While Armin gets cozy by the fire, Angel has crowded herself over to the nearest mirror. She inspects her skin with narrowed eyes. The last time she'd rolled around in the snow, after all, she'd wound up with a terrible rash that had lasted weeks. She knows now that it was an illness rather than anything else, but that doesn't keep her from scrutinizing herself until --
Her attention flicks over to Armin as he speaks. He's not wrong, her fingers feel absolutely frigid against the slightly warmer skin of her arms. Now that he's mentioned it, though, she finds herself shivering outright -- or maybe she had been the entire time.
Either way, she settles down beside him in front of the "fire." She brushes her fluffily clothed feet against Armin's before leaning her shoulder against his. Her own hands are held out toward the heat.
Well, one is, at least. The other wraps around Armin's, threading their frigid fingers together with a small smile. It doesn't help the shivering much.
"Mm, perhaps." She thumbs over the back of his hand. Her smile is almost devious. "What do you think?"
Not that Armin's hands are any better off. If his feel warmer, it's just because they have had a bit more exposure to the 'fire'.
"Here." He gently tugs Angel down with him onto the little Mareep rug (no actual Mareeps have been harmed in the making of this rug), so they can both cosily fit in front of the heater. Once seated, he catches her hands between his own, starting to rub some warmth back into her fingers. "Here, this is what they taught us during training."
It's almost funny, how these tender little motions seem to strike Angel so hard. Considering where they started, a best friend second only to Krieg, they've shared plenty of things with one another over the years. Sharing a space like this, and keeping one another warm might be a little more intimate, but it's hardly out of the question.
Yet there was a layer of intimacy to all of this, one that they'd yet to experience before. They'd shared a room and a bed previous to this, but this still feels incredibly... deliberate, in the end. They'd both chosen to go away together as part of a romantic venture. Which meant that romance seemed to cling to every little thing.
Her fingers twitch against his, involuntarily flexing. She tells herself that it's only because she's starting to get feeling back. She certainly doesn't want to reach out and touch his face, or wrap her arms around him, or anything like that.
If nothing else, at least her face is starting to feel warmer.
Armin doesn't notice the way her fingers twitch between his -- or perhaps he does and he chooses not to comment on it. Instead, he continues to slowly rub warmth back into Angel fingers, continuing long beyond what is necessary.
Angel's hands are... so delicate looking. Armin knows his own hands can hardly be called masculine, but even between his hands, Angel's are smaller still, her pale fingers fine and soft. Not that his are particularly calloused anymore either; life here has worn away the old rough edges. These days, the only thing he has to worry about are pen callouses and Armin thinks that is just fine. This sort of life suits him better.
Suddenly realising he's been staring at Angel's hands for what is probably an embarrassingly long time, he flushes. "Sorry. I was just-- I like your hands. They are beautiful."
Armin is quiet, but that's okay. Angel is content to enjoy the companionable silence, to have her hand be held. She knows, implicitly, that if she wasn't particularly enjoying it, she could have just as easily said to stop, or told him her hand was warm enough. That was one of the many things about Armin that she loved wholeheartedly. He might have been protective of her, but he also was capable of acknowledging her own strength and ability. He'd let her stand on her own, time and time again.
She blinks as Armin speaks. She doesn't need to look at her hand to know which one he's holding, obviously, but she does anyway. She watches how their bare fingers look beside one another. She glances to the left, down at the swirling blue waves of her tattoos, and then looks up to Armin's face.
"Not many people would hold that hand and say that, you know." Even here, there was a level of reverence for tattoos. It was strictly aesthetic, and generally Angel wasn't bothered by it. But some part of her, somewhere in the back of her mind, would always be mildly unnerved when it was the first (or only) thing people talked about.
Not Armin though. If he appreciated them, it was solely because it was a piece of the whole.
She lifts the other hand, laying it over Armin's own. She thumbs over the back of his hand, then allows her fingers to trace up his arm -- just a little. She likes how his skin feels against hers.
A small shiver runs down Armin's spine when Angel traces her fingers up his arm, though it doesn't have anything to do with the cold. "That's their loss."
He scoots a little closer, his legs parting so she ends up seated between them. One of his hands falls down to rest on her hip, the other combing the ends of her hair over her shoulders, so none of it can obscure what is visible of her tattoos. Which, in all fairness, isn't all that much; the wintery temperatures in Kanto necessitate covering a lot more skin than the balmy weather on the islands does. That said, even if Angel was dressed from head to toe, with not a sliver of skin showing, Armin has studied her tattoos often and long enough (well, the parts of them that she had allowed him to see) that he can picture them swirling across her skin without the visual reminder. "I think they are gorgeous. You are gorgeous."
Is he biased? Absolutely. He's still in that honeymoon stage of the relationship where everything Angel does, including the way she lightly snuffles in her sleep and drools just a bit, is downright enchanting to him.
It's a strangely intimate position, the one they're in now. Even still, Angel can't bring herself to complain. She leans back against Armin, reveling in how -- despite his own diminutive stature -- he manages to envelop her so completely. He might have his doubts about himself at times, but there's never been any doubt in her mind that he could protect her.
Not that he needs to. Even with recent events, and the return of Jack, this world was a peaceful one. It's a peace they've both fought hard in their own respective worlds to earn.
Still, it's not a wholly innocent reaction, either. Even through fabric, the hand on her hip sends a faint thrill through her. It's foreign and electrifying, and she has to hope that the way she shivers is translated as a side-effect of the cold, rather than anything else.
With her free hand, Angel reaches up and over her shoulder. She knows without having to guess, really, where Armin is. Her fingers stroke gingerly over his cheek, then back into his hair. She combs her fingers through it as she lays her head back on his shoulder.
For a moment, Armin breathes in the scent of Angel's hair, a mixture of the shampoo she uses and something that is very uniquely Angel underneath. It's a scent he's grown to love, to the point of sometimes 'borrow-stealing' her shampoo to wash his own hair (a secret he will defend with his life), but with the way they are positioned, it's not the only thing he can pay attention too.
As it is, he can feel Angel's back press against his chest, the outside of her hips between his thighs. She is, thankfully, just seated far forward enough that he doesn't need to worry about his body (well, one particular part of his body, really) getting a mind of its own and turning everything very weird and embarrassing, but from this position, he can see the long, pale line of her neck and the way it slopes down towards her shoulder.
Dropping his other hand down to her hip as well, he lets his eyes slide, pressing his lips to her neck, just underneath her ear. The first brush of his lips is light, but as he moves down her neck, his lips grow bolder, searching and finding the thrum of Angel's pulse and latching on.
This is entirely unfamiliar territory for her. Even before his lips touch her skin, Angel can feel her heartbeat picking up. There's an odd, fluttering sort of anticipation in her stomach. This, of course, is buried by a brief wave of nervousness. As always, there is a lingering fear that she might not be good enough, might make a fool of herself.
Those doubts are thrown from her mind with that first kiss. It's like a bolt of electricity runs through her. With each beat of her heart, the butterflies in her stomach flutter all the more, sending odd rushes down between her legs.
All in all, it's... intoxicating. The lower he dips, the harder she shudders. She can't tilt her head back anymore, but she might have if she could. There's a sudden urge in her head to bear every bit of skin she possibly can for Armin, if only it meant having his attention on it. In a way, it's no different than how she normally feels with him. There's an implicit trust, and she's eager to show him just how boundless it was.
Her free hand settles, finally, resting on the outside of his thigh. She circles her thumb against it, hoping it might assure him of his actions. She doesn't trust herself to speak, fears whatever noises may bubble out, but she still wants him to know how much she's enjoying herself.
It is, at the very least, a fear they share. Armin has no idea what he is doing. Or rather, he's gleaned a rough picture of how these things are supposed to happen -- from books, from bragging conversations many other trainees would have in the evening in the dorms, and from one enormously awkward conversation with Jean. But he also knows that of those various sources, only Jean can be somewhat depended on.
He is, as they say, flying fucking blind and he really hopes there are no trees ahead.
Armin's fingers dig a bit further into Angel's hips -- not painfully, not harshly, just a little more tightly. It's honestly a little intoxicating to be here like this, bathed in the warm glow of the heater, his mouth dragging along Angel's skin, while he can feel ever little shiver and shudder of her body. And spurred on by the way she is leaning into him --she wouldn't do that if she wasn't enjoying this, right?-- he takes it a little further, his kisses becoming more heated, his lips fasting down on her skin and giving it an experimental suck just like he had read described in countless of books.
For a brief second, Angel forgets how to breathe, swallow, think, or virtually anything aside from reel at the feeling of that mouth against her skin. Even if everything about this situation is new, that particular sensation manages to be so novel that it completely shorts out her brain.
It feels good. She wants it to keep feeling good. But as her brain starts to regain it's function, she becomes quickly aware of just how one-sided this has become. The idea of facing Armin might be on the humiliating side, but she still wants to be able to return at least some of the favors being offered to her.
Gently shifting within his grip, Angel allows herself to turn around. She does her best not to drift too far from Armin's waiting hands, lest she give him the idea that she's no longer comfortable with what they're doing. That couldn't be further from the truth.
"Armin." From this new vantage point, it's easier for her to read his face, and to be read in kind. Her skin is flushed, naturally, but there's also a smile on her lips, too.
Feeling bold, she slips one leg around his waist, then the other, so that she's straddling his lap. Her hands come to rest against his chest.
Armin swallows hard when Angel turns around to slide onto his laugh. Her question almost makes him laugh. Is this okay, she asks, as if having Angel on his lap, having her thighs press against his own, is something he could ever mind; as if it isn't something he's dreamt of for ages.
He doesn't laugh though. His throat is far too dry for it, even as he swallows to wet it. His face feels like it is on fire, and he's certain that by now, the flush on it extends all the way to the tip of his ears and the top of his collar bones.
"Y-yeah." It's a little different, having to just slightly tilt his head upwards to look at Angel, but it is far from unpleasant. His hands find her hips again, resting there, one of his thumbs stroking in idle, absent strokes against her shirt.
And he knows this sort of position is incredibly dangerous, at least in terms of his body --well, a certain part of it, at the very least-- soon betraying him and turning this whole thing into a big embarrassment, but he also doesn't want it to end, his entire body feeling like it is buzzing with an excess of energy.
So instead he does the only sensible thing to do; stretching up, he kisses Angel, his tongue teasing rather bottom lip in a way that is very far from chaste. At least that part of something they have some level of experience in.
It's exhilarating, being the taller one for once. There's something oddly pleasing about the way Armin has to be the one to lean up. She does him the courtesy of meeting him part of the way there, but not by much. A smile coils over her lips, brief and mirthful, before they part beneath his tongue.
One hand slips around his side, spanning over his back. She finds the curve of his spine and traces it downward, finger pressed in just enough to feel the ridges of vertebrae beneath the fabric. She reaches the hem of his shirt and allows the hand to dip below. He feels warm beneath her. Alive.
Her hand drags upward, bringing the shirt with.
The other hand, meanwhile, remains pressed against his chest. Like this, she can feel the steady thunking of his heart. If she's reading it right, he's enjoying himself.
When she touches her hand to the bare skin of his back, he shudders, breaking the kiss for a moment the breathe out a soft little 'ah'. Of course, he's felt the touch of Angel's hand plenty -- against his arms, her fingers wrapped around his, occasionally on his face, but the touch of her fingers against the spine sends an electric jolt down his spine. He wants to feel more of her touch, but he can already feel the fabric of his shirt pull taut against his belly as Angel drags it upwards, their position limiting in how high it can go.
"Would I-- you--" He's tripping over his words, feeling heated in a way that has nothing to do with the electric fire. "Should I take it off?"
The question stops her movements. There's something about it, simple as it is, that drives home just how much things have accelerated in the last few minutes. Even as she tries to convince her brain that she's seen him shirtless plenty of times before, embarrassment threatens to overwhelm and cripple her.
She swallows, leaning back to study Armin's face. He seems just as embarrassed as she does, at least.
"I... think I would like that." Her hand slips down to the hem of her own shirt, toying with the hem of it shyly. "We both could. Together."
Armin's brain all but stops in its tracks at the idea of Angel without her shirt, the idea of seeing the wide expanses of pale skin down her back and chest, the slope of her collar bones down to-- ah.
He shifts a little underneath her, redistributing her weight so she resting more on the tops of his thighs and not... not anywhere it might lead to a very embarrassing situation.
"Yeah," his throat feels desert dry, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. "I'd like that. A lot."
Maybe she should count them down. But if she thinks about it too hard, builds up any amount of anticipation, the humiliation is bound to get the better of her. Instead, she grips the edge of her shirt and folds her arms upward. The chill of the air on her skin draws a shiver out of her, but at least it keeps the warmth in her stomach from growing any more molten.
The shirt is set carefully aside and... Abruptly she finds she isn't sure what to do with her hands. She folds them in her lap eventually, fidgeting as she does her best to avoid hiding herself. Even with a bra on, she feels incredibly bare.
Armin fully intends to lift his shirt along with Angel, but presented with the sight of her lifting her shirt, exposing inch after inch of her pale stomach marked only by the swirling lines of her Siren mark, he freezes unable to do anything but stare. When her shirt is high enough to reveal her bra, he swallows. Hard.
He's seen those before! Angel's bras, that is. But he's only seen them in a very different context -- in their laundry basket or in a drawer. He's never seen one while it is actually on her, the fabric curving and cupping delicate soft flesh that he's only been able to dream of until now.
Abruptly he realises that Angel has set her shirt fully aside, fidgeting slightly while he is still sitting here with his on and an utterly dumbfounded expression on his face.
"S-sorry. I totally meant to take off my shirt too but--" He's flushing. He wasn't lying or tricking Angel or anything, it's just-- "You are really beautiful, Angel. I just ended up thinking that I forgot about everything else."
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brokencode) wrote2016-08-22 05:17 am
no subject
Her attention flicks over to Armin as he speaks. He's not wrong, her fingers feel absolutely frigid against the slightly warmer skin of her arms. Now that he's mentioned it, though, she finds herself shivering outright -- or maybe she had been the entire time.
Either way, she settles down beside him in front of the "fire." She brushes her fluffily clothed feet against Armin's before leaning her shoulder against his. Her own hands are held out toward the heat.
Well, one is, at least. The other wraps around Armin's, threading their frigid fingers together with a small smile. It doesn't help the shivering much.
"Mm, perhaps." She thumbs over the back of his hand. Her smile is almost devious. "What do you think?"
no subject
Not that Armin's hands are any better off. If his feel warmer, it's just because they have had a bit more exposure to the 'fire'.
"Here." He gently tugs Angel down with him onto the little Mareep rug (no actual Mareeps have been harmed in the making of this rug), so they can both cosily fit in front of the heater. Once seated, he catches her hands between his own, starting to rub some warmth back into her fingers. "Here, this is what they taught us during training."
no subject
Yet there was a layer of intimacy to all of this, one that they'd yet to experience before. They'd shared a room and a bed previous to this, but this still feels incredibly... deliberate, in the end. They'd both chosen to go away together as part of a romantic venture. Which meant that romance seemed to cling to every little thing.
Her fingers twitch against his, involuntarily flexing. She tells herself that it's only because she's starting to get feeling back. She certainly doesn't want to reach out and touch his face, or wrap her arms around him, or anything like that.
If nothing else, at least her face is starting to feel warmer.
no subject
Angel's hands are... so delicate looking. Armin knows his own hands can hardly be called masculine, but even between his hands, Angel's are smaller still, her pale fingers fine and soft. Not that his are particularly calloused anymore either; life here has worn away the old rough edges. These days, the only thing he has to worry about are pen callouses and Armin thinks that is just fine. This sort of life suits him better.
Suddenly realising he's been staring at Angel's hands for what is probably an embarrassingly long time, he flushes. "Sorry. I was just-- I like your hands. They are beautiful."
no subject
She blinks as Armin speaks. She doesn't need to look at her hand to know which one he's holding, obviously, but she does anyway. She watches how their bare fingers look beside one another. She glances to the left, down at the swirling blue waves of her tattoos, and then looks up to Armin's face.
"Not many people would hold that hand and say that, you know." Even here, there was a level of reverence for tattoos. It was strictly aesthetic, and generally Angel wasn't bothered by it. But some part of her, somewhere in the back of her mind, would always be mildly unnerved when it was the first (or only) thing people talked about.
Not Armin though. If he appreciated them, it was solely because it was a piece of the whole.
She lifts the other hand, laying it over Armin's own. She thumbs over the back of his hand, then allows her fingers to trace up his arm -- just a little. She likes how his skin feels against hers.
no subject
He scoots a little closer, his legs parting so she ends up seated between them. One of his hands falls down to rest on her hip, the other combing the ends of her hair over her shoulders, so none of it can obscure what is visible of her tattoos. Which, in all fairness, isn't all that much; the wintery temperatures in Kanto necessitate covering a lot more skin than the balmy weather on the islands does. That said, even if Angel was dressed from head to toe, with not a sliver of skin showing, Armin has studied her tattoos often and long enough (well, the parts of them that she had allowed him to see) that he can picture them swirling across her skin without the visual reminder. "I think they are gorgeous. You are gorgeous."
Is he biased? Absolutely. He's still in that honeymoon stage of the relationship where everything Angel does, including the way she lightly snuffles in her sleep and drools just a bit, is downright enchanting to him.
no subject
Not that he needs to. Even with recent events, and the return of Jack, this world was a peaceful one. It's a peace they've both fought hard in their own respective worlds to earn.
Still, it's not a wholly innocent reaction, either. Even through fabric, the hand on her hip sends a faint thrill through her. It's foreign and electrifying, and she has to hope that the way she shivers is translated as a side-effect of the cold, rather than anything else.
With her free hand, Angel reaches up and over her shoulder. She knows without having to guess, really, where Armin is. Her fingers stroke gingerly over his cheek, then back into his hair. She combs her fingers through it as she lays her head back on his shoulder.
no subject
As it is, he can feel Angel's back press against his chest, the outside of her hips between his thighs. She is, thankfully, just seated far forward enough that he doesn't need to worry about his body (well, one particular part of his body, really) getting a mind of its own and turning everything very weird and embarrassing, but from this position, he can see the long, pale line of her neck and the way it slopes down towards her shoulder.
Dropping his other hand down to her hip as well, he lets his eyes slide, pressing his lips to her neck, just underneath her ear. The first brush of his lips is light, but as he moves down her neck, his lips grow bolder, searching and finding the thrum of Angel's pulse and latching on.
Well, unless she stops him, of course.
no subject
Those doubts are thrown from her mind with that first kiss. It's like a bolt of electricity runs through her. With each beat of her heart, the butterflies in her stomach flutter all the more, sending odd rushes down between her legs.
All in all, it's... intoxicating. The lower he dips, the harder she shudders. She can't tilt her head back anymore, but she might have if she could. There's a sudden urge in her head to bear every bit of skin she possibly can for Armin, if only it meant having his attention on it. In a way, it's no different than how she normally feels with him. There's an implicit trust, and she's eager to show him just how boundless it was.
Her free hand settles, finally, resting on the outside of his thigh. She circles her thumb against it, hoping it might assure him of his actions. She doesn't trust herself to speak, fears whatever noises may bubble out, but she still wants him to know how much she's enjoying herself.
no subject
He is, as they say, flying fucking blind and he really hopes there are no trees ahead.
Armin's fingers dig a bit further into Angel's hips -- not painfully, not harshly, just a little more tightly. It's honestly a little intoxicating to be here like this, bathed in the warm glow of the heater, his mouth dragging along Angel's skin, while he can feel ever little shiver and shudder of her body. And spurred on by the way she is leaning into him --she wouldn't do that if she wasn't enjoying this, right?-- he takes it a little further, his kisses becoming more heated, his lips fasting down on her skin and giving it an experimental suck just like he had read described in countless of books.
no subject
It feels good. She wants it to keep feeling good. But as her brain starts to regain it's function, she becomes quickly aware of just how one-sided this has become. The idea of facing Armin might be on the humiliating side, but she still wants to be able to return at least some of the favors being offered to her.
Gently shifting within his grip, Angel allows herself to turn around. She does her best not to drift too far from Armin's waiting hands, lest she give him the idea that she's no longer comfortable with what they're doing. That couldn't be further from the truth.
"Armin." From this new vantage point, it's easier for her to read his face, and to be read in kind. Her skin is flushed, naturally, but there's also a smile on her lips, too.
Feeling bold, she slips one leg around his waist, then the other, so that she's straddling his lap. Her hands come to rest against his chest.
"Is this okay?"
no subject
He doesn't laugh though. His throat is far too dry for it, even as he swallows to wet it. His face feels like it is on fire, and he's certain that by now, the flush on it extends all the way to the tip of his ears and the top of his collar bones.
"Y-yeah." It's a little different, having to just slightly tilt his head upwards to look at Angel, but it is far from unpleasant. His hands find her hips again, resting there, one of his thumbs stroking in idle, absent strokes against her shirt.
And he knows this sort of position is incredibly dangerous, at least in terms of his body --well, a certain part of it, at the very least-- soon betraying him and turning this whole thing into a big embarrassment, but he also doesn't want it to end, his entire body feeling like it is buzzing with an excess of energy.
So instead he does the only sensible thing to do; stretching up, he kisses Angel, his tongue teasing rather bottom lip in a way that is very far from chaste. At least that part of something they have some level of experience in.
no subject
One hand slips around his side, spanning over his back. She finds the curve of his spine and traces it downward, finger pressed in just enough to feel the ridges of vertebrae beneath the fabric. She reaches the hem of his shirt and allows the hand to dip below. He feels warm beneath her. Alive.
Her hand drags upward, bringing the shirt with.
The other hand, meanwhile, remains pressed against his chest. Like this, she can feel the steady thunking of his heart. If she's reading it right, he's enjoying himself.
She hopes he knows she feels the same way.
no subject
When she touches her hand to the bare skin of his back, he shudders, breaking the kiss for a moment the breathe out a soft little 'ah'. Of course, he's felt the touch of Angel's hand plenty -- against his arms, her fingers wrapped around his, occasionally on his face, but the touch of her fingers against the spine sends an electric jolt down his spine. He wants to feel more of her touch, but he can already feel the fabric of his shirt pull taut against his belly as Angel drags it upwards, their position limiting in how high it can go.
"Would I-- you--" He's tripping over his words, feeling heated in a way that has nothing to do with the electric fire. "Should I take it off?"
no subject
She swallows, leaning back to study Armin's face. He seems just as embarrassed as she does, at least.
"I... think I would like that." Her hand slips down to the hem of her own shirt, toying with the hem of it shyly. "We both could. Together."
no subject
He shifts a little underneath her, redistributing her weight so she resting more on the tops of his thighs and not... not anywhere it might lead to a very embarrassing situation.
"Yeah," his throat feels desert dry, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. "I'd like that. A lot."
no subject
Maybe she should count them down. But if she thinks about it too hard, builds up any amount of anticipation, the humiliation is bound to get the better of her. Instead, she grips the edge of her shirt and folds her arms upward. The chill of the air on her skin draws a shiver out of her, but at least it keeps the warmth in her stomach from growing any more molten.
The shirt is set carefully aside and... Abruptly she finds she isn't sure what to do with her hands. She folds them in her lap eventually, fidgeting as she does her best to avoid hiding herself. Even with a bra on, she feels incredibly bare.
no subject
He's seen those before! Angel's bras, that is. But he's only seen them in a very different context -- in their laundry basket or in a drawer. He's never seen one while it is actually on her, the fabric curving and cupping delicate soft flesh that he's only been able to dream of until now.
Abruptly he realises that Angel has set her shirt fully aside, fidgeting slightly while he is still sitting here with his on and an utterly dumbfounded expression on his face.
"S-sorry. I totally meant to take off my shirt too but--" He's flushing. He wasn't lying or tricking Angel or anything, it's just-- "You are really beautiful, Angel. I just ended up thinking that I forgot about everything else."