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last online May 19, 2024 2:43:23 GMT
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Jul 13, 2020 18:38:18 GMT
Post by Deleted on Jul 13, 2020 18:38:18 GMT
Mentally giving himself another point, he grinned, floating just out of reach of Rhys and giving another wicked little laugh. In effort to help, he hefted some of the linens to the checkout, pausing to glance at the dog beds the other man pointed out to the cashier. Ezra gave a soft smile, bending to the side to give a confused but happy Jonah a pat on his side.
Dipping his head in a curt nod, he smiled at the other man on the way out, eyes widening in surprise for a moment at the arm thrown over his shoulders. Throwing a suspicious look at Rhys, he glanced at Jonah with a small smile and nodded. "I think he'll love it." Ezra answered genuinely, leaning his head on Rhys' shoulder as they walked.
With his lead-less hand, he wound an arm around his lover's waist as they walked, no ill intent in the gesture despite the circumstances.
Instead of heading over to HomeGrown, they stopped at a little Italian bistro a few blocks from they apartment. Sitting outside on the patio, the waitress brought waters over for the three of them. Ezra picked the portable water dish out of his pocket, popping it up and placing it on the ground for Jonah, giving him a few scritches behind the ear as he poured water for him.
"Can I get some drinks started for you?" The waitress asked, and Ezra glanced at the menu for a moment, looking over it at Rhys before turning to the waitress. "I'll have a beer, thanks."
| . . . I can't begin to let you know just what I'm feeling . . . Séance @rhysand |
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last online May 19, 2024 2:43:23 GMT
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Jul 13, 2020 19:08:39 GMT
Post by Deleted on Jul 13, 2020 19:08:39 GMT
Theoretically, their duel of foreplay was momentarily suspended when they walked arm-in-arm down the road. Or it should've been. In reality, with Ezra adhered to his side, his scent filled Rhysand's nostrils and drove him drunk with further longing. By the time they'd taken their outdoor seats at an Italian place, Rhys was glad for how the new posture helped hide his longing.
"Make that two," Rhysand grunted at the waitress, who nodded and slipped away to get their beers. With her gone, Rhys reached under the table and grabbed Mournspire's chair. Like the other man weighed nothing, he pulled it closer. Rhysand angled it carefully so that, when he let go, one of his knees was soundly between Ezra's, letting him knead it firmly into his lover's inner thighs with no one being the wiser.
Rhysand took a long drink of water afterward to hide his triumphant smirk. Afterward, he reclined leisurely in his chair, stretching out his free leg and throwing one arm over the back of it. When the waitress came back with their drinks, Rhys waited until Mournspire tried to speak and then gave a pointed jab with his knee under the table. His beard only half concealed the sly, crooked tilt to his lips.
"Can we get some breadsticks while we look at the menu?" Rhysand asked, and speaking revealed more fully his grin. Again the waitress slipped away, and Rhys turned a wicked look onto Mournspire. It was totally transparent, the selfishness behind Rhys wanting to watch Ezra eat breadsticks. Besides - Jonah could have one. (Or two. Or three. Depending on how sneaky Rhysand could be in giving them.) | . . . My head was war. My skin was soaked. I called your name 'til the fever broke . . . Omen @ezra |
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last online May 19, 2024 2:43:23 GMT
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Jul 13, 2020 19:49:26 GMT
Post by Deleted on Jul 13, 2020 19:49:26 GMT
Bewildered for a moment, Ezra gripped his chair as it scooted forward, before leveling a look of scandalized surprise at Rhys. Narrowing his eyes at the other man across the table, he glowered at the victorious little smirk he wore, not bothering to mask the rueful tone in his voice as he spoke, "You bastard."
He veiled his irritation thinly as the waitress returned with their drinks, opening his mouth to say thank you before firmly clapping his hand over his lips and glaring daggers at Rhys in response to the little stunt. Escalating. Right.
Frustrated on multiple levels, he gripped the bottle of beer and threw his head back, taking a deep drink of the burning alcohol to relieve some of the tension, and if it exposed the long line of his throat as he did, well it was just a bonus. Ezra pointedly ignored the wicked smirk thrown at him, though he couldn't quite conceal the pout his lips drew into in response.
The waitress returned a short time later, bread sticks in tow, and he caught on quickly to the little plan Rhys had formulated. For a moment, Ezra internally debated playing along, and which would be more agitating for the other man. Though admittedly, he was near his breaking point.
Rather than agonize over it any longer, he moved a couple sticks onto his plate. Taking another sip of his beer before slowly biting into the bread, he glared at Rhys once more, eyes falling to the menu in front of him as he chewed.
| . . . I can't begin to let you know just what I'm feeling . . . Séance @rhysand |
[googlefont=Dancing Script]
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last online May 19, 2024 2:43:23 GMT
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Jul 13, 2020 20:21:56 GMT
Post by Deleted on Jul 13, 2020 20:21:56 GMT
He knew, when he ordered the breadsticks, he was ordering his own poison. If Ezra decided to play along, that is. Rhysand watched him, cunning alight in his stern, grey eyes, lips in the ghost of a smirk, while Mournspire obviously debated taking one of the breadsticks. The suspense broke, and Rhys's grin faltered and fell away when he saw Ezra pull a few of them onto his plate.
Mournspire took a lazy sip of his beer, and while he did, Rhysand swallowed, watching the muscles in his lover's throat tense and contract. Then Ezra cruelly took an agonizingly slow bite off the end of the breadstick, glaring at him all the while. Both of Rhysand's hands - one on the table, the other hanging off the back of his chair - curled into fists, and a soft rumble drifted from his chest.
F**king. Worth it, Rhysand thought through a love-drunk haze to himself. He tried to distract himself by feeding Jonah a breadstick, but that didn't entirely work. In fact, by the time the waitress was back to take their orders, Rhys's leg - the one butting against Mournspire's - was bobbing incessantly to vent some of the pressure packed into his veins.
He had to gruffly double Ezra's order, in fact, too mesmerized heatedly watching the other man to have looked at his menu at all. Again, more to vent the heat in his skin than anything, Rhysand grabbed another breadstick in the quickly-dwindling basket between them and tore off a mouthful gracelessly.
An idea sparked clearly in Rhys's eyes. Their table was against a stretch of brick wall in the outdoor seating area. If they both shifted their chairs around the table, alongside each other, their backs would be to it. Rhysand moved of a sudden, scraping his chair around the circular table's edge, then he reached over and unceremoniously did the same to Mournspire's. With the brick wall behind them and a row of potted shrubs on Ezra's other side, Rhys was covered.
Unable to withstand it anymore, he reached an arm around Ezra's back and, instead of romantically stopping there, plunged his hand down the back of Mournspire's pants. Rhysand spread his grip there, made it comfortable, and then a tension visibly left him, the animalistic qualities that'd been building tapering off, signaled by a more content rumble that shook his ribs - almost like a purr.
"I have a client coming by the apartment tomorrow for a consultation," Rhysand said, gruff but conversational, like he wasn't groping Ezra absently while they sat there. | . . . My head was war. My skin was soaked. I called your name 'til the fever broke . . . Omen @ezra |
[googlefont=Dancing Script]
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last online May 19, 2024 2:43:23 GMT
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Jul 13, 2020 21:49:22 GMT
Post by Deleted on Jul 13, 2020 21:49:22 GMT
Decidedly smug, he mentally tallied another point for himself, pointedly ignoring the growls across the table. Closing up the menu, he set in neatly to the side. Ezra relaxed against the back of his chair, lazily sipping his beer, looking like the picture of placated if not for the cunning shining clearly in his eyes.
When their waitress returned, he debated asking simply for their meals to go, and almost did. There was a certain competitiveness that kicked in however, or stubbornness, he wasn't quite sure at that point. Steeling himself, and in his most polite, cheery voice, ordered another beer and a plate of baked ziti, glancing at Rhys with an arched brow.
Nursing his beer, the scraping of the chair against the patio pavers caught him slightly off guard, and he looked up at Rhysand with curiosity until his own chair was being shifted again. Ezra was about to ask what on earth he was doing until an arm wound itself around him. Flushing a brilliant red, he balked, and was back to glaring accusingly at his lover. Distantly he regretted not asking for their food to go.
Clearing his throat almost aggressively, he paused as the waitress returned to serve his second beer. Once she was gone, he resisted the urge to merely respond with a curt "Hmm", instead asking in a carefully measured voice, "Should I make myself scarce then?"
Sipping his second beer, he arched a brow at Rhys. Contest aside, he was intrigued by the line of conversation. After working on his own case with Rhys, he was more than a little interested to see what it was like, especially with something not so close to the chest.
| . . . I can't begin to let you know just what I'm feeling . . . Séance @rhysand |
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last online May 19, 2024 2:43:23 GMT
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Jul 13, 2020 22:09:49 GMT
Post by Deleted on Jul 13, 2020 22:09:49 GMT
The rose flush to Ezra's cheeks had Rhysand thinking of a hundred different things he'd done since they'd met to make that same thing happen. His eyes were nearly closed, fogged over with sinful daydreams, when Mournspire asked if he should make himself scarce tomorrow, when the potential client showed up.
Immediately Rhysand snapped back to lucidity. He glowered. The hand he had on Ezra clutched firmly, just beneath the point of painful. "Never," he rumbled, turning to glare at Mournspire, even though they were so close, to drive that answer home.
Rhys relaxed, picking up his beer again. While it was on its way to his mouth, he added, "You'll just have to behave." He took a swig and rolled those grey eyes onto Ezra again as he lowered the bottle back to the table. "No distractions. I have a reputation to keep."
Their conversation lapsed into heated, tension-packed silence. Each shot hungry looks at the other's lips, jaw and throat, then quickly focused on anything but. "You might need to help me eat," Rhysand said, deadpan and with his gaze bent on the filtering foot traffic that passed outside of the eating area. "I don't plan on moving." To emphasize his point, his fingers curled, nails dragging over skin, before they extended again back to their former resting position. | . . . My head was war. My skin was soaked. I called your name 'til the fever broke . . . Omen @ezra |
[googlefont=Dancing Script]
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last online May 19, 2024 2:43:23 GMT
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Jul 13, 2020 23:02:22 GMT
Post by Deleted on Jul 13, 2020 23:02:22 GMT
Giving a sober nod, despite the alcohol and longing buzzing in his brain, he leaned his head against Rhys' shoulder. Ezra couldn't help the derisive snort that left him at the warning, smirking and raising his head just so to mutter with a hint of amusement, "Since when have you ever known me to be capable of behaving?" Laughing softly and resting his head once more, he added, "Yeah, yeah. I'll be good. Scouts honor."
Straightening up, he nursed his brew as they fell into a tense lapse in conversation, trying his best to ignore the kneading against his flesh until Rhys broke the silence and brought attention to it. With a wily look and a tight smile, Ezra turned his head to look at the other man. "Only if you admit that I won."
Not that it mattered, of course, but the stubborn, needling, annoying part of him compelled him to say it. Switching gears the slightest bit, he glanced at Rhys once more. "We could always...get our food to go." He added, with a nonchalant shrug.
| . . . I can't begin to let you know just what I'm feeling . . . Séance @rhysand |
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last online May 19, 2024 2:43:23 GMT
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Jul 13, 2020 23:48:28 GMT
Post by Deleted on Jul 13, 2020 23:48:28 GMT
With Ezra's head on his shoulder, Rhysand's nostrils filled with nothing other than his scent again. The hand he was using to stave off his impatience compressed and relaxed, using Mournspire as a stress ball to maintain his composure. Rhys was glad to hear that Ezra was willing to behave with the client scheduled for the next day. He wasn't about to loosen his watch on Ezra, which meant whatever case it could potentially open onto, the younger man would be coming along with.
"Only if you admit that I won."
Rhysand let out another irritable growl. He was almost ready to concede, Mournspire's musk still filling his lungs and flooding his head like a drug. Then Ezra, in a careful, innocent tone of voice, pointed out they could get their food to go. The sign of shared weakness tugged Rhysand's lips into a thin smirk, and gave him another rung to hold onto on the ladder of his self-control.
"We wouldn't eat it, then," Rhys pointed out. The food would just get shoved in the fridge - and that in itself would've been a miracle to accomplish, the way things were headed. More likely they'd be left out and go bad. "And you're gonna need your strength." The waitress coincidentally came up just then and set their food down - Rhysand asked for the check, which she pulled out of her apron pocket on command.
"Now," he instructed Mournspire, no room for debate, "eat." Fortunately Rhysand's left hand was occupied with Ezra, leaving him able to use his right to dig into the ziti more or less comfortably. His stomach didn't crave the food coming into it at all, but Rhys kept going. He was planning on burning through the calories of the ziti soon enough. | . . . My head was war. My skin was soaked. I called your name 'til the fever broke . . . Omen @ezra |
[googlefont=Dancing Script]
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last online May 19, 2024 2:43:23 GMT
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Post by Deleted on Jul 14, 2020 1:09:06 GMT
It took every fiber of his being not to pout and protest. He glared at his drink, lips pressed into a thin, frustrated line. Of course Rhys had a point. They would more than likely forget all about the food the minutes they stepped foot in the apartment. Logic was becoming much more scarce for Ezra as time went on, however.
When the waitress brought their food, he moved from glaring into his beer to glowering at the plate in front of him, still holding the bottle like a lifeline. With a sharp, narrow eyed look at Rhys, he stabbed a fork into his food and brought a bite of it to his lips. "Fine."
Thankfully, Ezra had expended a lot of energy already moving the boxes and trying to pick through them earlier, which made eating slightly easier despite having other, unwholesome things on his mind. Between bites, he nursed his beer, trading a few scalding looks with Rhys as he did so and pointedly ignoring, or trying to ignore, the hand still resting against his skin.
Having managed to make it through the whole of his meal and having virtually cleaned his plate, Ezra leaned down to top off Jonah's water. Giving a few fond scratches to his ears and following them by smoothing the soft fur down once more, he straightened once more, finishing off the remainder of his beer and glancing at Rhys with an attempt at a calm expression.
| . . . I can't begin to let you know just what I'm feeling . . . Séance @rhysand |
[googlefont=Dancing Script]
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last online May 19, 2024 2:43:23 GMT
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Post by Deleted on Jul 14, 2020 1:34:04 GMT
By some miracle, they made it through their meal. Mournspire finished his and slowly leveled an impassive expression on him. Rhysand grinned like a wolf cornering prey. Reluctantly, and slowly, he pulled his hand, inch-by-inch out from its resting place. "All right," he said, nodding his head. "Let's go home."
- - - - -
Bang-... Bang-... Bang-... !!
After a full minute blindly trying to open the front door through their kissing, but just knocking against it instead, they finally managed it. Rhysand shoved Ezra inside, slamming the door closed behind them. From there, the two moved like fighting animals, clashing, circling, clashing again, leaving a trail of discarded clothes on their way to the bedroom.
- - - - -
Rhysand collapsed forward onto Ezra, bare chest to bare chest. He shuddered violently with aftershocks, his forehead pressed into Mournspire's shoulder. Slowly, his breathing got back under control, and he ran his fingers down the interior of one of Ezra's arms, all the way to his hand, where he tangled their fingers together.
"I meant it," he growled against Ezra's skin, talking about something he'd gasped a minute ago, at the heated height of everything. Rhysand used his spare hand to prop himself up, hovering over Ezra so he could look him in the eyes. "I do," he said, looking adoringly down at the other man. "I love you." | . . . My head was war. My skin was soaked. I called your name 'til the fever broke . . . Omen @ezra |
[googlefont=Dancing Script]
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