Another Year Older - Beyril's Apartment (MATURE) (Lani and Beyril)

"He's more than half, trust me." she winked and blushed, still vaguely awkward in her attempts at sexual humor. "It's not like I'm making money, like landlords do though. I'm just... not broke all the time. It's more economical."

"So is letting me buy the groceries, but you won't allow that." Her eyes flitted towards the hallway as she heard a bit of a crash, Tony falling off the bed, most likely.

Beyril sighed, flipping an omelette onto a plate and grabbing a coffee mug, "Duty calls." she grinned, walking back to their room. A blank-covered book sat on the coffee table, with one of Bey's pens marking a spot.

Tony was crashed on the floor, ass in the air, groaning, half of him covered by the blanket. "Hey, babe," he muttered, clearly unwilling to move.

Beyril sat on the floor next to him, resting her elbow on his butt, sipping the coffee to check the temperature and nudging the omelette towards him on the floor, "Good morning." she chuckled, watching his eyes with a gentle tenderness that Tony knew well meant she was very much in love.

He looked over at her, a drool trail against his mouth, "I'd ask if this was breakfast in bed but, well..." he flopped to the side, half curled, and rubbed the trail away, "I'm clearly not in bed."

Beyril shrugged, "Savannah is already fussing at me about cooking this morning, so I figured I'd give you a chance to do so in private." she teased, setting the coffee next to the plate, "Eat up, or you'll get a headache. You always get headaches if you wait too late in the morning to eat."

"Mer," he grumbled, this his eyes spoke for his appreciation as he sat up, pajamas pants uncovering his ass as did so, though he clearly didn't care. Smiling softly, he set about nibbling at the food, watching her. "And have you eaten?"

Beyril shrugged, "I ate while I cooked." she made a pouty face, "Savannah said I'm a landlady."

"You are a landlady, and scraps aren't a meal." He kept his tone teasing at the first half of his message, though his eyes narrowed and tone became more strict as he spoke the later. "You need to eat, Beyril."

"After you." she teased, plucking a piece of ham out of his eggs and popping it into her mouth, "And you're not helping. You're supposed to say I'm not some grumpy old woman with fifty cats whose never been married."

"You're not old with forty-nine cats," he corrected, smirking, eyes twinkling with his disobedience.

Beyril quicky turned her head like she was wounded, her eyes sparkling like the beginnings of tears, "You think I'm grumpy..?"

"The fact that you object to it proves my point," he stated, though his eyes softened as he hooked an arm around her waist and tugged her beside him, laying her head gently against his chest and toying with her hair. "Now, stop that before I have to force an orgasm out of you to stop the tears."

Beyril giggled, the act falling apart as easily as it had come together, and she let her lips brush gently against his as she spoke breathlessly, "I dare you." she teased.

His brow raised and he pressed his forehead to hers, pushing his plate aside and under the nightstand. Quickly, smoothly, he readjusted and pressed her against the side of the bed, forehead not leaving her own, hands pinning her wrists to the floor as he leaned over her. "You know better," he said, a slight growl to his lowered, husky voice.

-

Elsewhere, Savannah her cat-fueled distraction and pulled her headphones over her head, setting her tablet to cycle through her music. Beside it sat the book Beyril had left; surely, by now, she knew better than to leave things in plain sight of her fellow meister. Nonetheless, she pulled it open to the page in question, inquisitive eyes doing more than skimming through it.

Her red hair fell in loose waves across her face, long bangs in need of trimming interlacing with her eyelashes, the flashes of green iris looking down his bare torso and tracing the collar bone before looking back up to his lips with a glimmer of anticipation. Her lower lip trembled slightly, the fringes of brilliant red clinging to the honeyed chap stick she used on the cooler mornings of fall, and the corner twitched into a smirk just in front of the glinting ring in her tongue, "It is my birthday..."

His smirk was wide, true, and as devious as ever, the dark swirl passing through his irises showing far too clearly the immoral intentions riveting through his thoughts. Even with the gap added by his partially off pajamas, the tightness of his loins was apparent, erection pressing against the cloth and demanding to be sheathed within her. It was nothing new, this little dance they ran, the toying, torturous games that they played, but it had yet to have lose its effect. Nay, the weapon before her was quite convinced that it never would.

He pressed more heavily against her, pinning her head more, hands tightening at her wrists, bent legs sliding so that his thighs were on either side of her own. His back bent heavily, though it showed the clear distinction of his every muscle, especially his slightly hunched shoulders. Speaking with a hot, enticing breath, he narrowed those icy eyes at her, "Are you teasing me, el mio tesoro?"

ooc: Technically, "my sweetheart;" loosely, "my pet"

"No," she teased coyly, drawing out the vowel with a soft purr in her gentle alto, biting into her lower lip, a desire not bothered to be contained as she strained just a touch, trying to reach her lover's neck with her full lips, flushing a deeper pink than usual, "I'm inviting you."

-------

The book was clearly a diary, littered with small doodles in the margins, and the entry in progress started out like softcore porn, reminiscing on the joys of her acrobatic escapades with the weapon she was currently wrapping her legs around in the adjacent room. But at the end, a melancholic afterthought echoed, "I wish I could bring myself to tell him everything. I love him so much. I love us so much. Every gentle touch and lingering embrace. I love sleeping with him, I love waking with him. But I hate that sometimes after he's fallen asleep, I cry for hours just wrapping his unconcious limbs around me. I like to imagine he'd say it's not my fault. That this is what he'd really do; just hug me and let me cry. Maybe he'd kiss my cheeks and play with my hair. But I'm just scared. I'm scared that the things I think late at night would become the things he says. That he'd say that I was really responsible for what Sylas did. That I asked for him to rape me. I couldn't stop it I swear. I tried so hard. I couldn't even scream though. I just want to scream...."

Something like a switch went off in his head, clicking like the reverberation of a firecracker. Teeth ground as he fought his desire for control, battling between it's victims --- himself or his beloved. A moan held back behind his words as he uttered a single syllable: "Good."

All at once, he had her lifted, one hand grasping both of hers above her head, the other situated firmly under her ass as he lifted her, knowing that her legs would latch about his waist as he stood. The baggy pants barely stayed in place, though the strings of his underwear held fast to his hips, and his eyes held her where his hands did not. "Tell me what you want."

-

Something seemed to break in the recesses of her her psyche, something fierce and yet helpless all at the same time. Quietly, she shut the book, leaving the pen outside her as a subtle indication that she had read its contents. Ignoring the cat in loo of her temper, she stood, carefully removing and returning her headphones before making her way to the back bedroom, intent on awakening her fiance.

Beyril's legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, like a fighter grappling an opponent. She gasped, a sort of sudden moan, her jeans digging into her hip bones. She still had the build of a runner; lean and muscled, though still very thin, with the evidence of sneaked chocolates from the candy bowl curving outward just slightly below her belly button. She glanced down at her clothing, "Get me out of these."

------

Akira grumbled as she let light in with the open door, "You're in a bad mood." he muttered into his pillow.

"Make me." He returned, sitting himself on the bed and falling against it, holding a single wrist against the disshelved spread, the other hand gripped against the smooth curve of her hip.

-

"With reason," she said, stepping over, hopping onto the bed and grabbing his face, pointing it towards her, "Wake up. I'm not moody; it's important."

Beyril inched her hips forward against the growing bulge in his sweats, rotating her hips as she ground against him, restricted by the tight-fitting jeans. Her lashes swept against her flushed cheekbones as her eyes drifted closed, a slight gasping moan slipping through her lips, "Please..." her voice trembled, begging for a small degree of control against his grip, "Please let me have you." As she spoke, a sort of trembling, needy pout, her fingers on her free hand looped into the band of his own pants, tugging at them slightly, taunting and teasing that she would move no further still dressed.

-------

Akira seemed to unnaturally and yet suddenly wake, no hint of hesitation or tiredness as he sat up in bed, pulling his once-again long hair back up into a bun on the back of his head, loose strands brushing against the black ink on his back, "What's up?"

He moaned, eyes closing, but his teeth ground as he trembled, his hand gripping her waist tighter. "I did not say you could do that." His words were simple, hitched, and desperately fighting for reason.

-

Lacking any subtly, especially in his company, she answered him with a single, blunted statement: "She was raped."

Beyril poked her lip out gently, not letting her eyes drift open for a moment, then letting them flick up to hold his, still rotating her hips. She let her fingers gingerly brush at the base of his shaft, her chest and collar flushing with the control it took her to just tease, "Please, Tony? Please fuck me."

-----------

Akira paused a moment, gears turning in his head for a moment before he spoke, "Psychologically, it makes sense. But where does this leave us? I'm assuming she left her journal out again? She knows you poke in it when she does this. She left it out because she wanted you to know. She's too smart to just forget. Especially about something that heavy. She wanted you to know. Why do you think that is?"