nookiepowered | 23 Sphinx Street, Sunday Night

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23 Sphinx Street, Sunday Night

Who knew you could not only buy an obscenely large stone bathtub at the market across the causeway, but also hire three strapping half-naked possibly-Greek boys to carry it home for you, all for the low, low price of three Toonies, two quarters and a Ferelden silver coin, while not speaking a word of the language?

Yes, okay, fine. Bo knew. Yes, okay, fine, sometimes Bo cheated. Still, as pleasant as borrowing other people's might be, after weeks in this place, Bo finally had her own bathtub, the merchant had some interesting foreign coins, and even the delivery guys didn't exactly leave the premises unhappy. All's well that ends well, right?

Now all she had to do was figure out how to fill the thing, considering that even with the water and electricity finally turned on (thank you, unexpected second job, thank you), the hardware store didn't exactly have a plumbing hookup for an ancient Minoan bathtub.

Maybe she could hire the Greek himbos to come back and fill it with pots of hot water from the sink?

__
[Expecting some undead, non-Greek ~~himbos~~ gentlemen callers. That Mitchell and Eric were here is fine for broadcast; topics of conversation, probably not. Alllso getting NWS-y after the comment-collapse.]

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Mitchell: not actually looking as shocked as he could have been, considering. Blame having a hundred years or so on him by now. (Besides, he was more the 'tear out a bunch of juglars and be done with it' type. Ew, candy jars.)

But there was something he had to say here.

"Aren't you a couple of fucking romantics."

As was he, for not immediately thinking it was a stupid fucking idea. (And hey, in a couple of months, he might recognise it was sure as hell less of a stupid fucking idea than his original 'let's break into the metro and kill people' plan.)

"What, you want flowers and candles? I'm a succubus." Those books she'd shoved aside? Fandom High library. Not that they told her anything for sure, but the word was close enough to fit.

Also, she, um. Liked flowers and had candles. She just didn't really trust Mitchell around fire right now.

"See? Succubus," Eric said, nodding. "Besides, it's dark. I don't think to florist is open."

When it was, Bo would be getting flowers. It was how Eric operated.

Yeah, well.

Mitchell had thought Bo was hot-but-terribly-off-limits before, which meant that sleeping with her would be like spiting Lucy, right? Right.

"Well, hell," he said, "Lucy always hated me hanging around with the supernaturals."

"Such a way with words. You could turn a girl's head." There's a point where he gets sane, right? she thought useless at Eric. Though the gist might have been telegraphed with her eyes, while her fingers were telegraphing something entirely different by sliding slowly down her own throat.

What? If you notice an interest, use it.

"Just a thought," Eric said, "but it's generally frowned upon to bring the ex up in someone else's bed."

Which he'd be getting out of. Any minute now.

Mitchell could have commented that they'd just jointly decided the situation really wasn't exactly romantic, but Bo really was being very distracting. "Point," he said, sliding over to the edge of the bed, flicking his eyes to Bo's neck and then-- down.

Oh, look. He'd noticed the proper cleavage after all.

"About fucking time." There, how was that for romantic? Though maybe the part where she rested one knee on the bed and leaned over to provide a closer introduction to the subject at hand made up for that.

Well, now Eric was looking (what? They were right there!), and that was slowing down his "leaving any minute" plan.

Bo's cleavage was even more impressive up close, or maybe that was just loads of left-over adrenaline talking. Whatever-- Mitchell was craving something to occupy his mind that he could lose this overpowering rage in, even if it was just a moment.

He reached out and covered one hip with his hand. His eyes tracked back up over her collarbone, then her neck, to settle finally on her lips.

It seemed a shame to just leave that to looking. When he leaned in further to kiss her, he wasn't exactly shy about it.

Which was more like it. Much more like it. Close enough to it to be mistaken for its twin on an overcast night in a dark alley.

Bo wrapped a hand around his shoulder to steady herself, and let the other rest on Mitchell's jaw, not drawing energy from him, just feeling it play through his skin.

"I'll be going, then," Eric said, placing his hand on Bo's back.

That about broke through Mitchell's intense concentration on what he was doing now, and he broke away from Bo. A little.

To blink fuzzily in Eric's general direction.

Bo, at least a tiny bit fuzzy herself, went for directness. And conservation of breath. "Why?"

Oh. Ohhhhh. He smiled. "That is an excellent question," he said, moving in closer.

He was a thousand years old. It would take more than a threesome to knock him off stride.

Besides, this was to help Mitchell. Or something...

Or something, yes.

Mitchell digested that answer, shrugged it off - he really didn't care tonight - and instead preoccupied himself by kissing Bo's neck while her face was busy talking at people.

She didn't really need her face for talking anymore, but it was useful for lifting an inviting eyebrow at Eric before she leaned her head back to give Mitchell better access to her throat. Because that was, you know, smart.

Well, as far as inviting vampires to enjoy themselves, it was as useful as an engraved invitation and far less pretentious. Since Mitchell had claim on the neck, Eric was going to avail himself of the cleavage, thank you.

At least Mitchell was keeping himself in check - in one way, at least. There wasn't the slightest flicker of fangs against the skin-- but he was paying a great amount of attention to the vein he could feel thrumming right under there.

A moment later, he was kissing her again. Eric could do whatever the hell he liked, he didn't care.

Bo cared, but only in a generally approving way, which she expressed with a generally-approving sigh and a hand in someone's hair.

...Probably Eric's? Less curls.

Eric let out a decidedly approving noise, then moved toward removing someone's clothes, of which, he'd decided, there were far too many.

Eric wasn't really much for foreplay.

Mitchell was just fine with that, too.

He let Eric deal with his shirt; he was going to take care of Bo's next, thank you very much.

Take a moment if you will, lads, to give thanks that Bo was not wearing the thigh-high boots. Two less zipper-filled, finicky items of clothing to get past. Instead there were, since she was in her own home, bare toes sliding down Mitchell's leg, while Bo worked at another zipper entirely.

...and hello there, Bo. Eric nipped down on her shoulder before doing the same to Mitchell's.

(So no staying on opposite ends, then. Hello, now that hadn't happened in... at least a decade? That lad out in-- Oh, whatever, Mitchell wasn't too inclined to go down sex-memory-lane at the moment.)

He gripped Bo's hip again, pulling her closer-- trying to pull her fully towards himself, in fact, while he lowered his face to pay attention to her collarbone.

And then dipped his thumb into the waistband of her pants.

23 Sphinx Street, Sunday Night

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