AU - Blue

[rockabillyboy]

He's not entirely sure what they're doing here - they've kind of been avoiding putting labels on it - but it's definitely fun. They're definitely having fun. Jack has been working really hard on being a gentleman, which has been...challenging. He's been doing a lot of meditating, among other things. It's been partially successful.

Early that morning, he'd texted Blue with picnic?
Twelve finds him leaning back against Ghost, looking up at her window, arms folded loosely across his chest.

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[rockabillyboy]

"I don't think about it," he says. drawing her with him through the trees to the spot he'd picked out days ago, down by the water, sheltered by the trees and the long grass. "I like the idea though. Cross-pollination. Nothing's ever really lost."

[formicine]

She wanders down, drawn in by him, the peaceful place around them. It feels a little sacred, or maybe magical; not like Cabeswater and its magic as dangerous as it is wild, just -- separate from everything.

Blue nods, smiling at the idea, and that her whimsy and love of biology isn't irritating. "Maybe just becomes something new, here."

She plucks a dandelion clock from the long grass and holds it up between them. "Hey you. Make a wish."

[rockabillyboy]

Jack thinks about it for a moment and then he leans in, pursing his lips to blow, scattering the seeds to the wind. He makes his wish and then he sets the bag down and picks up the blanket, spreading it out on the soft grass.

"Shucks," he says, fluttering his eyelashes at her. "I hope it comes true."

[formicine]

She watches him lean to blow the seeds free, the way he thinks about it first, and there's something about that little gesture that turns over her stomach.

"Gosh," she says back with a teasing grin, letting out a bit more of the Virginia-Appalachian accent she grew up with. She smoothes out the edges of the blanket and kicks off her shoes, neatly, off the edge, wriggling her toes in the cool grass before sitting down. "Must be a real nice wish, looking like that."

[rockabillyboy]

He's not about to admit it outloud, but he kind of loves it when her accent does that. His, hopelessly Californian, never does that. He toes out of his chucks and then bends to tug off his socks, too before sprawling out on the blanket beside her. He smiles up at her.

"Looking like what, exactly?"

[formicine]

Blue looks down, grinning. "You know exactly like what. All bashful and Bambi eyes and that smile." She grins and flutters her lashes at him in demonstration. "If you tried, you wouldn't have to make wishes too often." She can feel her face flush, but it's funny, mostly because it's true.

He looks good, stretched out, all lean muscle and bright smile below her, and she shifts to lie on her side closer, elbow bent to prop her chin on one hand. The slip part of her dress is pushed up a little and she's very aware of there only being some uneven swathes of crochet between her skin and his body, the warmth of him next to her. Blue reaches to trace the lines of his tattoo, concentrating on that instead, and looks over at him. "You make good plans."

[rockabillyboy]

"I do my best." He's intensely aware of the brush of her fingers on his bicep, tracing the lines of the lotus flower tattooed there. He smiles, looking up at her, reaching up to brush a strand of her hair back from her face. "Figured we could find something to do with a little privacy."

[formicine]

Her heart picks up at the touch: she smiles and closes her eyes as he pushes her hair back.

The suggestion sends a lazy heat through her. "Did you?" She curls closer and moves her hand down to rest on his chest. Every miniscule movement feels loaded, nerves prickling, and she doesn't want to stop any more than she knows exactly where the lines are here. "And what did you have in mind?"

[rockabillyboy]

Jack covers his hand with hers, tracing the delicate bones of her fingers with the tip of his. It makes him think of Bex, a little, her drawings, but he pushes that thought from his head. He curls his fingers around her wrist and then lifts her hand, bringing it to his lips so that he can graze his lips against her palm.

[formicine]

Blue watches him, a little transfixed as he answers in actions: the trace of his fingers sends a shiver through her.

She lets out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, catches her lip in her teeth and looks at him. She feels full of a thousand things she wants, stilled by the effect he's having on her doing barely anything.

[rockabillyboy]

They don't kiss. They can't kiss. Jack knows that. It thrums through his temples like a heartbeat. He looks up at her and then, fingers trembling, he reaches out and traces the neckline of her dress, his fingertips whisper soft against her skin.

[formicine]

His fingers are hesitant and gentle on her skin, a question, a promise, and she lets her eyes flutter shut for a minute before meeting his. It feels like he must be able to feel her heart quick under his hand.

For so long, this terrifying warning against kissing has been a locked gate: this feels a little like sneaking over it, slipping through it. Or it could.

She wants it to.

Blue presses into his fingers a little and leans in to run a thumb over his lips, to brush lashes and nose in a slow stripe against his neck. She wants to kiss him, so badly it aches, but if she can't --

[rockabillyboy]

He leans in, shifting, so that when he bends his head his eyelashes and lips brush against the smooth skin of Blue's chest. He's touched her but only ever over clothes before.

"God, Blue."

[formicine]

He lowers his head, warm breath and lips soft on her skin, those gorgeous eyelashes tease-soft. Blue sighs and rolls back to allow him more access to her, a little bold, a little nervous; slides her hand into his hair.

Having chosen a dress that at core is a slip doesn't help, every movement a brush of satin, too thin to hide her body's reaction. His breath is warm through it and she would beg for his mouth just a hair lower. What's a kiss? What counts?

"What?" she whispers back, unsure of herself but smiling.

[rockabillyboy]

She lies back, offers herself up like that and Jack feels so intensely, stupidly lucky for a moment. Lifting his head slightly, he can see the press of her nipples against thin fabric. A shiver goes straight through him and, feeling bolder and bolder, he shifts his mouth into the fabric of her dress, brushing one soft peak through the fabric.

"You're beautiful."

[formicine]

She gasps, whimpers almost as he brushes his mouth over her breast, arching into the touch. "Oh. Please?"

Blue blinks up at him: right now she feels beautiful, feels that he thinks it. "You're amazing," she tells him, smiling, breathless.

[rockabillyboy]

Jack shakes his head and brushes his mouth over her nipple again, more definitely this time, firmer. His other hand skins against her side, rucking up the fabric of her dress instead.

[formicine]

She bites down on her lip over a soft needy whimper. She wants more contact, and she reaches her free hand under his shirt to sketch her fingers across his skin.

Even wanting, trembling like a string he's pulled taut, Blue tenses, a little, when he moves to the hem of her dress. She lets out a breath and presses into his fingers, meeting his eyes.

[rockabillyboy]

Jack presses his hand flat against her thigh, his mouth still against the fabric of her dress and then he lifts his head, looking up at her, eyebrows raised.

He asks permission, because it's important to him to do it.

[formicine]

That still, the eyebrow raise, makes Blue feel incredibly safe. That no, even with theory thrown to the wind, this isn't leading on, this dress and her body, the little sighs he draws from her, the very fact of her stupid curse. That if she said stop now, it'd be okay.

She abruptly doesn't want to stop at all. Instead she smiles, and bold, slides her hand down over his to guide him up further. Yes.

[rockabillyboy]

Trembling slightly, aware that his palm is probably damp where it presses against her skin, Jack slides his hand up Blue's thigh until the tips of his fingers brush against the lace edge of her panties. He groans softly and presses his mouth against her breast against. This time, the edges of his teeth graze her nipple through thin fabric.

[formicine]

She takes a sharp breath at the sharp edge of teeth on skin, almost-pain answered by a distinct coil of heat straight through her.

Blue grins, biting her lip over it, at his groan -- shivering into her almost as much as his mouth and hands. "Mm, I like making you sound like that," she smiles, sliding her free hand into his hair. Jack's fingers tease, query, and aching, she arches up just a little toward them.

[rockabillyboy]

He keeps stopping, keeps asking for permission but, at the end of the day, Jack is seventeen years old and there are things that he wants more than breathing. Biting is, apparently, good. All of this is, so far, apparently good. Blue lifts her hips and Jack takes that as permission to push just a little bit further. His fingers hook over the waistband of her panties and, slowly, gently, giving her plenty of time to stop him, he starts to tug them down.

[formicine]

Blue's very aware they're --well, outside, not public, sort of beautifully private -- and a little shy about her body, nervous about how this all goes, but she's not shy right now about the fact that she wants this. Wants him.

She wriggles a little to help him, and leans in. "C'mere?" They can't kiss (they can't, they can't) but he settles her, close.

[rockabillyboy]

More than anything, Jack wants to be close to her. He wants to press his mouth against her, kiss parts of her that, maybe, have never been kissed before. However, what he's found is that he's hopeless to resist anything that Blue asks for. He slides up, pressing himself against her side. The height difference isn't as obvious lying down.

"Hi," he says, ducking his head to brush a trio of kisses against the sharp jut of her collarbone.