( open post! ) voicetest → luke castellan!

[marred]

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?)

Comments

[marred]

[ sometimes luke wonders if clarisse is too sharp. he has cut and scarred himself on that of a dragon claw — is she no different? he has been bruised and broken by her hand, even though the markings have faded with time unlike that of a dragon. perhaps she's more drakon than dragon, capable of breathing fire, but never quite gifted in charring him. ]

[ a part of luke knows exactly what it is she wants — and he wants to give it to her, to plunge into her until she combusts, dissipates beneath his hands like that of the spark he had killed within himself — but luke finds he doesn't want to simply be a mere fuck she'll forget in the theatre of her memories. heroes are remembered — the ones worth remembering are held upon pedestals, and those who are beneath them strive to be them. luke knows he's no hero, no matter what percy might have said on his deathbed, but he finds he wants to strive for a place within clarisse's memory where heroes are stored and remembered. he will fade, one day, from the lives he had touched and destroyed, but unlike the marking of the dragon that will forever remind him of his successes and failures and what he had gained and lost, they will never look upon their own flesh and think luke. even the redness on her thigh he had sucked into being will fade with time. ]

[ clarisse is sharp and hard where luke has now turned soft and blunt, and he finds that his fingers only continue to stay hooked in her underwear, knuckle pressed hard against her hip, with him pressing now right against her underwear. all he has to do is rip it from her like she had his shirt and his sense of security — no one can touch him within his fortress, he had thought, not until clarisse la rue, but he doesn't do as he so desires. he continues to press his pelvis into hers, feeling himself spark like a fire where she grinds; it should be enough to make him comply and lose control, but luke possesses a willpower that is only unique to him, and while his eyes roll and he groans low and deep within his own throat, he persists on. one hand leaves her underwear to try and burrow beneath her back, the ascent up her spine causing him to stretch and extend above her. for once, his touch lacks that of his claws; blunt finderpads against a canvas waiting to be painted red. when he reaches the middle of her shouder-blades, he gives her a push, pressing hard against the notches of her spine there. ] Then c'mere.

[ she drags her mouth against his, bites at his lip, pulling the bottom in a bid to rip him apart as if he is meat dangling in front of her, but luke finds she doesn't simply kiss him. kissing is more intimate than what they're doing now — and he finds himself longing for it, the intimacy, the belonging, the acceptance, the gift that he deserves as much. ]

[rues]

[ clarisse can already start to feel herself unwind, losing focus on what's happening and how it's happening — just that it is. with every sway of their hips together, she finds herself more and more lost in luke castellan. the sounds he's making and the words he speaks sound distant, but she tries to pull herself back to the reality of his hand against her back. unconsciously, she arches into him, making it easier for him to roam and easier for her to press up into him. her breath hitches, and she kisses him desperately to muffle the moan that almost escapes her lips. ]

You know, it's generally easier to fuck someone who isn't still wearing underwear.

[ she keeps one hand in his hair, keeping his lips drawn to hers, and tries to worm herself out of her underwear with one hand, but it's proving exceedingly difficult, especially with him in between her legs like that. ]

Really should've been the first thing to go.

[ and she isn't quite sure why she's being so talkative now, but something about the heat of the moment gets her mouth going. she tries to not break her kisses, instead kissing the words directly onto his lips. ]

[marred]

[ is that what this is? he wants to ask her, for a fuck implies it's just that — a fuck; a good, clean, hard fuck. no ties, no emotions — nothing but war between two people. it doesn't matter if both walk away with injuries; it's not as though she'll come back and ensure the broken bones she's left him with are healing properly. she doesn't care — and that much is clear. if luke hadn't been so focused on the moan that rumbles against his chest from hers, he'd wonder who it is she's seeing above her, rocking into her. ]

[ but now that he has what he wants, luke presses his mouth harder against hers, licking at her teeth and the roof of it, as his hand drops from her back. he lifts his hips up from hers and presses the heel of his hand right against her sex in a bid to shut up her complaints. and considering he has gotten her mouth, despite her not understanding or comprehending what he's been saying, he tries to keep her lips locked to his; he tries to soften the kiss with less teeth, opening his mouth beneath hers in a bid to breathe her in and breathe himself into her. ]

[ he shifts his weight so both of his hands can be free from holding him up. his back muscles tense beneath the strength he pulls from, and he hooks his fingers in the waistband of her underwear. he thinks to leave them there again, perhaps get her hopes up, but she has given him the one thing he had wanted, even if he hadn't so much as directly commanded it as she had, and he thinks it only fair he pulls them down as far as he can bend his own back without separating his mouth from hers. ]

Gotta do all the work, as per normal. [ he breathes it into her mouth, his own teeth coming to gently pull at her bottom lip as he spares a quick glance down between their bodies. his hands come back to her hips, but one escapes and presses its way, heel of his palm against her lower back, in a bid to keep her close to him. his mouth captures hers once again, not too keen on separating them, and he presses his hard cock against her entrance, but doesn't thrust himself into her. ]

[rues]

[ honestly, it's better he didn't ask. clarisse is rarely truly intimate with people — even with chris, it wasn't the sex that was really all that intimate; it was everything before and after: the holding hands, the cuddling, the quiet makeout sessions in quiet places where no one could hear them laughing with every kiss and flutter of eyelashes. she isn't really sure she knows how to be soft the way he wants her to be during sex; it's always been such a power play for her, and that in and of itself is intimate in its own way, just not the way he wants it to be. she would've found it insulting if he'd accused this of being nothing and that would've been the end of it, regardless of how close they both are.

as it is, she finds herself gasping into his mouth as the heel of his hand presses down between her legs, causing the muscles in her thighs to tense involuntarily. if she had anymore complaints, they're completely lost on his lips, her words and her breath stolen away by the only person she is finding that truly knows how. had chris ever made her feel this breathless, at such a loss for words? she can't even seem to remember, not with luke's hands sliding down her legs, pulling her underwear with them.

she doesn't even have it in her to say something witty, or even attempt to, because as soon as she moves to open her mouth against his, he claims it once again, and all she can manage is a breathy inhale as she's finally able to feel all of him against her. she smooths the hair against the base of luke's neck, as if petting him will coerce him into her as she whispers something that sounds like a promise against his lips. ]

Next time, you won't have to.

[marred]

[ next time, she says, and it's almost enough to make him thrust his hips into hers and possess her the way he wants to. but luke refrains, restraining himself; his hips rock slightly, almost out of his control, but luke's held on for too long now to simply let go. the hand at her back tries to claw and dig into the muscle there for purchase, but his nails only scratch hard at her back. ]

[ he smirks against her mouth. he finds the loud tenor of his voice lost somewhere within his throat when his breath hitches, almost choking him. ] Why wait? How about now? [ he allows himself to bite her lip then, following her demand from earlier. he wants to drop his head to her shoulder, but he's fought so hard for her mouth that he leaves it for another time — next time, in her own words. he keeps his hips as still as possible, but he finds them shift ever so slightly. the tip of his nose presses hard against hers, a mirror of his pelvis against her own — but not quite as hard, though — as he releases her mouth, if only briefly. ] Wanna tell me what you want?

[ she'd been so vocal before ... and as if to emphasis his eagerness to comply, he mirrors one of her earlier moves, taking her bottom lip between his teeth and releasing it ever so slowly. ]

[rues]

[ clarisse returns his smirk, that mischievous glint flaring in her eyes once again. why wait, he asks? well, because she has plans and though these plans involve him, they are very classified, secret plans than she can't just divulge to him or it would ruin the whole operation. ]

Well, if I told you... [ she starts as she holds his gaze and brushes her hand over his left cheek. her fingers sweep down his neck — the lightest touch she never knew she was capable of — then across his shoulder and the hill of his bicep, all the way down his arm until her hand meets the one he has on her hip, her fingers dancing lightly over his. ] I'd have to kill you. [ it's a stupid joke, but her shit-eating grin and the fondness of her voice makes it worth it. ] Besides, what would you look forward to if we did everything now?

[ the suggestion in her voice in genuine. she doesn't do one-night stands, and luke... she never thought she would say it, but luke is worth coming back to. not just for the sex, either. she wants to come back for him, to build something new out of broken pieces of the past. she still harbors a lot of mixed emotions about silena's death and everything that happened with kronos, but she has seen the regret, the remorse in luke's eyes and for once she actually believes it. she's much more willing to forgive now, though it isn't likely she'll ever forget — how could she?

she actually will tell him what she wants, though, her tone very much sincere — each word said with an alarming sense of care despite the seeming insincerity of her request — and still very much a whisper as she takes hold of the hand luke has on her hip with her own, tangling her fingers with his. this will be her tether in the moments to come, when she knows she will lose herself completely to luke, and only his hand in hers will be enough to guide her out. ]

I want you to fuck me, Luke Castellan.

[ or would you like her to repeat it? ]

[marred]

[ he'd very much like her to repeat it — over and over and over. hearing her say his name almost seems to shock him out of his stupor. rather than her tone be filled with contempt, it's filled with something warmer, hotter, that it almost spurs his hips onward and into her. but his arms shake, just a little, from all the strength it takes to not simply do just that and cave in. ]

[ he has a feeling she's already doing just that — killing him. it takes him by surprise, the tone of her voice and the way she just says it — he'd been expecting a girl who was too shy to demand what she wanted in the sheets, but he wonders why a bed is any different to a battlefield. clarisse calls out commands and attacks with all the firepower at her arsenal. why would the lack of clothes make any of this different? ]

[ his gaze upon her is soft, something full of wonderment. he doubts he's ever really seen this creature before, not in the years that he had known her at camp half-blood. clarisse la rue had always been bossy and overwhelming, but he finds her presence washing over him like that of a wave, the force so powerful it knocks him off his own steady feet. ]

[ your wish is my command is on the very tip of his throat, but his hips seem to override his mouth as he slowly pushes himself into her with a deep, rumbling groan, a fuck mixed up within there. where their hands are one, his fingers squeeze hers tight, almost in an attempt to squash the birdlike bones beneath her skin to dust. he pulls their joint hands up and over her head, finding himself anchored there as he makes himself at home deep within her. he drops his head to her shoulder to bite at the flesh there, before he pulls himself back, withdrawing from her warmth, to only to return with another thrust. ]

[rues]

[ clarisse would like to celebrate in her victory over him — giving him a command and having him follow through with it, unlike so many times previously when he offhandedly takes her demands into consideration, only occasionally taking them seriously to heart — but he doesn't give her time to gloat and revel in her words. instead, he lets her revel in him, and her hips rise to welcome him. her legs spread wide with a roll of her hips, taking him in as far as he will go.

the firmness of luke's grip and the firmness of him inside her almost have her questioning which one she enjoys more — the moan that escapes her lips, something between a battle cry and the noise one makes after getting punched in the gut, decides for her, his name caught in her trenches of her throat for now. her free arm clings to luke's neck for dear life, the only thing keeping her from drowning in the sea of passion — passion she'd almost forgotten she had.

so often at camp she finds herself surrounded by heroes younger than herself who haven't yet been jaded to the real world of being a demigod, and at what cost it takes to secure your place in that world without getting killed. clarisse has seen so much sacrifice, so much death, she sometimes wonders if all ares children are cursed to watch so many of their friends die for the sake of a cause they may or may not believe in.

the rush of battle simply hasn't been enough for her these days, though at camp and in the field she plays up the bravado like a pro (hardly even percy notices something is off) — but why should she send her friends to die for another war she knows nothing about? and in the sense of self-preservation, why should she fight? her guilt over silena's death still eats at her from the inside, but if she can forgive luke, and he can forgive himself, she can forgive herself and find her passion for being a hero again — and not just the surly, aggressive ares cabin leader that doesn't take no for an answer. ]

[marred]

[ his thrusts become more erratic. rather than following the pattern of pushing himself to the hilt and pulling himself completely out, he finds that his hips are simply smashing into hers like that of a tide against a rocky cliff. it's not as though he doesn't mind it; clarisse is warmer than he ever thought she'd be to him. where she had been ice, and had left him feeling frostbitten, he finds himself feeling burnt, as though he had flown to the sun itself. ]

[ he tries to bite down the groan, but he's turned into a mythical monster himself, with his teeth sinking into the bend of her shoulder. ] Gods, Clarisse. [ he wonders if he'll survive this particular quest. he doubts she won't leave him with marks, but none of them will be as permanent as the scar a golden apple had simultaneously gifted and cursed him with. but he knows her mark will be different. clarisse repeats things that others have done, and does so to find glory meet her at the very bitter end each and every time. but she has stepped out of her routine of a repetitious cycle to find herself on a quest to heal — heal herself, heal him, heal them both. and perhaps that will be her mark, the permanent reminder she leaves of i was here — her forgiveness in his life has elicited forgiveness within and for himself. ]

[ the fingers of his hand in hers grips tighter, trying to imprint his blunt fingernails into the skin of her knuckles. he lifts his face from her shoulder to press his mouth drunkenly to hers, but he misses then and presses against the corner. ] I'm — [ but the thought gets lost as his other hand grips her hip in a bid to anchor himself within this stormy sea. his next attempt at capturing her mouth finds him prying hers open with his lips, haphazardly kissing her and licking at her mouth at the same time. all luke can focus on is her body — how hot she is beneath his mouth, beneath his hands, and how she cocoons him in a scorching heat. ]

[rues]

[ clarrise rocks her hips into luke like a ship trying to navigate unknown and tempestuous waters. she doesn't have percy's natural understand of the sea, has no concept of how to control it — though she doubts anyone truly can aside from the god of the sea himself. even then she knows how easy it is to fall prey to crashing waves, and if she isn't careful, she might lose herself, find herself drowning under his weight, much sooner than she'd like.

his rhythm is erratic, unlike the beating of her heart, which beats fast and steady, a battle drum raging against her chest — how can he not hear it? it rings in her ears, beat after beat, directing the way her hips roll in an attempt to find the balance in their discord. part of her wishes she could swallow him up entirely, like the mighty charybdis, only to spit him back out again and start all over.

perhaps the world has already done that to him, though — taken a young hero and thrown him into the sea of monsters, just to watch him fail as he let anger and resentment swallow him alive, becoming exactly that which he was intended to fight until the moment came that he would have his second coming, one where the gods and everyone else no longer needed another hero or martyr. she wonders what it must've been like, thrown so abruptly back into a life that is no longer his own. ]

Fuck, Luke — [ she's cut off by her breath catching in her throat, his teeth sinking into her shoulder. she arches into him and with it presses her head as far back into the sheets as it will go, returning his grip on her hand with enough force to bend even iron to her will. she can't even begin to comprehend how much she loves the way he says her name, breathy and hot against her shoulder; the way she knows she has done this to him, reduced him to desperate thrusts and her name on his lips. it's almost enough to send her over the edge, almost enough to send her reeling toward the only thing that makes sense right now, but she's nothing if not stubborn and she refuses to let this be over so soon, despite the rising heat boiling inside her threatening to explode and her near inability to breathe.

she draws her free hand over his jaw as his mouth comes to meet hers again, frenzied and sloppy; her fingers brush over his scar, but she keeps her hand there, at his cheek, gently directing him where to go. she isn't often this gentle, but scars are meant to be revered — not feared as so many people believe — and her hand there, gentle and unmoving, is her call to worship. ]

[marred]

[ his scar has always been something people fear; they stare at it like it's some big, ugly thing. and luke has always wondered if that's what it truly is. he's conflicted on how he feels about it, for it's a reminder of a success and a reminder of a failure. but with clarisse's hands, so soft against it in a way that makes him want to purr appreciation for her not finding it hideous, luke wonders if it's something to behold, like that of a golden apple. but he doesn't mean to snatch his face away from her hands; he presses his lips, ever so briefly, to the palm of her hand, as if to say sorry. ]

[ he's positive it's his name, desperate and hot, on her tongue that sends him over the edge. she's been pushing him all this time to this point, to stand at the very edge of the cliff, toes curled over the rocks. he's been waiting for her to push him, with all that ares strength to send him soaring into the sharper rocks below. but he finds that he's not alone when he falls, for it's not the sharp blades he falls into to cut him, but it's the softness of clarisse, with all her hard edges, that he collapses onto. pressing his chest to hers, his hand wrapped in her own never stops gripping hers as tightly as one would the sun if they could reach it. luke groans, his hips moving fast, erratic as they were before, but the tenacity behind them begins to dissipate. his sloppy kisses turn into something more accurate, more practised, with him being able to focus on her mouth and rather than the feeling of him within her. ]

Fucking hell, Clarisse. [ he shifts to pull her earlobe between his teeth, breathing heavily against her flesh as he drags his teeth down the slope of her neck, hips still moving against hers. even though he's beginning to feel spent, he likes the feeling of his bone against hers, him being hilt deep within this powerful goddess. his other hand comes to press low on her abdomen in a bid to press against where they join. the hand held against the sheets tries to submerge hers beneath the waves of the linens, pressing so hard he's not sure if he's somehow melded his fingers to hers. ]

[rues]

[ for a moment, it really does feel like she's drowning. if she were any smaller, she would be crushed under his weight, her desperate attempt to breathe anything but luke a battle she can no longer win. she loses herself to him completely, her orgasm hitting her like a tidal wave, and all she can do is gasp, her fingers leaving the comfort of his face to dig into his neck, as it crashes over her. her hips arch sharply into his and stay there, unmoving for what seems like an eternity, every muscle in her body tense and frozen as if she has been simply turned to stone. heat courses all through her body — hot enough that she has to wonder if she was forged by hephaestus himself.

her eyes squeeze shut, not for lack of wanting to look at him, but simply because she is trying to tame the room that is spinning around her. she wants to say something witty like don't you mean tartarus, but finds she doesn't have it in her to do much of anything, let alone talking. her breaths are heavy and ragged against his shoulder as she rides the last waves of pleasure with him and tries to make sense of the mess in her brain, which she isn't sure is entirely working anymore.

so often she finds herself at a loss for words around luke, finding it easier to use her fists instead, that it never occurred to her this would be so much better. it's almost cathartic, in a way, having bared herself to him and had him bare himself to her in return. a door has opened — a door that never existed for either of them until now — and she thinks maybe, as long as his hand is in hers, they can walk through that door together and find the peace they have both so desperately been seeking: with each other, with the past, with the world.

as the pulse in her chest slows, she cranes her neck to one side, not only for his sake as he drags his teeth across her skin, but for hers — bringing the back of the hand she still holds to her lips, pressing a smile into it as if to say thank you. ]

[marred]

[ the rocking of luke's hips eventually subsides. his hand between them slides up her torso, backs of his fingers brushing up an invisible line, before coming to dive into her hair. he doesn't do anything but twist some of the strands around his fingers. he thinks to let go of the hand in his, his grip going slack between hers, but he doesn't yank it out of her tough as nails grasp. but he finds all of him going slack at her pressing her lips to the back of his hand — and perhaps that's why his grip dissipates entirely. it's such a soft, affectionate gesture that luke finds himself staring down at clarisse as though he's never seen the woman who cradles him between her hips. ]

[ she is a mere stranger before him, but simultaneously is the girl he knew he saw beneath all her fire and rage. he had always known, on some level, that clarisse la rue was capable of softening her edges. it seems as though she'd done so while he had been away, sharpening his own. ]

[ his voice is ragged from misuse — or perhaps from her breathing fire into his lungs, searing his voice box into ash. ] Hey. [ it's such a pathetic thing to say that he smiles. he finds he doesn't particularly want to pull any part of himself out from clarisse's grip, but he begins to shift in order to do so — to give her some breathing room and some space. ]

[rues]

[ the afterglow is always an interesting time for clarisse. all her roughness melts away, all her ferocity and passion — and in its place is something much more gentle, caring. it's as if she's a phoenix and ignites herself with all her passion only to be reborn as something fragile but still holding within it all the power it took to burn out in the first place. it's a vicious cycle, one she can't seem to escape — and one she doesn't particularly want to, either.

she's fine just like this. happy isn't a word she ever really thought she'd associate with luke, but she can't seem to find any other word for what she's feeling right now. content might be better, but the smile that graces her lips — an actual, genuine smile — and the laugh that follows it are more than just contented. ]

Hey.

[ he might think it's pathetic, but what else are you supposed to say after sex? she certainly isn't judging. she's usually just content with not saying anything, but luke was never one to let awkward silences linger.

she shifts when he shifts, rolling onto her side to face him, but she doesn't seem keen in letting his hand go. she feels like if she lets go it will actually be over, and for once, that's the opposite of what she wants. she wants to hold onto this moment — literally and metaphorically — for as long as she can, until the fates or the world or something else entirely forces them to let go. ]

[marred]

[ luke rolls to his side, his free arm coming to rest beneath his cheek on the pillow. he's not quite sure what to do now, what with his anger and his confusion having dissipated just by clarisse's touch. he feels weirdly exposed, as if his entire body is his achilles heel, but he doesn't make a move to cover himself up — not yet. he thinks he can trust her within this moment. clarisse has the ability to split the toughest man open with a simple blunt nail. she hasn't done so with him yet, but he thinks she has, in some way, for luke no longer feels the loathing bubble beneath his chest when he thinks of how quiet his life has become. ]

[ it's odd to think that clarisse la rue, the girl with a chip on her shoulder when it comes to him, had seen him fit to see her at her most vulnerable. or, perhaps, at her strongest. she's always been an attractive girl; the anger had always made her eyes brighter, her mouth firmer, and her stance intimidating as hera herself. but he finds himself thinking of her as beautiful after seeing her for who she truly is. and what that is — he's not quite sure. besides the usual label of warrior that goes along with clarisse, he finds that her soft edges can still cut, but perhaps her blades aren't there to simply slice a man open to make him bleed to death. ]

So. [ luke laughs. he moves again, uncomfortable with how restless he is with anxiety. he flattens himself onto his stomach, but keeps his head tilted in her direction. the hand in hers is no longer slack, his thumb coming to brush over the back of her hand absently. ] This is kind of weird. [ his gaze travels away from her face, slipping beneath her neck to settle on her collarbone. she's red in patches all over her skin; he feels a little guilty for it, marking her, but he thinks she'll wear it as a badge of honour, something about slaying the great beast of luke castellan. ]

[ or maybe just slaying luke castellan. ]

I wasn't expecting this when you punched me earlier.

[rues]

[ the shirt luke let her borrow is still hanging off her arms, draping her waist as if she really were a picnic table. she really should be offended that he even made that joke, but she doesn't really seem to care about any of the stupid things they said before this happened. she's still reeling a little from that fact that it actually did. now, when she looks at luke castellan all she sees is luke castellan. there's still a lot she needs to work out for herself, but she thinks for now she's alright to just let it be, let this be.

does he really think it's weird, though? maybe it is a little weird. especially considering most of their encounters recently have ended with him cradling a bruised jaw. he's given her a few bruises of her own today, which she thinks is only fair, even if they hadn't been violent bruises caused by wanting to break her face.

she laughs again, shrugging part of his shirt back over her shoulder, not really in an attempt to cover herself, just to have it not so awkwardly hanging around her arms. ]

Well, it definitely wasn't some kind of weird Ares kid seduction plan, I can tell you that. [ her lips curl a little around the edges, a kind of pride shining in her eyes. ] Looks like it worked anyway.

[ not that any of this had been premeditated at all. she'd simply been swept away by the great wave luke castellan and she's still not sure if she's washed up on shore or if she's still floating out at sea. ]

[marred]

Yeah, no kidding. [ he feels compelled to apologise for the bitter words that had left his mouth in an attempt to spur her into a fit of rage, but she finds the apology had somehow gotten lost between the kerfuffle of them. his gaze slips from hers to travel down her torso again. he wonders where her markings of her battles are, if she even has any at all. she's one of the strongest soldiers he knows, and she seems to wear his temporarily inflicted wounds with a pride that only befits a true daughter of war. ]

[ the hand in hers slips away from her clutch to pick against the edge of the shirt. his knuckles brush against the side of her breast as he does so. his other hand is trapped beneath his stomach, pins and needles on their way to claim it beneath the weight that no longer feels as heavy as it had prior to clarisse taking him by storm. his eyes return to hers and his brows raise. ] You look hot in my shirt. [ his fingers continue to play with the edge of the fabric, the tip of one dipping into one of his empty buttonholes. even though his hand feels cold without hers wrapped around his, he finds he can't stop touching any part of her, whether it's her skin or the only thing she's left wearing. ] You should wear it. That and nothing else.

[rues]

I'll take it under advisement.

[ hadn't he said that once to her before? she feels it's only fair to repeat it back to him, that playful smirk still tugging at her lips. she has no intentions of taking it off, not right now, not when it's still so warm from the heat of passion, and she fully intends to turn this shirt into a tradition, an emblem, a battle flag. only they will know what it means; isn't that all that matters? it might have started as a joke, but now she wears it with pride; she's made it her own as much it's simply become theirs. ]

Are you going to let me take it home or are you going to make me change back into that dress?

[ she'd really rather not have to put the dress back on, not after she'd gone through so much trouble to take it off. even without his fingers touching her skin, she can still feel his knuckles dragging down her spine. she could probably get off on just that if she thought about it long enough. ]

[marred]

I kind of liked the dress. [ the smirk spreads slowly across his face as he makes it a show of leering at her bare legs. it's not her, though. even though the years have changed her, clarisse la rue is still as tough as the day he last remembers ever taking her on. she's calloused and rough, fit for combat boots and pants, not that of a pretty dress she feels she needs to shed the moment she can. but he breaks his stare with a laugh. his fingers continue to play with the edge of the shirt absently. ]

[ it's not lost on him what she says. she hasn't said for when he takes her home — there's still a barrier there, he thinks, a wall she's constructed to not let him in. it's fine — luke expects nothing from this, except he expects everything simultaneously. her taking home his shirt means something. luke doesn't have much to his apartment — it's barely lived in as it is — but he knows the same can't be said for clarisse's. he wonders what it looks like, if it's as rough as her, or if it's bright pink and girly, like the woman she's trying to force her shape into being. let me take it, she says, not when you take me. she doesn't trust him — and why would she? a tumble in the sheets doesn't immediately build a bridge of trusting the other to not let the other fall. ]

[ despite the disappointment that settles in his chest like rocks, luke keeps smirking, mirth in his gaze. ] But I seriously doubt Manhattan's capable of handling another storm brought on by a demigod. [ one that's definitely less destructive than the one brought by his hand, but he thinks clarisse knows what he's implying without him needing to say it. it's not something he wants to say, anyway, in fear of shifting the mood into a dangerous alleyway where they're no end in sight. ] If you're going to go out with just that on, I might have to take it back.

[rues]

Only because you got to take it off. Don't lie to me, Castellan, I can see it in your eyes.

[ and it's so much easier reading him this close, even though reading luke castellan is like reading pig latin to her sometimes — it's already a mess of letters she can't decipher without focusing more energy than it's worth in an order made even more confusing for someone who can barely read english as it is. if only people were written in ancient greek instead of feelings and facial expressions and given the ability to mask all of that with a smirk and a few choice words, she'd be able to understand them better.

she laughs with him, finding it more contagious the more she's around him. maybe it's a hermes thing. chris was always exceptionally good at making her laugh, but luke has always had that same kind of sense of humor, even if it was always more jaded, hardened by the world around him. clarisse finds she's more susceptible to that kind of humor now, anyway — after all, isn't the world pretty shitty? even in the heart of war — or whatever this shit is with the romans — sometimes a good laugh is all it takes to boost morale, to find the strength to keep going. it's why sarcasm is part of her natural defenses; if she can find it in her to make fun of someone else, she can find it in her to trudge past all the other shit that stands in her way.

she figures if he liked that dress, though, she could find something else in her closet he might like. she doesn't own much lingerie, and she wouldn't be caught dead in anything like it unless it was for a very special occasion — but she figures luke himself is already a special occasion. honestly, it's been buried away in her closet with the rest of her guilt because every time she thinks about it she thinks of silena — there's no way in hell she'd have ever bought any kind of lingerie without silena's keen eye for fashion and her gentle goading. chris doesn't even know she has it; she never could bring herself to wear it even for him. it was too soon after everything had happened, and then things just fell apart. now she feels like she's finally picking up the pieces of herself, letting the ghosts out of her closet, and maybe, finally, finding some kind of peace in the war she's been waging against herself and luke for so long. ]

But then I wouldn't be wearing anything, and then what would you do?

[ she's missing the point on purpose, trying to goad him into... something. she's not even quite sure what that something is, she just doesn't want to put that damn dress back on. ]

[marred]

[ he doesn't think to respond. maybe he's transparent, maybe she's just perceptive, but luke had liked that dress on clarisse because he got to take it off. it wasn't something he ever associated with her. in his own words, she looked pretty hot in it, but he knew it wasn't her. so, he thought himself a doer of good, helping her shed the sheepskin she wore over her wolf's form. the girl in his shirt is clarisse, all sharp angles and anger and battle on her mind. the girl in the dress had been someone holding onto ghosts, of either the past or future, he doesn't know, but that isn't the clarisse he had always been fond of. a part of him hopes to be able to shed her of that faux skin again. ]

[ luke chooses to pick himself up from lying on his stomach, leaning on his side for only a moment. ] I'd do this. [ he launches himself at her, rolling them over so she's splayed on top of him. one hand cradles her waist while the other pushes back the hair from her forehead. ]

[ he'd do something else, too. he'd been meaning to follow it up with touching her — a hand drifting between her legs or perhaps pressing him against her thigh — but he finds himself simply just wanting this. any desire to rile her up again in a dance that he thinks has always been theirs dies the moment he feels her weight press against him. he feels more grounded to the earth than he has in years — being given a second chance had left him feeling as light as a feather. he suspected he could drift away at a moment's notice. but with clarisse on top of him, effectively anchoring him to the bedsheets and thus the world, he finds himself a stone against wind, unmovable. ]

and then i tagged this instead

[rues]

[ clarisse feels like her world has literally turned upside down. never in a million years did she ever think her life would come to this, lying on top of luke castellan and actually wanting to be there. the last time they'd encountered each other, it had ended with sharp glares and the even sharper slap of her hand across his cheek. she touches his face now with such amazement, and a tenderness she hasn't shown anyone in a long time. in just a few hours they've both shown each other parts of themselves she wasn't entirely sure still existed, even if she still has no idea how it came to this so suddenly. it's like the moment he took her hand on the street caused an avalanche and everything snowballed from there until they found themselves here, in the wake of the storm that consumed both of them. ]

I think I have a better idea. [ she pushes herself up to sit back on her legs, shrugging his shirt back over her shoulders as she does so. her hands find his and she threads their fingers together in an attempt to drag him with her while she crawls over him and off the bed. her fingers slip from his once she feels the floor beneath her feet again, but she motions him toward her as if her fingers are curling around a rope attached to his abdomen. ] C'mon. [ she nods back toward the en suite, the indication clear on her face and the way the takes a few slow, careful steps backward, her hand still outstretched for him to take and follow her lead. ]

i resisted for a few hours.

[marred]

[ luke pulls himself up, but doesn't so much as shift until that invisible rope tugs him forward. he looks dazed, brows creased slightly, as he wonders what clarisse la rue has up her sleeve. what could be better than lying in the aftermath of a war? luke hadn't had the opportunity to feel reprieve that a storm had ceased, the dark clouds rolling away to reveal a bright, clear sky up above. he'd managed to find himself in a pocket of darkness, until he had awoken, to find the world was still as dreary as the day he had left it, but he had missed the opportunity to see it shift, ever so slightly, because of his actions, both terrible and sacrificial. it's doubt that he clings to, uncertain if he should follow clarisse, where he would've done so, years ago, if it were within the woods of the camp, with him on her heels, and her promise of danger and adventure lingering on her lips. but with the nod of her head toward the en suite, luke crab walks toward the end of the bed, feet crashing to the floor, before he places his hand in hers without hesitation. ]

[ his voice is hoarse. ] What are we doing? [ it's useless to even ask, but luke looks down at her, eyes glazed slightly, and lids half-lidded, as he glances, briefly, to the doorframe. his other hand comes to fiddle with the collar of his shirt, straightening it, as he follows her step for step toward his bathroom. ]