"Eli...I am all in."
auiewjairrpoer.
that is all so enjoy
Eli parks some couple blocks away, careful to make sure that his conspicuous vintage black hearse is hidden behind the thick shrubs planted around the corner house. As Clare hurries to climb out, she squints at her former house with nervousness surging through her veins- it was all like a game, she would continuously remind herself. The worst that can possibly happen if she was to be caught is nothing she's not used to. She bounces anxiously on her toes, zipping up Adam's jacket to her neck.
Eli just stands slightly behind her, smirking.
"What?" she asks.
"I like your panties, Clare," he smiles mischievously, striding right past her- but not before he gives her behind a gentle slap. Clare lets out a timid ooh and glances down. Sure enough, the sheerness of her nightgown is more prominent in broad daylight . Eli's eyes sparkle in amusement from watching her expression shift, as he is inwardly delighted to have brought the subject up again.
"I can't wait to change out of this," Clare grumbles, twisting him around and marching him forward.
"You know what? I kind of like you in that," he says devilishly, suddenly halting against her pushes. He grins impishly, quite satisfied with the amount of panting behind him. Clare shoves with all her might, but the downhill effect fails to work in her favour.
"Keep it in your pants, Eli," she says reproachfully. With a sigh, she seizes his wrist and changes tactics, choosing to tow him instead. Eli chuckles and lags behind, allowing himself to get dragged. The view is quite nice, and he didn't protest.
"So where are we heading after this? Those matching dragon tattoos you said you wanted are long overdue," he says, grinning at the vivid memory of her rebellious streak.
"I think we've been refractory enough today, don't you think?"
"Not nearly enough," he says, leaning towards her ear. "I thought you were all about living dangerously," he whispers, lips at the shell of her ear. He smirks crookedly at her pleasant shiver. He likes that he can evoke that kind of response out of her. He likes that he can make her shudder and blush, knowing that he has that kind of effect on her. Months ago, he would have been perfectly satisfied with that response- really, he had been thrilled about it. But now it's different, and the glorious extra weight in his pocket serves as a reminder of that.
Their exchange, though it signifies something completely innocent, would always mean something more to him. Every time he had seen her pretty purity ring sparkle and shine on her finger, he thought of two things: for one, it was symbol of the self-respect Clare held herself with. He admires that about her, and he loves that she prided herself in that manner. That's what separates Clare from the rest; her purity, her innocence. On the other hand, he viewed it as an obstacle of what his teenage boy-self wanted more than anything else. It certainly put a damper on his fantasies, knowing that for the next ten years, they would only remain fantasies. But he loves her so much, there wasn't any other option other than waiting and, to quote Clare herself, keep it in his pants.
But oh, she had given him her purity ring, and nothing she could say would stop his mind from racing excitedly. He'd love nothing more than a reason to get her all hot and bothered, a reason to venture further than a passionate kiss. There's still so much they haven't explored yet, and he wishes with all his might that their exchange meant she was ready for more. He'd restrained himself for nearly half a year; more than that if he counted time prior to really getting into a relationship.
She turns around shortly to narrow her eyes, her lips pressed together in a smile.
Around the side, the window is fortunately open. It isn't very high up, but hoping from the nearest tree branch to the sill would require lots of momentum. From one brief glance, already Clare had gathered that she wouldn't be able to climb it even if she insisted upon it- her lack of athletic abilities and poor gym mark would stop her, if anything.
"Alright, so I guess I'll go up," Eli says confidently, releasing Clare's hand and rubbing his palms together before placing them firmly on the trunk.
"Be careful, please," Clare says, eyeing his legs apprehensively. She awkwardly puts out her hands in case he fumbles, eliciting an eye roll out of him. As if she would be able to catch him if he did.
Eli snorts, heaving himself upwards on the first branch. "Give me some credit, Clare. This isn't my first time climbing a tree. Don't you remember?"
"Yes, because the first time you climbed a tree, the branch snapped off and you fell face down. Give me a real reason why I shouldn't be worried."
Eli turns to glare playfully at her, his ego crackling before returning to his climb. His extremities feel particularly clumsy and heavy today, though he seems to be doing well in fooling Clare. He's dead nervous, still quite afraid of being caught. Even his own nonchalant attitude couldn't trick himself into believing that he's fully convinced this is a good idea. As he peers over the open window, he's almost expecting her parents to be there- hands on their hips, looking positively crossed, or perhaps with a wooden bat clutched in one of their hands. From there they would smack him down, and he would fall to his demise….
"Eli!" she shrieks, and she realizes that he had fully paused with one foot suspended in the air. He quickly attempts to regain equilibrium by stepping on a sturdy-looking branch, stomach slipping when his foot did.
"Ohh, I can't look," Clare whimpers from below, covering her eyes.
He's not that high above; perhaps ten feet, maybe less. But if he were to fall, it would certain leave quite a bruise on his face.
"It's okay," he coaxes, trying to calm her down before himself. His own heart is racing wildly, and he steadies himself by taking a few breaths.
Footsteps. He whips his head around so fast, he must have cricked his neck. Clare must have heard it too, because her eyes widen at the same time.
"Duck!" she hisses, rushing to the exterior of the house.
Eli peeks cautiously over. " It's alright," he confirms, panting a bit. "False alarm."
Bracing himself for a potential fumble, Eli takes a breath- then fully launches himself forward, straight into her bedroom with a soft thud. He hears Clare let out a relieved exhale from outside, and takes a moment to stick his head out the window and beam.
"Oh, shut up," she says, waving him away. As if he needed to puff up his ego any more.
He takes a quick scan across the room, deciding quickly that he would start. In the corner of her closet sits a duffel bag and a small suitcase; both of them, combined or not, would be inadequate for carrying all her belongings. Nevertheless, he pulls out the top drawer, dumping all the contents in the first bag. Sweaters and shirts occupy half the space, her jeans soon dominating the rest. With a low grunt, he heaves up the heavy duffel and sits it on the ledge.
"Toss it down," Clare says, feigning confidence. With one glance of her flimsy arms, half-heartedly outstretched before her, Eli bites his lip.
"It's heavy," he says, quickly imagining the bag crushing her onto the ground, followed by a sickening spat. "I think I'll have to make a few more trips.
The extra trouble of climbing back down ended up being quite necessary, as when he handed it to her, while it remained seated on the grass, she staggered under the weight.
"Just leave it here, okay?" She's so petite; it's a bit scary to imagine what would have happened if he actually threw it down.
Clare nods, and he proceeds to fill the suitcase. Once in her bedroom again, he puts most of her toiletries from her bathroom into the front pocket- feeling particularly awkward when he dropped a bunch of her feminine hygiene products in there lastly-. He adds the important stuff, like her favorite quilt, her diaries, some of her novels, the scrap paper that are actually messages they shared with one another long ago, as well as her bible. Her socks come next, and he hesitates before tugging open her lingerie drawer. Part of him insanely curious to see what treasures lie behind the wood, part of him wondering if Clare would be embarrassed. Then remembering that it was a necessity, a wide assortment of white and pink cotton is soon revealed, his eyes bulging involuntarily immediately after. Without even thinking about it, he reaches out and touches one of the padded items, sadness and glee sweeping pass him. Gleeful at the thought of touching something that had touched her in that area, but sad he may never. Then ridiculously jealous, for the bra touched constantly what he could not. It's becoming increasingly difficult to control his thoughts now.
Solemnly yanking the drawer out and pouring the contents in, Eli takes the room in once more. He seemed to have tackled all the important things, as so he thought before a photo caught his eyes. A small smile crosses his face, and he gingerly slides it in his jean pocket.
"I think I'm done now," he calls, swinging one leg over.
He stills himself upon seeing her petrified expression.
It all happens very quickly then. Randall's voice becomes dangerously louder, as if he's drawing near, Eli stumbles and lobs the entire suitcase down in an act of desperation, and a very loud crash spreads through what could be heard within a ten mile radius. Clare lets out a squeak, hastily shoving in all her belongings that flew out from the impact, leaving Eli to figure out how in hell's name he could climb down in less than five seconds. Randall's alarmed voice can be heard from the stairs, and Eli has less than a few heartbeats to escape. He jerks forward, praying that he wouldn't break legs jumping out the two-story window, but curses violently under his breath. Of course the most unlikely misfortune would happen to him. His belt loop is somehow tangled with the strings of the blind, probably as a result of his haste movements. Desperately he tugs and pulls, trying to free himself, but all to no avail. He's stuck, thanks to the goddamn blind strings.
"Fuck, fuck, fuckedy-fuck," he growls in a panic, yanking harder and harder. It only worsens the situation, as the knots only become tighter.
So he does the only thing he can think off.
All dignity aside, he swallows and unzips his pants. In record time, he manages to wriggle them off, and flings himself forward. By some miracle, his fingers close around a branch, and from there he safely struggles to climb down.
"Run!" he says hoarsely, picking up the suitcase and the duffel bag. The pair of them makes a bee-line for the hearse, ignoring the odd looks in Eli's direction. He roughly tosses the bags in the backseat, then hurries to the front and starts the engine.
"Go!" Clare cries, clinging onto the handle above her.
Morty bursts forward, driving farther and farther away.
"That was fun," he jokes weakly, eyes constantly darting from the rear-view mirror to the front.
They look at each other, and burst out in laughter. Ribs aching, happy noises filling the air, the whole situation appear less serious now that they are safe. Frightening and dead-risky it had been, adrenaline surges through their veins, and they feel completely exhilarated.
They laugh the whole ride home, frequently sharing ideas of how Randal would react upon seeing Clare's room half-empty. The worse is over, and they are equally relieved.
"Eli," Clare says in a somewhat vague tone as they step up the porch, "Where are your pants?"
He looks down at his boxer-clad bottom and then up at her face- absolutely priceless. She deliberately averts her gaze, pretending to be preoccupied by the doorbell with a faint pink colour pooling in her cheeks.
"Oh yeah, they uh, got stuck while I was trying to climb out of the window. Nasty blind strings, you had there," he explains, keeping his head down.
As he shoves his keys in the lock, the door is opened before he turns it.
Adam stands before them, squinting. "Where are my sunglasses?" he murmurs groggily, shuffling away without any greeting.
"It's cloudy today," Clare says confusedly turning around. "Why do you need them?"
"The paleness of your boyfriend's legs is burning my eyes," he mutters, jamming a pair on his face. He looks at Eli. "Ahh, still stings a bit. Where did you put my other ones, Cullen?"
Eli peels off his jacket, looking extremely offended as Clare dissolves into a fit of giggles.
"Come on, Edward, help me get my stuff upstairs," she says between tinkering laughter, pushing her things towards the stairs.
"Don't call me Edward, Edwards," he says huffily, snatching her bags away and stalking up in front of her. Clare stifles her giggle, following behind with more distance than usual.
"You can take the guest room, if you like," he says, setting everything down. "I thought you might like having your own bathroom."
"Thanks," she smiles briefly. "I'll start unpacking now, and leave you free to put on some pants."
"My favorite pair of pants," he groans. "Gone."
"I wonder what they'll think when they see a pair of skinny jeans hanging limp by the window," she muses, half grave, half amused.
"They might think it's yours," he says hopefully.
"Even I don't wear jeans that tight, Dr. Doom. " She holds up a pair of cotton leggings, folding it neatly. "Now shoo, I haven't got any sunglasses in here for you to stick around."
Eli scowls. "If I could see your legs, you wouldn't be making fun of mine."
"It's the dead of winter," she says lightly. "Unless you plan on holding it out for a few more months."
"There are probably other parts that are paler that you don't reveal to the public-"
"Eli-"
"Like your chair area-"
"Out-"
"Or maybe your frontal-"
"Get out."