Wyatt scoffed and propped up Ivy's ankle, holding on tight so she wouldn't get go.
"Hey, it WAS easy," he insisted proudly. "The guy flailed around like a panicky animal, landed a lucky punch." Wyatt knew he was embellishing, but he was only embellishing a little in his mind. He knew for certain he could take Ty if it was just him. Bret wasn't insurance, he was just there to cause a little extra pain, really put the hurt on the guy. They weren't the ones who had to go to the hospital, after all. "I'd say 'you should see the other guy', but I'm sure he'll keep covered until he can take the bandages off. We didn't need to beat his face any uglier." He cackled at that and looked pointedly to Ivy to follow up. "I mean, we're not monsters."
The slight fuzz in his mind made his own joke funnier to him than it should have been. There Ivy was, cutely sipping her beer in two hands because of course she hadn't finish her last one, the poor thing would probably be peeing all night after this. Probably ain't the drunkest she'd ever been but there was only so much liquid a girl her size could hold. On the bonus side, she'd only just started drinking the beer so she probably wouldn't literally piss herself laughing if he decided to fuck with her now. For instance, by doing...
"And get your foot out of my face or I'll bite it off!" Wyatt forced a false scowl onto his face and suddenly the grip on Ivy's ankle was a whole lot tighter. He knew she was ticklish, Bret's beard could cause... reactions, apparently, and figured that probably extended to less risque activities. In deciding to test those waters, he brought her stocking toes directly to his mouth like he really was going to bite them off, tickling the sole of her foot in the meantime.
The effects that lifting her leg had on the state of her skirt wasn't exactly lost to him either. It was just looking. Bret can't pummel him for looking.
close ain't close enough
private; i am very sorry
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Ivy's mind was clouded. It was easy enough to blame the beer, she was three down in record time, but there were more relevant causes. One was that the fight thing was going to keep tugging at her no matter how bold Wyatt's claims were, no matter how strong he acted in the face of what happened. And like, it was Wyatt. She didn't doubt for a single second that he meant every word, about how it wasn't a big deal, about how much fun it was, about how he'd do it again. He'd do it again right then, if she asked him to. He'd walk right into danger again, for her. Would Bret? Maybe not. That probably just meant that Bret was the smart one. It didn't matter really, did it? Could she do this to them again, even if she needed to? If it was anyone but Tyrell, it wouldn't have ended up like this. It would have been easy. She wouldn't have anything to feel guilty about. Unless some other psycho in this school carried a knife around, which was totally possible, and was also something she'd never be able to stop worrying about ever again.
The other relevant cause was that Wyatt was touching her.
She could kick, but he'd hold her still for sure. She could just ask him to let go. If she was serious, he would. He wasn't a monster. For some reason she didn't speak, though, just pouted and took another sip of beer. Her body was being uncooperative. She would keep telling herself that for as long as she could.
Wyatt kinda took her options away from her the moment he touched the sole of her foot, though. Calling Ivy ticklish was an understatement. Ivy was so ticklish that Myles had accidentally tickled her once and she kicked him in the face so hard they'd thought for a moment she'd knocked his tooth out. Ivy was so ticklish that as a kid she'd kicked one of the maids hard enough that she'd asked to take a week off to recover. She squeaked and kicked wildly, one foot held too tight to move, the other luckily just far enough away from Wyatt that she couldn't actually hurt him.
What she could do was spill her fourth beer, which she did, in spectacular fashion, as she lost control of her hands in her struggle to escape and dropped the can. On the plus side, she caught it before it totally emptied, and it wasn't quite enough of a spill to soak through to the couch. Less positive was the cold liquid seeping through her dress, sure to leave a massive stain. It wasn't a particularly nice dress, it wasn't a huge deal, not really. But it presented a dilemma.
She pulled gently free of Wyatt, placed the still half-full can with the empty ones, and pulled at her dress impotently, smiling a bit wryly, too tipsy to be too upset. She looked back up at Wyatt, head tilted.
"Mayb... Maybe I should... home? Change?" He'd say no. She knew he would. It was a dumb idea anyway, she should not be out and about in her current condition. There was another obvious solution, and she'd be happy to take it. The trouble would be explaining to Bret, but that felt like a lifetime away. It was future Ivy's problem.
The other relevant cause was that Wyatt was touching her.
She could kick, but he'd hold her still for sure. She could just ask him to let go. If she was serious, he would. He wasn't a monster. For some reason she didn't speak, though, just pouted and took another sip of beer. Her body was being uncooperative. She would keep telling herself that for as long as she could.
Wyatt kinda took her options away from her the moment he touched the sole of her foot, though. Calling Ivy ticklish was an understatement. Ivy was so ticklish that Myles had accidentally tickled her once and she kicked him in the face so hard they'd thought for a moment she'd knocked his tooth out. Ivy was so ticklish that as a kid she'd kicked one of the maids hard enough that she'd asked to take a week off to recover. She squeaked and kicked wildly, one foot held too tight to move, the other luckily just far enough away from Wyatt that she couldn't actually hurt him.
What she could do was spill her fourth beer, which she did, in spectacular fashion, as she lost control of her hands in her struggle to escape and dropped the can. On the plus side, she caught it before it totally emptied, and it wasn't quite enough of a spill to soak through to the couch. Less positive was the cold liquid seeping through her dress, sure to leave a massive stain. It wasn't a particularly nice dress, it wasn't a huge deal, not really. But it presented a dilemma.
She pulled gently free of Wyatt, placed the still half-full can with the empty ones, and pulled at her dress impotently, smiling a bit wryly, too tipsy to be too upset. She looked back up at Wyatt, head tilted.
"Mayb... Maybe I should... home? Change?" He'd say no. She knew he would. It was a dumb idea anyway, she should not be out and about in her current condition. There was another obvious solution, and she'd be happy to take it. The trouble would be explaining to Bret, but that felt like a lifetime away. It was future Ivy's problem.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
"Ha, oh shit!" The concern may have been peppered with laughter, but it was still there. The couch wouldn't be a problem as far as the beer was concerned. For one mark, it was leather (or pleather, he had a hard time remembering, but he told most people it was leather because they could certainly afford it) and treated so stains probably weren't in its future. For two, the Carter family had already stress-tested the thing after many nights spent screaming at the college ball game on the TV. There was probably still a buffalo wing stuffed down underneath the cushions somewhere.
"Shit, shit, it's aaaall over you," Wyatt said, still amused but gradually soaking in that this was kinda his bad. Ivy didn't seem all that torn up about it, luckily for him, and as he released her foot so she could adjust herself and try to pull the dress away from her skin, he counted himself lucky that she wasn't screaming at him. She did momentarily suggest going home, though, which put Wyatt on guard for a moment or so. She couldn't go out in this condition even if she'd walked here, and he wasn't in any condition to drive her back. Beyond that, he didn't want her to leave. Could have been the Pabst talking, but it was nice to be this close, just like that night out on the river. He didn't mind being a warm body to cuddle if Bret wasn't giving her what she needed.
He probably wouldn't mind a whole ton if he helped Ivy out of her mess either.
"Naw naw, I can get you something to wear," Wyatt quickly assured her. "I can go grab you one of my shirts. Thing'll probably go down to your knees. That's like a dress, yeah?" He smirked, and almost out of instinct, pinched the bottom of her dress between a thumb and forefinger. "But you'll have to get out of this."
Ah shit, how'd we get here?
Whatever, it ain't like he was fucking her yet.
"Shit, shit, it's aaaall over you," Wyatt said, still amused but gradually soaking in that this was kinda his bad. Ivy didn't seem all that torn up about it, luckily for him, and as he released her foot so she could adjust herself and try to pull the dress away from her skin, he counted himself lucky that she wasn't screaming at him. She did momentarily suggest going home, though, which put Wyatt on guard for a moment or so. She couldn't go out in this condition even if she'd walked here, and he wasn't in any condition to drive her back. Beyond that, he didn't want her to leave. Could have been the Pabst talking, but it was nice to be this close, just like that night out on the river. He didn't mind being a warm body to cuddle if Bret wasn't giving her what she needed.
He probably wouldn't mind a whole ton if he helped Ivy out of her mess either.
"Naw naw, I can get you something to wear," Wyatt quickly assured her. "I can go grab you one of my shirts. Thing'll probably go down to your knees. That's like a dress, yeah?" He smirked, and almost out of instinct, pinched the bottom of her dress between a thumb and forefinger. "But you'll have to get out of this."
Ah shit, how'd we get here?
Whatever, it ain't like he was fucking her yet.
"Yeah. Yeah, okay."
Exactly what she'd expected. Ivy lifted herself off the couch with some difficulty, stumbling as she looked for something to balance on, grabbing Wyatt's arm for support. No matter how many times she experienced it it was always a surprise just how much drunker she felt the moment she stood up. She was fine, her mind fuzzy but not blank, her ability to walk only momentarily hampered, but she still giggled as Wyatt helped her wobble her way toward the nearest bathroom. Was she blushing? He was touching her again. Less ticklish this time. More warm. "Go find me somethin' and... here. I'll be here," she said, looking a lot happier than she ought to considering the state of her dress. The head rush of movement wiped her mind momentarily of things that weren't this exact moment in time. This exact moment in time was pretty good.
When she entered the bathroom, the tile cold on her feet through her thin socks, and she closed the door, her mind cleared just a bit. She looked in the mirror. She looked surprisingly fine, her minimal makeup basically untouched, her hair only very slightly mussed. She frowned at herself. Her cheeks were still pink.
... What was she doing? This was a stupid idea. Ivy knew it was a stupid idea when she said yes to it. Bret was going to be home any time, and he'd probably have some questions about why she was wearing his brother's shirt. She could be honest with him. It had been an accident, she had been too drunk to walk home, Wyatt had been too drunk to drive her, it wasn't a lie, not really, but it still somehow felt like one. And she shouldn't have been getting drunk with her boyfriend's brother, anyway, that was obvious, even to her. It didn't stop her, but now that actual consequences were likely?
It didn't matter. Not really. It was already done, anyway. She'd spilled the beer, she needed out of this dress. She was overthinking. She could put on one of Wyatt's shirts, curl up on the couch and wait for Bret, and she'd apologize, and he'd probably forgive her, and everything would be fine. She could almost believe that, if she tried.
She stripped out of her dress in one smooth motion, unclipped the bow in her hair while she was at it, and stood looking in the mirror, naked but for her thigh-highs and lingerie. Ivy knew a limited number of conflict resolution strategies, unsurprising considering she preferred making things worse to making things better most of the time. But there was an easy and foolproof one when it came to her boyfriend, and she had prepared quite thoroughly for the occasion. She inspected her bralette; the beer hadn't soaked through to it, thank god. She rolled up her dress; she considered soaking it in water but she couldn't remember if it was hot or cold water that set stains and besides, it was like a $50 dress, she could just buy another one.
There was a knock at the door; she opened it partially just for a moment with a quick "thanks" to grab the proffered shirt. She'd probably cracked the door open a bit too wide, but whatever, she was distracted immediately by the workout tank that she'd taken. It was green, a shade that didn't quite match the green on her gradient socks but wasn't so far off as to clash horribly. But it was a workout tank, and as she guessed before actually putting it on, it was way too big for her. Well, obviously. But it was too big not just overall—she was pretty sure it was long enough to cover her ass, hell, it was almost long enough to pass dress code standards—but in the neckline and the arm holes, through which a solid half of her bralette was visible. She tried to adjust the shirt, but there wasn't really a good solution. Even if she tried to pull the neckline all the way up, there was still the arms. She pulled it up as much as she could, snapped her arms to her sides, held her arms over her chest; that helped, but it definitely didn't hide everything.
She should ask for another shirt. For some strange reason, she didn't do that. Instead she scooped up her dress and hair bow and opened the door.
Exactly what she'd expected. Ivy lifted herself off the couch with some difficulty, stumbling as she looked for something to balance on, grabbing Wyatt's arm for support. No matter how many times she experienced it it was always a surprise just how much drunker she felt the moment she stood up. She was fine, her mind fuzzy but not blank, her ability to walk only momentarily hampered, but she still giggled as Wyatt helped her wobble her way toward the nearest bathroom. Was she blushing? He was touching her again. Less ticklish this time. More warm. "Go find me somethin' and... here. I'll be here," she said, looking a lot happier than she ought to considering the state of her dress. The head rush of movement wiped her mind momentarily of things that weren't this exact moment in time. This exact moment in time was pretty good.
When she entered the bathroom, the tile cold on her feet through her thin socks, and she closed the door, her mind cleared just a bit. She looked in the mirror. She looked surprisingly fine, her minimal makeup basically untouched, her hair only very slightly mussed. She frowned at herself. Her cheeks were still pink.
... What was she doing? This was a stupid idea. Ivy knew it was a stupid idea when she said yes to it. Bret was going to be home any time, and he'd probably have some questions about why she was wearing his brother's shirt. She could be honest with him. It had been an accident, she had been too drunk to walk home, Wyatt had been too drunk to drive her, it wasn't a lie, not really, but it still somehow felt like one. And she shouldn't have been getting drunk with her boyfriend's brother, anyway, that was obvious, even to her. It didn't stop her, but now that actual consequences were likely?
It didn't matter. Not really. It was already done, anyway. She'd spilled the beer, she needed out of this dress. She was overthinking. She could put on one of Wyatt's shirts, curl up on the couch and wait for Bret, and she'd apologize, and he'd probably forgive her, and everything would be fine. She could almost believe that, if she tried.
She stripped out of her dress in one smooth motion, unclipped the bow in her hair while she was at it, and stood looking in the mirror, naked but for her thigh-highs and lingerie. Ivy knew a limited number of conflict resolution strategies, unsurprising considering she preferred making things worse to making things better most of the time. But there was an easy and foolproof one when it came to her boyfriend, and she had prepared quite thoroughly for the occasion. She inspected her bralette; the beer hadn't soaked through to it, thank god. She rolled up her dress; she considered soaking it in water but she couldn't remember if it was hot or cold water that set stains and besides, it was like a $50 dress, she could just buy another one.
There was a knock at the door; she opened it partially just for a moment with a quick "thanks" to grab the proffered shirt. She'd probably cracked the door open a bit too wide, but whatever, she was distracted immediately by the workout tank that she'd taken. It was green, a shade that didn't quite match the green on her gradient socks but wasn't so far off as to clash horribly. But it was a workout tank, and as she guessed before actually putting it on, it was way too big for her. Well, obviously. But it was too big not just overall—she was pretty sure it was long enough to cover her ass, hell, it was almost long enough to pass dress code standards—but in the neckline and the arm holes, through which a solid half of her bralette was visible. She tried to adjust the shirt, but there wasn't really a good solution. Even if she tried to pull the neckline all the way up, there was still the arms. She pulled it up as much as she could, snapped her arms to her sides, held her arms over her chest; that helped, but it definitely didn't hide everything.
She should ask for another shirt. For some strange reason, she didn't do that. Instead she scooped up her dress and hair bow and opened the door.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
"Hey, looking good!" Wyatt said immediately as Ivy came out of the bathroom. It was almost certain that she did NOT look good in her green on slightly different green ensemble, in a work tank that was obviously far too large for her and showed off more than she'd like of her undergarments... the top part of them, anyway. Then again it stood within reason that the most brazen member of the Carter family didn't know the first thing about fashion or looking good beyond sculpting his body to self-perceived perfection. And the definition for what passed as good clearly contained some bias with regards to Ivy.
"So the colors match," he said, looking her up and down. There was some ambiguity in what he meant, considering the off-shades of green between the tank and her thigh highs, but Wyatt was all too willing to clear up any confusion: "your bra, I mean. Matches the bottoms. You kicked awfully high, you know." He gave a knowing smile but stepped to the side and offered a hand back for the couch. Getting there was an entirely different matter from just thinking about it, and he displayed his impatience at the thought of guiding a waddling drunken girl back to the living room by simply hoisting her up, as he had a fair few times before.
Wyatt had lifted boys off the mat and off the gridiron. Ivy felt like she weighed about as much as a football uniform without the athlete inside of it. Arms pulled her close like he was curling a barbell, elbows tucked in tight and locked so she wouldn't drop her, and he walked them both back to where they'd been sitting before. "Well, there's still beer on the couch so I'd have to wipe it down," Wyatt explained, sitting down in the easy chair instead with Ivy across his lap. The poor chair creaked in protest, but it held. It'd been built to hold; the family wouldn't have gotten it otherwise.
He watched her for a while. When he spoke again, his voice wasn't so loud.
"So everything's okay, yeah?"
"So the colors match," he said, looking her up and down. There was some ambiguity in what he meant, considering the off-shades of green between the tank and her thigh highs, but Wyatt was all too willing to clear up any confusion: "your bra, I mean. Matches the bottoms. You kicked awfully high, you know." He gave a knowing smile but stepped to the side and offered a hand back for the couch. Getting there was an entirely different matter from just thinking about it, and he displayed his impatience at the thought of guiding a waddling drunken girl back to the living room by simply hoisting her up, as he had a fair few times before.
Wyatt had lifted boys off the mat and off the gridiron. Ivy felt like she weighed about as much as a football uniform without the athlete inside of it. Arms pulled her close like he was curling a barbell, elbows tucked in tight and locked so she wouldn't drop her, and he walked them both back to where they'd been sitting before. "Well, there's still beer on the couch so I'd have to wipe it down," Wyatt explained, sitting down in the easy chair instead with Ivy across his lap. The poor chair creaked in protest, but it held. It'd been built to hold; the family wouldn't have gotten it otherwise.
He watched her for a while. When he spoke again, his voice wasn't so loud.
"So everything's okay, yeah?"
Ivy reasonably could have kicked him. No one would have blamed her. She didn't actually want to, though, so she settled for a pout that could be charitably read as chastizing if it wasn't immediately broken by a smile. Wyatt was Wyatt. If she didn't appreciate that about him she wouldn't be here. She reached out to take his hand but was taken genuinely by surprise when he picked her up, squeaking in mild protest but immediately betraying that by clinging tightly to his shirt.
It was so familiar. She had been here before. She cataloged the differences; it was less cold, she was wearing significantly less clothing, her thoughts were less fogged. She didn't feel inclined to pass out, though it would be a convenient excuse to not leave his arms. She heard his voice, something about how they couldn't sit on the couch because she'd spilled beer there, and she was almost sure she hadn't, but maybe that was an excuse, too. She was starting to run low on those. She'd take what she could get.
They sat on the easy chair and Ivy loosened her grip, but only just. Her head was tucked up against his neck, hands kept mostly to herself, she was being good, she'd done nothing and yet everything wrong, at least for the time being. She heard his voice.
Was everything okay?
She straightened slightly, just enough that she could look at him. He looked back, one eye still swollen, bandaged, staring back at her, and finally, deliberately, she touched him. Fingertips moved delicately across the bandage, settling gently on the visible swelling. This was a mistake, she thought, and wasn't sure what it was she meant.
"I'm sorry."
She meant that, at least, for once.
It was so familiar. She had been here before. She cataloged the differences; it was less cold, she was wearing significantly less clothing, her thoughts were less fogged. She didn't feel inclined to pass out, though it would be a convenient excuse to not leave his arms. She heard his voice, something about how they couldn't sit on the couch because she'd spilled beer there, and she was almost sure she hadn't, but maybe that was an excuse, too. She was starting to run low on those. She'd take what she could get.
They sat on the easy chair and Ivy loosened her grip, but only just. Her head was tucked up against his neck, hands kept mostly to herself, she was being good, she'd done nothing and yet everything wrong, at least for the time being. She heard his voice.
Was everything okay?
She straightened slightly, just enough that she could look at him. He looked back, one eye still swollen, bandaged, staring back at her, and finally, deliberately, she touched him. Fingertips moved delicately across the bandage, settling gently on the visible swelling. This was a mistake, she thought, and wasn't sure what it was she meant.
"I'm sorry."
She meant that, at least, for once.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Sorry for what?
He'd explained to her again and again that he knew what he was getting into. The Carter boys never backed down from anything, and if some clown was retarded enough to fuck around with one of their girls then nothing could stop them from getting what came to them, not even being a spastic emo who brings a knife to a fist fight. Props to Ty, he hit hard, but this wasn't the first cut Wyatt had received in his life. So why was Ivy continuously making a big deal about it?
His left eye narrowed when she touched the bandage. It 'hurt' in the sense that he could definitely feel something, but he felt more pain than that every time a QB snapped a ball and he pushed by other guys, some of them close to his size. It was easy to push aside the human instinct to pull away from Ivy's grasp because the desire to stay there was so much stronger, he even pressed his head into the touch somewhat.
But sorry for what? He didn't blame her for anything. If there was something Wyatt could take pride in aside from his health, his fitness, his family, his wealth, his ruggedly handsome looks and his social standing, it was his ability to own his own actions. Excuses were for Democrats. Then, if he didn't blame her for anything, why was Ivy so remorseful?
...
Because Bret did. And when Wyatt figured that out, his smile dropped for a moment. But only for a moment.
"Ha. If you're so sorry, guess you oughta kiss it better."
He'd explained to her again and again that he knew what he was getting into. The Carter boys never backed down from anything, and if some clown was retarded enough to fuck around with one of their girls then nothing could stop them from getting what came to them, not even being a spastic emo who brings a knife to a fist fight. Props to Ty, he hit hard, but this wasn't the first cut Wyatt had received in his life. So why was Ivy continuously making a big deal about it?
His left eye narrowed when she touched the bandage. It 'hurt' in the sense that he could definitely feel something, but he felt more pain than that every time a QB snapped a ball and he pushed by other guys, some of them close to his size. It was easy to push aside the human instinct to pull away from Ivy's grasp because the desire to stay there was so much stronger, he even pressed his head into the touch somewhat.
But sorry for what? He didn't blame her for anything. If there was something Wyatt could take pride in aside from his health, his fitness, his family, his wealth, his ruggedly handsome looks and his social standing, it was his ability to own his own actions. Excuses were for Democrats. Then, if he didn't blame her for anything, why was Ivy so remorseful?
...
Because Bret did. And when Wyatt figured that out, his smile dropped for a moment. But only for a moment.
"Ha. If you're so sorry, guess you oughta kiss it better."
She froze.
She'd seen it coming, but was still taken by surprise. Her first thought was a bad one, one that she should be upset with herself for, but she hadn't lived with herself this long by regretting her less moral impulses.
She scanned his face, trying to determine if he was serious, and for a brief moment he had been, his laughing expression slipping for the briefest of moments. It was maybe the first time Ivy had looked at Wyatt and had to wonder what was on his mind. Something had struck him. But asking what would kill the moment, and she wasn't sure she could get it back.
Slowly, deliberately, her fingers trailed away from his injury, down the side of his face, tracing his jaw. She leaned in.
Slowly, deliberately, she brushed her lips against the bare skin just about his bandage.
Slowly, deliberately, she leaned back. Her hand didn't move. Her eyes didn't leave his. This was a challenge. A dare, almost.
She hadn't done anything wrong.
Not yet.
Not really.
She'd seen it coming, but was still taken by surprise. Her first thought was a bad one, one that she should be upset with herself for, but she hadn't lived with herself this long by regretting her less moral impulses.
She scanned his face, trying to determine if he was serious, and for a brief moment he had been, his laughing expression slipping for the briefest of moments. It was maybe the first time Ivy had looked at Wyatt and had to wonder what was on his mind. Something had struck him. But asking what would kill the moment, and she wasn't sure she could get it back.
Slowly, deliberately, her fingers trailed away from his injury, down the side of his face, tracing his jaw. She leaned in.
Slowly, deliberately, she brushed her lips against the bare skin just about his bandage.
Slowly, deliberately, she leaned back. Her hand didn't move. Her eyes didn't leave his. This was a challenge. A dare, almost.
She hadn't done anything wrong.
Not yet.
Not really.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
That felt nicer than expected. She was safe in his arms, and knowing that he offered that to her was a good feeling. It was a wonderful feeling that he wanted more of, and he'd get it by feeling more of her.
"You missed a spot," he said, smirking, and no longer bothered asking himself what he was doing.
This was all Bret's loss and as far as Wyatt was concerned, big bro would just have to suck it up and realize this was all his fault anyway. Wyatt adjusted his grip on Ivy, maybe not entirely caring where his hands were so long as they weren't hurting her or causing any major discomfort. For a top that didn't fit well on her at all, she managed to rock it.
"And you know, you're gonna have to give this back sooner or later," he said, gradually clenching a fistful of cloth.
"You missed a spot," he said, smirking, and no longer bothered asking himself what he was doing.
This was all Bret's loss and as far as Wyatt was concerned, big bro would just have to suck it up and realize this was all his fault anyway. Wyatt adjusted his grip on Ivy, maybe not entirely caring where his hands were so long as they weren't hurting her or causing any major discomfort. For a top that didn't fit well on her at all, she managed to rock it.
"And you know, you're gonna have to give this back sooner or later," he said, gradually clenching a fistful of cloth.
Ivy leaned forward again. Her lips came dangerously close to his but didn't touch; her forehead pressed to his instead. His skin was just slightly rough under her fingers and was a sharp, visceral reminder of the face she wasn't touching. It was fine, though. She was rapidly running out of actual excuses, she knew she'd crossed half a dozen lines by now, she knew that every time she told herself she'd done nothing wrong was entirely transparent. But she was having an increasingly hard time summoning up guilt, or sadness, or any emotion that wasn't longing.
Bret could have stopped this, if he'd cared to. He could have talked to her before now. He could have been here when she needed him, but he wasn't, and she'd had to find her solace somewhere. It was understandable. It was what she needed. And when she thought about it, she wasn't sure she'd ever felt quite this good in Bret's arms. Really, she hadn't done anything wrong. She'd just learned something new. His touch burned as his hands wandered. They could stand to wander a little more.
"You can take it back whenever you like," she whispered, her voice breathier than she'd realized, her words more daring than she'd expected.
Bret could have stopped this, if he'd cared to. He could have talked to her before now. He could have been here when she needed him, but he wasn't, and she'd had to find her solace somewhere. It was understandable. It was what she needed. And when she thought about it, she wasn't sure she'd ever felt quite this good in Bret's arms. Really, she hadn't done anything wrong. She'd just learned something new. His touch burned as his hands wandered. They could stand to wander a little more.
"You can take it back whenever you like," she whispered, her voice breathier than she'd realized, her words more daring than she'd expected.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
"I don't think I'd like to."
At this point, Ivy had closed nine tenths of the space between their faces. If she'd said or done anything else he would have just played it off like a joke, jostled her a bit, maybe tickled her some and then they'd wash her dress.
Fuck her dress. Set it on fire, because they weren't taking care of that fucking thing anymore. Right now he didn't care much for her lingerie or his own shirt either. He found restraint for the time being and tucked an arm under her head to support it.
"I don't think you wanna either, eh?"
Pump the brakes, pal.
Pump them. Pump them.
Whoops, you just kissed her.
At this point, Ivy had closed nine tenths of the space between their faces. If she'd said or done anything else he would have just played it off like a joke, jostled her a bit, maybe tickled her some and then they'd wash her dress.
Fuck her dress. Set it on fire, because they weren't taking care of that fucking thing anymore. Right now he didn't care much for her lingerie or his own shirt either. He found restraint for the time being and tucked an arm under her head to support it.
"I don't think you wanna either, eh?"
Pump the brakes, pal.
Pump them. Pump them.
Whoops, you just kissed her.
Hey.
This was happening now, huh?
Any thoughts more coherent than that were washed away with the heat and the alcohol and the feel of his mouth on hers and really, in her situation, with everything that had happened, who wouldn't do the same? Who wouldn't kiss him back, who wouldn't hold him tighter? Pushing him away now would make her miserable, and she was nothing if not good to herself in moments like these.
She contented herself with his lips. Her hands wanted to roam, but they held tight for now, it was a bad idea, wasn't all of this a bad idea, they were in the living room, Bret could come home at any second, Bret, Bret, Bret, she pushed the name from her mind and reached under his shirt anyway, whatever, fuck it. Better reason not to hold back. Wasn't it?
This was happening now, huh?
Any thoughts more coherent than that were washed away with the heat and the alcohol and the feel of his mouth on hers and really, in her situation, with everything that had happened, who wouldn't do the same? Who wouldn't kiss him back, who wouldn't hold him tighter? Pushing him away now would make her miserable, and she was nothing if not good to herself in moments like these.
She contented herself with his lips. Her hands wanted to roam, but they held tight for now, it was a bad idea, wasn't all of this a bad idea, they were in the living room, Bret could come home at any second, Bret, Bret, Bret, she pushed the name from her mind and reached under his shirt anyway, whatever, fuck it. Better reason not to hold back. Wasn't it?
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
With the fever building up between them, it had become all too clear that the train had left the station and there was no stopping it. There was no stopping himself, and Ivy wasn't exactly going out of her way to uproot the tracks either, so this was on the both of them. A sizable part of Wyatt's brain had not forgotten, was well aware of what he was doing, the ramifications of what he was doing, and that if any of this got to Bret, then the only kid at George Hunter High who could actually make him take pause and think twice about stepping up to was going to beat him bloody. He'd probably get a cut above the other eye to match the one he already had, and that was if Bret was feeling charitable.
Unfortunately for the exclusivity of his brother's relationship, feeling Ivy Langley's skin underneath a loose-fitting shirt had funny ways of making you not give a shit. Bret clearly wasn't giving her what she needed right now anyway; it wasn't like they'd never taken turns with anything before. Like when Bret got that fancy dirtbike but then when he got into his car, he stopped riding it. Can't let a beautiful ride like that go to waste, never giving it just a little bit of love, could you?
And from Ives' perspective, two musclebound studs had to be better than one.
The thought was stupid the moment it came from his brain, but his hand found lace-covered tit and, goddamn, whatever he was thinking just didn't matter anymore.
They were both a little tipsy, both capable of making decisions. That was okay. But something still held Ives back. Wyatt knew what it was, the one and only thing that gave him pause. He wanted to be sure she was ready to let go, so he pulled back on the kiss just long enough to confirm. See what she does.
That hand was there between her thighs to help her decision, nothing more, nothing less.
Unfortunately for the exclusivity of his brother's relationship, feeling Ivy Langley's skin underneath a loose-fitting shirt had funny ways of making you not give a shit. Bret clearly wasn't giving her what she needed right now anyway; it wasn't like they'd never taken turns with anything before. Like when Bret got that fancy dirtbike but then when he got into his car, he stopped riding it. Can't let a beautiful ride like that go to waste, never giving it just a little bit of love, could you?
And from Ives' perspective, two musclebound studs had to be better than one.
The thought was stupid the moment it came from his brain, but his hand found lace-covered tit and, goddamn, whatever he was thinking just didn't matter anymore.
They were both a little tipsy, both capable of making decisions. That was okay. But something still held Ives back. Wyatt knew what it was, the one and only thing that gave him pause. He wanted to be sure she was ready to let go, so he pulled back on the kiss just long enough to confirm. See what she does.
That hand was there between her thighs to help her decision, nothing more, nothing less.
Drunk on contact as well as alcohol, thoughts were practically a non-factor as Ivy was driven forward by instinct and hormones. No stopping now, no letting go. There was some part of her brain still capable of conscious thought that idly wondered if Wyatt was as drunk as she was but dismissed that because of course he was and also who cared, it didn't matter, they were here, it was good, she was happy, they were happy, she was pretty sure, not that she'd exactly asked Wyatt but his hands were kinda speaking where his mouth was occupied. She wasn't sure if she could ask him if she tried, words did not feel like they'd be her strong suit at this particular moment.
She moved under his shirt, wanting badly to take it off but to do so would separate their lips for a moment and that was entirely unacceptable. Plenty else she could do without interrupting. Plenty of things she strongly considered doing but decided against because hey, she was playing coy here. By extremely generous definitions of coy, but words were all relative anyway and Ivy could make them mean whatever she wanted if she tried hard enough.
When Wyatt pulled away she made a noise halfway between a moan and a whimper, mildly irritated, but a thought crept into her head that prevented her from immediately removing the space between them. This was a test. Sort of. She'd let Wyatt make all the first moves here, and now she had to reengage. Clever of him. For a moment a paranoid part of her brain, trained on years of petty drama, wondered if maybe she was wrong, maybe he was just stopping here because he didn't want her, maybe this was all some sort of trap, maybe he was going to just tell Bret—but no. No, first of all Bret wouldn't agree to that, obviously, and second of all Wyatt was too honest for it. That's why she liked him. That's what got them here.
And third of all the current position of Wyatt's hands kinda gave away that he had no intention of stopping unless she wanted him to.
She didn't need much encouragement. She leaned back in, her voice breathy, restless, she whispered don't stop before returning her lips to his. One hand pulled at his waistband, dubious coyness be damned. Basketball shorts were terribly convenient in their elasticity.
She moved under his shirt, wanting badly to take it off but to do so would separate their lips for a moment and that was entirely unacceptable. Plenty else she could do without interrupting. Plenty of things she strongly considered doing but decided against because hey, she was playing coy here. By extremely generous definitions of coy, but words were all relative anyway and Ivy could make them mean whatever she wanted if she tried hard enough.
When Wyatt pulled away she made a noise halfway between a moan and a whimper, mildly irritated, but a thought crept into her head that prevented her from immediately removing the space between them. This was a test. Sort of. She'd let Wyatt make all the first moves here, and now she had to reengage. Clever of him. For a moment a paranoid part of her brain, trained on years of petty drama, wondered if maybe she was wrong, maybe he was just stopping here because he didn't want her, maybe this was all some sort of trap, maybe he was going to just tell Bret—but no. No, first of all Bret wouldn't agree to that, obviously, and second of all Wyatt was too honest for it. That's why she liked him. That's what got them here.
And third of all the current position of Wyatt's hands kinda gave away that he had no intention of stopping unless she wanted him to.
She didn't need much encouragement. She leaned back in, her voice breathy, restless, she whispered don't stop before returning her lips to his. One hand pulled at his waistband, dubious coyness be damned. Basketball shorts were terribly convenient in their elasticity.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
They'd come to a position familiar for Wyatt, just with an unfamiliar partner. He hoped that she didn't mind being on bottom, complete with the apparent risk of being crushed underneath somebody nearly three times her weight. He also hoped she didn't mind raw dog because there was no fucking way they were delaying long enough to go grab a condom. Fuck it, she's on birth control anyway, that does the trick enough by itself.
He went to go make some moves when she was pulling at his shorts and, christ, there was no way in hell they were going to be comfortable like this on the couch. It might have been possible if Ivy rode him but, like he always insisted, Wyatt Carter was always on top, the girl's hips be damned.
"Wait wait wait," he quickly admonished, breaking off the kiss one more time with his shirts, one on him and one on Ivy, both pulled up out of the way. "Let's get you upstairs. Give you some sheets to grab, you'll need it," he confidently smirked, scooping Ivy up in his arms.
Up the stairs was no problem.
He went to go make some moves when she was pulling at his shorts and, christ, there was no way in hell they were going to be comfortable like this on the couch. It might have been possible if Ivy rode him but, like he always insisted, Wyatt Carter was always on top, the girl's hips be damned.
"Wait wait wait," he quickly admonished, breaking off the kiss one more time with his shirts, one on him and one on Ivy, both pulled up out of the way. "Let's get you upstairs. Give you some sheets to grab, you'll need it," he confidently smirked, scooping Ivy up in his arms.
Up the stairs was no problem.