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sixthiterationlogs2017-03-23 10:25 pm
warriorborn) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-03-23 10:25 pm
(no subject)
WHO: Benedict Sorellin-Lancaster
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: March 23
OPEN TO: Kate Kelly specifically, anyone else who wants to come hang out in the kitchen
WARNINGS: so many feelings
STATUS: ongoing
It's been over a month. A whole month of sleeping in Kira's room, of avoiding Kate's eyes, of trying to keep himself as busy as possible when there still wasn't much to do.
It's difficult, being helpful in the Inn, since any and all chores he might set his eye on would run a high risk of having him bump into Kate, and they've been avoiding speaking to one another since their fight in the kitchen, the night Benedict burned his arm. His arm has healed, only slightly-pink and shiny skin left to mark his stupidity, but his relationship with Kate was not so easily mended. (Perhaps it might have been, had he been brave enough to step forward and apologize, but Benedict hadn't been able to find the words to say what he wanted to say, and then too much time has dragged on for any attempt to be plausibly accepted, so now he has to come to terms with the fact that he's managed to cock up the one really good thing he's found for himself here, and he'll never get it back.)
The empty houses around the habble had been drawing his eye, but somehow, the thought of leaving the Inn made his rift with Kate seem so much more permanent, and he hadn't the courage to take that step. Besides, Kira had told him that he was planning on moving out of the Inn soon, so Benedict needn't worry about overstaying his welcome in the room they now share.
Like he has so many times before, he creeps down to the kitchen after everyone else has gone to bed, intent on making himself a cup of tea. He's much more careful with the kettle now, the cracked tile on the floor from where he dropped it the night he burned himself enough of a reminder to not be so careless, but he can't resist the comfort that a hot cup cradled in his palms brings. Leaning against the counter as he waits for it to steep, he looks out the window towards the tree line, absently missing the swirling colors of the Aurora. The fireflies that have taken to chasing and stinging people are just as dangerous, but if he was given the choice between the two, he'd almost certainly pick the former. There had been something peaceful about the lights in the sky, something that reminded him in a strange way of Etherealist magic.
He hopes Ferus and Folly are well. And Gwen...the fact that he's barely thought of her for weeks makes him feel suddenly guilty. He's been so wrapped up in his own hurt feelings that he'd all but forgotten his family back home. She'd shake her head at him and cluck her tongue disapprovingly, then threaten to tell his mother the way she had when they were children.
Almost despite himself, he smiles.
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: March 23
OPEN TO: Kate Kelly specifically, anyone else who wants to come hang out in the kitchen
WARNINGS: so many feelings
STATUS: ongoing
It's been over a month. A whole month of sleeping in Kira's room, of avoiding Kate's eyes, of trying to keep himself as busy as possible when there still wasn't much to do.
It's difficult, being helpful in the Inn, since any and all chores he might set his eye on would run a high risk of having him bump into Kate, and they've been avoiding speaking to one another since their fight in the kitchen, the night Benedict burned his arm. His arm has healed, only slightly-pink and shiny skin left to mark his stupidity, but his relationship with Kate was not so easily mended. (Perhaps it might have been, had he been brave enough to step forward and apologize, but Benedict hadn't been able to find the words to say what he wanted to say, and then too much time has dragged on for any attempt to be plausibly accepted, so now he has to come to terms with the fact that he's managed to cock up the one really good thing he's found for himself here, and he'll never get it back.)
The empty houses around the habble had been drawing his eye, but somehow, the thought of leaving the Inn made his rift with Kate seem so much more permanent, and he hadn't the courage to take that step. Besides, Kira had told him that he was planning on moving out of the Inn soon, so Benedict needn't worry about overstaying his welcome in the room they now share.
Like he has so many times before, he creeps down to the kitchen after everyone else has gone to bed, intent on making himself a cup of tea. He's much more careful with the kettle now, the cracked tile on the floor from where he dropped it the night he burned himself enough of a reminder to not be so careless, but he can't resist the comfort that a hot cup cradled in his palms brings. Leaning against the counter as he waits for it to steep, he looks out the window towards the tree line, absently missing the swirling colors of the Aurora. The fireflies that have taken to chasing and stinging people are just as dangerous, but if he was given the choice between the two, he'd almost certainly pick the former. There had been something peaceful about the lights in the sky, something that reminded him in a strange way of Etherealist magic.
He hopes Ferus and Folly are well. And Gwen...the fact that he's barely thought of her for weeks makes him feel suddenly guilty. He's been so wrapped up in his own hurt feelings that he'd all but forgotten his family back home. She'd shake her head at him and cluck her tongue disapprovingly, then threaten to tell his mother the way she had when they were children.
Almost despite himself, he smiles.
no subject
Almost.
She'd been a fool, not to beg forgiveness before now. She's missed him, she's missed him, and she's missed this. His hands on her, his mouth under hers, the sheer heat of him against her body. Of knowing that she did all this to him not because she's just a pretty girl, the oh so delectable Kate Kelly, but because he, Benedict, loves her. Loves her. Respects her. Needs her. Wants her.
So Kate kisses him and kisses him, and shifts in his lap so she can press herself even closer. Her knees on the floor, she can move until there's nothing between them and it's not enough, not nearly close enough. She wants, she wants -
She breaks off kissing his mouth only to kiss his face and then duck down, kiss his neck. Kiss everywhere she can.