pathography | the one where things get messy.

Percy's fingers stroking just so while he sucks at her clit has a reaction like lighting a fuse, her whole body tingling and sparking as it starts a chain reaction. She doesn't go off yet, but it starts the chain of events, slow burnings as it ticks down the seconds until she explodes. She can feel it mounting with every thrust of his fingers and when his tongue rasps against her, and she can feel herself falling forward into it.

She leans back on one arm while the one in Percy's hair squeezes again, then eases slightly, then tightens. It's almost rhythmic. Her leg hitches over his shoulder, looking for leverage. Her hips rock to him.

There's an instant when she's laid out before him in his thoughts, not quite visualized, but not quite not. It's difficult to explain, the flash of understanding that Percy tends to absorb into himself so quickly that it becomes inextricable from the rest of his mind: it's more than a checklist of she likes this, she doesn't like that and less than the entirety of her, a sense of self-assurance wrapped up in newfound factual knowledge and newly established skills. He'd be hopeless at finding words for it, even in his own mind, but fortunately, he doesn't have to. I haven't mastered this task, but I'm going to is the sensation that settles into his body, and he's too focused to give it more thought than a moment's notice.

She's telling him what she wants, and he listens. More of everything, the suction of his mouth matching the rhythm of her clenched hand, a third finger joining the first two as they stretch into her. Less uncertainty, less second-guessing - no second-guessing, not when he can tell he's having an effect. He doesn't have a great sense of just how close she is, but she's squeezing tighter, tilting closer. All evidence suggests the answer is a complimentary one.

His hand closes tighter at her hip, and she doesn't have to pull him in when he'd be hard-pressed to get closer than he is, keeping her exactly where he wants her as his lips and the tip of his tongue make a full study of her clit. Whatever else is true, he's going to end tonight having done right by Vex'ahlia, or he's going to smother himself trying.

The attention and focus he showers on that most sensitive part of Vex's anatomy is—compelling. Enthusiasm may make up for a lot when it comes to going down, but there's something to be said for a willingness to learn. Not just willingness, but desire to learn, excitement to learn. Like she's got the most delightful puzzle between her thighs, and Percy is only too eager to master it.

On one level, it's flattering. In her head and in her... well, maybe not her heart, but some other space in her chest that tightens at the compliment his fervor pays her, in whatever organ houses her ego, Vex grows warm and pleased.

On the other, more purely physical level, it feels really fucking good.

"Oh, darling," she whispers, her voice breathy and controlled. And she swears, cursing encouragement. It's an effort to keep quiet. Not silent, but discreet. It's the best she can do.

He'll realize later just how fortunate they are that no one walks in on them - including the proprietor, who'd have every reason to throw them out - but at the moment, his is a one-track mind, and all roads lead to her climax. Vex'ahlia murmurs an endearment that barely registers, darling losing its ironic edge and taking on a warmth he doesn't deserve. And Percy presses onward, determined to see this through.

It's worth it, all of it. The moments of awkwardness and embarrassment on the way to this point are a fair price to pay for the satisfaction of feeling the moment she comes undone, cunt clenching around his fingers and thighs clenching around his temples. She's quiet about it, but from his vantage point, she's not subtle, and he glories in all of it: the heat and the taste, the tension running through every scrap of her, the slackening after. He's with her through it all, until she lets him go and he can swipe the come off his face.

"Well," and there's some new lightness to the word as he rises from between her legs, smiling like an utter moron at the sight of her face. Nothing else comes to mind to say except inanities like I think we've gotten our money's worth and you're quite easily the most beautiful woman I've ever gone down on, you know.

As luck would have it, Vex isn't in any particular place to be judgmental. Not of his smile, or of the lack of witty conversation. Still glowing with her orgasm, she's hardly stoic herself. And the impression that he enjoyed himself doing it... well, it's not a bad look on him.

She takes a deep breath, watching him through her lashes for a moment before she slips back off the edge of the bathing pool and into the water without so much as a splash. It puts her snug between him and the wall; a place she very much intends to be. All the easier to take him by the jaw and pull him down for a kiss, quick but deep as she tastes herself on him.

"Well?" she ask, as though prompting him to say more.

Something clenches low in his belly as she samples the lingering taste of her come in his mouth. There's an awareness, hard to put into words, that this entire evening has been fun in a way he never could have predicted when they happened to sit next to each other at the tavern. Percy can hardly recognize joy when he feels it, these days; happy moments seem all too few and far between.

But it is there, and his whole body feels lighter for it.

"Well," and he's tempted not to bother with a real sentence, to let another kiss do the talking for him, "I think we're as clean as we're going to get. Will it be too obvious if we return to the inn together?"

His assumption - well, his hope - is that by now, a herd of boars running past her companions wouldn't catch their attention tonight. They'll be able to slip past an ale-sodden room and head up to a proper mattress and blanket for the night.

Percy mentions returning, and Vex's expression shutters subtly. He's right that they're done here, and they'll need to be returning soon. But there are still several steps between climbing out of the pool and entering the inn. More space before they pass any point of no return for parting ways.

She shrugs, looking over her shoulder.

"I doubt anyone is out watching to road," she says, which isn't an answer.

It pushes the actual answer off a few more moments. "We can cross the next bridge when we get there."

He's oblivious, perhaps stupidly so; as observant as he normally can be, he's not in a mood to analyze the details of Vex'ahlia's shifting expression, and he doesn't know her well enough to do a good job of it. (Nor has he got his spectacles, for that matter, though that's not such an important detail when she's this close.) For the moment, he's purely contented with things as they stand, and he's willing to assume she is, too. It's not as though she didn't enjoy herself thoroughly, after all.

And she answers with exactly what he might have hoped, which only improves his mood further. Why worry about anything right now? They've the rest of the night to themselves, and she has no real concern about her friends' awareness of them, which means he needn't worry, either. Slipping away back to the inn, moving quietly up the stairs, making use of a bed - Percy can even let himself look forward to it, in ways that would normally seem like folly.

He dips his head to kiss her once again, something affectionate and lingering, and hardly lifts his head when he murmurs, "Then we'd better head for that bridge."

And then he's moving away, hoisting himself out of the water and going in search of a towel.

Vex accepts the kiss, warm and pliant, if perhaps less fiercely proactive than she had been. She doesn't reject it. If anything, she might savor it a little more closely for the fact their evening is running out. Like licking the last bits of a dessert from a spoon. In that spirit, she sucks her own lower lip when he leaves, like she can still taste the cocktail of their mingled flavors there, letting her eyes slide shut and slumping briefly against the side of the pool.

Then the moment is gone, and she's climbing out behind him.

She catches up at the towel rack, pulling one from the shelf to offer Percy even as she takes another for herself. If there's a little more space between them, it's only for the best.

Percy takes it from her with a little nod of thanks. His hair sticks up awkwardly in spots, laying awkwardly flat in others - it might be clean, but it still demands brushing. He's still squinty, too, at least for the moment. But he moves with an ease unlike the tightly wound man who'd stepped out of his prison cell, and his expression is an easy one.

"Pity we can't go back in these," he says lightly, still in high spirits as he towels the water off his scarred chest and arms. "Wandering around half-naked doesn't seem that much worse than putting those rags back on."

Rags might be a bit strong, but he doubts time and distance have done anything to improve them.

"You say that now, but you may feel different once you're back with Scanlan and Grog. I feel like they'd both try getting you out of the towel—though for different reasons." Vex covers the suggestion lightly, though her eyes steal back in his direction.

She'll appreciate the view while it lasts.

"You do have a point about your clothes, though. Even a good laundry can only do so much..." Her brow arches. The dirty, much (and not always well) repaired clothes don't suit a man of Percy's bearing at all. "One more reason to find another job once everyone's sober. We might not be able to get you in the latest fashions, but I think we can at least make you the best dressed man in the caliber of inns we stay at."

"Dare I even ask?" It's dryly rhetorical, and perhaps unnecessary; from what little he knows of Scanlan, he's already got an idea of what he could expect. In the case of Grog...well, who knows? Sheer curiosity, maybe.

In either case, he's not anxious to show off his scars.

With Vex'ahlia, at least, he's grown more comfortable in that regard. Out of the water, he's grateful to wrap a towel around his waist for the sake of modesty, but he no longer feels like he's going to combust if she looks at him too long. (It'd be pitiful if he still did, so far as he's concerned.) He walks back to the changing room, nearly as easy in his movements as if he were dressed, and casts a too-earnest smile her way when she makes her offer.

"I appreciate that." I'll earn it - it won't be charity. He hadn't been decided on staying with Vex'ahlia and her comrades to begin with, but at the moment, he's disinclined to think about striking out on his own. As he pulls on his stained, torn shirt, he adds, "And I've never been one for the latest fashions, at least. If it's clean, I'll take it."

(He's a little fussier than that, there's no denying...but at the moment, he'd like to come off as accommodating, if possible.)

Vex laughs, a little of her earlier mood coming back, though it's shifty and uneasy. "And you do show your appreciation beautifully."

Not that she thinks that had been meant as thanks for their help, but there's no arguing that he had felt... very appreciative.

Certainly work carving out the time for this little interlude.

Smiling, she pats herself with her towel before wrapping her hair.

"We'll do something a little better than clean if I have to argue an hour for it." The light in her eyes suggests she might be looking forward to the prospect.

"I hate to offer a bribe," he says, his cheeks having grown pink with the compliment, "but I'd be willing to, er. Show my appreciation, if you can find something that's not too hideous."

That's not what any of this little interlude has been about, of course, but the joke is difficult to resist at the moment. He's sobered up a bit in the last hour, but he's not actually sober...and there's a sense of euphoria running through him that's making him incautious.

He makes short work of his breeches, too, and slips his feet into his boots with a grimace. "And possibly some new boots. I was caught in a storm two weeks ago, and they've yet to dry out completely. At this point, it feels like they're conspiring against me."

His words put Vex on a knife edge, a tense, uncertain balance between acknowledging what they've done and opening the door for some future reoccurrences, something dangerously close to turning a tryst, a fun night between teammates, into a... a thing.

On the one hand she shies away from any sense of permanence or future planning.

On the other, well—why should she close the door on the possibility? Tonight has been a good time. Engaging in a way Vex needed, and she still feels the thrumming satisfaction of having him.

It's a difficult position.

"Well, darling," she says, choosing a sort of blithe ambiguity, neither confirming nor denying his implications. They are only implications after all. "It may be your luck is finally starting to turn now that you've found us."

Percy hears the words and reads into them what he wants to hear - and his smile, embarrassed and pleased, broadens. It's a tacit yes, possibly more than that, but the only thing that matters is the yes. Yes, there'll be clothing, and possibly a playful sort of payment for it. Yes, they'll continue on together, the two of them and all of them as a group. There will be ample time to get his revenge, and with luck, perhaps he might be able to confide in her regarding it.

He's hoping that her brief reference to sharing a bed tonight might still be on the table. Surely it's only more likely now. (While he has no particular animus toward any of her group - after they saved him, how could he? - bunking with Grog is a far less attractive prospect.)

"I think it has," he agrees, running a hand through his damp hair. Has he ever felt this way before? "I really think it has. Shall we go back?"

Without thinking, he offers his arm.

This is a terrible idea; Vex takes his arm anyway, too tempted and too flattered by the display of courtly manners directed toward her with such genuine sentiment. She tells herself it will only be for a few minutes. Just the walk back to the inn. There's no reason not to indulge now when they'll have to stop so soon anyway.

Life is short, and when will she have the chance again?

"I think we shall," she says, putting on a pleased air.

He's an excellent height for this, she observes as she fills the space beside him. Tall enough that his arm fits above hers. Not so tall that he looms. It's a very silly thing to notice, but she does remember it. A good height for a dance partner.

"Bed is waiting, and it turns out it's been a very long day."

"It certainly has." He's in such a good mood that he nods to the bathhouse proprietor with all the dignity of a man who didn't just use the place for illicit sex. They head out into the night - relatively cool, after the damp heat inside - and Percy finds himself relieved that he doesn't see anyone else about. The town's quiet, this late, and it makes everything feel more intimate to him. "What sort of work do you normally take on? Bounties always, or do you handle other things as well?"

At this point, he's making conversation for the sake of hearing her talk. He's still a little punchdrunk from the whole evening - not to mention the usual version of drunk - and holding her attention has yet to lose its novelty. Given the choice, he'd like to know everything she'll tell him.

(Just how little that is, he doesn't yet know.)

"Bounties, obviously, on people and monsters. Mercenary work. Guarding caravans and the like." Very standard for their kind of group.

"Really, whatever someone wants to pay us for—within reason, naturally. We do have standards."

Vex holds his arm lightly, like a bird that might fly of it at any moment's notice, but for the time being she finds reasons to stay.

"Sometimes someone might ask us to investigate a problem they've been having... or retrieve certain items or people."

"I should have hired you," he says lightly, entirely pleased with the quiet night and her delicate touch. "I might have avoided the prison."

The words catch up with him a moment later - stupid, incredibly stupid, to talk about what landed him in a cell in the first place - and he grimaces.
There's no taking them back, though. His best hope is that Vex'ahlia won't be curious (and thus far, he has little reason to believe she won't be).

His second-best hope is to change the subject, though he's in no place to do an elegant job of that, either. "Do you like it it? The work, that is."

"Depending on the job." She likes them best when they pay well. Vex doesn't quite say that aloud, but it's implied. Floating in the air. Raising the question of why it is she's chosen to invest what few funds they have after the last job on Percy. A nobleman, certainly, but one not in possession of his family's fortune or much use for his name.

Still.

She feels like it's a good investment.

"If you had hired us, there's a non zero chance that we'd still have been breaking you out of a dungeon." That does sound like them. "What would you have been hiring us for though, darling? And could you have afforded us."

"Doubtful," he admits, grateful for a moment or two to figure out how to answer the more pressing question. What money he'd had, he'd spent in pursuit of Dr. Ripley, and he was hardly flush before he caught wind of her presence in Stilben. He'd have been able to offer a fee, but it would have been more symbol than satisfaction - and he can't imagine her death will lead him to greater riches. "And I suppose mine would have been one of those jobs that sees you searching for someone."

Who becomes the obvious follow-up, but that's more easily side-stepped - especially, he suspects, if he follows up the thought with this one: "It likely wouldn't have been profitable for you. I can't imagine you'd have taken me up on the offer."

A few hours in Vex'ahlia's presence have made clear the importance of currency in her decision-making. Make it sound like a dead end, so far as filthy lucre is concerned, and he's hoping she'll have no more curiosity towards it.

Given the glance Vex gives him, considering his answer through the fringe of her dark eyelashes, it's safe to say that she is curious. She knows relatively little about this man they're taking on, a man who just ate her out pretty handily, and it's natural to wonder who he is. There's a brief sharpness in her dark eyes.

It's worth considering if he has enemies.

But then, it's worth considering if all of them do. Scanlan has probably left dozens of angry fathers, spouses and abandoned lovers behind him to stew. And at least in this case he seems to be the one doing the hunting, which would tend to imply that they're unlikely to have his quarry coming after them anytime soon.

In the end, Vex's eyes soften and she decides to let the curiosity pass.

"Well, darling, if your job suggestions do become profitable you know where to find us. And I'd say you're in no position to complain about our work."

Percy hardly dares breathe as she looks at him. Someplace behind her pretty face, she's weighing the possibility of demanding more information, he feels certain of it. She'd be right to, he knows - she has a vested interest in making sure his presence doesn't fuck up her future prospects - but he's still grateful she doesn't. It leaves him breathing a little easier, shoulders relaxing slightly.

"I had no intentions of complaining." Not thus far, anyway. They aren't doing anything more criminally inclined than he's comfortable with - though it's become clear over the past few years that he's nowhere near as priggish about petty crime than he might have assumed. "If anything, I'm hoping you'll find nothing but well-paid work that takes you all over Tal'Dorei."

He'll share in the profits, after all, and perhaps he'll pick up word of Ripley again on their travels. How convenient it would be if he could make her suffer without going too far out of his way for it.

As they near the tavern once more, he reaches out to open the door for her. Inside, he's hoping to see the room cleared out, or at least populated by people too drunk to care about their presence one way or another.

So smoothly it may be completely unconscious (it's not), Vex disentangles herself and swans into the inn's common room. She's well aware of some of her companion's appetite for a good time, and while it's no surprise to find Scanlan is nowhere in evidence (probably having run off to a whorehouse or upstairs with gods alone knew who and getting up to even they don't want to know what), it's also no surprise to find Grog still putting away ale or her brother settled into a card game in the corner

"I'll drink to that," she says, smiling as she glances back over her shoulder. "If you'd care for another round before bed?"

A round of ale, that is.

"Though perhaps I should check on Vax before he pisses off the wrong person and we all have to leave in the night?"

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