[ There's only a moment before they are climbing into the car, but as they settle, Magnus can at least lean into Ambrose's side, find his ear, and growl in low French]
I assure you, my love, I will be very good.
[It is Ambrose, and that wandering hand of his, that can not behave. It's only because this is a hired vehicle that Magnus keeps a grip on himself, one does not do such things in a hackney carriage, even if the moon is full. It is an effort not to dig claw-like fingers into the upholstery, but as soon as they are stopped, their driver is paid, Magnus' hands are all over Ambrose once more.
The kisses are hot, heavy, his blood running thick and fast through his veins and Ambrose's teasing touches and half-promises have done nothing to calm the desire in his wolf. It's a surprise, with Magnus pressed up against his back, hands on his hips and the wolf's mouth on his throat, that Ambrose manages to open the door at all. That is probably a testament to his dedication and cool-headedness, but Magnus only has the one thing on his mind. It is amazing, truly amazing, what full moon can do to a man normally so sensible and rational.
But at last they are inside, and it doesn't matter if the door is locked or unlocked. This is the home of a werewolf, and a vampire. Anyone trying to steal is going to be left disinclined to steal from anyone, ever again. This isn't the time to discuss that though, not when Magnus' eager fingers are tugging at Ambrose's clothes, eager and, unfortunately impatient.
Which is why, despite Magnus' heavy breathing and murmurs of encouragement, the rip of fabric echoes around the room.]
{ You can take a man out of the Victorian era, but you cannot take the Victorian era out of the man. Both Magnus and Ambrose are quite resigned in their conduct, in their natures, and not while to a fault, it is certainly at their own expense sometimes, as far as the good-natured joking is concerned. It's not the worst impression to have by far -- stuffy at worst, perhaps.
Which is what makes nights like this so much more thrilling, a beautiful and rare treat when the spark takes. It's hardly as if they avoid having fun, after all -- it does feel deliciously indescribable, letting go of such structure and modesty, together. Ambrose may not be so deeply linked to the moon as Magnus is, but the moon affects all, doesn't she? More indirect sunlight in the air doesn't miss a vampire, and it's fortunate for Ambrose that his lover wants nothing more to expend this swelling energy with him.
Fumbling in the dark really isn't so much as fumbling, really, not when their senses are perfected for it. Still, between heavy eyelids, kissing so closely, and eagerly grappling hands--
Ambrose feels fabric renting against him, more than he hears the sound itself. He freezes completely against Magnus, stunned. He hadn't thought of it, the real possibility of this accident, then again...the fastenings and buttons are all simply for show. This probably would have happened at some point...
The vampire shudders, his back pressed against Magnus' front, silent at first -- until his breath rumbles out in a soft, hysteric laugh. He relaxes into the wolf, his alarm melting as he loses his composure, rattling with his laughter. It's involuntary and anxious, but nonetheless feels like the first time he's felt his ribs release an unnoticed tension for the first time all night. His hand, wrapped against his companion's neck, slips away to feel the tear at the back of his decorative top, the fabric pulled open through to skin. }
Certainly is my night. { Ambrose manages as his overwhelmed amusement simmers again, shock and exasperation tempered down into something more solid. He thinks to turn around into Magnus, to look at him, but a different idea strikes him. Here against the long table so often used for Magnus' meetings with his fellow kin, Ambrose stays pressed here, one hand still on its surface. }
I do hope, for both our sakes...that this will be worth all the trouble I'll be in later. { His tone still bubbles, breathy, and before Magnus can possibly say more, Ambrose looks at him from over his shoulder. } I think perhaps, to be safe, you'll just have to completely undress me now...to avoid any more accidents, of course.
And carefully. { His top is constructed with a subtle zipper down the back, for quick change between scenes, but impossible to undo on his own. Another test of patience? Well, unless Magnus wants to get the zipper stuck, and Ambrose is rather quite done with all of the smarmy remarks from the general public, tonight. }
[ Far more than the noise of the fabric giving out, it is Ambrose's dejection and acceptance that tonight nothing will go right that make Magnus' heart twist painfully. That is not Ambrose's fault, and Magnus will not be allowing Ambrose to take it on his own shoulders. He will before dawn discover some means of contacting the hard-working wardrobe manager for Ambrose's troupe and see to trying to fix what damage had been done.
Until then he forced himself to keep a tight control on himself, his movements careful, as if unwrapping some delicate gift. The zip peeled away, allowing him to press kisses over pale, unmarred skin as if to banish every negative thought, every anguish. Magnus' fingers continue their gentle dance, easing the costume from Ambrose's shoulders, and wander down his torso, palms caressing.
Then with a more playful nip at his lover's shoulder, he hooks his fingers into the other's pants, pushing them down his hips into a pool of cloth. ]
Much better, little dove. And before anything else goes wrong, I am taking you to bed.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2018-06-28 07:44 am (UTC)I assure you, my love, I will be very good.
[It is Ambrose, and that wandering hand of his, that can not behave. It's only because this is a hired vehicle that Magnus keeps a grip on himself, one does not do such things in a hackney carriage, even if the moon is full. It is an effort not to dig claw-like fingers into the upholstery, but as soon as they are stopped, their driver is paid, Magnus' hands are all over Ambrose once more.
The kisses are hot, heavy, his blood running thick and fast through his veins and Ambrose's teasing touches and half-promises have done nothing to calm the desire in his wolf. It's a surprise, with Magnus pressed up against his back, hands on his hips and the wolf's mouth on his throat, that Ambrose manages to open the door at all. That is probably a testament to his dedication and cool-headedness, but Magnus only has the one thing on his mind. It is amazing, truly amazing, what full moon can do to a man normally so sensible and rational.
But at last they are inside, and it doesn't matter if the door is locked or unlocked. This is the home of a werewolf, and a vampire. Anyone trying to steal is going to be left disinclined to steal from anyone, ever again. This isn't the time to discuss that though, not when Magnus' eager fingers are tugging at Ambrose's clothes, eager and, unfortunately impatient.
Which is why, despite Magnus' heavy breathing and murmurs of encouragement, the rip of fabric echoes around the room.]
Ah... that was, I promise, completely accidental.
this is probably my favorite thing that has ever happened
Date: 2018-06-28 07:06 pm (UTC)Which is what makes nights like this so much more thrilling, a beautiful and rare treat when the spark takes. It's hardly as if they avoid having fun, after all -- it does feel deliciously indescribable, letting go of such structure and modesty, together. Ambrose may not be so deeply linked to the moon as Magnus is, but the moon affects all, doesn't she? More indirect sunlight in the air doesn't miss a vampire, and it's fortunate for Ambrose that his lover wants nothing more to expend this swelling energy with him.
Fumbling in the dark really isn't so much as fumbling, really, not when their senses are perfected for it. Still, between heavy eyelids, kissing so closely, and eagerly grappling hands--
Ambrose feels fabric renting against him, more than he hears the sound itself. He freezes completely against Magnus, stunned. He hadn't thought of it, the real possibility of this accident, then again...the fastenings and buttons are all simply for show. This probably would have happened at some point...
The vampire shudders, his back pressed against Magnus' front, silent at first -- until his breath rumbles out in a soft, hysteric laugh. He relaxes into the wolf, his alarm melting as he loses his composure, rattling with his laughter. It's involuntary and anxious, but nonetheless feels like the first time he's felt his ribs release an unnoticed tension for the first time all night. His hand, wrapped against his companion's neck, slips away to feel the tear at the back of his decorative top, the fabric pulled open through to skin. }
Certainly is my night. { Ambrose manages as his overwhelmed amusement simmers again, shock and exasperation tempered down into something more solid. He thinks to turn around into Magnus, to look at him, but a different idea strikes him. Here against the long table so often used for Magnus' meetings with his fellow kin, Ambrose stays pressed here, one hand still on its surface. }
I do hope, for both our sakes...that this will be worth all the trouble I'll be in later. { His tone still bubbles, breathy, and before Magnus can possibly say more, Ambrose looks at him from over his shoulder. } I think perhaps, to be safe, you'll just have to completely undress me now...to avoid any more accidents, of course.
And carefully. { His top is constructed with a subtle zipper down the back, for quick change between scenes, but impossible to undo on his own. Another test of patience? Well, unless Magnus wants to get the zipper stuck, and Ambrose is rather quite done with all of the smarmy remarks from the general public, tonight. }
it is certainly not Ambrose's favourite thing, poor parsnip
Date: 2018-06-28 09:28 pm (UTC)Until then he forced himself to keep a tight control on himself, his movements careful, as if unwrapping some delicate gift. The zip peeled away, allowing him to press kisses over pale, unmarred skin as if to banish every negative thought, every anguish. Magnus' fingers continue their gentle dance, easing the costume from Ambrose's shoulders, and wander down his torso, palms caressing.
Then with a more playful nip at his lover's shoulder, he hooks his fingers into the other's pants, pushing them down his hips into a pool of cloth. ]
Much better, little dove. And before anything else goes wrong, I am taking you to bed.