secondchances | return to paradisa

It would be real awkward if she didn't feel anything. He's so dumb, too.

Steph lifts a brow.

"Seriously. I've just said I've had a crush on you for eternity, and I let you put your hands all over me, pinch me, cuddle up, we just found ourselves in this mess and I've sat on you... when did you ever see me do that with anyone else? Oh. And I've hated all your girlfriends. Sorry."

Some more, some less. Hate might be a strong word, but she's making her point, here.

He is so dumb, but he’s dumb in love.

“I thought maybe I was just so irresistible that I overcame your better judgment,” he teases. He also recalls, with near blinding vividness, that time he completely palmed her ass and that she let him. The past years have been the slowest burn of his life, and yet he wouldn’t trade it for anyone. “We’re both blind — and I hated Tim too. If you’d had more than one of those I might not have been able to bear it.”

He was very obvious about his feelings for Tim. Maaaaybe, Steph thinks, he could have been a little more obvious with her about his feelings towards her. More words, less ass palming.

"We're really doing this love confession, this-is-what-was-really-going-on thing right now in this creepy, abandoned castle... okay. Cool. I'm not one for romantic crap, anyway. It works."

Which doesn't really give Ezio much to go on.

He is sluggishly realizing they're on the same page. Sort of, anyway. He keeps playing with her hand, and then he says:

"Ten years from now, we will exhaust ourselves on the argument of whether I was wrong to bring it up now."

And they will, at least in his mind, whether they're here or out in the world beyond or in his world or hers. Ezio doesn't really have a plan so much as a vague goal, with the path between comprised of whatever hurdles might show up.

"I truly believed you knew."

Ten years is a long time, and she vaguely remembers being aware that he lives to be an old man with a wife and children. That's a bridge to cross sometime that's not now because she's not even sure where she's going, both literally and figuratively.

"I swear." That hand he's not holding? It comes up to (lightly) hit the side of his head. "I'm probably going to strangle you before we get to ten years from now."

She's not good at romance, so it's fortunate they've thrown that out the window for this chat.

"I love you too, you know? And I am going to vomit if either of us say anything about the power of love or fate or whatever dragging us here."

Bury her now.

“None of that,” he promises, even as she taps him. “The fates, that is. I am not so sure about the strangling. I might have earned it by then!”

"You've earned it several times over, pretty sure," she says, and then pulls her hand away to grab his arms and tug him. Is she pulling him in for a kiss? No, just to sit beside her again because the kneeling is making her even more nervous. She can't help but glance around, as if to make sure no one saw what probably looked like a freakin' proposal.

He gets up just enough to plunk down next to her. Not quite the kiss he might have hoped for -- it'd be nice but he knows he's tugged on the weakest links of his impulse control and taken her down with him.

"Nothing needs to change," he tells her, "If you do not want it to. We have many other things to attend to first."

"Many other things that all kinda make you go what the hell, right?"

Which is about all the warning he gets before she does actually kiss him. Hey, if they're going to discover the kitchen and city are devoid of food and are forced to trudge out into the wilderness and possibly starve to death, she's not going to pass this up any longer than she has.

He's kind of grinning just before she lands it on him, and for a moment he is mentally blinded by how lovely it is for her to kiss him like that, without mistletoe or jealousy or some other we-can-say-we-didn't-mean-to-in-the-morning. Her lips are soft and she's impulsive sometimes too and he savours it for a beat before he gets one hand on her ribs to steady himself so he can go in on it too. He's going to relish this. It's been too long not to.

It's not unfamiliar, funnily enough, to kiss him. What is new is kissing him without worrying about anyone to judge her for it--because there's no one else here--and letting herself actually enjoy it. There's no denying intent as she matches him, closing her eyes so she doesn't allow her eyes to remind her brain she's actually kissing Ezio. Like, for real, this time.

It's nice. Really nice. Almost too nice. But she's beginning to think that maybe she deserves it for all the hell this place has put her through and likely will continue to put her through.

She does have to break to remember to breath, eyes opening. There's a dull buzz in her brain as she tries to figure out something to say.

"Thanks."

But hey, at least she's smiling.

She does deserve it. He lingers close, his big ol' nose brushing hers, and he gets his other hand up to pet her hair out of her face. She's pretty and that's always a thought floating around his hindbrain when he looks at her, no matter what else he's doing or what might be on his mind, but up close he can savour that particular American beauty of hers, those vivid blue eyes. He loves seeing her happy, too, that particular shamelessness of a good kiss, for once.

"I should be the one thanking you," he rumbles, and then he kisses her again.

She doesn't remember the one word that managed to come out of her mouth, mind and body buzzing because wow, okay, she's really kissing Ezio and he's kissing her back and maybe she should have said to hell with it a lot sooner. Better late than never, right? So, when he responds he should be thanking her, she almost laughs and asks why before they're kissing again.

More confident now, she decides now it's actually appropriate to be sitting on his lap, and invites herself there as she deepens the kiss.

She figures his back probably doesn't feel great, against the stairs, but whatever. She's in the moment. This is much, much better than freaking out about impending doom.

Ezio is more than happy to help her into his lap, a hand roving up her thigh to scoot her as close to him as she'll go. The stairs don't bother him any, not after a great many years of tumbling through stables, across tile rooftops, on garden balconies and in secluded alleyways, and he'd tolerate anything for a lapful of pretty girl, this one most of all. His hands meander a little, slow but bold -- if she's worried about losing weight, he passionately disagrees, her loose clothes rucking up under his palms as he explores the shape of her underneath.

Not only is she the most willing lap resident, but for the first time she openly shows enthusiastic approval for the touching. She didn't dislike it, before, of course. She just didn't return the favor by feeling up his chest while kissing him, is all.

It'd be a lot sexier if her stomach didn't gurgle loud enough to cover up pleased noises she was beginning to make.

Guess her appetite is back.

If his chest is fair play, then so is hers –– he's not exactly shy about taking a handful and giving her a little squeeze, but then he hears her stomach. Ezio breaks up the kiss briefly just to chuckle at those little gurgles, right up against her mouth. He's gonna pretend that's for him.

"Hungry girl," he teases, and then he's back for more.

She's going to cry herself to death if it comes down to cannibalism, down the road. But probably not the best thing to think about now, so she doesn't, focusing instead on kissing and pressing closer.

"Well," she says, trying to collect herself between one kiss and another, "Now we really gotta figure stuff out."

Don't mind her taking the opportunity to casually feel up his biceps. Yep. Nice.

He's chuckling again, and in typical Ezio style, even though his shirt is open midway to his chest already, he reaches up and undoes a couple buttons one-handed so she can get her hand right in there if she wants.

"Enjoy yourself a minute," he says, resuming kissing her, but this time along her jaw and down the side of her neck.

Talk about a hint. She can't help but feel like some inexperienced schoolgirl next to him and his mile long list of women, but if he wants her to touch, she's more than happy to do just that. She lets her palm side over his chest, settling somewhere on his side against his ribs.

"Oh, don't you worry about that," she says, but relaxes, letting her head roll to the side so he can kiss away. "That's nice."

He probably doesn't need to be told with the way she's melting into him.

With a man of his experience, at least, she's in good hands. Ezio kisses his way from under her ear down to her collarbone, and then back up the column of her throat once more. Her skin tastes nice. In just the right spot, he feels the thump of her pulse and he lingers there a moment, and a pleasant rumble rolls from the back of his throat.

And the more she's melting into him, the more he's going to be digging into her thigh, too.

Her pulse is fast, but it's all the thrill of the moment. He was always good at making her pulse race when he happened to be particularly charming, and it was annoying because he knew damn well what he was doing, but to let herself give into it now is ridiculously liberating.

She thinks she would reach back and do him the favor of removing her bra so he can let his hands wander some more, but she remembers she's in a sports bra. Of course. Oh, well. The hand that isn't in his shirt tips his face back up, so she can kiss him again.

It takes him a moment to remember the intricacies of modern bras. Still groping her through her clothes, his fingers meander over the centre back as if he might find a clip, but there's nothing, and he's guessing it's not one of those fancy ones with the front clasp. If it's not coming off, fine. As she captures his mouth again, he fishes the hem of her shirt out of her tightened belt so he can feel the warmth of her skin up her back. Normally he might be going through the paces, dishing out attention out of habit, but here it feels exploratory, new. It's always different with a girlfriend; it's incomparable with someone with this kind of history. These kinds of bonds.

That touch to her back is such an obvious search for her bra clasp that she can't help but laugh. They might not always be on the same wavelength, being from such different times, but here's one of the times they are.

"Sorry," she laughs against his mouth, body shaking with the effort not to outright crack up. "Real slick attempt, though."

He grins, rocking her a little as he shifts his weight to sit a little deeper on the step.

"Every day I discover some new garment designed to keep me out of it," he rumbles, and he runs his fingers up and down her spine. Every time he does, she might feel the cool profile of the hidden blade flush against his inner arm. "But I'll spare you my usual work-around this time."

You don't become a vigilante without having some sort of thing for danger. She sort of likes feeling that hidden blade, knowing it's there, and trusting him entirely to be careful.

Shifting to get comfortable, she rests her arms on his shoulders.

"Asking might get you the same result without me yelling at you."

She's less worried about getting stabbed, more worried about losing a bra and not finding another.

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