brickbybrick | [closed; take a chance 'verse]

[The last time Robb tried to do a ballroom dance, he ended up stepping on his sister's toes more than once. No one's tried to teach him since, and up until this week, he'd been fine with that. Up until Une told him to come with her to a fundraiser, anyway.

Over the past week, he's...actually improved, somewhat. There's less stepping on toes, for one, and he can keep up with the music, and isn't that the most important part? Granted, it isn't the folk he's used to (and one day he will be able to find the time and the money to splurge on tickets to one of his favorite indie bands), but ballroom dances don't usually use folk anyway.

It'd be great and all, but first off, he's dancing with his boss, and second, he's not sure he knows exactly what Une is to him at all anymore. Which he really needs to quit thinking about, because he's been down that path before, and it never ends well.

He steps into the penthouse, wearing his best clothes (that isn't a suit, he's saving that for the actual event itself) and glances around, catching sight of Une.]

I'm here.

Edited (welp dammit) 2013-03-24 11:55 (UTC)

[The sound system is already wafting the melody of an orchestra toward him as he stands at the door. She offers him the best curtsy she can muster, waiting for him to bow in return.]

And not a second late. We'll be more than ready for the day after tomorrow once this is all done.

[Some might find it piteous that she has nothing better to do on a Friday night. In truth, she's a bit ashamed to be taking what little free time he has like this. She feels like she's forcing him to spend time with her, seeking to have him cure her loneliness. Inflicting her selfishness upon him is the last thing she wants to do but she likes having him near.

And she had given him ample opportunity to decline, hadn't she?

He only said yes because you hold his job in his hands. Nothing more.]

Edited (fucking typos everywhere) 2013-03-24 14:34 (UTC)

[He bows, quick and low, then steps towards her.]

Do you think they'll seal it?

[The deal, anyway. Whatever deal Une has going with the contractors. He doubts they will--he's dealt with Freys before. They're a touchy lot, and from what she's told him, they'll have more than enough reason to try to pull a fast one.

Not if he can help it.]

[Instead of taking his hand and laying her touch on his shoulder, she loops her arms around his neck to pull him close, letting her cheek rest against his. The symphony's a slow one, better suited to a steady sway between an entwined pair.]

They will if they know what's good for them. Anyway, I thought we needed a breather today. Slow dancing. Wrap your arms around my waist, hm? Our feet could use a break.

[It's better like this. He won't be able to see the worry on her face, and she'll be able to hold him, know what his embrace feels like. Affection shouldn't be feigned and stolen this way but her darkest hour is approaching and this is the only comfort within reach.]

Edited (gender pronouns) 2013-03-24 12:37 (UTC)

[He blinks, surprised, but obeys, wrapping his arms around her waist, all the while wondering what the hell he's thinking.

But this...this is nice. It's much better than the other classical dances he's been having to learn this week, and this way he gets to hold her close, forget about the barriers that should be between them.]

Lovely. My feet have been complaining all week.

[With her chin resting on his shoulder and her lips near his ear, she finds their stance perfect for whispering. It's likely going to be her preferred stance on the night of the fundraiser, and not just because she'll be wound around him. Aside from being able to feel his warmth against her paired with the woody scent of his cologne, she'll also be able to tell him if she happens to spot anything suspicious without drawing attention.]

As loudly as mine?

[Truth be told, he wasn't really that bad. Seeing him get flustered and apologetic after accidentally stepping on her had almost been worth the pain in the few instances that he suffered a misstep.]

Okay, not as loudly.

[He's still sorry for those times, really, but at least he's gotten better at watching his step. And seeing her smile, just a little, had lifted his spirits somewhat.

He hasn't told anyone, save for Dany, about the Freys, about the fundraiser. About what he's afraid might happen, if someone sees him and recognizes him, and about what he's afraid could happen to Une.]

[She isn't really listening anymore. Shifting her head somewhat, she can feel the roughness of his stubble against her cheek. Would it be out of bounds to run a hand through his hair? She wonders if she can be subtle about it. Slowly, she rests her hand against the nape of his neck, travelling up a little. His hair's nice and soft, smelling strongly of citrus. It goes nicely with her cologne. She lets herself close her eyes, swaying with him, pretending they're not in her living room. For awhile, she loses herself in his arms, making herself believe he's holding her because he wants to, not because she told him to.

Then she remembers that he's likely waiting for a response. She doesn't quite recall what he said though.]

Hm?

Edited (i'm sorry i'm the typo queen) 2013-03-24 14:37 (UTC)

[He barely manages to restrain himself, when her hand touches the nape of his neck and sends sparks down his spine as they sway. She's warm, and smells a little like roses.]

Never mind.

[It's like being adrift at sea with nothing else to hold onto but each other. Beneath her eyelids, she pictures them dancing on a sandy shore with nothing to trouble them as the moon shines down and the stars twinkle like a million eyes winking in approval. Wind rustles through the palms as she loses herself in this waking dream. Work's been brutal over the past few days and she welcomes the reprieve brought by the half-dream in this state of not-quite-sleep. It's likely why she's not aware that she's steering him into peril.

The feel of her legs tangling with his as they stumble backwards onto the couch immediately rouses her from her reverie. Lifting herself up on her arms, she looks into his startled eyes as he lies pinned beneath her. Time seems to stand still and there's nothing but the racing of her heart and the sound of their breathing. It's hard to turn away from him when all she wants is to lean down and claim his lips. For the past six months, she'd done all she could to resist him. Every time they happened to touch or found themselves getting uncomfortably close, she'd force herself to refuse what she wanted.

Perhaps it was the stress getting to her. Perhaps it was the fact that she felt undeniably connected to him. Perhaps it was because their first meeting seemed engineered by fate. Whatever the reason, she lets desire take hold and leans in to kiss him, brushing her lips against his and nipping at his mouth, seeking to steal his breath if he saw fit to return her affections.]

Edited (herp formatting) 2013-03-24 13:54 (UTC)

[Later on, he'll wonder what the hell he was thinking, at the time. But now, he's too caught up in pretending, too caught up in the moment that he doesn't notice until he's stumbled backwards into the couch and staring at her, heart beating faster and faster.

When she leans in to kiss him, it stuns him for a moment, but then he closes his eyes and kisses back, hand reaching up to rest at the nape of her neck. Her hair's soft to the touch, and yes, she does smell like roses--winter roses, to be exact.

He can pretend, just for a moment. He can do that.]

[It's a pleasant surprise when he doesn't push her away. He opens his mouth to her and she accepts it as an invitation to go further, letting her tongue tangle with his, stopping only to allow herself time to breathe. Her lips trail a path from the corner of his mouth to his collar bone, leaving her head nestled at the junction between his head and his shoulder. She can feel his fingers running through her hair, and she revels at his touch even as one of her hands blindly tries to undo the buttons on his shirt.

How far is she willing to let this illusion go?]

[He's willing to let it go pretty damn far, and he lets out a shaky breath when she drops to his collar bone, holding her close.]

Une... [we shouldn't do this, but it's overwhelmed by her touch, her kiss, her hair, everything about her.]

[The way he rasps her name sends a shock through her system. He's still on a last name basis with her, isn't he? That definitely won't do. Not if they're going to go on like this. Pausing between kisses, she whispers in his ear.]

Elle. It's Elle.

[Her mother named her Lady, wanting her daughter to be like the highborn girls in the old tales. She'd always hated it. Thankfully, her father had the good sense to grant her a nickname she could live with. No one else called her Elle. No one else but the one person in the world she was sure held love for her.

And now Robb.]

Edited 2013-03-25 06:05 (UTC)

[Elle, and he can barely believe that she can trust him with that. He's scarred and broken, and if this carries on he might lead her to her doom, but now he can't quite bring himself to care.]

Elle, don't--don't you think the couch is a little cramped?

[His words fall on deaf ears. If she listens to him, she might very well come to her senses. She might find herself compelled to stop. And she doesn't want to. She just wants to seize what she wants for once, to let herself fall with careless abandon. At this point, his shirt's mostly open and she's trailing her fingers over his bare chest. Her mouth follows suit, letting her taste the salt on his skin. She knows she can't let this go any further. She knows she'll have to cease this sooner rather than later.

Just not now.]

[His hands fumble, a little, trying to get her shirt open as well. Her touch on his chest makes him feel like his heart is in his throat, like she's sending sparks through him.

He hasn't felt like this, with any of the girls he'd bedded, save for Jeyne. But Elle isn't Jeyne, and for that he is glad.]

[It isn't long before her blouse is hanging open, exposing a lacy black brassiere. Leaning down on him once again, the roughness of the lace alternates with the silk of the rest of her lingerie as she rubs up on his chest. Her lips close over his mouth once more. The heat between them is building and their frenzied movements have hiked her skirt up by quite a bit. The high-heeled shoes on her feet clatter to the floor as she kicks them off. Does she really intend to go further than this?]

[His clothes are very much in disarray by now, and he's too far gone to care about almost anything right now. He kisses back, heat and lust and six months--

And then his phone rings. Apollo Sunshine has never been more unwelcome than it is now, but it does bring him back to his senses and--oh. Seven hells.

He's a little too stunned to speak right now.]

[It's the very definition of a wake-up call and she stops, now all too aware of how far they've gone. Too far. The music from the stereo wound down quite awhile ago and now there's just his ringtone piercing the silence. With as much dignity as she can muster (which is not much at all), she climbs off him and lets her bare feet hit the carpeted floor. Rather than look at him, she stares off into the distance and straightens her skirt before moving to button her blouse. Her hair's a mess and her lipstick's smudged from their passionate interlude. She should have stopped while she was ahead.]

You should get that.

Yeah.

[He sighs, buttoning up his own shirt, then fishes out his phone to answer. Hey, just going to check, Jon's voice comes in, and in the background he can hear Ygritte shouting about a movie date, but you're free tomorrow, right? We're having brunch a day early, you coming?]

Sure, I am. [It's casual, like he isn't painfully aware of what he's just done.] See you there, Snow.

[You too, Stark. He hangs up, and Robb glances at Une, then down at his phone.]

[Much as she's trying, she can't wipe away all the traces of their almost-tryst. Combing her fingers through her hair just tangles it further, and there's no way she can fix the smudged state of her make-up now. It's the end of the day anyway. She's probably better off washing her face. Memories of this little indiscretion won't go down the drain as easily as soapy water.]

I should probably turn in.

[Perhaps she'll fall asleep and wake up to the realization that it was all a dream. A wonderful horrible dream. When she meets his eyes, her face is a blank slate. An indiscernible expression bearing nothing but coldness.]

Good night, Mr. Stark. Enjoy taking your leave tomorrow. I'll be expecting you on Sunday.

[Formality has always been her shield and she puts up another wall as she moves to walk past him.]

[He's screwed things up again, hasn't he? Gods. He nods, watching her walk by, and he knows there's no bringing down the barriers again, not like they did today.

Gods, he needs a shower. A cold one, at that. And he needs to forget this, forget the way she felt, forget the smell of winter roses.]

[closed; take a chance 'verse]

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oops teal deer

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