven exhale dispels her nose.

cotton of his shirt falls in a whispering fold to the floorboards beneath them, and it's only a moment, barely a breath before she's raveled in closer to him, feeling the way his fingers clutch while they take rise to the shirt that belongs to him, draped across her figure in asking to be removed. it's more than a compliment, when he speaks, it's the way it's given. like a brush of a prayer, a helpless whisper in the brief space between them.

pink tongue glosses over her lips, impossible to ignore the way heart threatens to grow ever more wild, thudding against the surface of her chest. as that shirt nears her ribs, she's mirroring his own prior aid, lifting her arms to enable him to dismiss the layer entirely—leaving her in no more than a pair of lacy, cheeky bottoms. )

[ He lets out an explosive breath after he pulls the shirt from her, dropping it to the floor as his eyes take her in. She's perfect - absolutely perfect. Toned stomach, full breasts that are begging him to touch, making his fingers twitch. He'd expected a bra, but this is - this is so much better, to know she'd been wanting to feel him thatnclose to her when she put on his shirt, skin contact.

He licks his lips, feeling his throat dry as he reaches out, fingers tentatively grazing the swell of her breasts, trailing down to nipples, and he swallows hard once more. His thumbs swipe at them, soft soft soft, and he looks up into Isabelle's eyes, tacitly making sure that this is okay. He has no words anymore, a heavy bass song thrumming in his veins as he touches her, still as awed as he looks. ]

( she isn't used to someone paying her such close attention, marveling at her as if she were no woman if not one to treasure, lifting the warmth of his palms up to cup her breasts like handling something delicate. she tries not to give so soon to his touch, but she's been thinking about it, those hands of his, the pout of his mouth, how badly she's wanted it to travel along her skin, how badly she's wanted to feel him wanting her again.

and here he is, right in front of her and touching her, silence humming around them, using the gentle graze of her nails to curl and find the supple span of his lower back, gripping there, the slightest purchase and bite. ) I want you.

( tone isn't laden with lust as such words might often be, instead it's a whisper, like it's all she can manage, all that's tender enough to compliment the awe they've settled into with one another. there's no expectations, anything she needs or wants this to be other than what they fall into naturally—just like they've always done. that clutch to his back is used to reel him closer, all while she takes that last step back to sit atop the edge of the mattress, gaze with his and nearly pleading with him to follow. )

[ Baby takes a moment to look at Isabelle, just because he can - just because he's able to. But too fast, he has to lean and kiss her, tilting her chin back a fraction as he licks the seam of her lips, his hand traveling down along her neck, pushing back a little and getting Isabelle to lie back on the bed, crawling above her slowly, knees indenting the bed around her legs.

He pulls back, only to look at Isabelle with all the feelings rushing through him, eyes moving over her face as he tries to find words to say, to convey everything that's going through his head, and his body. ]

I - [ Losing his words altogether, he shakes his head and kisses her again, letting himself sinking a little further into the bed, into her and against her, shivering as their skin touches, her nipples pressing into his skin. ] I want you so much, I - I'm sorry if I'm. Nervous.

( she watches the way his tongue struggles for the proper words, for something to say, and she wants to tell him he doesn't have to, to just feel her, instead—but she's learned baby. the need to fit a sentiment to moments, to tell her exactly what this means to him, all reflexive and whole hearted. but they've talked enough, they've shared so much, she wants him to give himself that freedom of letting go, letting himself give in, even if just for the night.

the moment that second kiss breaks her breath catches, hand left cradling his jaw swiping a thumb beneath the full swell of his lower lip, shaking her head to dismiss his worries. ) Please don't apologize. ( not here, not with her. the mere graze of his skin, hot to the touch, against her chest causing her to give a soft hum in delight. he's still wearing far too much compared to the lace panties hugged to her frame, but she's not intention to rush.

a slow, blooming kiss pressed to his mouth, crown lifted from the comforter in order to meet his lips properly, assuringly, tongue giving a full sweep inside warm cavern to greet his own. it's sweet, even with the hint of hunger in it's depths, aching to feel him move with her. to feel more of his flesh bare on hers. ) Baby.

( it's not more than a breath, toneless. a swallow, lashes batting open and searching his own, entirety of her figure teeming in anticipation. )

[ Baby's always considered himself a romantic. Ever since understanding the notion of romance, anyway; he's wanted it. The full thing, flowers and chocolates and dates with dinner and a movie, and offering his jacket and holding hands in the cold and kissing a girl at her doorstep. Later on, as the years passed, the romance bled into thoughts of a more mature nature - rose petals on bedsheets and fire crackling in a fireplace, soft music in the background and Baby taking his time.

There are no rose petals, no music - no ringing in his ears, either - and no fire but the one raging inside his stomach when Isabelle kisses him, taking him by storm with every words she lets out. One of his hands move, down along her side, flirting with the curve of her breast, down along her stomach. He is still nervous, fingers just a touch unsure, but he pushes through, and touches Isabelle like he's wanted to touch her for what feels like years.

He pushes back on his knees, raising himself up to be able to look at her some more, to be able to put both hands on her body, framing her hips, thumbs just sliding under the elastic of her underwear. He looks into her eyes, tacit permission being asked in his look. ]

( never has there been so much emphasis on simply touching her, like she were something to explore rather than solely something to have, more than just a body but a swollen heart of a girl buried within. that's who he's reaching for, looking for with the way he pulls back, keeping his gaze intact with hers all the while hands peruse her figure, no longer hidden in layers that both accentuate and keep it hidden.

it's endlessly endearing to her, everything he is, the things he stands for that she's never experienced—looking at her in a longing for permission, an impatience hidden around consent's edges that he soon won't need. but it's the first time they've gotten here, gotten this far, and it only adds all the more passion that he wants her to be sure. entirely here with him and nowhere else.

so she nods, a gesture where words don't seem to hold, again, as much as she'd like them to. where actions can, in the most tender regard, precede them. a shaky breath drawn inward, matching the fire dancing within his hues as hips give the tiniest lift upward to assist, another means of showing him it's okay, that she wants this. )

[ Baby's lips part on a shaky exhale when Isabelle nods, lifts her hips just a fraction, and he follows through with pulling her underwear down along her legs, having to move up and off the bed to be able to slide it all the way off of her. This is how he finds himself on his knees on the floor, right against the mattress' edge, his fingertips slowly moving back up along her legs, up the back of her calves, the inside of her knees, and then the side of her thighs.

He leans in to kiss her knee, his eyes closing as he does, mouth moving up along with his hands, only he keeps his kisses to the inside of her thigh, dragging his lips as he moves up. He feels his cheeks burning up - knowing what he wants to do and how he wants to do it, but unsure how to put it into words, or if he even has to. Hands hold onto her thighs a little tighter when he forces himself to look up and at Isabelle, puller her legs further apart, leaning in closer, tongue against his top lip as he looks straight at her.

He doesn't waver, forces himself to keep his eyes open as he moves his head down between her legs, breathing hotly over her skin. He's slow and measured with every move, careful, not wanting to miss her reaction the moment he puts his lips around her clit, licking experimentally. ]

( limbs move softly, carefully to aid him in slipping that last, lacy layer of hers down past the hook of knees, the catch of ankles and lastly to the floor behind him. it's difficult to prepare herself for the sight that follows, unsure she could've even if it'd been something to expect—far fewer were the men that sought to please a woman with their mouth before taking for themselves. a means of selfless pleasure even before the mutuality of being in bed with another.

it isn't that it's unthought of, baby far too curious to see the way she comes unraveled just as she did in that bedouin tent merely at the attention of a denim-coated thigh hitched between her legs. now's no different, he's got that same look in his eye, a drive potent and glazing enough that there's already that sweet coil of heat beginning to wind beneath her navel merely in anticipation.

the moment kisses begin their delivery to the inner of her knee, there's a moment where she can't help but to close her eyes on a sigh as head rests back against the bed, rather than straining to watch him as desperately as she wishes too. mouth draws closer, and closer, and it's only when she manages to reach deft fingers into familiar, brunet strands of his that she's fluttering hues open again. it's electric, a consuming swarm of her abdomen the second his mouth closes around her clit, hot and impossibly soft, and she's drawing in a sharp inhale if only for it to give body to an appreciative moan, quieted but full.

fingers tighten, figure tensing, and the only thing that comprehends with her tongue is his name, whispered and taken. )

[ This - this is what he lives for. He'd started his evening with dread in his stomach, heavy and worrying as he thought of the multitude of ways tomorrow evening could go wrong when he takes his place behind the piano at Mahogany. But now all worries are out of his mind, his focus completely on Isabelle, the look on her face, the exhale on the tip of her tongue, the way she sounds when she says his name.

Baby doesn't come with a lot of experience, when it comes to sex, but one things he's quickly learned and very much retained was that sex shouldn't be selfish. Sometimes, it is, and that is acceptable, but most times - and especially at a time like this one now - getting to pleasure someone is as important as finding your own pleasure. And Baby also quickly learned that he enjoys making people come. The other night, in the tent, getting Isabelle off had led to him getting hard again, wanting all over again, just by looking at her, helping her get there.

So when he licks at her, he's taken by the way she reacts, and he smiles against her, flicking his tongue down against her folds, tasting her. He lets out a soft moan, feeling his erection, straining in the jeans he's still wearing. ]

( more than anything, it's that she knows he enjoys being selfless just as he's gotten her, thighs aching to close comfortably around each side of his jaw, a promising hug to keep him right where he is, devilishly plump lips she's found marvel in more than once now put to a far more pleasurable use. she can feel the pillow of them along with his tongue, adding extra nudges of sensation as he dips down to sample her, chest drawn from the bed in a slow, pronounced arch, once more letting lashes fall to cheeks to savor him how she knows best.

nails gently graze along his scalp, a silent means of praise if the tiny sounds and hitched breaths weren't enough to speak for her. she can feel that smile if nothing else, how he (deservedly so) blooms with a certain pride for getting her here, revealing just how vulnerable she is to his touch, his mouth, everything they were. hips give a subtle writhe upward against him, again, only now it's to counter his motions with those of her own, add all the more to her experiencing that mouth.

a single thumb swipes down along his temple, pleading with her body to stay still, to let him treat her, not to fight for any small nook of control like she often would. )

[ Possibly because he came first, last time, he is even more determined now to get here there first, to be able to make her shake and tremble for him before his brain completely gives up and in. He drinks her in - literally and figuratively - moving between sucking at her clit and licking down inside her, all the while watching her, the way her back arches, her stomach tense when he slides a hand over it. He moves up all the way to her breast, thumb flicking against it.

His other hand moves as well, down his own body, pressing the heel of his hand against his erection, needing the slight pressure. He groans, his eyes closing now as he breathes Isabelle in, as a part of his brain reminds him that he is, in this very moment, getting to see Isabelle in the most intimate setting there is. That he's getting to bring her pleasure, make her gasp and hold on to his hair and arch into his touch, roll her hips against him.

He pulls away, just a tiny bit, only to not just be mumbling against her skin. ] You can - move more, if you want. And pull my hair.

( for isabelle it's never been a matter of who came first, undoubtedly there will be times when she gets on her knees for him, when she takes him into the heat of a ruby-rimmed mouth and waits for him to weep his own finish just like he is now with her—it only shows how tightly wound she is with the need to hold some sort of power, how difficult it is to truly allow herself to lie there against his mouth and accept every praising swipe of his tongue. it's clear indication of all the stress she's swallowed, all she's carried around with her, how she slowly, breath by stumbling breath gives in to him, as if she'd ever had a choice.

his words register slowly, drawing teeth at her own lower lip, and it's the hand cupping at a single, full breast that leaves brows furrowing to a whimper. it's all the more encouragement to let go, let herself exist only as the climb of heat that burrows betwixt her hips, the way he effortlessly builds her with his dedication alone. a pant of an exhale, temple pressing to the side to glance down at him, mouth wet and gleaming with her as he moves. )

Keep touching me, Baby. ( a plea, solidified all the more by a single hand retreating from his hair, running fingertips up along the span of bicep, forearm, and gradually she begins to allow hips to give slight, rhythmic little waves up against his mouth, following the pace of a delving tongue, suckling lips, wherever he travels. opposite hand grasps with all the more fervor into his locks-not enough to steer him, for once all too content to follow. )

[ He is all too willing to keep touching her. There's nothing he wants more, than to keep touching her. He pushes up on his knees a little, changing the angle slightly, the hand that was over his own crotch moving to wrap one of her thighs over his shoulder before it returns to staving off coming in his pants once more before he gets to discover the feeling of being inside her. His other hand stays on her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers as he dives back between her legs, louder now, wetter, a little more frantic.

He doesn't want to ever have to stop touching her. Now that he knows, what she looks like, smells like, tastes like, what she feels like in his arms, it's hard to even think of having to get out of her bed at some point, go to work and live his life like he doesn't want to live and breathe Isabelle.

If only making her come could be a full-time job.

But as it is, he just dedicates himself to the task, right now, feeling her move more intently, get louder, and pulling on that thread of her control, wanting her to let go of it entirely. He moans against her again, louder this time, panting hard as she rolls her hips, and he drags his lips against her, sucking and licking and kissing.]

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