Soteriophobia and Snark

part three: breathless/eupnoeic


"Wake up."

I say it just loud enough for her to hear it, but not loud enough to actually make her move or legitimately awaken.

"...tired... don wanna be waken up..."

I almost tell her the stupidest thing, which is that I half-expect her voice to be filled with eights like her typing, but that's ridiculous, as I've asserted, so I don't tell her and her hive remains peaceful.

And yes, that's where we are, her hive. I've seen it before, but never spent the night. It's... uh, architecturally nice. A little bit messy with the cobwebs and shattered 8-ball fragments and clothes everywhere, but very impressively built. She has an eye for detail, and I, being a master of details myself, appreciate that.

It's strange to recall the events of the past few hours, but I do anyway, because they were really quite pleasant.


"You think I'm a slob, don't you," she had said matter-of-factly when she'd invited me unceremoniously up the winding stairs with her and I'd glimpsed her room for the first real non-virtual time.

"No, no, it's really-"

"Liar. I'm a mess," she had snapped in that singsong tease-tone, then flopped down in her giant chair, laughing bitterly.

"It's okay," had been the only thing I could think of to say, and I didn't know if I meant the room or the fact she was disorganized, and she hadn't made me clarify which yet, so I babbled on. "These are the foolish things no one talks about."

She'd shrugged her thin shoulders.

"What, what the okay refers to? It means everything, doesn't it? It means the whole entire universe and every single thing in it, that you're okay with, because you're really blasé."

She was better at sarcasm than me sometimes; I chose to ignore this troubling example to focus on her word choice.

"...blasé?"

"Oh, you know, Fussyfangs," (here she had waved her hands around, brushing my shoulder with two fingers,)

"Blasé, like, pococurante or something."

Online, she's a bit shy with the fancy synonyms unless she's in a grand, dramatic mood, but her real-life vocabulary rivals mine.

"Define poc-"

"I don't wanna, look for it yourself," she'd said, tugging on my shirt collar in that way that meant she was getting exasperated with me, so I'd hopped up next to her on that chair, my chest filling with nervous flutters at being so close.

"I'm not that nonchalant about you," I had mumbled, a tone of hurt creeping into my voice.

"So you do know what it means!" she had yelled triumphantly, pulling a Me Dodging Sarcasm Move and completely ignoring the other part of that statement: I care about you.

"Yeah, I do," I had said shamefully, blushing, and then she'd leaned in and put her face right up close to mine.

"You're adorable when you blush, you know that?"

That was unexpected.

Oh.

She had beautiful eyes, even more so than usual right at that exact moment, when she was giving me all of her attention.

I learned then, also, what it feels like to be inundated with confusion, and most of all what it feels like to want to kiss someone so badly that it causes physical pain. It feels like tingly lips and closing eyes and sweat dripping down from your neck to your back, and an ache at the bottom of your neck where your throat is.

And then she had actually kissed me, and her mouth was so warm against mine, and I think I had stuttered something nervously and then tangled my fingers in her hair, and by the end of the moment she had somehow ended up in my lap.

"...-"

My shocked silence was interrupted by another kiss, this one mischievous, and Vriska's lips were just the softest things for someone with such hard edges. I had whispered that to her,

"You have hard edges, Vris,"

because her elbow was pressing against my side.

"But you put up with me," had been her response. She was better at sounding...-

("What's a word for not breathless?" I'd panted.

"Not this."

"Oh... right... I think eupnoeic works fine,"

"Neeeerd... shut the hell up," she'd moaned and pressed her mouth harder to mine.)

-than me.

"Kan'ya," she'd whispered, and pulled away, finally, then she'd suprised me again, her newborn hunger directed at my neck, where she was scattering hot kisses.

"Ah..."

She'd found a spot that made my whole body shake, and my head was swimming, and my eyes slid closed as her lips moved lightly, then harder and harder until a dark mark was prominent on my skin.

"I bruised you," she'd said triumphantly, looking at it with her Tellmeyou'reproudofme eyes.

"Congratulations." My voice had wavered and I'd looked up at her with eyes that must have been hazy and nervous.

"Yay."

Vriska had grinned wickedly.

"Did that feel good?"

"Yes," I'd answered perhaps too enthusiastically.

"Gooooooood," she smirked, and then she'd thrown her head back and laughed hard.


And now I'm watching her sleeping form, because it makes me feel too feverish to think of the rest, but there was more kissing and now I have three bruises on my neck, and I question what quadrant we are in.

I should probably think about this tomorrow.

Or, today, because it... it is tomorrow. Man, time is terrible.

I cuddle up beside her and she mumbles something about how she, the great and powerful Marquise Spinneret Mindfang, will make me sorry for this, and I giggle and blush again.


A/N: The fluff. Oh God it burns. Dx