keptherwaiting | 1948 / Philadelphia

This kiss blows the first one out of the water.

The kiss in the diner was in response to a possibility she could not let come to pass, quick and fast and this one--

--well, this one is different. Softer, slower, perfect. Her hand slips from his shoulder to his neck, into his hair, the other holding on at his waist. If her heart beat, it would surely beat right out of her chest.

He feels right. Impossibly close, his hand at her back, his and her emotions fueling each other. Yes, she thinks happily. This is who I waited for.

It'd grieve Jasper to pull away now, even for a moment, and so he doesn't. His hands move, cupping her face, blending one kiss with another and then another.

Her hands in his hair, the other clutching the shirt she'd bought, her utter happiness of just being in his arms is very much overwhelming him.

What was his reason for not kissing her sooner?

The kisses deepen, last longer between each one, her happiness and desire mounting as she returns each one.

She knows, somewhere in the recess of her mind, that her emotions are going to get the better of him, but she doesn't want him to stop. Wants him to kiss her like this forever. Wants this, wants more, wants everything between them always, forever and--

Alice forces herself to pull back, inhaling a sharp lungful of air so she can speak, her hands coming to cup his face like he does hers, her forehead pressing tightly against his. "Wow," she whispers hoarsely, her smile wide and beaming against his lips as she presses another kiss against them--this one quick, though it only leaves her wanting more. "I was really missin' out these last twenty-eight years, not kissin' people."

She laughs, the sound like windchimes in the air. Then, carefully, knowing she's got to be affecting him: "You okay?"

"I'm great," he murmurs, chasing Alice's lips with his own, like someone who has gone twenty-eight years without kissing.

His arms go around her tiny waist, lifting her off the ground with ease so her lips are level with his and he can kiss her again.

"I'm glad you haven't gone around kissin' strangers," he continues in response to her question, trailing his lips to the corner of her mouth.

"Am I allowed to say that? Am I allowed to be jealous?"

It's perhaps a brief moment of clarity, a collision of his own emotions and hers, before his lips are on her yet again, tracing the line of her jaw.

(He is clearly much more affected by her than he even realizes.)

It's dizzying, the heady desire that fogs the room around them. It's also lovely--she's never felt this way before, never wanted someone to touch her like he is now. His lips at her jaw, his arms around her waist.

Her knees bracket his hips, the skirt of her dress bunched up between them as she tilts her head back, letting him trail kisses down her jaw, her neck. Her hands hold tight to his shoulders, fingers twitching slightly when she gasps air into her lungs, totally lost to him.

"--wait," Alice whispers, before she gets so lost she can't think straight. Wait, what is she doing? She doesn't want him to stop but, "Jasper--"

"Me tienes como un loco," is a whisper against her skin.

He has one hand bracing her, holding her up and pressed against him, another following a path along her stocking, under the skirt of her dress.

There had been a good reason of his wanting to wait to do this.

Jasper can't imagine what that is now.

"Y sigue así, no pares ya."

"Oh--"

Alice leans forward, her head bracing against her arm around his neck, her hips tilting forward to aid in his journey. The trail of his fingers, the muttered Spanish that she cannot understand, the air in the room hot and heavy.

"Merde," she mutters, taking his face in her hands and crashing against his lips in another kiss, all tongues and teeth clashing, desperation laced and needy.

The tilt of her hips, the desperation and need, is driving Jasper crazy.

His voice is a low growl in her ear when he breaks away from her kiss to drop her on the bed. "¿Qué voy a hacer contigo?"

He's pressing her into the blanket with another kiss, fingers insistent in pushing her skirt up and up, brushing cotton.

"Quiero tocarte, sentir tu piel."

Her back hits the bed and it's like an alarm goes off in her head. For half a second, before he kisses her again. Then she loses the urgency and--

No, no, no, he'll hate her, he'll hate himself if this--

Alice grabs at his shoulders, pushing him back. "Jasper, wait, wait, wait--oh God--"

She rolls out from under him, pressing herself against the wall, chest heaving as she trembles against the flowery wallpaper. "You can't," she whispers, hoarsely. "It's not....it's me. I'm making you do this. You don't want to, not yet."

Jasper is left clutching at the blanket. He blinks, once. And again. "What - ? No, of course, I do. Alice - "

But then he sees her trembling form, the way she curls away from him, and he freezes, the haze of need lingering but quickly evaporating.

"Oh God. Alice, I'm - I - "

What did he say? He was talking Spanish, wasn't he? He'd been saying what he wanted to do with her.

To her.

"Oh God."

He's mortified.

"I am - I apologize, Alice. I shouldn't have - Are you okay? God, you're not okay. You're shaking."

"No! No." She shakes her head, her hands reaching out for him before thinking better of it, hands pressing flat against her thighs as she bends, taking a deep breath to clear her mind.

Or try to. She keeps thinking of his hand on her thigh, creeping up, higher and higher, and how much she wanted that.

"It's, it's not a bad shaking," Alice's voice is strained, frustrated, annoyed at herself. Sliding down the wall, she curls forward so her head rests against her knees as she tries to find the right words to say. "I'm fine, Jasper. But," her eyes rise to meet his, big and round, sad and pleading. "I'm so sorry. I let myself get out of hand. I didn't mean--I just wanted to kiss you, I swear. I didn't mean to let myself get all..."

Her hands make a vague motion in front of her. It's not helpful, but it may convey the feeling of hnnngh she's trying to show him.

She's mortified. And feels so guilty. "It's not your fault, at all. I wanted, I want--"

Ugh, this is going so wrong. Her eyes close, head falling back against the wall. "I want you," she mutters to the ceiling. "And I am very bad at not projecting my emotions, apparently. And I'm sorry. Again. I'll understand if you want to leave. I wouldn't trust me either, honestly."

She may hear the bed creak as she's busy staring at the ceiling. That would be Jasper moving closer to her, placing a hand atop hers.

Even though, said hand is on her thigh and he'd been ready to rip that dress off of her to run his hand higher, feel her -

Jasper clears his throat.

"Alice," he says, softly. "I don't want to leave. They weren't just your emotions, they're mine too. I got carried away as well."

But, his original worry is coming back to him now: Wanting to wait, because he didn't want to use her. She feels strongly about him. He doesn't want to take advantage of that.

And, there is the matter of his past, and the last relationship he was in.

Rushing in doesn't seem like the best of ideas.

"I just..."

Why wouldn't he leave? She's been alone since the start. Someone changed her, then left her behind. Sometimes she really wishes she could sleep. She thinks she'd enjoy laying down for a while and just shutting off.

Her hand turns under his, clasping his long fingers with her smaller ones, drawing his hand to her lips to kiss his knuckles, softly. "What a day."

Alice lets go of his hand to push herself up off the floor, moving to the radio on the dresser, turning it on and fiddling with the dial before settling on a station, and a song. "Maybe soon we can go to a music shop. I'll get something from the twenties and teach you the Charleston and the Lindy Hop. A bit crazier dances, but fun."

What a day.

An understatement, that.

Jasper takes a deep breath as Alice had moved to turn the radio on. The sudden change of topic is a welcome one. He's still... recovering.

"Okay," he agrees to visiting a music shop. A glance out the window says it might be too late now, and the rain falling heavily still. "Maybe tomorrow?"

Edited 2020-06-27 22:37 (UTC)

"Tomorrow sounds good."

Alice watches him, leaning against the dresser, feeling ashamed. And unable to salvage things. Nervous again, as she twists her fingers together again and again.

She feels like apologizing again.

But she stays silent, turning around and fiddling with the volume, turning it lower.

"Alice," Jasper pleads softly, trying to pull her attention away from the radio.

He can't have her feeling like she should be ashamed, or have to apologize.

"Please. It was the both of us. It was - " His mouth quirks, a tiny grin. " - good. Pienso que tú eres atractivo."

"I can't speak Spanish," she whispers, turning to look at him again, her head tilted to the side, curls falling to her shoulder. Bracing herself with hands on the dresser, she offers him a lopsided smile. "But I can pick out one or two words."

Alice steps forward, pushing off the dresser to stand in front of him, her fingers coming to fiddle with the end of his hair, before pushing her hand through it. Her emotions are subdued, tamped down, under the layer of nerves and awkwardness she's feeling. The hand in his hair drags his head back a little, so his face is turned toward hers.

"Mais," she murmurs, "je pense que tu es si beau, so I guess we're even."

Jasper likes the feeling of her hands in his hair. He itches to put his hands on her hips, draw her into his lap.

He refrains from doing so.

Just barely.

"I guess we are," he murmurs, "Was that - French?"

There's the tiniest flicker of the future where he does draw her into his lap, there and gone again. Her fingers twitch against his scalp.

"Mmm," she agrees, pulling her hand from his hair so she can sit down next to him, taking his hand instead, following the lines of his palm. "I taught myself from books and this vampire in New Orleans I met once."

"I picked up a few words myself there too."

Maybe Alice will teach him some more.

"When were you in New Orleans?"

And should he be jealous of this other vampire?

"Late 1930s," Alice murmurs, her fingers pausing at either end of his life line. "I'd grown tired of wandering Atlantic City and bought a car and drove down. The mystic and strange live in New Orleans."

And the vampire and his coven had given her an odd sense of familiarity. Like she'd known someone like them before.

"Unfortunately, it's a little too sunny there, and I'm a little too friendly to keep to night." She laughs, the nervousness easing in her heart. "But it was nice, for a time. I was only there a year or so, but it was nice."

Jasper is not sure what she finds in the lines on his palm. He's happy to watch her trace the lines though, smiling softly as she talks and thinks on her time in New Orleans.

He himself hadn't been in New Orleans nearly that long, and it'd been some time since he'd been.

"Where'd you head to after that?"

He wants to know more about her.

Anything, and everything.

She hums in thought, moving her fingers to his love line instead, smiling down at his palm. "I went to Georgia, but didn't stay except a few days. Even sunnier than New Orleans."

Looking up at him, Alice meets his soft smile with a softening of her own. Her fingers slot between his, just holding his hand now. Outside, the day is turning to evening, the rain pattering against the window in a staccato rhythm.

He's bracketed by the little bit of light left in the sky, his gold hair almost aglow and her heart does a little flip as she looks at him and swallows hard.

"After that, I went up the coast. South and North Carolina, stayed in Virginia for a while, then before I knew it, 1948 and it was time to find you."

The way Alice is looking at him -

He knows he’s attractive, knows how (/has had) to use it to lure humans, but he can’t think of another vampire who saw anything other than his scars or him as a means to an end.

(Maybe Maria, once. Before things went so wrong. But she had a mate before him. And he knows (now) that she could never see him as anything other than what he actually was to her: a soldier.)

He’s not balking under the weight of Alice’s looking, he’s staring back.

Vampires are beautiful, Alice is extraordinary. Not just in her looks, and the gold of her eyes, but how she feels, strongly and candid.

He looks to their clasped hands, the way hers fit so perfectly in his.

“Favorite stop?”

And the way he stares back...

She shivers under his gaze, her smile still there, even as she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. His gaze drops to their hands, but she just tilts her head, taking in his profile.

The curve of his brow, the straightness of his nose, his eyelashes catching in the light. He makes her feel alive.

"Hmm," Alice murmurs, reaching out with her free hand to push his hair behind his ear, watching him. "I went to Tennessee on the way back up here, and I loved Knoxville. So much music and life. But absolute favorite stop?"

Her fingers curl under his chin, making him look at her. "Here."

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