the one where things get messy.

[pathography]

tbd.

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[pathography]

Vex walks a fine line between lascivious and no-nonsense, somehow landing in a place where everything feels utterly normal and unremarkable. It could be that everyone else is capable of this naturally, this straightforward expression of interest, and Percy's alone in his failures - but he'd like to think that this is a particular skill of Vex's. Certainly, he's never seen it in anyone else, though it's not often he's in the habit of letting near-strangers wash his back for him.

"Gladly," he sighs, turning around within the circle of her arms. His nerves might well return when Vex's hands start moving down his body rather than up, but right now, he's content. And the thought of her hands on his scalp draws up real anticipation in him; feeling clean starts with well-kept hair and whiskers for him. He'll be one decent razor away from looking like himself again.

As he sits there, his eyes slipping closed in the heat of the room, he thinks he had ought to say something more. Ask her about herself, learn something more about just who it is lathering up his filthy hair. Tell me about yourself is simultaneously too broad and demanding, but anything truly personal feels like prying. Eventually, what he comes up with is, "Have you been with your group long?"

[whatsinfrontofyou]

Her hands glide over his skin in a caress as he turns, the calloused touch smoothed by soap and hot water. When he's in place, Vex gives both of his shoulders a little squeeze before urging him a little lower in the water.

She's not a short woman by any means, but Percy still has a few inches on her.

Sinking also brings his now cleaner back into contact with the soft swell of her breasts. (If he doesn't jump out of his skin, she'll take that as success. Trying to sooth Percy is like trying to calm a feral cat.)

But provided he stays in reach, her fingers thrust into his hair, lifting up from the roots before she starts to massage his scalp. More dirt falls away visibly with the attention.

"Not so long," she answers at last, if he's still listening. "A few jobs. Excluding my brother naturally. The others, though...Picked them up along the way."

[pathography]

He lets the water swallow more of his torso, not quite floating but no longer feeling the full weight of his body. Vex'ahlia's hands are on his skin, and then her chest is flush with his back. For a moment, he tenses - but it's as deliberate a touch as any other she's offered, and if things are going to go in the direction she's angling for, this can't be a dealbreaker.

One breath, a deliberate one, and another. And her hands in his hair work a kind of magic that he doesn't quite expect, despite everything that's happened before now. He groans, embarrassed by the sound as soon as he realizes he's making it. If he's lucky, she won't comment on it. If he's exceedingly lucky, she'll find it charming rather than pathetic.

Belatedly, he realizes she's speaking. He picks up what it is she's saying a moment in, realizes it's an answer to his question. At some point, his eyes have closed, and he doesn't bother to open them. "Ah. They seem like an, er. Interesting crew. Do you enjoy the work?"

[whatsinfrontofyou]

Perhaps the groan can be charmingly pathetic. Which is in keeping with the feral cat imagery, if she thinks about it. Something half starved and dirty, but with a little food and a soft hand, appealing.

The fact in this case the stray is a handsome young man with eyes the color of sea glass and a compellingly haunted expression manage to turn that charming into something attractive.

The fact she's responsible for that groan doesn't hurt.

Her fingers are strong and clever, massaging soap through his hair and down to the skin.

"I enjoy getting paid," she says flippantly, flashing a smile he can't see but that certainly colors her voice. "And sometimes the work isn't so bad. Plus, we're fucking good at it."

At least she and Vex are. She's still warming up to the idea the rest of them aren't incompetent.

[pathography]

The longer he's here, held by the water and a beautiful archer, the less anything seems to matter. Every breath in is humid perfume, the room softened by intimate lighting and steam and his own bad eyesight; Vex'ahlia's voice has a warm, inviting quality to it, and her hands are sure. When she stops touching one patch of scalp, he could swear he still feels her fingertips there, some echo of her lingering on his skin. He wonders, stupidly, just how obvious the remnants of her touch will be to her compatriots. But mostly, he doesn't think much at all, just drinks in the nearness of another body and reacts when appropriate.

In other words, he is very, very tired, not to mention a little inebriated. Tomorrow, this will all look differently, no doubt, but he's struggling to plan past the next fifteen seconds. Why bother? Why not, at least for a time, allow himself to exist in this no-man's-land between dreaming and wakefulness? For once he doesn't feel the near-overwhelming dread and determination that mark his every waking moment (and more than a few of his dreams, too).

"I'm not about to disagree," he says, making no effort to mind his tongue, "after you broke me out of prison. You do seem to know what you're doing."

Even when it's utterly absurd. A moment later, curious: "And - the bear?"

[whatsinfrontofyou]

"Trinket?" It's less sensual, but the pleasure Vex takes in that name is apparent. It wouldn't be a stretch to say that he gives her more joy than any other member of her little group. (Possibly including her brother. Vax has been a constant support in her life and she loves him dearly, but he's also given her more frustration than Trinket has ever imagined. in his wildest bear dreams.) "Oh, I've had him since he was a cub. It's a long and not terribly interesting&dmash;" pleaseant, she means "—story, but in the end, I got a bear.

"So we do have that."

Her fingers drag down his scalp to his shoulders, digging in there too.

"Ready to rinse?"

[pathography]

From his perspective, it's a little baffling to feel such affection for an enormous brown bear, but it's clear she loves the creature, and there's something endearing about the fact. Perhaps that's what comes of owning any pet - not something he has much experience with - and especially one as useful as Trinket.

And for all he knows, the same fondness might trickle into his voice if she asked about the pepperbox.

When she asks him about rinsing his hair, Percy's tempted to say no; he could easily retreat into the sensation of her hands massaging his scalp for far longer. But under her care, everything up there is undoubtedly clean. Lingering further would look...he's not sure how it would look, actually, but knows he can't.

Rather than answer her, he lets himself sink down further into the water, ducking his head and scrubbing out the soap himself. It lacks the sensual comfort of her touch, but that's for the best; under the water, he recalls the rest of his body, and the thought of her exploring it, examining it, makes hope and dread twine around each other in his stomach. Before he surfaces, maybe he can get his head on straight.

He turns under the water and rises up again facing Vex'ahlia, and it turns out he's never going to have his head on straight again, because she's even more beautiful now that the water's lapped at the tips of her hair and the steam's caused little strands of it to curl around her sharp-featured face. For a moment, he's speechless, looking at her with too much appreciation reaching his gaze - and then he rallies himself. "Much better. If you'll give me the soap, I can take care of your hair."

[whatsinfrontofyou]

Vex is an attractive woman, and she knows it. While she is certainly capable of vanity, it's also just a fact—one she's used to her advantage before, and one she's reminded of when she receives attention both wanted and unwanted in taverns and inns, from other mercenary groups, as she's traveled. It's not exactly that she needs proof that people respond to her face (among other features).

But there's something about the way that Percy specifically looks at her with such stunned appreciation that cuts through years of cynicism. Like he's surprised he has the capacity to be attracted to someone.

There is an honesty to it that doesn't necessarily break down the half-elf's guards, but it does slip around some of them in a way that goes to her core.

It's only a brief hesitation before she offers him the soap, her eyes narrowing in in a genuine smile. "Who am I to turn down a little turnabout?" she says. "Let me say, clean looks good on you."

[pathography]

"Thank you," he says, unable to tell anymore if he's blushing and on the verge of deciding it doesn't matter, since she clearly doesn't care. "Turn around."

A small cup sits at the edge of the bath, and when he brings it close enough to see properly, he finds it's empty. Presumably, it's for exactly the purpose he puts it to now: Scooping up hot water and pouring it over Vex'ahlia's hair, careful not to let it drip all over her face in the process. A hand at her hairline, so it spills off to the side instead, palms smoothing along the long locks in an effort to make sure they're all wet.

There's no real familiarity to any of this - Cassandra's hair was always too short to need much care, and Vesper would never have asked for her younger brother's help - and for that, he's grateful. At most, he remembers being washed by some or other governess as a very young child, and he tries to do what they did.

Once he's lathered the soap between his hands, he begins to work it into her hair, taking more care than he's ever managed for himself. Fingers carding through the strands, pausing when a snarl catches them, and doing his best to untangle it without yanking her hair out by the roots. Percy's methodical, approaching the whole thing like a problem to be solved, and he becomes involved enough that he forgets to make conversation. If she doesn't say anything, they'll proceed in a comfortable (to him, anyway) silence for the next several minutes.

[whatsinfrontofyou]

Vex sighs at the gentle sluice of water through her hair. Two things prove quickly to be true. The first, that Percy has clever hands. Different from her brother's (as one would hope), but still dexterous and careful, and they work diligently through her hair and across her scalp. He might not be practiced, but in this case, care almost entirely makes up for experience.

The second: Vex is weak against this kind of attention. The nerves in her scalp tingle pleasantly at his touch as the thick waves of her hair is slowly tamed. She's been known to bully Vax to brush her hair for her, to braid it, because there's something luxurious about having someone else tend her hair that rarely fails to make her melt; she leans back, relaxing into his hand.

That initial sigh is one of many, and accompanied by other soft sounds of pleasure, little moans and hums that she doesn't bother trying to hold in entirely.

[pathography]

The sounds she makes spur him on. They sound genuine, especially with the way she leans into his touch, and he relies on them to guide his hands further. It's a basic truth of tinkering, and apparently of women (or at least Vex'ahlia): Build from one success to the next, until the full shape of something is clear.

In this case, what he finds by the end is that he's not the only one easily seduced by an empty room and another person's presence. (The right room, the right person, the right context - but that's likely true for anyone, isn't it?) The time he takes with her causes a change, even if he can't yet put it into words. She already seemed relaxed to him, entirely at ease in their surroundings, so it isn't that. Something about her simply feels more to him.

When he's satisfied that her hair is clean and tangle-free, he turns his focus to her ears: running his thumbs along her scalp behind them, and then along the back of them, up to the tips. He's careful not to get soap or water into them, but he's not shy about including the long shell of them in his attentions. After that, sweeping her hair to the side and running a hand over the back of her neck - and in a moment of true daring, soaping her shoulders and collarbone, his palm skimming just above the swell of her breasts. It's the closest he's come to embracing anyone in years; he has to force himself not to stop when he reaches the front of her far shoulder, tempted as he is to let his hand settle there, with his forearm caging her against him.

[whatsinfrontofyou]

Vex's breath stutters slightly when his fingers brush her ear; her body rises and her head tips to the side when he pulls her hair aside as though offering her neck for a kiss.

There hadn't been much of a strategy inviting Percy here. Or, there had been, but it was no more complicated than it might seem at first blush. She set her sights on him. The fact he was still wearing prison grime was an obstacle. The fact that as a location to slip away to goes, a bathhouse also gave them the opportunity to undress with each other. Inspired (in her slightly inebriated opinion), but not exactly deeply thought out.

She hadn't, for example, considered just how intimate bathing is. Especially when she lets Percy return the favor.

He might be tempted to hold her there, but Vex makes the choice for him—catching his hand in hers and leaning back against him, back to chest, wet hair sticking to his throat. For rangy scrap of a lordling, he feels surprisingly solid behind her.

"You seem to be getting your nerve, darling."

[pathography]

His skin heats up all over, his cheeks and throat and chest all at once, as she rests against him. He feels it low in his belly and gets as close as he ever does to a prayer in response (Dear God, don't let me embarrass myself). With her hand keeping his where it is, he has no choice but to settle his arm against her breasts. When she breathes, he feels it.

And if there's any doubt whether he wants to be here with her, his other arm snaking around her middle should put paid to that. He might not be pulling her against him, but he's taking the opportunity she offers him. As strong as she is - and her muscles are certainly notable under his touch - she feels small in his arms. Not delicate, but well-made, and therefore worth holding with some care.

He sputters out a few words in a low voice when she speaks, the warm air of I and um and well moving over one of her ears. The best he can do is a mumbled, "I gave you my word, and I'm planning to keep it."

[whatsinfrontofyou]

The stutter might be funnier if the whuff of air didn't send a little shiver of heat down her neck and through her scalp. A ticklish, tingling sensation that seeps all the way down into her belly.

The way he holds her doesn't hurt. It's not common for Vex to feel like she's being treated as though she's... valuable, she supposes. It's not a thought she cares to examine too closely, and she looks at her own reaction to it even less, but there's no denying the way it turns something inside of her soft and makes her bold.

She squirms a little closer to him, if that's even possible. As though if she wiggles gently and just right she can find a way to nest fully flush in the hollow of his chest.

"Are you always so honorable?"

[pathography]

Her body aligns easily with his, her ass resting against his hips and her shoulder blades making a home against his chest. She's not much shorter than him, just enough that he has to tilt his head down to settle it beside hers. (Forward, incredibly forward, even as he's aware his prick's nestled against her bare ass right now. There's something far more intimate about his cheek pressed to hers.)

She speaks, and on some level, Percy's aware of the right things to say - or at least that there is a right thing. Flirt back, give her the kind of answer that suggests he could drop the honorable act for the sake of carousing.

But when he hears the word, he thinks of Cassandra's blood soaking into the land of their ancestors. Years spent in hiding, doing anything and everything he had to in order to get closer to his goals. Dreams of revenge, at any cost. He's many things, but he's quite sure he left honorable behind long ago.

"No." He took too long to answer, forgot to breathe for a few long moments. His abdomen's tensed like he's expecting to be punched. "But tonight - for you, I can be."

[whatsinfrontofyou]

It might not be the right thing to say, if there is such a thing, but it isn't the wrong thing either. The words have the hallmark honesty that arrested Vex's attention in the first place. While she's sure Percy has his secrets (don't they all?) and far more than that, he has those parts of her she'd have no reason to know of because their association has been so short, he's shown now more than once that given the choice between an expedient lie and the truth, he'll choose the truth.

It's certainly isn't something she's used to. And it makes her believe in his reactions more—not that she thinks anyone could fake this kind of awkwardness he displays, but it does dispel any notions that he's humoring her.

That combines with his answer to send a ripple of surprised pleasure through her.

A silly thing, but—

"I don't know that anyone's ever felt the need to be honorable on my account," Vex says, turning toward him, letting their cheeks brush.

Her ass rocks against him subtly, tantalizing and very intentional. As though to make a point.

"But far be it from me to dissuade you."

[pathography]

"Well - that's a shame." His breath hitches as she shifts in his embrace; he's aware with a renewed vigor of the way his prick's nestled against her ass, how obvious it'll be if he gets hard. (How much he suspects she'd enjoy that.) He'd hardly have to move at all in order to kiss her, and he doubts she'd mind if he did. He doesn't kiss her. "I think you merit some honor, Vex'ahlia."

They're in a public place, however ill-traveled right now, which makes the desire to kiss her inconvenient...but he can't possibly think that she's going to lead him up to her room at the inn, in front of every member of her party, he realizes. Here might be the plan, and he might have been naive for thinking otherwise.

On the other hand, she might be banking on the possibility that everyone else will be in a drunken stupor by the time they return. (He can't quite fathom the idea that she wouldn't mind being seen with him in a delicate context.) It seems safest not to assume, and to let her decide just where things go from here. He's been reliant on her generosity thus far, to no real harm; she can continue to call the shots.

Percy doesn't pull away, but he doesn't breach the last breath of space between them, either, tempting though her full lips and soft expression are. He watches her steadily, leaving the decision open for her.

[whatsinfrontofyou]

Vex has wondered if Percy would kiss her. She figured it more or less even odds, and honestly she's not sure which she'd hoped for. Both were entirely valid moves in the game she's playing, and both she knew she'd enjoy. Her plan, such as it is, has been to see how she can wind this pretty, posh boy up before he unravels on her, and either way it's easy to tease.

Then he says that, and she's left without a strategy. It's not flirtatious and it's not playful, there's no deflection.

The words unbalance her, briefly, as the part of her that finds them intensely gratifying wars with the part that refuses to believe it. Not that she thinks he's lying, exactly, but Percy doesn't know her. Even if he does mean it now he'll learn better in time.

Likely not all that much of it.

So she does the first thing that comes to mind, the thing that will make her feel in control of the situation again: she turns her head and she kisses him, finding his mouth with all the hunger of a cat holding a mouse under her paw.

Which is to say she's starving.

But also patient enough to play with her food.

[pathography]

Percy knows, on some level, that startling at a kiss at this point is absurd - there's no world in which Vex's lips don't find his eventually. But his first instinct is still tension, his biceps taut and hands grasping tighter at her shoulder and hip.

It's only a moment, though, his first jittery instincts taken over by a kind of heartsick need that lives nearly as deep within him. There's no patience in the way he responds, only desires so desperate that they've forgotten all shame. He moves her - or himself, he won't be sure later - so they're facing each other fully, pulling her flush to him again. He doesn't remember to worry about what his mouth tastes like or whether prior experience has made him an acceptable partner or where to put his hands.

(That last one is easy, in fact. Running entirely on his own impulses, one warm palm rests at her cheek, fingertips massaging into her hairline. The other is at the small of her back, splaying toward her ass.)

When he draws back, he's breathless and wide-eyed and suddenly all too aware of his lanky arms and the dirt slowly sloughing off his abdomen. The way he felt all of that below the metaphorical belt, his body's burgeoning response to her attention.

"I - can't." No, you idiot, she'll get the wrong idea. He hurries to add, "Not yet - I'm not, er, subjecting you to anything until after -"

He waves at the soap, struggling to find a polite, unpresumptuous way to say I'd like to clean everything down there before you touch it.

[whatsinfrontofyou]

There's a brief moment when he pushes her away—not something Vex experiences often—where she stares at him, surprise and something like disappointment on her faces, turning her mouth into an uncertain pout.

Then his words sink in and she laughs, all pleasure and breathless relief.

"Darling..." she trails off, forging through the water to reach for the soap.

"Are you saying we need to get you clean before you let me dirty you up again?"

[pathography]

"Yes." Percy's shoulders slump, an embarrassed smile on his lips. Under other circumstances, laughter might kill his nerve, but right now, it's a massive relief. Anything to know he hasn't murdered this night in its cradle - after that kiss, he doesn't want to lose the pleasure of her company. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."

She moves away in search of the soap, and he follows without hesitation. Staying near to her feels increasingly vital.

[whatsinfrontofyou]

Luckily this isn't the wrong type of laugh to have bubble up during sex. It isn't directed at Percy. Instead, it's a release of tension, and... well, with any luck, something they can both find slight absurd.

Fucking someone for the first time is usually at least a bit absurd, in Vex's experience.

But not less intoxicating because of it. She finds the soap and turns on him, the water somehow making every motion both smoother and more laborious as she reaches.

"Let's get on that."

[pathography]

"I - yes," he agrees. "Let's."

If he's nervous - and he is - it's anticipatory now, the same spark of hope and expectation that comes with firing the pepperbox after modifying it. He's trying this, adjusting his approach, and he'll see what he gets in return.

For now, he stands before her in wait, watching her every move. It goes without saying, he suspects, that he's at her mercy here; she can do with him what she wishes.

[whatsinfrontofyou]

It's fortunate that he agrees. Not that Vex wouldn't have stopped if he asked, but it would have spoiled the moment, interrupted the flow of things. And to some degree, all he has to do is not interrupt.

Vex is happy to take the lead, whether it's initiating the kiss or cleaning Percy to her standards.

To her credit, she doesn't reach for his cock immediately. She goes back to his chest to start working her way down. Picking up where she left off, as it were—and also making him wait as she lavishes attention on every inch of his body.

[pathography]

Now is when he thinks where do I put my hands? Touching her clearly isn't out of bounds, but the idea of it seems uncomfortably intimate right now; standing there with his arms at his sides makes him feel like a ragdoll. It's the easier choice, though, and so he resigns himself to being her limp plaything.

Well.

Not as limp as he'd like, in one area. Her hands scrub soap over his chest and down his stomach and sides, and his prick responds as though it's the guest of honor at a banquet. He's standing at full attention before she reaches his hips, his gaze somewhere over and to the side of her head, as though pretending he's not aware of just how desperate this must look. (Her touch may as well be magic, though - she skims over him with exactly the right pressure, missing none of him on the way, and he's apparently lacking in self-control. Not that he expects she'll mind, but her tolerance doesn't quite ease his embarrassment.)