"I really fancy you, Wren," his eyes are sincere, and she feels panic rising. She is also sitting on his lap, which adds up to her mental squawking, they have already received a few disapproving glares from people passing by. OK, there was some inappropriate behaviour before, they were actively snogging, but before he spoke his lips were pressed to her temple, and she was playing with a long cinnamon coloured curl. Very demure, thank you very much.
It's not that she doesn't like him, she likes him a lot, but does she trust him? Not in the slightest. And he is silent now, looking into her eyes, and it feels like pressure, and Wrennie tends to react to pressure like a thoroughly shaken Pepsi can. Meaning… ka-boom!
"When did you last shag?" Yeah… That's the aforementioned 'ka-boom.' Verbal diarrhea ahoy. His body tenses under hers, and she clearly imagines how he pushes her off his lap, her jacksie down onto the pavement.
"On Friday, the day before you came to the Faire." She should give it to him, he is not being defensive about it. Or a braggart. He softly presses his lips to her cheekbone. "A one off thing, in her tent, a temp in a candied apples vendour." Wren tries to refrain from frantically recollecting who sold her the candied apple she had on Saturday. "You?"
"Six months ago. With my ex. He was mediocre." She turns the head and looks in his eyes. "See the difference? I am just not that sort of a bird, you know? I know this whole weekend was mental, and it looked like I am a bit of a… slag, and no judgement for those with more liberated lifestyle, horses for courses, but it's just not me..."
"Wren," he softly interrupts her and tucks a curl behind her ear, "Only a goon would assume you are that kind of a hen. You are fancy but not a fancy woman." She can't help it and snorts. And then she thinks it's sad it has to end. She really liked the bloke.
"So, should we wrap it up and go home, then?" She is smiling to him softly, her hand is on his chest, and she can feel his heart under the V-neck tee. He turned out so much more that a hunky piece of meat that she isn't even feeling up the chest hair under the soft cotton. Well, OK, maybe a little bit.
"Why?" He is giving her an exaggerated confused look. She sighs.
"Well, I'm really not going to shag you in your tent, and as fun as it is I really don't want to waste my and your time equally on dancing around the bush." He is frowning, and she imagines how he, if not drops her on her backside, but at least politely deposits her off his lap onto the bench.
"Oh, and in your mind I'm so shallow that once I know that the shag is off the table, I'll be finished with you?" That is exactly what she is thinking and isn't sure why he looks so appalled.
"I don't sleep with men I don't date. I also date very little..." Because men are annoying. But that's beside the point. Actually, one of the things Wren finds annoying is men behaving all condescending when they think women are being illogical. That is when they have this manky exasperated face he is wearing right now. She carefully starts sliding off his lap, but then he grabs her around her middle and puts her back where she was.
"Stop treating me like a ragdoll," she hisses.
"Stop assuming you know what I think and want," he gives her the copy of her narrowed eyes glare. That pisses her off. She presses her fists into her waist, though it's kind of a bodged up gesture since she is still on his lap.
"Oh, tell me how you saw the light and no more random scoring for you." He seems equally pissed off now.
"I don't know, love, it's only our first date, and it's not going that guid at the nou, but there is always a chance. Unlike you I don't put people in small boxes and label them richt away. It might work out, it might go verra bad, yeah? How do I know? But I'm not giving up on it just because you are not my usual gig."
"Well, unlike you I don't have the usual gig," she hisses, and he gives her a sarcastic look.
"Oh yeah? Tell me you don't always go for blokes who are hench because no way you want a flabby painch," he smacks his wide hand into his rock hard abdominal muscles, "But you want to be able to chin wag too, since your gob ne'er closes, lovie!"
"It does!"
"One has to literally snog you to shut you up!" They are yelling at each other. It is additionally mental since she is still on his lap and they both tend to chop air with their hands when they argue. Now they both impersonate Dutch windmills and duck away from each other arms.
And then Wren freezes with her mouth half open. Because he is absolutely bloody right. Her longest term boyfriend was a computer scientist from Texas and had a body of a Greek god. She still keeps his barechested photo above her table just to remind herself on the days when her self-esteem hits the bottom that she actually bonked that. And they both were into Star Trek TOS. And both were vegan while together. She turns and looks at the Scot underneath her. He is still blathering. Something about her 'paitering' and how infuriating she is, and she cups his face and presses her lips to his. There is a sharp inhale, and the arms once again go around her. She is kissing him, the lips are warm, and she starts scratching the beard. It is amazingly soft, and he is squinting his eyes. She slightly moves away and smiles to him.
"I do fancy hench blokes that can put some words together." He returns the grin.
"Not at the moment I can't." They laugh together, and she slides off his lap. She stretches her hand and wiggles her fingers.
"Common, let's go. I'll show you the town, and you will charm me with your oral skills." He puckers his lips, eyebrows go up in a whimsical angle, and she snorts. "I meant you'll have to talk… Get your mind out of your gutter."
"Can't help it, hen, it resides there."
"I'm not going on the merry-go-round! It's for sprogs!"
"Common, hen, you are the proper size!" He is carrying her bum up, over his shoulder, and she is squealing and dangling her legs, making sure she doesn't actually kick him.
"Frerin, no! I'm still scared of them!"
"It's been years, hen, and one has to overcome one's fears." She is battering his back with her fists, he is roaring with laughter. The carnival on the Promenade is a small bunch of rides, candy floss and a few sideshows. He has just won her a nauseatingly pink teddy bear, and she is currently smacking his arse with it.
"They all are toddlers on it!" Yes, they are, and their parents are giving them looks.
"Like I said, richt for yer wee bahooky!" He forgets who he is dealing with. She stretches her arms down his torso, grabs him around his waist and jerks out of his hands. He wasn't holding her too tightly, and her legs make a flip, she is bent all the way backwards, and here she is, standing on the ground behind him. He twirls around and starts laughing louder. Right until he receives a faceful of pink fur of Theodore Wallace.
"Stop manhandling me, animal!"
"You want to see an ainimal?! I'll kythe ye an ainimal! " Mamma mia, Wrennie's fanny is cheering! The tone is suggestive, oh jaysus, it's all growl and purr. She squeals and sprints away from him. She already knows how agile he is, and her only hope to escape is to squeeze through some small space he can't fit. The question is whether she wants to escape, yeah?
They are running around the carnival, he is maneuvering between weans and their mommas, excusing himself and showering them with smiles, none seems to mind, just look at those white teeth and laughing eyes! And she eventually climbs on the rails of the esplanade, and he is right there near her ankles.
"Come closer, and Theodore is a dead bear!" She theatrically shakes the toy above the waves sloshing underneath.
"Then he'll die with an honourable battle cry of Bas no Beatha!" He is prowling towards her, and she makes a few steps away. The rail is narrow, and she is watching her feet. She has almost zero chance to trip, but she is not daft. "Love, are you safe there?" His voice is suddenly completely normal, and she smiles.
"Yeah, and I will get down if you promise no 'ainimal.'" He is chuckling and stretches hands to her.
"Common, get down. We still haven't had any candy floss." She slides into his hands, shut up, Miss Fanny, and he is holding her inches above the ground, so that her nose is near his. Snog alert, snog alert, she has already cocked up her own resolutions. Oh god, the lips! Puckered, warm, aahhh!..
But again, she has a dinner with the other one tomorrow. Bugger. That sobers her up. Wren clenches her teeth and decides that it is Theodore's lucky day. The bear gets stuffed between them, and the leany Scot smooches the pink fur. The green eyes fly open, and yes, he was fluttering his super girly, thick, orgasmic lashes, and he spits out a bit of fluff.
"I'm not much for bestiality, love," he looks at her from around Theodore, and she giggles. He puts her on the ground, and she only mildly hates the possessive arm around her shoulders.
He is walking her home, she is carrying Theodore, his hands are full of balloons and bags of funnel cakes and homemade saltwater taffy for Bri. Wren is not coming home empty handed. There is a miniscule chance Bri will be too preoccupied with the nosh to start interrogating Wren before she takes off her shoes. But again, miniscule… Thus taffy. It can seal even Briallen Davis for a few moments.
They are walking up the stairs to Wren's flat, and she can feel his eyes on her back. Seriously, feels like her nape is being brushed by something warm. She shivers and throws him a look over her shoulder. He is walking couple steps behind, and his eyes are on the same level as hers. Oh the eyes... The bright green, golden specks around the pupils, little wrinkles in the corners… And then it hits her. Her breathing hitches, and she drops Theodore.
There are freckles. They are faint, not like her orange pests, but they are there. He is tanned, they spend all their time outside, but… He. Has. Freckles! She grabs him around his neck and pulls him into a snog. He makes a surprised 'oomph' sound, and then Bri's treats hit the floor.
They both have handfuls of hair and clothes, that is officially groping, and she twirls him and pushes his back into the wall. Sod it! He has freckles! And they are adorable!
And then she jumps away from him and loudly clears her throat.
"So yeah..." She croaks and tries to fix her hair, and wait, why are the two top buttons of her dress are open? Oh, they aren't. They are gone. She looks under her feet, but they probably flew somewhere towards Alaska. She lifts her eyes at him, he looks completely bladdered. "Well, thank you for the lovely evening..." She picks up Theodore and the bags.
"Uh-huh..." The speech hasn't yet returned to him. Interesting… And she honestly thought there was no way to shut his gob. She looks up, the balloons are by the ceiling, and she hops trying to reach the strings.
"A bit of help, please?" He peels himself off the wall and hands the balloons to her. "OK, I'll text." She pats her shoulder, he is still gawking at her.
"Uh-huh..." He looks additionally barmy with his cinnamon curls sticking out around his clock, and she quickly disappears behind her door.
Wren enters the living room and then jumps couple feet in the air with a terrified squeak. Bri is sitting on the sofa, and the table lamp is turned so that Bri is outside the circle of light.
"I've been expecting you, Mr. Bond." Bri is very good at impersonations, she is even patting her blue teddy, Perry Twinkle, cradled on her arm. Wren shields herself with the bags.
"Taffy?" Wren uses her most enticing purry voice. There is a moment of internal struggle reflected on Bri's face. Sweets versus details, tough choice for Briallen Davis… Wren makes a small step ahead gently shaking the bag of taffy in front of her, as if luring a wild beast. Good Bri, nice Bri, have some sugar and cornstarch… And then the russet eyes focus on Wren's face instead of the alluringly rustling bag.
"Not goin' to work on me, sugarplum!" Damn it. "Spill."
Wren sighs and plops on the sofa near her friend. Bri fixes the lamp, and they tuck into the bag of candies. Wren is chewing and emits another sigh.
"I really don't know what I'm doing here, Bri." Wren's friend hums sympathetically, unwrapping another sweet. Wren fishes one for herself from the bag, it's chocolate cherry. Wren hands it to Bri, getting her favourite butterscotch in return. They are quiet for a bit, and Wren puts her head on Bri's shoulder. "He is almost perfect..."
"Almost?" Bri habitually starts scratching the back of Wren's head.
"Yeah..."
"As in?"
"As in he has a brother who just might be perfect… er..." Wren knows it's not a word, but it is as adequate of the description of her aggro as they make them.
"Yeah, after Sunday's fun and games at rehearsal, a finer pair of bothers I haven't run across. But rip roaring bothers they are." Wren groans and drops her head back. A happy looking elephant balloon is floating above her head, and she sticks her tongue at it.
"Which one would you choose?"
"Oh no, sister mine, ain't a'going there. I learned ol' Light and Lively isn't quite the clueless git he paints himself. And DD is some seriously deep waters. A good friend wouldn't try to pick for you, but let your heart decide, and support you when you do." Wren bumps her shoulder to Bri's.
"That you are indeed. And Frerin is not a clueless git indeed, he has couple degrees in History and was a perfect gentleman all evening." Well, there was the bench snog, but that can totally be emitted. Uhem...
"Yeah, learnt that when the stinker finished my quote for me." Wren fidgets with her third button, and that is when Bri notices the state Wren's dress is in. "Uuuuum..."
"Don't ask!" Wren flails her hands in the air. "A. I'll tell you everything in a mo. B. I'm stuck on the previous thought."
"Drownin' in divine n' dangerous Dark and Darlin's deep waters?" Bri's shoulders are shaking, her voice impish. Bugger. She knows Wren all too well.
"Yeah… And congrats on the alliteration triumph, by the way." Bri gives Wren her best wink. "I mean, he said, what? About a dozen words to me..."
"Somehow, I don't think it's the dozen words, but the magical tongue tanglin' you two been up to." Wren asks herself whether her eye is twitching. It is most likely twitching. Not thinking of the kiss at the arena substitutes about 65% of her mental activity these days. It's exhausting.
"The thing is, Bri, you spent a day with him. The bloke doesn't need words. And even without them, I kind of… get him, you know?" It comes out squeaky and childish, but Bri understands. She nods, and they go back to their taffies. Yeah, Wrennie is in a pickle.
