( 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

[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. ]