Open Night Out

[Naiya]

The awareness of his eyes on her was an unfamiliar sensation, setting feelings to unexpected highs as his gaze traveled across her skin. The feeling began in her hand, a slow, tingling, heat that roamed across her skin, her fingers twitched in an attempt to both shake the feeling and to keep it. Despite her effort the feeling shifted across her forearm, trailing a burning desire along the line of her arm, up her shoulder, across her neck, and finally to her eyes.

A thrill of anticipation shook her as their eyes met, the depth of feeling swirling through his eyes tempered by the awareness of her, of her feelings. A ripple of motion beneath her hand turned her attention to the shifting muscle of Shahar's forearm. The scars the littered his forearms nothing more to Rue than a story she would like to hear, and a texture to explore.

She did explore it, her fingers brushing along the crisscrossed skin as it shifted. When his hand danced over the back of her arm, she sunk into the feeling, the innocent touch far more intimate than it should have been. The shivering heat sparked against her skin and a pleased sigh fluttered past her lips. He traced an electrifying path along the thinner skin of the underside of her arm, his touch unhurried and soothing, yet it did little to calm her.

He hesitated at her wrist, and she was aware enough to be surprised by how fragile she appeared beside him, his hand dwarfing hers and could have easily encircled her wrist. She had always considered her hands large and ungraceful, but they didn't look so compared to his. She wondered if he could feel the racing of her pulse against his fingers.

His hand moved again, sending coherent thought out of her mind as he traced the shape of her palm, his fingers dancing across the sensitive skin they found there, exploring as she had the texture of his jaw.

Her hand at his cheek was mostly still, her thumb tracing gentle shapes along a path that just missed brushing his lips with each pass. Aware of her other hand once more, she shifted it forward, hair that fell loose around his face tickling the back of her hand as her fingers slid to tangle in the hair at the base of his skull. The new feeling, the surprising softness of his hair, was background noise to the growing burning of sensation along her palm that shot through her entire body.

Unconsciously her raised hand pulled gently at Shahar, trying to pull him closer when her body could no longer move towards him. For that was all she wanted, a closeness to him, that slowly her body provided for her without her conscious thought to guide it, or to prevent it.

[Colt]

Her fingers danced over his skin as he moved, tracing the scars on his arms as he drew his hand towards hers.

Then he felt the movements of her other hand, tracing the line of his cheekbone, then farther; Shahar shivered as she slid over the sensitive skin behind his ear, thumb and fingers and palm. But he was entirely unprepared for her to continue after, and he inhaled sharply when her fingers ran through his hair. A rush went through his body, heated and powerful, and he wrapped his grip around Rue’s free hand as if it might keep him from falling beneath whatever had come over him. Her fingers curled into a fist as the base of his skull, and a sound appeared from within him that he just barely managed to bite back. The previous indistinct joy and intensity swiftly slid into true, unmistakable lines of pleasure.

Her grip in tightened in his hair, coaxing him forward and deeper into the space that separated them. He followed, eyes once more flickering open and closed. His hand loosened around her wrist as they grew closer, drifting up her arm in mirror to his own movements. It didn’t move faster, nor did it move slower; it moved as he moved, drawn inward and upward as Rue drew him helplessly forward.

[Naiya]

Shifting, drifting, shapes. Movement beyond her bubble of joy was noted and discarded, falling prey to the tides of emotion that had swept the two off their feet. Rue's focus had both narrowed and widened, taking in the dancing of lights and the unmistakable lines of pleasure in the posture of the man before her.

Yet it came as a surprise to her when he was suddenly closer, his hand tracing a path back up her arm, up and up as his body leaned in towards her. Why he was closer was a mystery to her, but not one she needed to examine, instead she was just glad to have the proximity, the weight that felt like comfort and wanting. Not something she was accustomed to in such a sense, for usually wanting was of her absence, not of her presence. That he wanted her closer, that he didn't shy from the tracing of her fingers on his shoulder, it was an acceptance she hadn't experienced often.

The feeling of it, the meanings of their supposedly innocent touches, churned between them, a crash of heat and desire, intensity and comfort, and Rue was more than willing to drown herself in the tides.

Closer still he came, and Rue's hand joined the other to tangle in his hair, draping her arms across his shoulders and around his neck. The heat of his body beckoned her, calling her to further close the distance between them, and like a moth to flame she followed.

She followed the call, letting the weight of it pull her until her her head rested in the crook of his neck. With a small sigh, not quite soundless in the quiet moment, she sank against him. Utter contentment shaped her, the feeling of it like coming home after a long journey, finding your home just as you'd left it. It was bliss that formed the moment, and something akin to pleasure.

Her hair curtained around her, creating a shield to block out the shifting of the shapes beyond herself and Shahar. Her body relaxed into the shape of him, curving toward him as her hair pooled in their laps.

She lost herself in the ticks that passed, eyes sinking closed to take in the comfort of the moment. She would have stayed like that an eternity if life would have allowed such a thing, fitted to Shahar in such a way.

"Another round of drinks?" The deep voice of the bartender shattered the bubble that held the two, pushing back the haze of alcohol long enough for the screaming voice in the back of Rue's mind to be heard. She stiffened, tension replacing the comfort that had settled to her bones.

The burning heat of embarrassment filled her cheeks, mortification and drink weighing her down and holding her in place, hiding now rather than relaxing.

"...had enough I think." Rue mumbled, her voice muffled by Shahar's chest. The other man laughed, and she heard the scrape of her cup being lifted away. Heavy as she felt, she found the effort of moving too great, embarrassment only adding another reason not to move, but it seemed a cause for concern of the Bartender.

"Are you alright, Miss?" His voice seemed to come from further away, though she hadn't heard him move. She found her cheeks could burn hotter still as she realized she would have to face the man to reassure him. Slowly she lifted her head, surprised at how much effort it took.

"Strong mead, didn't expect." She managed, realizing that the shifting of shadows from before hadn't come from ignoring them but rather from her drink. In fact, the whole room seemed rather hazy - or at least what she could see of it did. Colors had gone soft and indistinct, though she could bring them to focus with a little effort.

Her experiment with the colors caused the room to rock around her and she dropped her head back to Shahar's chest with a sound between a sigh and a groan. Tension remained in her body, but drink was slowly pushing it away once more as the warmth of Shahar sank back through her.

She was really drunk, she realized, but the voice in her head had fallen silent once more and she couldn't quite bring herself to care.

[Colt]

She drew him still forward, so gently that any more so and she wouldn’t have been doing it at all. But it was a force in and of itself, one that Shahar wouldn’t have been able to resist no matter how gently she moved. The space between them shrank further, both too slowly and too quickly at the same time.

Her free hand abandoned its resting place to join her other one, running through the other side of his hair and sending another jolt lacing up his spine. He was forced to release his grip on her arm, and in its absence slide under and then around her waist as the space between ceased to exist altogether.

There wasn’t a true beginning or sense of which it was that melded to the other; there was no thought to it, no consideration of what it might mean, just the automatic acceptance of each other’s bodies as if it was something they’d already done a thousand times. As Rue placed her head at the crook of his neck, he shifted to rest his chin at the crown of her skull and brought both arms to twine around her and bring her even closer, if such a thing were possible.

They rested in that way, both wrapped up in each other so that it no longer mattered where one ended and the other began. Minutes passed, or it could have been hours, or it could have been seconds––Shahar didn’t know, and neither did it occur to him as something to care about. He was not bound by time here, with Rue, save for the beating of his own heart.

It was the sound of footsteps that brought him back to the surface of reality, the footsteps of the bartender once more as he approached them. Shahar opened his eyes and regarded the bartender steadily, but otherwise did not react––he didn’t want Rue to have to move, not yet, not if he could keep the lines of bliss on her body for just a little bit longer.

The bartender seemed to absorb the situation even without signs on Shahar’s part, and the older man’s own posture conveyed emotions of a different sort: there was amusement, halfhearted exasperation, required disturbance directed at both of them. But there was another one that was directed at Shahar specifically, one that looked like amused knowing more than anything else, as if the bartender was saying I see what you’re doing, distant teasing. If only Shahar knew what it meant.

But it seemed the bartender would not be silent forever, and after a quick shift to alert Shahar to his intentions he spoke out loud so that both might hear.

“Another round of drinks?”

And just like that, the moment shattered. Rue stiffened instantly, her contentment snapping out of existence and being replaced by the cold shapes of embarrassment. The embarrassment was indistinct, and Shahar couldn’t tell who it was for or even why it would be there––had something changed at the man’s question? Almost before he was aware of it, the ghosts of inquiry began to drift over his body, a body that was on the precipice of hurt as well––had he done something wrong?

“Had enough, I think,” Rue said into Shahar’s chest. She didn’t move from her position even as she spoke, drawing concern from both men. The bartender was the one to voice it first.

“Are you alright, Miss?”

This, at least, managed to stir Rue from her stasis; she lifted her head and gazed blearily at the room, not quite focusing on anything but seemingly aware of her surroundings.

“Strong mead, didn’t expect.” And that was all they received from her, for in another moment she had ceased trying to communicate and returned her head to Shahar’s chest with a sound that couldn’t be anything positive.

Shahar shifted to counter, arms tightening around her waist with hazed worry as he, too, tried to fight off the effects of their drinks. He could focus on Rue, at least, which was good because she was the one that concerned him at the moment. He let his head drop, fitting his cheek against hers so that he could speak out loud without too much effort.

“Rue. Rue? Are you alright?” His tongue felt thick and somehow fluffy, as if he’d eaten a mouthful of rabbit fur and hadn’t quite managed to swallow it all down.

[Naiya]

His arms shifted, tightening around her waist and she relaxed against him once more, deciding that the comfort of his arms was worth the embarrassment of the situation. She was warm all over from drink, from Shahar, it was too nice of a moment to let the bartender ruin it.

Shahar's cheek dropped beside hers, brushing her own with an entirely new barrage of sensation. Hearing her name so close, so intimately, caused her to shiver in delight. He questioned her well-being causing her some concern that he seemed upset. With little effort her hands traced signs of comfort, reassurance against his neck, although she wasn't sure it would be clear.

She wanted to stay where she was longer and she wanted the bartender to go away. With a turn of her head she knew she would be heard, although it brought her lips just a hairs breath from Shahar's cheek, something that should have concerned her more than it did.

"Water please." Her voice was not loud, though it bounced back to her quickly, and she wondered if the other man could hear, she didn't much care, more intrigued by the ghost of Shahar's cheek against her lips. She continued to speak, though her words now were intended only for Shahar.

"I'm sorry, I did not expect to be so affected." Her words came slowly as she searched for each one. "But, I don't think I mind if this," her hands tightened briefly around the hair they tangled in, "is what happens when I drink too much."

[Colt]

Rue relaxed, hands sketching reassurance against him and drawing vague relief in response. In another moment she was turning towards him––no, not exactly, she was turning towards the bartender, who was on the other side.

“Water please,” she said. Her breath tickled Shahar’s face. The bartender gave an amused, agreeing nod and departed.

When Rue spoke again, her words were quiet and close-winded––intended for Shahar himself, without the intention of anyone else hearing.

“I’m sorry, I did not expect to be so affected. But, I don’t think I mind if this is what happens when I drink too much.”

Her hands tightened in his hair, and Shahar drew in a sharp breath. There was a quick tightening of his own grip as a shudder ran through him, and he had to blink to keep his eyes open. No, on second thought, he wasn’t facing anyone––he didn’t need to have his eyes open. He let them close.

“This happens,” he echoed once the feeling had faded. “What is ‘this,’ Rue?”

It wasn’t a piercing question––more hazy curiosity than anything else, really––but he certainly had no answer to it, and the bartender had acted as if it was something obvious. Perhaps Rue would know.

[Naiya]

His reaction was pleasing, reassuring in that his response to her was nearly as strong as hers to him. His grip tightened in response to her own, and she felt for a moment in the strength of his arms a promise of protection. The shudder that ran through him shook her hair back across her face, and she wiggled her head upwards until the fall of hair no longer tickled at her face, it brought her face closer to his ear than to his cheek and she was glad that she could speak with still less effort.

"What is this." Rue repeated, not a question but pondering of the words. She ran many answers through her head, but couldn't choose a single one that answered his question completely. New to me, never experienced the words in sign seemed easier, more full of the meanings she sought, budding emotion lined with an emphasis that lent intensity to its meaning.

That wasn't enough, not to explain her feelings, because it was more than that. "More," the word came in both the whisper meant only for him and in the shaping of her hands against him. "Attraction, fit together, match each other" but still these were not the right words. Not enough.

She drew on his words from earlier in the evening, signing the word like a combination friend-family but drawing it into more, shaping it into bond, mutual desire.

What was more than that? She wasn't sure how to speak the words, though she sought to taste them on her lips. She shaped with her hands again attraction but this time she shaped the tail end of the sign into romance but more.

The word was there, hovering in her mind, but she wasn't sure she wanted to give it shape and meaning. Not when applying it to him anyway.

"For me," She would have been nervous if not for the alcohol that coursed through her, instead she just felt relieved to have found her the right words, "I think, this is love."

Saying it, tasting the word on lips still warm with the heat of his skin, it was exhilarating, but the feeling was tinted with apprehension. It seemed, though, the logical ending of her thoughts on the matter, and so she would not deny him the conclusion. She relaxed her hands, leaving them to fall to stillness, but she couldn't stand to let the word hang between them without being able to see him, see his response. That was the source for her concern, that he would react poorly, discard her offered words as a burden he didn't wish to bear.

So she lifted herself, not quite pulling away, but making space between them so that she could gauge his reaction. When she felt his arms pull against her she stopped, not willing to break the contact when losing the offer of his touch hung just beyond the moment.

[Colt]

“What is this,” she echoed, more to herself than to him. She tapped a string of signs against his spine, illustrating her own lack of familiarity with the situation. Shahar was relieved to know that he wasn’t the only one with the feeling.

Budding emotion, she said with a degree of emphasis. “More.” Her hands matched her words as she spoke. “Attraction, fit together, match each other.”

She chose another sign then, one that reflected a sign he’d used earlier. Then there was bond, a word that Shahar knew intimately.

Another sign, one that started as attraction but morphed into something else: romance. Another word Shahar had heard, but never understood. He echoed it softly. Romance.

“For me,” she said, “I think, this is love.”

Love.

Love was a word Shahar knew well––no, it was something he knew beyond words, that he knew in everyday experience and in the core of his being. To some, love could be the subject of great debate a philosophy, of fated ties and woven lives until a debater’s breath ran out of words to say. To Shahar, however, love was a simple, easily defined thing. He loved Akaidras and he loved Khida, he loved Hope and he loved Tuka. Each held a different place in his life, and drew from him a different kind of love, but that was what love was––it was individual, unique to those that shared it. To him, love by itself was simply the valuing the well-being of someone else over his own, and the many forms that could take. And that was what he translated from Rue’s declaration in his drunken state, and his body took on a different sign, one that might be similar to a child that had just been told that his work had been greatly valued by someone they looked up to. Pride, it said, happiness, gratitude.

And then, with words quiet so that only Rue might hear them: “This is love, then.” His body held certainty; he didn’t need to think a great deal about whether or not he valued Rue’s well-being over his own––it was an immutable fact that, when he needed it, would surface from where it had been residing all along. Of course he valued her well-being over his own. He traced signs on her lower back, directing his statement specifically from himself towards Rue, making it more than simply this is love. Between them, it transformed into a clear I love you.

[Naiya]

She could never guess his reactions, each time she expected one thing Shahar came up with something completely outside of her views, it was no different with her admission. The shape of his body changed, taking on pride, happiness, and gratitude. It was unexpected, but he looked so pleased that she couldn't help mirroring the happiness of the emotion.

"This is love, then." The words were so soft Rue thought for a moment she had imagined it. That it was a drunken delusion, but the certainty in his body dashed away the thought, and the feeling of his hands signing against her back transformed half heard words into a new phrase.

'I love you' they claimed, and she laughed, not a loud exclamation of humor, but rather a low intimate sound of joy that rushed from her lips when her body was no longer able to contain it. She was grateful and pleased, and her body relaxed back into his touch as tension she hadn't realized had filled her fled at the return of her words.

Her eyes drifted closed and the room swayed softly around her, or maybe it was her that swayed, but she couldn't bring herself to mind. The feeling of his hands tracing against her back coupled with his arms holding her tethered to him was more than she ever thought to experience. Acceptance of her words, that was beyond her imagination.

And love?

She did not expect to ever find another person to share such a thing with. Lust, that was a different matter, and she had expected lust reluctant acceptance and maybe a cordial manner would be the only feelings turned to her. She was not deserving of such a kindness, and yet Shahar seemed not to care.

I love you, he had said, and she saw nothing but truth in his words. That was kindness beyond her perception, and had she been sober, she may have questioned him, picked at his words like a healing wound. Instead she basked in the pleasant feel of the moment, swaying with drunkenness beyond that of just the drink.

With her eyes closed her awareness of her surroundings grew some, her world narrowing to touch and sound, all of which was Shahar. His arms around her, the sound of his breath, the beating of her heart, and the echoing of words in her head.

The distant sound of approaching steps stirred her into opening her eyes, and the room stopped swaying around her. The bartender approached with something in his hands, and Rue frowned at him. For a moment Rue only wished he would leave them alone, but then she recalled her request for water and her frown faded from her face. She was thirsty, and her ale was missing, empty maybe. Hungry too, she realized, recalling slowly that she hadn't eaten since breaking her fast this morning.

Maybe that was the reason that she had to focus so hard on the world around her. Two drinks on an empty stomach. She wouldn't regret the decision though, not when it brought this joy and comfort between herself and Shahar.

"Thank you." Rue spoke aloud, but her words were meant for Shahar. The water that was placed beside her receiving only a brief thanks in the shaping of her hands before she dismissed the bartender from her attention. Her hand settled back down, arm draped across Shahar's arm and shoulder, fingers dangling in the space just below his neck. The other hung closer to her body, draping across his forearm and resting her hand in the bend of his elbow, thoughts of drinks and drunkenness forgotten as her mind and her eyes fluttered back to the man that held her. That loved her.

[Colt]

Something went through her at his words. No, that wasn’t quite it––something went out of her, like a deep breath exhaled after being held to the point of pain. Gratitude, she said, relaxing farther and closing her eyes. There was another moment as each readjusted to the other’s embrace, and Shahar shifted just a bit closer.

They remained like that for a time Shahar did not bother to measure, each enjoying the other’s presence. And when the bartender returned, he, too was irritated and wished that it were not so. Both he and Rue cast disgruntled looks at the approaching man, who paused with a raised eyebrow before setting down a container of water.

“Thank you,” said Rue. It was said too close to have been meant for their visitor.

The bartender received a brusque thanks from Rue before she returned her hand to Shahar’s shoulder, who was quickly losing interest in the older man. Aware that the two of them were too far gone into each other to pry anything meaningful out of, the bartender left them to it.

The bar seemed to be moving a bit more now––no, not moving, it simply had more moving things in it. More people had come in, settling into their own seats and paying no attention to the drunken couple in the corner. Shahar blinked blearily to clear his eyes and turned back to Rue. She'd just thanked him.

“Why do you thank me, Rue?” curiosity, fighting off lethargy.