transgressings | inbox for duplicity;

[ His touch is firm on her, but not restraining; she feels powerful in his grasp, tilting her head into the cradling of his palm, the clutch of his fingers against her skull, that movement of her hips nearly uncontrollable by this point as she gives herself over — to sensation, to him, all of it, finally relinquishing that last shred of her self-control with the sob that wrenches free of her throat, spilling past her lips.

He bites her hard enough to make the skin swell, but not break, not even as she shudders and comes apart around him, over top of him from her intimate perch, fingers digging into the strength of his shoulders while those waves of pleasure course through her, stem to stern. ]

[It's as though they're sharing this burst of sensation between each other. The tight grip she has on him, fingers, lips, hips, versus the wrap of his arms around her, coiling to feel every shiver through her body with his own. With lowered lids he reaches his release, brief seconds strangely feeling both helpless yet in complete control as he watches her come undone, only to follow with his own cry, a loud gasp, and a moan. Holding her tight, holding her deep.

They've been working at this for a while now, but yet it still startles him, how he feels like trembling steel, how everything seems to make a little more sense now, with her on his lap, his face buried against her neck.]

[ It isn't that their first entanglement hadn't been satisfying — she'd silently reveled in the lack of tension in her hips afterward, the marks their coupling had left behind, mostly covered up by the cut of her uniform — but this, driven by so much more choice and intention, leaves her feeling undeniably satisfied, limbs flooded with warmth when he leaves his heat within her.

She turns her face against his, cheek pressed into his temple, and lingers that way for a few long moments, unwilling to relinquish the hold he has on her and vice versa, and a small smile plays at the edges of her mouth while she breathes out a contented sigh. The question of how he feels is very nearly on her lips before she realizes it doesn't require asking; she already knows. ]

[The breath he takes is long, deep, and very tired. He could probably use a nap right now, although he knows that the need for it will dissipate in a couple of minutes. The air is filled with her scent, even with the effects of whatever got him stirring fade away, and Dante removes his hand from below her skirt to stroke his thumb around her cheek as he pulls back.

Sure, whatever aphrodisiac he had been under has been sated somehow, but Dante finds that there's very little difference now that his mind is clear. Perhaps just the click of a door opening to an already heated room.

He presses his lips softly to hers, and grins.] Not that I'm complaining, but this was not what I had in mind when I invited you over to talk.

I wasn't under any impression that it was.

[ But she's also very reluctant to extricate herself from his lap, comfortably seated atop him; she doesn't even move to ease off of him right away, savoring that connection for a few moments more. Still, the reality of the situation dictates that eventually, she will need to disconnect, even as his lips find hers lightly.

Her own hand rises to sweep fingers across his forehead, the side of his face, brushing lighter strands of hair back, and then she finally does move with a soft hiss of breath, experiencing the lack of him immediately as she shifts over to recline along his side, one leg still draped across the pair of his. ] Once again, you've proven to be more than I expected.

[There's a slight catch to his breath as she moves - the same way he had felt comfortably captured, there's a sense of release that while relieving, feels lacking. He catches himself from thinking of wanting it again and soon, settles back beside her as he runs his hand over the leg draped over him.

His lip twitches. Now that the fever's gone, he's facing the idea that she knows what he is. It's not something he lets out easily.]

I could say the same about you. I'll be honest, I imagined a lot of different scenarios for when you found out, but not this.

[ She'll need to move further yet, and soon, retrieve those remnants of her clothing she'd all but asked him to tear from her in their haste and heat, smooth the skirts of her dress in an attempt to hide its wrinkles, though there may be no masking some of the other, more lingering details of their entanglement until she's well within the walls of her own residence and can wash his scent from her skin.

In the immediate aftermath, she doesn't slip away to do any of that just yet, her hand shifting down to cover his as it rests against her leg. ]

You imagined rejection. [ It's not difficult to figure that out; the odds of that scenario entering his mind are likely, and point to a similar reaction occurring in the past. ]

[Rejection doesn't happen often because Dante's true nature isn't exactly revealed in a setting such as a short fumble in a bar or ending up at some person's house one night. That and...

well, there's no rejection when there's nothing initiated in the first place, right?

So he cants his head just enough to signify a "sorta".] It's as I told you. It's not something I usually do. You can guess why.

[He's finding that the brightness of her eyes has nothing to do with the haze of what he had been influenced by. He settles for brushing his other hand on her cheek thoughtfully before he takes a sigh.] But before we get into that, I'm starving. You wanna order some pizza?

And if I told you this wasn't something I normally do?

[ For various reasons, perhaps the most significant of them being that any act which lowers her mental defenses so readily could enable something else to slip in and take over; it's why she has to exercise caution, why being at the fort had offered her a means of freedom, diminished as she was in her abilities.

Even now, lying here beside him, she's attempting not to believe that the worst could still happen, but she might be anticipating something that will never come to pass.

He mentions his hunger and she realizes it's been some time since she's eaten anything, but his suggestion earns him a confused look. ] Is that a dish you prefer, where you're from?

[He nods, quietly.] Doesn't surprise me, considering what you told me.

[Maybe it's a good thing, that they met here instead of any other place. While with its disadvantages and inconveniences, they would have been left to their own problems if this place was just as susceptible to demonic power as both their homes were.

It'd be like standing in a room divided with unbreakable glass - the tension between them the only thing able to transverse through.

His lip twitches, deciding to discard the idea of luck itself being at play, in favor of the idea of sharing a pizza with her.] Why yeah it is. My favorite actually. It's portable, too, which makes it very easy to have it delivered. Wanna try some?

[ She has shared certain truths with him, in her time here, but there are further details she has not deigned to reveal, not sure if it will irrevocably change what they have already forged so unexpectedly, that reliance that she did not purposefully seek and has lingered with her all the same.

How can she even confess her greatest secret, about how she came to be here, when she doesn't completely understand what happened to begin with? One moment she'd believed herself to be departing her own, mortal existence; the next, she'd arrived in a city with strange sights and even stranger designs on its citizens.

There are some facts that are better left buried, at least for the moment. ]

And what would you suggest we do, while we wait for this... pizza to be delivered?

[The look he gives her for a second is heated.

But it's only there for a second, and Dante ducks his head with a sigh and smiles softly, brushes a stray hair away from her face instead when he looks back up.] Think you'd like to freshen up, right?

[He lifts his hips just enough to adjust, leans in to steal a soft kiss from her lips.] Wait here, I'll fetch you something.

[ She hadn't intended it as further invitation, somewhere closer to genuine curiosity prompting her question about how they could occupy their time waiting for their meal — even the promise of something delivered to them is a luxury she's still getting accustomed to. ]

Please. [ For as brief as the kiss is, it isn't lacking in its heat, her fingers briefly spanning the curve of his jaw before he pulls away from her to retrieve what she'll need.

And, in the meantime, she'll lean forward to reach for her glass, the flavor of it residing on her lips in tandem with his indescribable taste. ]

[She may have not intended it as such, but Dante had already been struggling with his own need building up, fed by the wish that he has to do it all over again, out of his entire will alone.

He heads to a small bathroom on the other side of the room, gets a small fresh hand towel. Gets a bottle of water on the way back, passing by the counter. Sets the bottle on the table - the floor is sticky, he notices, and it's a good thing neither of them took their shoes off because there's glass on the floor still.

Hands her the towel before settling back beside her.] There's a bathroom here with what I think is a bidet, and another with a shower on the lower floor if you feel like it. [He switches on his phone - the app of the pizza place is the only icon on his home screen aside from his phone and messaging applications.] Ordering the pizza will take only a minute or two.

[ She collects the towel from him with a small, grateful smile and a nod of her head; any effort she makes to attend to her own state will be something she pursues behind the privacy of a closed door, rather than deal with it here. But she's careful, both in how she rises and how she navigates the layout of the room afterward, cautiously stepping over any shards of glass on the floor before bending low to retrieve the torn remnants of her underwear with a stifled grin. ]

I'll only be a moment.

[ She'll leave the specifics of the ordering to him, given that he seems to have that fairly well in hand, and briefly excuses herself to clean up as best as she's able without fully disrobing, since that would likely take more time than she can afford to use up here — but eventually, she returns, cheeks flushed with noticeable color from their recent exertions, and assumes a seat next to him. ]

What did we decide on?

[Ordering the pizza had been an almost mechanic affair. Dante's fingers easily tapped away on the screen, selecting all the ingredients, save olives, and leaving a note for the kitchen saying No olives!!!.

He knew there'd be olives. But ah, well. For once, Dante felt satisfied, a little looser, relaxed.

He was starting to find it problematic, skin growing cold when Vanessa comes back. The flush to her cheeks warms him up again, and when she resumes her spot next to him, he's smiling.]

My favorite, [a cheeky grin for going for his favorite and not trying to guess her tastes] but it has all the ingredients, so those you don't like, you can just take them out and give them to me. Take it you're from before the dish was invented, huh?

I suppose that's a relatively easy matter to deduce.

[ The when of her origins, that is; it's a fact that most seem to be able to stumble on rather quickly, whether due to her manner of speech or her relative unfamiliarity with most of the technological advantages this city boasts. It had taken her some time to learn how the devices truly worked and the avenues she could utilize to send a message. Text is easiest, and she's slowly adjusting to the voice component, but trying to take a record of anything involving that video function has frequently proven difficult.

One of her hands idly smooths the slightly rumpled skirt of her dress over her lap; the other reaches forward for her glass again, and in that moment it may appear, aside from that blushing, that they hadn't just participated in anything along those intimate lines. Almost as if it never happened at all. ]

It was 1892, before I arrived here.

[The ease in which she just approaches the subject makes Dante relax. Acting as if nothing had happened is actually good by him - casualness is where his comfort zone is, and he's perfectly okay if people decide to share that.

So he slumps back against the seat, a posture usually meant to taunt or send people away - a Do Not Disturb sign. This time, it just meant that for once since he had arrived there, he could let loose a bit. Hell, he hasn't even buttoned up his shirt yet.

Funny how things worked. His lip twitches.] Close! I know that pizza was invented in the early 1900s. Or so I heard.

How has it been for you, adapting to all of this? [He wiggles the device in his hand for show.]

[ Over the years, she's become rather skilled at compartmentalizing, at reserving certain behaviors for certain moments and then managing to recover herself quickly enough, and the same holds true for right now, with the two of them seated beside one another — though perhaps with an increased level of comfort between them.

They're both certainly sitting more relaxed, him lounging back against the couch with his shirt still undone and her tilted on her hip, inclined in his direction. ] It seems it would have only been a matter of time before I tried it for myself. [ Or not, considering her last memories of home, but that's a conversation for a future time. ]

Challenging. [ She won't mince words. ] Confusing, on occasion. But fascinating. There were days I spent on the train when I first arrived just riding around the city, looking at all the sights.

Guess you were destined to try it either way, all things considered. [Not that Dante really believes in Fate, or at least, he tries not to think about it. It's just a fun thing to say for the sake of mindless chitchat.

He reaches out to her glass, nudges it from her hand to take a sip of his own and then gives it back to her with a subtle lick of his lips at the sweet taste of the liquor. Very different from what he had before.] Something tells me that you'll like it.

[If anything, because pizza could be exciting and versatile all at once. Really, a wonderful invention.

He nods in understanding, a slightly amused squint to his eyes at the way she avows her difficulties but willingness to learn. Really, it doesn't surprise him - she had just found out he was not entirely human, and instead of fighting the idea of it, she quickly embraced it. Strong stuff.]

I get that. [He takes a slow sigh, remembering the time he arrived. ] Even though this place is similar to what I have back home, this place still manages to pull out something different to throw me off. Though, I guess I can't complain.

[He gets a notification saying that the order is about to arrive and he bolts out of the couch.] It's almost here. I need to catch the guy before he reaches the door or we'll be picking up pubic hair from the thing.

[He'll explain later. For the time being, he's striding his long legs over to the stairs - and there's no sound of him walking them down, only the sound of a soft landing in the distance - and a door opening.

Maybe if she peers over or pays attention Vanessa may hear something like "hold it! No need for the dick in the pizza, man. Do that or I won't be tipping you. I'll just have the pie. Thanks."

And then the sound of him actually climbing the stairs, coming back with a grin on his face that makes him look younger and a cardboard box in his hands.] You ready for this?

Perhaps it had been part of my fate all along.

[ There's a piece of her smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, maybe even a sadness in it, but she won't permit it to linger for very long, especially not once he slips her glass from her fingers to sample the taste of its contents for himself — and she tips her head back to note the shift in his expression, trying to gauge whether he enjoys it compared to his original selection.

But they aren't spared much time for further conversation before he jumps up and hurries away to answer the door, venturing downstairs to where most deliveries are no doubt dropped off; she discerns a few snippets of the conversation but nothing that makes sense to her in any way before the door closes and he finally comes back into view.

By then, she's shifted to perch on the edge of the sofa, eyeing the flat box in his hands with no shortage of curiosity — but something in what she'd overheard does give her pause, and she has to figure out how best to pose her question. ]

Did I hear you correctly, in that he almost — ? [ She's not even certain how to finish it once she's started. ]

[Dante lets out a very tired, very exasperated sigh, picking up a bunch of bar napkins on the counter of the kitchenette thing on the way, shaking his head when he sets the pizza box on the corner of the table in front of the couch.] You'd think that if there was something in this place that wouldn't be about pornography or sex, it would be food services, but. Guess I was wrong.

[Dante isn't usually the kind of guy who is careful about spillage, broken things, things that aren't dirty - he'll make an exception to certain smells, but when you have a demonic olfactory sense, you get used to most things early on. But for pizza he's careful to brush the shards of glass on the table aside, dab napkins on the surface to clean any remains of that accident. He's explaining while he does this.] Apparently pizza delivery here isn't about the food. It's like... ordering for someone's services. They shove their bits into this hole in the box here, and expect us to take it as an introduction. Thought it had to do with the store, but turns out, it's tradition. They were just as surprised when I told them I didn't want the delivery guy, as I was about the whole thing when I first ordered it.

[Back on the couch, he opens the box with a bit of reverence.] And, here it is. [He hands her a couple of napkins, something he doesn't actually use when eating pizza, but he figures she'd appreciate not getting her hands greasy.] You're going to need these. You grab a slice and eat it.

I suppose one could make the argument that one can be delivered as well as the other, especially here. [ It's not unheard of, even in her time, for one to request their pleasures be catered to very specifically, and to find someone who can provide that; apparently, someone's thought to combine both sex and food in the offering.

She observes him quietly, her own hands clasped together while he attends to the matter of clearing that broken glass out of the way in order for them to eat without risk — normally, she would insist on helping, but since his healing means he's more likely to suffer a cut for a shorter length of time, she chooses to wait rather than run the risk of injuring herself. ]

Absolutely no part of that sounds appealing. [ She won't necessarily chide anyone else for their urges, but the mental image alone has her wrinkling up her nose in distaste, stifling a quiet laugh more from the absurdity of it than anything else, and when he presses the napkins into her hands she spreads them out on her lap before peering into the box. ]

Grab and eat. Sounds simple enough. [ Although, once she procures the slice in question, she turns it around, examining it from all sides. ] Is there a recommended end to start from?

Hey, I don't mind it. I just wish there was one service that didn't involve the two.

[He chuckles and shakes his head about how the idea did not sound appealing, and honestly he agreed. While he's sure that some people may enjoy eating some things out of people's bodies, Dante would rather keep it off the nether regions.]

The smaller one. Like this. [He's picking out the olives and setting them aside - why do they keep doing this even though he always makes sure to put a note with a lot of exclamation marks on it - and then takes the slice and takes a bite--

-- excuse him for a minute.]

You may be asking for too much here.

[ She smiles, but she's also observing the sight of him picking those olives off of his slice one at a time, enough to make her consider whether it was a mistake for them to be there in the first place, but she has never objected to the taste of them on their own so it's really a question of whether she'll enjoy them on this pizza as well.

She'll rotate her slice between her fingers to mimic his hold on it, propping it up from below in order to lift it to her mouth for a small bite. It's still warm, warm enough for the cheese on top to stretch out without breaking when she tries to pull it free and she voices a soft sound of surprise before finally needing to get her fingers involved to accomplish the task.

But she chews thoughtfully, looking over to where he sits, and after swallowing: ]

It's very good.

inbox for duplicity;

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