divided | ( open post! ) voicetest → luke castellan!

( open post! ) voicetest → luke castellan!

what do:
→ drop a prompt (images work best for me!) or a previously written scenario.
→ completely up to date (but if you throw hoo at me I will have to rely on you and Google).
→ i'm gonna be slow because i'm possessed. (what else is new?)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ clarisse's eyes follow the direction luke points, over his shoulder somewhere — she's lucky she's tall enough she can actually see over his shoulder instead of having to look around his whole body. she pushes off the doorframe, and when he doesn't move immediately, she glances behind him again and then regards him with a slightly quizzical brow. ]

Are you...?

[ going to move, she says with her eyes. she could just push past him, bump shoulders with him and press on to secure her privacy, but she doesn't. his room isn't a battlefield, nor is it anything to be invaded and conquered. it's simply his room, and she is a stranger in unfamiliar territory. ]

Unless there's another one.

[ it seems weird that a single apartment would have more than one bathroom, and he just forgot to mention it, but she's never been good at reading luke. she's not good at reading a lot of people, or anything at all. books bore her, and she finds them difficult to get through with her dyslexia, anyway. people are a lot harder, even without words jumbling around on the page in front of her. people have emotions and feelings she doesn't always understand, motivations that don't always occur or make sense to her. picking up on subtlety has never been one of her fortes — ares children are always so blunt, and she spends so much of her time with her siblings, she's never needed to learn. now, she wishes she had. ]

[ he takes a wide step back, clearing the doorway for her. he hadn't realised he'd been blocking the way. clarisse, after all, is a bull, and when something blocks her path, she doesn't stand there idly watching it. it's always been something he'd been envious of, her ability to just charge at anything so confidently. a hermes kid sort of stumbles when in the face of something big and foreboding. he'd know — he tripped over his own feet a few times. ]

[ luke doesn't want to think of what it means that she's simply not pushing him out of the way and stomping her way to his bathroom. it's not that she's developed manners or anything. it's something deeper that he can't see, not even he can figure it out with his years of knowing her. ]

[ with a wide gesture of his arm sweeping the air, he waits for clarisse to step over the threshold. it's not a gesture made out of mocking, but an invitation. he doesn't feel his mouth working at the moment to properly answer her, let alone mumble a sorry. hermes kids aren't the most talented with their tongues, but they're good at thinking on their feet and manipulating almost anything — space not excluded. ]

[ clarisse nods, not really out of gratitude, just an acknowledgement of his movement at all, and passes him without a word, heading straight back to the bathroom in the corner. she still feels odd, using his bathroom at all, being that it's one of the most private places in anyone's home. she doesn't necessarily feel like she's invading his privacy, because he let her in, he gave her permission, but it makes her think.

why did he bring her here at all, other than she demanded him to? he could have easily said no, we're done, go home, but he didn't. and now here she is, in his bathroom with his clothes and she wonders just how the hell any of this happened, why they're even still going through with it. something changed today — she can feel it — and she has to wonder if he can feel it, too. it's impossible to tell if they're really on the same page because it's impossible for her to figure out what luke is really thinking — that's always been annabeth's field of expertise.

she closes the door lightly, setting luke's clothes on the bathroom counter. she stands in front of the mirror and hardly recognizes the girl reflected back at her. sometimes, she forgets she can be "pretty." she's so used to being rough and tubmle that it still surprises her when she looks in the mirror and sees someone silena once called beautiful. she has a hard time believing it herself, even now.

she smiles sadly to herself in the mirror, wishing silena were here to reassure her now, to tell her she's not making a mistake, she's doing the right thing, and that this isn't totally stupid and crazy what she's doing with luke, whatever that even is. silena was always wiser than she looked, and clarisse adored that about her. sometimes her wisdom was completely lost on her, but it always came back to her when she really needed it. she can almost hear silena whispering in her ear next to her as she pulls her hair out of the messy bun it had been in, hushed words about love and hate and beauty and fate. she wonders, for just a moment, if silena were here now, if she'd be teasing her or warning her.

she shakes her hair around her, letting it fall loose and then pulling it around to one shoulder. it's gotten longer over the years, out of a general neglect, but also because silena liked it like this. chris liked it too, but he actually preferred when it was short. something about it looking more badass — he did always have a thing for powerplay, not that she ever complained. asserting her dominance in bed just made things more fun.

she reaches behind her for the zipper, only to remember that she had one of her cabin mates zip her up this morning. no one dared try to say anything snide to her about wearing a dress or asking for help zipping it up; after years of living with her, they all know what they'd get if they tried. she tries to reach over her shoulder to get at it that way, but with little luck. she could keep trying in vain, but she'd probably break her arm first before she reached the tiny little fucker.

she takes a moment to stare at herself in shame before she finally works up the nerve to ask for help from luke castellan. this could possibly be the most embarrassing moment of her life, right after percy drenched her in toilet water when she was fourteen. ]

Luke...?

[ it sounds almost strangled, like she's not sure how to say it, and it sounds foreign to her, in a voice she isn't quite sure belongs to her. it sounds too friendly, too familiar, too afraid, like she's questioning the fact that she's even saying it at all as much as she's asking if he's still there. gods, she hopes he's still there — she really doesn't want to have to go find him. ]

[ luke's busy doing … what, exactly? clarisse is in his bathroom doing gods know what. is she rifling through all of his shit? is she going to leave some nasty prank for him in there? while the latter would've been plausible back in camp, he very much doubts clarisse is going to step back into the shoes of a fourteen year-old, especially not when she's dressed like how she is. he hasn't given himself much time to think it over, the way she's changed, and not just physically, either. she's a lot more quiet now, still as loud and abrasive and obnoxious as she had been when he'd been in her life, but something in her seems to have dimmed. luke has a feeling he had a part of that. ]

[ but he's sitting on his bed, then he moves to his closet, shutting the door to only open it once again. he pushes a shirt around, unfolds a folded corner, then closes it again. it's odd, having her in his apartment. it doesn't feel as cold as it had when it was only him. but while he has no false belief that she'll be lingering, he has to wonder what she means to do if she's stealing his clothes as though she's the spawn of hermes herself. is it a trick? he doesn't see what sort of war strategy she's implementing by asking for his clothes while showing him a much more vulnerable side to herself. ]

[ thankfully, it's her voice that gives him a purpose. him walking back and forth, pacing like the god of travelling's son he is, has him feeling uncertain of what he's allowed to transpire thus far. he's meant to be protecting himself from people like her, even though he so much as welcomed her to break his jaw in half again. ]

[ he walks to the bathroom, but stops before he gets too far. he doesn't come to the threshold, doesn't move so he can see her at all. he's merely hiding behind the wall as though she's something to be scared of. and she is. his tone is so uncertain: ] What?

[ clarisse exhales heavily, not realizing she'd been holding her breath this whole time waiting for luke to answer. thank the gods he does, sounding just as uncertain as she does. it allows her to relax a little more, to carefully open the door and peek her head around the corner, just to make sure he's actually there. she's not hiding from him, exactly, but she still feels so embarrassed that she even has to ask him to do this at all. it's better that he's here, though. there's no way she ever would've gotten this damn thing off on her own back at her place.

she opens the door a little wider, enough for both of them to be able to stand in the threshold. she looks at him awkwardly, suddenly very aware of what she's about to ask him to do and unsure if she can actually go through with it. hasn't she asked enough of him already today? ]

Uh. Could you...

[ and she turns her back to him without actually finishing her request, holding her hair out of the way so it doesn't fall over the zipper, but also just to have something to hold onto, something to do with her hands that she isn't quite sure what to do with. she looks back at him from over her shoulder, just to make sure he understands, her eyes almost threatening don't make me say it. ]

[ his legs move of his own accord. he stands at the very threshold of the bathroom and simply stares at her. it's as though she's like any creature he's seen before, standing in her bathroom, back to him — the clarisse la rue he knows would never bare such a vulnerable part of her body, not even to her own cabinmates. ]

Yeah.

[ a small, dark part of luke thinks to make her say it. could i what, la rue? what is it that you could possibly need from me? but the quiet voice inside of him that wants to spite her, to get payback for all the shit she's done to him — punching and punishing him continuously like he's still the bad guy — is just that: quiet. it's a luke that's angry, the kind of wrath that had spurred him on to take on a world much larger than one, sole demigod. ]

[ he wonders if this is a trick. did clarisse learn something from spending so much time with the aphrodite kids? but it's a cruel thing to think. clarisse hardly thinks well of her own body, unless it can be turned into a weapon ... and using it as silena had once done so, he doubts her even capable. he stares at her neck, though, then her shoulders, then those powerful shoulder-blades that work as hard, if not even more so, than her own legs. but when his eyes lift, he sees hers, and that desire to push her to say it, to even demand it of him, dissipates almost instantly. ]

Right. [ his own voice sounds rough. ] Okay.

[ taking a step forward, luke's hands remain uselessly by his sides. his hands are the most powerful tool he has — nothing can stop him when he puts them to work, whether it be a lock or a computer or a sword. but he finds his fingers slack, the bones in them turned to fluid. he moves closer so he can feel the heat of her body almost soak through his own clothes, as if they're in some sort of water bubble. outside, in the real world, she could barely touch him, not even when her own hand had been in his. but here, in his own private den, he finds heat searing his skin at the mere proximity he is to her. ]

[ one hand comes to lightly touch her shoulder, as if to anchor him — for his own purpose? or that of the zipper? — and the other latches onto the zip and begins pulling it down. the hand on her shoulder disappears, though, to come and hang uselessly by his side, but the teeth are hard, as all zippers are, and he finds that he has to brace the dress in place by curving his hand against the slope of her side, just before the bone of her hip. he keeps his eyes trained on her back, on watching the teeth of the zipper open up as if a mouth, as the knuckle of one of his fingers slides down her spine lightly as its revealed to him. ]

[ as soon as he agrees fully, she turns her head away from him, absently playing with her hair in his hesitation. it's the hand on her shoulder that freezes her where she stands, like a remote hitting pause. her whole body tenses, and a shiver runs down her spine. she wonders if he could feel it, the way his touch makes her nervous as only a touch can. clarisse has nerves of steel when it comes to battle and engaging the enemy — but here? so far away from anything worth fighting, so far from her comfort zone, that courage that makes her a feared warrior of ares dissolves with one touch.

as the zipper begins to come down, clarisse moves one of her hands instinctively to hold the dress up in the front. by the time he has the zipper all the way undone, it will be so loose it would simply fall down if she doesn't keep it from doing so. she isn't ready to bare that much to luke, though she still isn't sure where their boundaries are. there must be a line in the sand somewhere, they just haven't found it yet — or, maybe, it just hasn't been drawn yet.

she bites her lip self-consciously when he places his hand on her side, knowing full well that he's almost done with the zipper, yet part of her doesn't want him to be. part of her — a part she never shows to anyone (not since chris, not since silena) — wants to reach around with the hand in her hair and keep his hand there, right there on her side, wants to say something stupid like don't stop, wants him to do more than just unzip her dress. but the rational part of her, the part that keeps reminding her that this is luke castellan, will do no such thing.

so she stands there, his knuckle dragging down her spine along with the zipper, and she curses the gods, curses the fates, curses anyone she can think of. most of all, she curses luke castellan and she curses herself. ]

[ who knew a dress could be so terrifying? ]

[ luke has not been at the mercy of anyone showing them their vulnerabilities for so long that it shakes him to be at the mercy of clarisse's. she's as strong as steel, tougher than any metal forged, but here she is, baring her back to a boy who had pushed his sword into so many of them before. ]

[ when the zipper has reached the very end of its life, luke's hand drops from it, but the one on her hip lingers. it seems as though the breath within him had simply stopped, curdled somewhere in his throat, and is only now being released. his heart hammers in his chest, a monster out of his very own control. it's clear to him that her hands are busy holding the dress up. his eyes travel up the path of her spine to see her back is completely bare — luke isn't new to this, undressing girls isn't something he's never done before, but it's startling to him of how much of a girl clarisse is being right now. where's her armour? where is all the metal she surrounds her delicate body in to protect herself from monsters like him? ]

You gonna be okay? [ even though luke thinks to move back, to take several steps in that direction, those treacherous fingers of his curl into her hip and anchor him there. his eyes move up from the back of her neck to look at her earlobe, at how its bared to him from the way she's pulled her hair to the side. so many soft spots; he wonders if any of them are her achilles heel. ]

[ as exposed as she feels right now, she doesn't feel particularly uncomfortable. her heart is beating as fast as it does in the heat of battle, though the cause of it is something far less violent, but just as exciting. there's a familiar warmth that rises to her cheeks and her shoulders, even her ears. surely luke can see how flustered she is, but she tries not to dwell on that. she tries not to dwell on the fact that his hand is still on her hip, his fingers curling into her side, or the fact that she still doesn't want him to remove it.

where is her armor? she hasn't lost it, not yet, she's just been hiding it behind familiarity and unfamiliar touches she wants to be more than that. she knows she shouldn't, though, knows she's already crossed over enemy lines into unknown and dangerous territory. but there's something thrilling about not knowing what to expect, not being able to predict what luke is going to do — or even what she is going to do — and being completely defenseless in his presence. she doesn't need armor to face him, and she turns around with a look of incredulity on her face — had he really just asked if she was going to be okay?

but then, without even thinking about it, her armor flares up, and she's on the defensive, completely destroying whatever kind of moment they were just having. ]

Please, Castellan, all you did was unzip my dress. [ she'd been so good, too, but old habits die hard. she's still holding her dress with one hand while she shrugs and rolls her eyes. she can still feel the phantom weight of his hand on her shoulder, but she ignores it and everything it makes her feel. ] It's not like it meant anything.

[ she knows it's the wrong thing to say, the opposite of what she wanted to say — but she'd been getting too caught up in him, she'd been letting him get too close, and when it comes to feelings, clarisse has no strategy, no plan. feelings are the one enemy she'd rather run from than face in battle, even at her own expense. ]

[ luke takes a step back, as if stung. his mouth is pinched and his blue eyes swarm with anger. what he had thought to not be a joke seems to rear its ugly head as being one. he hadn't really meant to say anything, but, as per usual, the words had been stolen from his mouth before he could trap them between his teeth. he doesn't know why he says it; he doesn't care if she's okay, he doesn't care if she's suffocating in a dress that, while looks almost surreal on her and outlines her body shape better than the tomboyish crap she usually wears, isn't her. ]

It seemed like it meant a lot to you, La Rue. [ his eyes purposefully dip and travel down her figure. it's easy to fall back into the asshole that pushes people away with his anger. luke understands anger better than anyone. he harnesses it, but, in reality, he had let it harness him. he's meant to pull his gaze straight from her feet to her gaze, but he lets it travel up the route of her slender, tall, and surprisingly feminine, figure once again. then, his angry, blue eyes hit hers. he smirks, but it's strained, as if it's taking effort to put up this old and hardened and misfitted mask. ] Was the whole point of this trip to my place some weird Ares kid seduction plan? Because you're not doing really well at it.

[ she'd been doing just fine throwing him for a loop before her old defenses kicked in. who knew clarisse la rue was capable of looking anything like temptation? luke knows one name that had known all along, but he doesn't think of the kid who he had left to the madness of the labyrinth. revisiting the past is only good for him when it's a means for protection. his archilles heel these days is his loneliness and he has to protect that weak spot with everything he has, even if it's tossing whatever potential forgiveness he could pull from clarisse la rue to the wind. ]

[ she isn't sure why she expects luke to react any differently than he does. she thought maybe they'd both changed, but just like that, they're back to the old song and dance, her fire only growing stronger the harder he pushes at her, fans the flame. she knows it's her fault, knows she should say something, anything, but when their eyes meet, both of them glowering with an intensity that's a little frightening, she draws her mouth closed and keeps it shut.

she could say a lot of things to him right now — it wasn't until you touched me, i can see the way you look at me, this was a mistake — but she doesn't. she just stares at him for an uncomfortable amount of time, trying to process what her next move is. she's never been as good at thinking ahead as annabeth; she's always been the heat of the moment, not the morning after. she could easily shove him into the wall behind him, let her dress fall to the floor and press herself into him, lips against lips, body against body, until neither of them remembers how to breathe. she could slap him for suggesting that she wants anything to do with him like that.

but she doesn't. she doesn't do any of those things. she just grips her dress tighter, trying to calm the rage inside her, the rage that he incited, but she instigated. she was stupid to think she could walk into his apartment and try to make herself at home, try to turn enemy territory into neutral ground. but she's already here, in the middle of it, and now there's no going back. there's only one thing she can say that doesn't feel like she's being stabbed in the chest. ]

I'll be right out.

[ and she takes a step back and shuts the door in his face. she knows now silena would have warned her about this, the dangerous game you play with luke castellan, with your heart and your dignity on the line. ]

[ luke doesn't understand clarisse's deal. she shifts from hot to cold within a matter of seconds — and he can't quite keep up. but before he knows it, the door has been slammed in his face. he's gone from hot to cold himself — from cold to warm to scorching, to only find himself freezing in his own damn room. ]

[ he stares at the door and sheds himself of his jacket. a part of him, the good part, the one he thinks that wants to behave and atone and be worthy of something akin to forgiveness, drops down on the edge of his bed and pulls his shoes off. if she wants to go home after this, she can walk herself. but it's then, with the weight of his denim jacket off his shoulders and his shoes no longer weighing him down, he feels himself free to move — and, most importantly, to feel. ]

[ he marches back to the bathroom and pushes the door open. luke's never been the type to simply let others push him around. hadn't he so much as proved that to the gods? push him around and he pushes back — he'd wanted to be on his best behaviour with clarisse, to break them out of their vicious cycle of shit, but he finds that she just continues to push, push, push. ]

[ luke's observant. it's how he had managed to trick percy all those years ago, it's how he had been able to steal the master bolt from zeus. but his anger has blinded him, and with his brows pulled together and his hands bunched into tight, tight fists, all he sees when he enters the bathroom is red. not clarisse in a dress, not clarisse's bare shoulders, not clarisse's bare back. his gaze first lands on her back, on the space between her shoulderblades, before landing somewhere on her profile. ] What's your problem? Do you get off on playing games with people?

[ is this some sort of fucked up punishment? had she demanded he not leave her alone and bring her back to his simply to fuck with him? she's had enough of punching him in the face, so she's going for the gut? it's not really a secret that luke doesn't have anyone. for her to waltz back into his life and offer the hand of potential friendship, or at least a friendly acquaintanceship, is cruel if she's going to simply take it away. he understands that he deserves it, he understands that even she believes he deserves very little, but seeing it in action rather than merely thinking it scars deeper than a dragon's claw. ]

[ clarisse has just enough time to step out of dress and pull on the stupid red shirt luke gave her, her head still full of things she doesn't want to think about and things she doesn't want to feel, before luke bursts into his own bathroom. it startles her more than it should, riles her more than it should. her fingers freeze over the button she was working on — stupid backwards boy buttons — and the shirt remains only halfway buttoned, open enough that it reveals the length of her collar bone and just a hint of cleavage. the sleeves are too long, but at least the rest of the shirt covers her underwear, though only barely. with only his shirt covering her, her legs seem to go on forever.

it doesn't even occur to her that this might be considered indecent. if it were another situation, maybe she might be more embarrassed to be caught half clothed in someone else's bathroom, but as it is, she'd used to being walked in on by her brothers, and this feels no different. she can feel the rage emanating from luke and it fuels her own. it feels like just another fight with her brothers back at camp, except her gut never twists this sharply when she argues with her brothers. she never wants to drag them down and bite their lips. that's all luke. and she hates him for looking at her the way he does.

she turns swiftly on her heel to face him, eyes full fire and passion and hate all at the same time. ]

Maybe if you stopped looking at me like that, I wouldn't have a problem!

[ and it's the closest thing he's going to get to an admittance that there's something there, right here, between them. something she wants, but is too afraid to take. she's blaming it on him, because it's easier that way, but if luke is so observant, he should be able to see through it, see through clarisse's armor straight to her core, which is currently a mess of complicated emotions she's trying to hide. being friendly with luke is one thing, but they're starting to cross a line she isn't sure she's ready to cross again — the touches, the looks, wanting more — so she retreats back into her shell, just so she won't get hurt again. ]

[ it seems kind of fitting that he'd handed her a red shirt, since all he seems to see with her is red. he's not blind to see that it's a colour that suits her, but he's a little too distracted by his own anger to really take note of the view. otherwise, he'd make her uncomfortable by leering at her, having his eyes linger on her long legs or where the shirt opens to reveal even more of her flesh. she's always been tall, almost rivalling him, and while he used to think resting his arm on her shoulder when she'd been shorter had been a fun way to rile her up, he's kind of glad that she's grown to a height where that would be made near impossible. her presence has always been an overpowering one, just like her height. ]

[ it's time for him to push her, though. ares kids have always been bullies, and hermes kids have always taken the shit people throw at them without so much as a whine. he's kind of tired of being her punching bag. he's allowed it, over the last few months, because he knows he deserves it. he can't punish himself enough for fucking up big time — for misunderstanding what family really is, of allowing his anger to control him. he doesn't not think the gods deserved a smack down, but not at the cost of everyone else. ]

[ he thinks clarisse deserves one, though. he's allowed her to hit him and bruise him and bust his jaw and his nose and all without much complaint. he even walks into her fist if she holds it up high enough for him to smack into. but he's tired of the bruises and he's tired of the reminders that he's only good for one thing — and that's a repeat performance. where's the glory in doing what others have done? where's the glory, the healing, in continuously moving in a cycle where he ends up beaten rather than moving forward? luke looks at clarisse with a soft gaze for something akin to hope, that perhaps, maybe, if she forgives him, as annabeth and percy and grover and the rest of them are nowhere to be found, that maybe he can somehow forgive himself. ]

[ luke takes a step forward, towering over her — and knowing that he is, that his height is perhaps one of the only advantages he has in this. he'll always have it; clarisse may be able to cut him at the knee, but he'll always have a few inches on her to make her feel as small as she's made him feel over their brief passing. ]

Like what? [ his eyes are hard on hers, his voice still burning with anger, but he tries not to shout. he bites it out. like the name his long lost blade had taken, he tries to bite back by fighting fire with something just as hot and searing, but different. he's tired of playing by clarisse's rules; she's changed them, anyway — coming into his apartment, entering his life, leaving some stupid imprint of a fist on his face. she's wearing his shirt, and he knows, when this is all over, when she finally hightails the hades out of there, he won't be able to wash her scent out, regardless of how many times he tries. ] Seems to me you have a problem with just me being around.

[ the fire in clarisse's eyes dies down, no longer a raging inferno, but something more akin to a campfire, something both of them can relate to. camp had brought them together, once. she knows luke will never return to camp half-blood, but the warmth of the atmosphere, of friends and family alike, shines in her eyes. she's seen luke in so many different lights today, isn't quite sure which one this is.

he towers over her — only by a few inches, but still enough to be intimidating — and she holds her ground, lets his words pierce through her armor, the vehemence in his voice like poison slowly corroding her defenses. she's still angry, but not enough to bite back. there's still time to fix this, even if fixing a situation with luke castellan is the last thing she'd ever imagine herself doing. ]

I don't. [ it's quiet as much as it is true. she doesn't have a problem with him being around, not really. it's just an act, a defensive maneuver set in place for when he gets too close — she lets him get too close — and she panics; her fear of letting people in and facing her feelings has always been one of her greatest downfalls. then, just to clarify: ] Not anymore. [ she hesitates, looking him over as if she's trying to find something she lost. it's a futile effort, because she knows — she knows the old luke castellan is gone. she's seen it, she's experienced it, even if he pretends and puts up a mask of his old self, it isn't there anymore. not really. that part of him died with kronos. ] You've changed. [ it isn't forgiveness, not exactly, but it's something. ]

[ she's changed, too, literally, emotionally, mentally. she can understand how percy and annabeth and chris and silena all forgave him, but it's still too big of a leap for her to take in one day. he's already started to change her mind, just by doing all of this, for not putting up with her just putting up with him, for finally pushing back and calling her out on the things she's too afraid to admit. whether she realizes it or not, this is what she's been looking for all these years — of course it would be a son of hermes who would deliver it to her. ]

Edited 2014-04-10 01:33 (UTC)

[ he doesn't like how she shifts, hot to cold, hot to cold, hot to cold. he can't keep up. luke's used to running — he can run miles and along long stretches of land and still have a sense of place, but when it comes to clarisse these days, he can't figure her out. he still doesn't understand why she's here, in his apartment, wanting to shed the skin of a girl who is a mere stranger to him. why does she wish to bare herself to him when all she does is look at him with contempt? he's the bad guy, he's her bad guy, and yet, here she is, her tone changing to something softer, and she's looking at him like he can hang the moon for her instead of destroying it. ]

[ every time they meet, she brings up the past. every time they seem to collide, she has a bone to pick with him. but how can she still do so when he has none left? all the skeletons in his closet have evacuated the area. he's left alone, not even his thoughts care to stay and keep him warm. to him, he's always a problem for her — it's why he feels so unbalanced and unsettled with having her in his apartment, having her throw him for a loop by asking for a shirt, having her undress herself from the layers of brick she wears around her body so people like him can't even get close to touching her heart. if annabeth had listened to clarisse, if she had been wiser, had clued in a little better, she would've wrapped herself up in clarisse's impenetrable suit of armour long ago. ]

[ luke stares at her. he's not sure how much time passes between her finally relenting and his anger crumbling. his brows pull together, uncertain, confused, definitely still as angry as he had been, but he's coming down from his high. he scoffs, shaking his head, and his eyes shift from hers. she may be giving him honesty and a part of herself neither expected her to give so freely, but luke is still guarded, and he can't look her in the eye for fear of what he'll see — and of fear of what she'll see in his. ] Clearly not enough.

[ it had been a moment of weakness only seconds ago, when she'd allowed him to take down her walls. it'd been a moment of weakness for him, using her as an anchor to a world that has no place for him. but she had stepped back into her old defensive shoes and had so much as pushed him away from her and the weak spots in her armour. she may be trying to view him as the hero, but he will always be the villain in her story. ]

[ a past version of herself would've just given up at this point, shoved past him and walked out, tugging his track pants on as she stormed out of his apartment onto an unfamiliar street in an unfamiliar neighborhood. but she isn't that girl anymore and he has her grounded here, his eyes keeping her situated here, in his apartment, staring at him like she wants to strangle and kiss him at the same time. clarisse is used to boys being frustrating, but this is a whole new level of it.

she knows she can't convince him of anything, at least not with words. she doesn't have skill over her tongue like some people she knows, she only knows how to threaten and intimidate — words of reassurance and comfort aren't in her playbook. she only has her actions, and they do say actions speak louder than words. she's grateful for that, at least. it makes pushing him into the wall behind him that much easier, her lips crashing into his like she crashes into everything else in her life. it's hard and angry, but there's a passion in it she never knew she could have for him.

her hands stay planted firmly on his neck as she pulls away, staring into his eyes with an intensity that has only ever harbored hate — but there isn't any hate in her eyes, there's only a desperate craving for him to understand, that maybe if she bores her gaze into his skull he'll finally get it. ]

Enough.

[ it's just one word, somewhere in between a command and a simple statement of fact, but it speaks volumes. he's changed enough for her or she wouldn't be doing this, and she's had enough of his pathetic self-deprecating shit. she doesn't even have any pity left to give him, she just wants him to shut up. and with just one word, she's telling him to stop and start all at once, though she has no idea if her message will be clear to him or not. ]

[ he'd been expecting a punch. ]

[ a nice, firm punch to the jaw, perhaps that to the nose, breaking the bone that's only just healed from his last bump in with her. she's always leaving her marks on him in the form of bruises or broken bones or tiny, little scratches that heal over time. she never quite stays, not like the rest of them, so he expects her to present him her usual gift and then scram. ]

[ but the old clarisse of months past seems lost within the depths of the shirt she wears of his. he feels everything — the wall at his back, her hands burning his neck, her mouth on his. luke's hands have moved of their own accord, curling on the bones of her hips in a bid to keep him astride whatever idea she has inside of her head. but he doesn't have time to react or even reciprocate. like a storm, she consumes him, and he has very little time to comprehend the danger the tornado her anger and resentment and grief and friendship presents. ]

[ he stares down at her, eyes open, maybe for the first time in a long time, with his fingers gripping her sides so tight. he can feel the bones of her hips, can feel it beneath the pads of his fingers; the heat of her body burns into his. it's the most real thing he's felt ever since he crossed the border of camp. he doesn't feel as though he belongs — he very much doubts the contours of clarisse will be as soft as she is right now, or fit him like the hands of both thalia and annabeth had so right in his own grip, but, for right now, luke can feel that the world is shifting beneath his feet. the glory in repeating what others have done — this is new, and while luke has been so desperate to lead his own path, he finds himself a little panicked at such a turn. ]

[ but his hands curl into the fabric of his own shirt, the one that she wears quite clumsily on her own shoulders, raising it just slightly as he ducks his own head to hers. where she had crashed into him like an angry wave bashing against the shoreline, he meets her differently — soft and slow, he tries to coax her mouth open with his. she has already split him in half, ripping him apart, that it's time he returns the favour. ]

[ he wonders what she means, though. enough as in enough, you need to get over yourself or that he's enough, simply just enough. ]

[ if clarisse were a weaker person, she might have melted the second luke's hands found themselves back on her hips. she's only felt one of them there before, but the weight of them feels familiar, natural, like they've done this a thousand times before. maybe it's chris she's thinking of, but right now all she sees is luke, all she feels is luke.

his grip is tight and real and it keeps her focused on the moment, focused on him. her brain is screaming at her to push him away, to raise all her shields against him, but fights the urge to run away yet again from something she started, and she pushes into him, her fingers digging into the hair at the base of his neck, tugging him closer to her as he initiates the kiss. he might start it soft and slow, but clarisse meets him with all her roughness wrapped in a silk package.

the noise she makes in the back of her throat isn't something she's heard in a long time, not even in the privacy of her own bunk when none of her siblings are around to walk in on her. sparring rarely even frustrates her to the point she needs to rub one out, anyway. not a lot excites her these days — but luke, luke is new, luke is something unfamiliar, unknown, something she wants to learn and explore and conquer.

she drags her teeth across his bottom lip, breaking the kiss only to breathe shallow breaths. the corners of her lips curl upward in a smirk, but this isn't a game to her. this is as real as everything else, as real as holding his hand for the first time, except this time she won't let herself let go. ]

Convinced?

[ it's not mocking in the slightest, she just wants to know where they stand with one another, what page they're on, if they need to do anymore of this kind of catching up. she'd gladly shove him into another wall for the thrill of it if he still needs a little help getting it through his thick skull. ]

[ he thinks to say yes, but he knows that it'll be a lie. something has shifted within clarisse to make her see him for something that he's not — or someone that he is, that he simply can't spot when he looks in the mirror. luke's judgement is so clouded these days. he expects the worst from those he doesn't know, and expects the same contempt from those who he does. it's as if people can't change, as if he can't change, and perhaps clarisse's whirlwind of a personality is just what he needs to realise that things can shift and things can get better. ]

[ he gazes at her with heavy-lidded eyes, finding his heart beating quicker than he can run. he doesn't doubt she can't feel it. she's the daughter of war, even the goddess of it; there's no way she can't feel the ripples of her touch and the destruction she brings forth. his lip curls up, amused, and his blue eyes are bright. his fingers seem to shift, just slightly; he finds he doesn't particularly wnat to let her go. ]

Could do with a little more convincing.

[ one of his hands moves from her hip and grabs the fabric of the shirt at her back, pressing his knuckles hard into her spine there, trying to push her further into him. he drops his head to press his mouth against her collarbone, switching between kissing the delicate skin there and nipping at it. if he wants to be convinced, it seems as though he's got it all wrong; he's the one trying to convince her he's worth something. ]

[ clarisse is about to say something witty in response, but finds the words stolen out of her mouth, as only a child of hermes can, drawn out of her in a gasp that means nothing and means everything. she wonders why she keeps finding herself tangled in the arms of the sons of hermes, if this was her fate, if all along her heart was only meant to be stolen by the quickwitted and tricky — if this were a battle, she's already lost, just as she always seems to find herself when it comes to luke.

one hand still tangled in his hair, she guides him where she wants him to go. not just her collarbone, but her neck, too. she can imagine his lips there, and his teeth, and the bruise that might form there if he claims the skin as his own. she wants him to, anywhere, so she can wear it as a badge of honor, of pride, of change. this is a new step forward into something only they are apart of. there's no percy or annabeth or thalia or anyone — it's just luke and clarisse, and no gods could stop this now if they tried.

she turns her head, baring more of her neck to him, pressing her cheek to his, feeling that all too familiar warmth seep into her skin. her breath is shallow and warm against his ear and she tilts her head just enough to whisper one thing. ]

Bite me.

[ it's meant to be a joke, at first, a play on words for all the times they've snapped at each other and nearly bitten the other's head off — but she's also issuing him a challenge. she wants his teeth against her flesh, reminding her that she is still half mortal and that mortals can hurt and bleed and bruise and that it doesn't make you weaker or any less of a person if you do. ]

[ he tries to fight her at first, for only a mere second, when she tries to dictate where he's to go. but he finds that he likes how forceful she is, with how her grip is strong in his short cropped hair. he could fight her all day like this if she kept her fingers wrapped tightly there, nails scratching against his scalp. with her cheek pressed to his, luke shifts so his own lips barely graze the edge of her ear. at her words, he chuckles, something deep and low. he dips his head and slides his teeth down the slope of her neck, but never ones does he bite. ]

[ she may be a goddess of war, but luke will not simply comply like a soldier does to a lieutenant's words. if anything, he wants to be rebellious, if only to incur her wrath. and while he's been the target for so much of her wrath, something tells him he doesn't want to bypass this display of la rue rage. ]

[ instead, his hands move to grab her ass and haul her up against him, pelvis to pelvis, his arms swooping beneath her to hold her steady. it removes his mouth from her neck and allows him to look up at her for once. he ends up leaning his shoulders against the wall. he imagines his hair is mussed and his own eyes are a bright blue, face flushed and his neck red and hot. ]

[ luke smirks. his voice is husky, almost lost in how heavy his chest heaves. ] Was that an order or a suggestion?

[ her fingers dig into his scalp, tugging at his hair, as his teeth graze her neck. he's doing this on purpose, deliberately disregarding her command, teasing her with his laugh and his bite that isn't really a bite at all. she actually likes it a little better this way, him not listening to her, having a mind of his own. it makes things interesting, unpredictable, exciting.

he hoists her up and for the first time she's actually looking down at him instead of up, and she can't say she doesn't like the view. she almost expects him to shove her into the wall, but he doesn't, which is actually a little disappointing. where's the anger from before, the intensity? here is the raging inferno that nearly destroyed olympus reduced to only an ember. if he wants her to channel her rage, he'll have to meet her with the same level of intensity.

her legs curl around his hips, and she presses herself hard against him, the heat of him nearly searing her flesh beneath only the thin layers of fabric she wears. she thinks for a moment that it isn't fair that she's already half naked, but she's distracted by the way he looks at her, even just by the way he looks. it occurs to her she's never seen his face this close before and she takes a moment to stare at him, matching his expression with as much mischievousness but also with a hint of curiosity.

absently, she runs her fingers over the long scar under his right eye, almost with a sense of awe. she's no stranger to battle scars — they define her, scattered across her body, old and new testaments to her losses as well as her victories. they hold stories only scars can tell; some she wants to share, while others need no explanation. some she wears with pride, others with shame, though every scar is a victory in the end — proof that you're still alive to fight another battle, whether you win or lose.

she leans in, not to kiss him, just to tug at his lip with her teeth, breathing one word against his mouth. ]

Both.

[ his eyelids flutter when she touches his scar. it's not something many look at with fondness, not with the softness he can see so obvious in her intent gaze. luke usually flinches in a bid to cover up the reminder of his failure and his anger, but he finds that he doesn't want to jerk his face from clarisse's scorching finger. he finds himself taken off-guard, though, and his gaze and mouth softens, pliable beneath hers. ]

[ luke pulls his head back slightly to release his lip from between her teeth. his palm curves to the contours of her ass, a finger of his slipping just beneath the underwear she wears. ] I'll take it under advisement.

[ he's beginning to think he's not against her trying to seduce him anymore, not when she's like fire in his hands and all she does is burn him. she's almost naked to him, wearing his shirt with nothing underneath but a pair of panties that he could just so easily tear off and bare her to him. but with her legs wrapped tightly around his waist and the weight of her pressed against him, luke knows he can't accomplish what he wants while standing upright in his bathroom. ]

[ with another hoist of strength he didn't know he still longer possessed, he shifts her so she's a little higher than being hip to hip with him. pelvis to pelvis works, but if he's going to move, he needs to not have her distracting him with the friction of her right there. it's all about him gaining the dominance, not her; let her think she's steering the ship, but he's the one who is making it turn left and right and sink beneath the rocky waves of the ocean. pushing himself off the wall, he repeats the action by pressing his face against the column of her neck, his nose nuzzling at the warm skin there. and he begins to move them out of the bathroom he knows like the back of his own hand. rather than spin them so he can toss her onto the bed, he lets himself walk back, teeth grazing her skin lightly and not in the way she so intently wants, and lets himself drop back on the bed with his legs bent at his knees over the side. ]

[ while he kids himself into thinking they're both not going to fight for the wheel to steer, luke surrenders himself by dropping back and pressing a hand firmly against the working muscle of her lower back. ]

[ under normal circumstances, she'd hit him in response to him mouthing off like that, but this is not a normal circumstance. this is the farthest thing from a normal circumstance — and it's not like he's disrespecting her authority, because she doesn't own him and he doesn't have to answer to her. the way he so casually defies her — though isn't defiance second nature to him? — gets her heart racing, and she has to wonder if he can feel it, pounding against her chest like a war drum, and even harder between her legs. ]

You'd better.

[ he hoists her up again, and then they're moving, like only a child of hermes can. she hardly even notices the change of scenery, sinking her nails into the back of his neck and raking them across his skin in retaliation for the lack of pressure on hers. she clings to him as they move, eyes closed, breathing him in. there isn't the familiar scent of the outdoors anymore — he left that life a long time ago — but there's something else, something she can't quite pinpoint but wants more of because it's so distinctly luke.

the position they're in now, her straddled on top of him, isn't something she's unaccustomed to. how many times has she pinned someone like this in a friendly match of sparring? she can't even count on one hand, let alone both. this is a position she's comfortable with, the position that gives her the most control, but the way luke drops back like that, almost preemptively, not waiting for her to press her hands into his chest and shove him back — that makes her think he has a plan, that this position won't last long.

and while he doesn't give her the opportunity to shove him into the bed, he has given her this moment of opportunity, so she's going to take full advantage of it. she's as aggressive in bed as she is with anything else — for her, it offers the heat and the rush of battle but also the added gratification and release only sex can provide. she was always so much calmer when she and chris were dating — he subdued her in the only way he knew how; he became her outlet for all her frustration and he took it willingly, with as much understanding as he could (and when no one else was around, she let him fuck her into the pool table).

of course, luke isn't chris and she knows that. she isn't pretending or deluding herself into thinking otherwise — she was always in control with chris, but luke is a different story entirely. the power structure isn't the same; it's almost balanced, both of them pushing and pulling until eventually the scale evens out.

with a curl of her lip, she leans down on top of him, rolling her hips into his as her hands slide under the fabric of his shirt. her teeth graze his neck just as delicately as he'd been with her, her hands moving up his chest slowly, deftly, her words hot against his ear. ]

Are you going to take that off or do I have rip it off?

[ with a grip like hers and the strength of an army, it's certainly not an empty threat. ]

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