Bound to be Honest [Saskia]

[Eluard Verlaine]

The cab screeched to a stop, allowing them to descend after receiving payment for the short trip. They had to cross a busy central street to reach the colorful fountain-lake that presided as a landmark in the respective district, but the walk wasn’t long. The scent of moisture from so many falling drops seeped into Eluard’s lungs and he enjoyed it. He hadn’t resumed holding her hand after they exited the taxi car but subconsciously made a point of walking beside her and not simply leading the way to their destination. When they reached the edge of the watery light show, he took hold of the little, low fence, eyes taking in the view like they had many times before.

“This is one of my favorite places in the city. I often come here to sort my thoughts.” A rush of moisture was blown their way by a light breeze and he closed his eyes slightly against it. There was a bench behind them and a well-travelled street behind it. Cars zipped by regularly, despite the late hour. The fountain before him was one of the few things that soothed his anger when he’d first arrived in the city after fleeing from the government in his own country. Eluard had spent long hours staring at the colorful sprinkles while burying it, locking it down so that he could see through the haze of rash actions it inspired.
Eluard looked to Saskia. “I believe it’s your turn to ask questions.” A giggling couple passed by them, the two so enraptured with each other they barely gave Eluard and Saskia notice. “But I’m allowed a bonus question for already revealing something important to me by bringing you here.” He lifted a brow and tilted his head, transferring all of his weight to one leg while turning towards her, one hand still on the metal ledge to preserve his balance. “What’s the thing you like most about yourself?”

((Hope this works!))

[Saskia Murlew]

It was not often these days that Saskia let herself visit the city, let alone the apartment districts or the mall or anywhere that reminded her of her life just a few years previously. But, as she was painfully reminded as they stepped out of the cab, avoiding these places would never erase the memories associated with them. She hadn’t looked out of the window once on the journey, for fear of seeing lights or a building outline that triggered one of them on the way. But mercifully, they had finally come to a stop and the place he had taken her to was not somewhere she recognised, so she got out of the car and let him half lead her, half walk with her to the fountains.

She felt distinctly uncomfortable. But not in a desperate way, yet. She had been taken from her comfort zone, from where she was used to working. From where her rules and boundaries were clear, from where her fake smiles and façade were perfectly in place and functioning impeccably to somewhere new and utterly unexplored. This was a line of her work that was blurred at the edges and completely off book. On the surface, what they were doing was practically romantic; the digging questions, surprise cab journeys and destinations of coloured fountains. But it was still work. And that confused her for a while as he spoke to her by the fountains, she was having to set up a new set of rules as she went along and she wasn’t sure how wise that was.

She watched him, her green pupils on him as his own face looked out across the rippling water before them. Her eyes were more curious than confused now.

“Oh really?” She asked, quirking a brow towards him when he announced he deserved another question. But she didn’t stop him, because his justification was sound at least. Her lips pursed as he asked it, eyes narrowing and leaving him in favour of the coloured waters. It was not a question she liked to ask herself, so it would make sense that he had found it to ask it of her. He seemed very good at that, filtering to the questions that hit hardest. She took a deep breath and looked back at him. “Before all this? I liked my intelligence. I liked my looks, l liked my confidence and I liked my determination to be my own person.” She shook her head, her lips not even close to smiling, left somewhere in a frown that was almost upset. But it had been too long since she had cried. Perhaps she had forgotten how to altogether. “But now… what intelligence I had seems pointless because I abandoned it enough to make the worst decisions. What beauty I had I can never like again because it allows me to earn my living the way I do, what confidence I had is used to the same end and all that remains is my determination to be my own person. But that too, is laughable, seeing as I let myself be drawn into the wrong circles when I was so good at not being drawn into circles at all.” She locked on his gaze for a long time then, before dropping her eyes away and shaking her head. It was extremely difficult now, to find something that she truly, purely liked about herself.

A fresh breath, a new thought brushing away the cloud across her eyes. “My turn.” She reminded him and she twisted herself, swinging up to sit on the low railing that ran around the fountains, her feet resting on its lower rim and her hands steadying her either side of her slim figure. “Just two questions this time because I’m kind like that.” A little wink, playful. Nothing like the drawn person she felt like. “Your daughter’s nanny, Noreen… what are you afraid of in her? You didn’t say it last time, you didn’t need to but there was something about the way you mentioned her or the way you looked when you said it, as if you were scared of something.” She titled her head as she spoke, trying to conjure up the memory of his face in the nightclub but the smoke and alcohol distorted the memory somewhat. Perhaps she had imagined it after all. “Why did you tell me not to fall in love with you?”



{twas great, loved it!}

[Eluard Verlaine]

After sending his questions for answers, Eluard turned away from her, both of his arms coming to rest atop one another on the low railing so that he was leaning in to breathe the fountain’s scent. Whenever nostalgia over their location threatened to overtake him, her words tugged him back, successfully distracting back his dividing attention. He wasn’t sure why, but there was a feeling of impending end shadowing his disposition. Eluard had the impression that he would never see this fountain again, nor would he find Saskia curling around a leather sofa to sit by him should he seek her company another day. It was the sort of feeling someone got before embarking on a suicide mission. Was that how he saw the coming confrontation with MV (the leader of the underground carnage arena)?

Strangely, the sensation made him feel serene and free. Eluard hadn’t even realized how much he wanted to stop pretending. He turned his gaze towards Saskia, lifting a hand to support the side of his head. The quiet gloom of loss in her eyes made him certain she was talking about her true self, the one she had lost along the way. She met his eyes and their icy blue could understand the torture of losing your path this way. He was closer and closer to it every day, but he found it more likely for him to crack and shatter and his dust to scatter to the wind than give up who he was to fit into someone else’s world. There must have been a play of forces behind their pupils, one lost and regretful and the other strong but in despair. The dropping of the gaze was quite coordinated, Eluard taking his back to the colorful fountains.

Saskia came to sit on the railing and Eluard found a strange sort of comfort in her presence at that moment. It was rare to find someone he actually wished to share his true thoughts with, so when she asked two questions that clawed very deep under the surface, he was determined not to skip. He felt a rush of panic. They were matters he didn’t want to think about, much less share with someone else. His gaze was fully on the fountains, noticing the vibrant pink, and he was hesitating.

He gripped the metal railing with one hand and his eyes narrowed. “Noreen, she…” He trailed off, swallowing his courage to continue. Maybe he was supposed to skip. His head bowed a little and he decided to admit it, eyes clouding with memories of Noreen. “Every time I look into her eyes, I can see her feelings. She’s such an honest person.” A genuine smile. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to not yield to what she wants, even though,” he looked at his palm then and his eyelids lowered in disappointment, “it’s nothing but a dream that she cares for.” He closed his fingers in a first and his brow creased slightly with the beginning of a frown. “She doesn’t see the real me and if I were to give in, it would be out of weakness and not real sentiment.” Loneliness was a powerful thing and choosing people because of it was never the right decision.
He swept a hand across his forehead and looked to Saskia then. There was a knot in his chest, the upcoming words much too private and honest to share. He took in a resigned breath. “Because I know people. And I see you, behind the smoke and armband and false grins.” He paused for a moment, blue eyes on green. “And it would be a far harder battle with someone…” He looked away, searching for escape from his words in the depths of shining water. “…I could actually like in return.” Another playful gust of wind sprayed moisture their way, making Eluard narrow his eyes.

The surgeon seemed to forget it was his turn to ask questions. He was frustrated with his sincerity but strangely liberated for it, and for now, he didn’t dare look her way.


((Sorry he went mute lovely!))

[Saskia Murlew]

After a while, she trusted her balance enough on the railing to not need support. She released her hands from their grip on the metal and let their fingers lace together, coming to rest in her lap as she listened to him. It was not exactly hard for her to understand; being on the receiving end of affection where you could not return it. Many of her clients became “attached”, or so Sonia said people in their business called it. Most of them, though, were just there for the fake flattery and drunken sex. But the affection from Noreen sounded genuine, determined, if a little shy. A small, rare, genuine smile graced her lips in return for its described fortitude. “You know, most people would be flattered.” It was teasing, but kind. Because she knew it wasn’t that simple. “If you’re certain about her, don’t let her linger. The thing with girls is, if you give them any hope, even just a shred of it, they’ll cling to it as if their lives depend on it, believing that one day they’ll win. But if you’re honest – painfully so – then they’ll let go, they’ll move on. Or just be swallowed by darkness.” She cocked her head to the side, mock concern registering in her eyes. “But that’s quite a rare reaction…”

A frown registered as he spoke to answer her next question. It had been a mistake to ask it, really, to open up a whole host of topics that should always, in her mind, remain unspoken in her line of work. But she had said it and he hadn’t skipped, so here they were; facing the consequences. And there it was: the stomach flip of… what? Nervousness? Embarrassment? She couldn’t like him because she’d only known the man for two hours. And she shouldn’t like him anyway. It was an unspoken rule in prostitution; client relationships were not an option. She pursed her lips and sat in silence, staring at his face for a long time after he had finished. She watched his fathomless eyes and saw the changing lights from the fountains reflected in their blue pupils.

“Can I tell you how I can cope with selling myself?” But it wasn’t really a question, because she was going to tell him anyway. It didn’t seem at all linked to his admittance on the surface, but in her mind there was a connection. “Intimacy, seduction - even sex… mostly, it’s all just emotion, right? Powerful emotion.” She paused to check he was following and splayed her hands out in her lap, as if in prayer, but her eyes were still locked on his face. “Well, people always seem to assume the emotion involved has to be affection or love or care… but really, it can be anything. Anger, hurt, pain… anything that’s powerful enough to be compared to love. And you wouldn’t believe it, how powerful it can be, how liberating and relieving it can be to rid your pain and your hurt and frustration… even just for a little while, to channel it into something else.”

She was evading the subject really, because she was scared. Because she was so utterly aware that this would end soon, that this lovely, different evening, would have to become a memory. And she wouldn’t see him again. “Can I show you?” She asked, her voice quiet, but confident. Soothing, but determined. If he’d let her, she would shuffle up on the railing until she sat almost in front of him, letting her hands reach up to his slim neck and gently pulling him down to her level into a kiss. Slow at first, but not holding back. Instead of love, which she temporarily forbid herself to feel, every lost and dark emotion that she knew mingled into one, passionate mass. It was not the same, she knew, as her fingers laced into his blonde hair, because a kiss elicited from love was more powerful still, but it was surprising, just how powerful such a kiss could be. And it did help, she could feel herself relax more, releasing her tension, letting the emotions she didn’t want be shared so intimately with another without a single word being passed between them. Because in the context of her work, passion is not defined right by most people: it is a strong, barely controllable emotion and it does not always have to be love.



{s’fine! It worked! She’s massively in denial, but I like it!}

[Eluard Verlaine]

Eluard didn’t seem to rise up to the tease. There was something akin to worry behind his eyes and Saskia’s words added guilt to it. He knew that was what he should do but it wasn’t that easy. “I’m not certain,” he revealed in the end. He did care about Noreen and Jenny loved her. It just wasn’t the sort of sentiment one would associate with actual love and attraction and deep down he knew that it would probably never be. Regardless, he just wasn’t able to open up to her, although he realized what a valuable person she was, but he wanted to for Jenny’s sake. Eluard tightened his hold on the low railing. Deep down he just wanted her affection to leave him alone, to stop forcing its way past his barriers in a way that profited from every opportunity. It was… oppressive sometimes.

The silence allowed him to dwell on his mixed feelings about Noreen but also made him aware again of why he should have left as he’d intended back at the bar. Basic instinct was at work and he wasn’t oblivious enough to not notice the potential in the allure she had to him. The wise thing would be to end their acquaintance soon, but he remained rooted to the spot. There were a lot of things Eluard didn’t allow himself to do or consider because of his daughter, his job and most importantly, his dealings in the underground. The thought of Lydia usually kept emotional interest at bay and if she had crossed his mind right now he probably would have found the muse he needed to walk away, but he didn’t. Today he wanted to be free of all of them – his duties, relationships and past attachments and just live for himself for a night.

So he welcomed Saskia’s story with a short nod and turned his gaze to her. Since pleasure was an emotion as well, he couldn’t disagree with her. Even if he would have had any objections, he wouldn’t have interrupted her for them. Her request for permission made the thoughts pause in his eyes for but a moment, before he turned towards her in open acceptance, straightening, one of his arms coming off the railing. His eyelids lowered and closed as she drew him down for a kiss, breath pausing in his chest. One of his hands went on her waist, supporting her balance on the railing, while his other came to rest on her arm, just below the bend of her elbow. The strength of her dark emotions were like a consuming assault, an exposure to war he hadn’t been prepared to face but answered instinctively to, from somewhere deep down where his own demons usually lay chained.

He frowned slightly, deepened the kiss and his fingers gripped more tightly onto her waist. The nest of anger he normally kept under control responded with a vengeance to her demons and it was smothering and dark and his hand was moving up her arm to clutch her wrist almost painfully. He felt his mind cloud with hatred and loss and pain and self-loathing and it was threatening to take over.

“Stop it.” Eluard had pulled away abruptly, both of his hands on her shoulders to keep her away and keep her from falling into the fountain in his haste to push her from him. He was frowning, eyes averted and dully dark of anger, breath a little heavier than before. His grip on her shoulders was not kind at first but slowly slackened as he regained control of his feelings, bottling the rage away. It was beyond unnerving how expertly her darkness had drawn out his and unlike her, he wasn’t as practiced in channeling it. He dealt with it by keeping it locked away where it couldn’t affect his actions or judgement and it smoldered there, as vicious and unforgiving as the day it had been created.

Eluard’s touch on her shoulders lightened gradually until he finally lifted his palms away and he came to lean against the railing, now sitting beside her instead. His face was in his palm for a long moment. He hated the Government for taking Lydia away from him and he lived for revenge but what he hated most in this world was himself – for having allowed her to be the one to die, for allowing himself to be corrupted along the way to reaching his objective and for hurting so many innocent people during it, whether he meant to or not.

Eluard looked up from his hand to her, eyes finally back to normal. Only an echo of what she had witnessed earlier lingered just underneath their slightly wearied surface. “You shouldn’t have seen that. I’m sorry.” As someone focused severely on control, Eluard accumulated a lot of unexpressed feelings and the violent ones were no exception. Still, the experience of it had been deliriously pleasant. However, the breath stuck in his chest at showing such deep parts of what defined him so honestly and he didn’t like to consider what would happen if the only part that drove him was his anger.

He looked away from her and he stared blankly at nothing. “What keeps you going?” Someone who didn’t care for anyone, someone who felt disgusted with her actions and herself, someone who lived by giving kisses of hatred. What drove that person to keep moving?

[Saskia Murlew]

She felt the moment that he gave into it. It was like lifting a flood gate on icy, unwelcome waters. Impossibly, his darkness seemed more powerful than her own. But how could that be? He was the successful one with a daughter and admirers. But even as his grip on her tightened and his fingers pained her wrist, there was something intoxicating about the honest release of his demons, something extraordinarily powerful. She found herself clawing into it, rather than backing away, the hand tangled in his hair, pulling him closer to her and her other hand sliding up to his chest.

It hurt more, if anything, when he ripped himself away. She had been so high on the emotion, she had quite forgotten how carried away they were getting and, more importantly, how long it had taken her to be able to channel her emotions so precisely in her work. First timers often found the sensation overwhelming. She let her head fall back, eyes flipping skywards as she absently fought to get her breath back, eyes scrunched shut. She didn’t mind the pain in her wrist or the aching grip he had on her shoulders. She was used to rough treatment, and worse, in what she did. It didn’t mean she appreciated it, but in this case she was almost entirely certain he was not to blame for his sudden strength over her. She let her head loll back forward, features blank, her breath slowing to normal as his hands finally lightened and slipped away.

She didn’t need to look across to him as he fell beside her on the rail. He needed time and silence. It had been too sudden of her, she shouldn’t have led him on so deliberately. But she had been so surprised to find someone else who had the potential to channel their demons like she did, it had taken her by surprise. There were small perks to this job, little silver linings that, unless you were employed in prostitution, would seem futile and pointless. But to her, they meant the world. They meant the difference between staying sane and relatively on course and losing it completely. After a long time, his hand slid away from his face and he had returned to her; mask back in place. His comment drew a wry smile to her lips and she turned her head to him from where it had been watching the zipping cars.

“I shouldn’t have seen it or you didn’t want me to see it? Because either way, I saw it and I’m glad I did. So - sorry. Apology not accepted; it’s not necessary.” She linked her slim arms around her waist, drawing in the denim jacket she had grabbed on their way out of the club. She could feel wind-blown moisture on her back from the fountains and in the puddles around their feet, she could see their changing lights reflected.

She sucked in a breath and released it in a sigh as his question reached her. “Two things: firstly, the fear of disappointing myself again. I’ve set myself a goal now; to get back to college and finish what I started – to be better than this, because I know I can be. And no matter how much disappointment I feel in myself for the methods I choose to reach that goal, it will never be greater than the disappointment of not reaching it.” She wasn’t looking at him, her eyes locked on the pavement below her. She drummed her fingers absently against her ribs, underneath each other in their cross over her stomach. “Secondly; nights like this. Surprises. Things that shouldn’t be, but are. People that challenge me, that make me think I’ve still got potential. Anything and everything that gives me hope.”

She huffed out a bubble of amusement. “Sounds like a strap line from an adidas advert doesn’t it?” She shook her head, looking across at him with an easy smile. A hand removed itself from her waist and came to slap his thigh, cordially. “You, sir, are a good man though.” Her voice put on a bravado, but the sentiment was there behind it. What she didn’t want to admit was just how good a man he was, just how much of a good time she was having tonight. “Successful, clever. You should be happier than you are, by my calculations. So whatever skeletons are hiding in that closet of yours, I’d take a moment to re-think, because if you really think about it, perhaps they not as important as you think.” I mean, really, how far could his troubles extend? Grief, or perhaps guilt, from the loss of his wife? Fear of Noreen’s unspoken affection? Saskia curled her hands together in her lap and watched him silently, eyes calm, but not questioning because what he didn’t want to share was beyond her reach.

[Eluard Verlaine]

Eluard was afraid of the thoughts he had when darkness spread through him like a curse. His anger was the sort that made him want to hurt others, to manipulate them to his game and discard them when their role ended. Like a raging demon with one objective, he could walk over corpses until he made them all pay for taking Lydia away from him, for robbing so many others from their families. The thirst for vengeance had been very hard to contain at first but over the years he had gotten better at it. If it hadn’t been for Jenny he would have never bothered. It was she and she alone that kept him connected to what love felt like and the person he had been before everything happened.

But the hatred never went away. It unnerved him that Saskia not only was able to face his demons but seemed to like the exposure. He had mixed feelings about it. The usually chained side of him was very interested in abusing this outlet, thirsty for the brief freedom it had experienced. His calculated and genuinely “good” self was against it, not wanting to encourage it, wishing to root it out instead. The biggest challenge would be mixing the two, creating a careful balance, but Eluard wasn’t good at harmonizing his polar desires. This whole incident presented another reason why Noreen couldn’t be an option. She couldn’t even see this side of him, much less withstand it and of that, he was quite certain.

Eluard looked to Saskia with careful eyes that no longer worked to hide the shadows in their depths. “Then you’re far more dangerous than I first imagined.” Because she was attractive, because she was witty, because she could understand. Her newfound ambition (or had it been there from the beginning?) was also hard to overlook. There was a reason Eluard tried very hard not to get attached to other people – it couldn’t end well. Because of his dealings in the underground, it was a matter of time before his double-identity would be revealed and all of the people that were out to get him would cast their gazes on the important people in his life, on his social connections. Through them, they could get to him, and it was best to leave as little opportunity as possible.

He listened to her explain her objectives and he didn’t doubt her words. The night breeze cast more moisture their way and he placed a hand to the side of his forehead, shielding his eyes from it. The intoxicating strength of the previous moment wasn’t yet gone from his system and he found he needed to concentrate on not staring at her lips and branching into fantasies that involved making use of the near-by bench. Here he was, a highly rational man, presumably immune to irrational impulses, getting knowingly manipulated by a lady of the night. Whether she did it knowingly or unknowingly, he couldn’t say.

The slap applied to his thigh and the comment finally inspired him away from that line of thinking. Very slowly, but surely, the darkness and impulsivity were drawing back into the pits where they belonged. A light, but unconvincing half-smile was his initial answer to her suggestion. Eluard didn’t really feel like putting on his best act around her. He stared calmly at the passing traffic, took in a slow, deep breath and he found that he could pretend everything wasn’t as important as it was. In the blips of colorful lights reflected in passing car windows he could see a happier, peaceful time when none of the worries or reservations he had today existed. The rage, grief and general darkness weren’t there either. It was a time of home baked pies and smiles.

It was a time when Lydia was still alive.

With still semi-clouded eyes, Eluard slowly pushed from the low railing and returned to sitting in front of Saskia. “May I show you something?” His tone was smooth and quiet and he seemed to not be fully there, for he was anchored in something he could see beyond the present. If she would allow him, he would brush a hand into her hair and be the one to kiss her, nostalgic for a different feeling. Slowly at first but progressively more genuine, it was the strong sentiment of caring for someone blindly and absolutely to the point of forgetting oneself. It was tender but possessive. It sought to know the very essence of the other person and offered the same in return and for the moment he was lost in it. A strong sense of loyalty and dedication until… something shook in his minimally opened eyes and he drew away from her a little.

His brows were furrowed and he shared her breath for the few months it took to realize that he shouldn’t be showing her what he had felt for Lydia. A breath stopped in his chest as he considered the alternative and his fingers tightened into a fist at his side. But it was too late to withdraw the intent. He was drawn to express it, to be honest. This time he looked into her eyes and in that moment acknowledged it was her that he was about to kiss. Something in him tensed and something akin to panic and hesitation dully flashed behind his irises. Then, much less boldly and much more slowly, he finished the gap between their lips and shared the feeling of loneliness that corroded him inside with emptiness, the desire for closeness and the frustration for fighting against having it. His free hand ripped from his side and came on her neck, fingers digging lightly into soft skin. His need for intimacy, both physical and emotional, was so openly displayed in a deepening of the kiss that it surprised him.

[Saskia Murlew]

His face had changed. The fathomless eyes were calming, retracting into the facade she had seen him wear already. But until that kiss a few moments ago, she hadn't even realised it was a facade - the demons that hid in him were far better enclosed than those in her own soul. Perhaps he had more practice at it or perhaps they were lesser than the ones she faced, though most of hers were entirely of her own making.

He was pushing away from the railing, coming over to rest in front of her. She found herself smiling, though she wasn't sure why. It unnerved her - how quickly she had become comfortable in his presence. Her hands came to absently play with his shirt front. It wasn't like she was trying to seduce him any more, but old habits died hard. She didn't answer his question verbally, but tilted her head slightly, smile fading into a curious and questioning frown. The kiss was not entirely unexpected; he had been moving into position for it anyway. It was what was behind it that made her nerves stand on end and her throat constrict. They were emotions that she didn't even feel able to comprehend, let alone be shown in such undeniable strength. They weren't for her, which was somewhat reassuring, but the power behind them was making her feel weak and flimsy. Her fingers clawed gently at his chest, but she wasn't sure whether she was telling him to stop or just to slow down for her. Because she felt like she was trying to run with someone when she hadn't even experienced walking yet. Saskia rarely cried, but she could feel a stinging behind her eyes and a claustrophobia rising up her throat. As she pulled back, he did too, but she found she couldn't look at him. she felt inadequate, which, considering her current profession, was a surprising first. She swallowed a few times and closed her eyes, trying to clear her thoughts. He may not want her to do anything she didn't want to, but how did you tell someone you couldn't yet understand love? For someone supposed to be excellent at faking it, it wasn't easy.

She sensed his eyes on her and dragged her own to met his grey pupils. They had changed again and this time, somehow, they were looking directly at her and only her. It caught her breath for a moment before he lent in and she found her hands coming to his neck, feeling the pulse soar under his skin before her fingers entangled into his hair. This time, the kiss was for her. The loneliness and frustration that was pent in the kiss caught her off guard again and it took her a moment to realise she could match it with her own. In a twisted version of intimacy, their emotions seemed to collide and compliment each other with startling ease. Her legs slipped from where they rested on the railings to come and entwine around his, forcing him to step closer into her. She arched her back into the kiss, into his body, trying to hold onto the connection she had felt a second ago. It was sometime before she pulled back, breathless, and eyes still closed. She let her forehead rest against his, one hand falling away and the other resting on his neck to keep him close.

Slowly, the evening air rushing between their new space was sobering her up. She pulled herself away from him, letting her legs fall back either side of him, but her hands came to hold his shirt again because she still didn't want him to go far. But her fingers were flirting with the material hesitantly because this was dangerous, because this was almost breaking the first rule of the job: that attachment - of any kind - would only be painful, destructive and ultimately, futile. A huff of amusement and a half smile. "You're confusing me, you know. This is confusing me. I should be shamelessly flattering you, getting you to take me to your apartment but all I want to do is stay in the cold with this warmth..." she trailed off, seductively - but more out of habit at this point. The lines were too blurred for her; she was finding it too hard to separate employment and enjoyment and that was the start of a slippery slope. But she brushed the thoughts and leaned in to claim his lips again because they were wonderfully distracting.

[Eluard Verlaine]

The impulsive moment of longing daring was selfish at first. Eluard missed Lydia, but he had never told or shown anyone just how much. He was spellbound, in the beginning, as he forced the feeling of that bond on Saskia. However, her reaction was not lost on him and it slowly pierced through the fantasy, begging to present the difference between imagination and reality. That was when he broke the moment, and, while the female before him gathered herself from the unexpected assault, considered what he had learned. He felt distinctly older as he watched her with half-lidded eyes resurfaced from the clouds.

The second attempt was riddled with initial hesitation. Her hands were on his neck and every touch just increased his anxiety. A great part of him was advising and already clearing the path for a retreat. Until he sensed it - the mirrored sentiment in her, which although not surprising as a concept, was unexpected in practice. Because of it, he let go, all of the tension evaporating, one of his hands caressing her neck lightly. Eluard was entirely too exposed to suggestion when she linked her legs around his and drew him closer. He molded to her desire and his reservations were quickly growing scarce. Due to proximity, carnal desire entered the equation fully and, through the shared connection of frustration and loneliness, one of his hands had brushed down her neck, across her shoulder, underneath fabric. She arched towards him and everything was becoming obscured, slowly becoming buried under a rush of heat that had his other hand come to her leg, beginning to lift the dress out of the way by brushing up. When she suddenly pulled back, it took him a moment to sober from the building anticipation, wondering at what point he had lost control so completely. His hands withdrew from positions underneath covered skin, the one that was on her leg falling limply to his side and the other remaining on her shoulder, on top of jacket material.

Eluard drew in slightly ragged breaths, forehead against hers, trying to process what had happened, but never really withdrawing. It was a rush of cold that blew away the last influence of lust and her retreat helped him focus on the emotional exchange. He had thought that, since it may be his last opportunity before death, he could be completely honest with someone considering such private aspects, but now that it had happened, it made him feel exposed. But. The fear usually associated with it never came. The desire to retreat never happened. So he remained and there was no real need for her precautionary hold on his shirt. However, it took a moment for him to accept that he preferred to stay.

Her amusement was met with a slightly curious gaze that held the faintest touch of warmth. He couldn’t ignore what he had seen or subtract himself from the experienced mutuality any more than she could right now. At her words, the forming smile on his face paused, remaining ghostly, and he watched her thoughtfully. Although she moved to kiss him again, he stopped her, both hands on her shoulders now. “I don’t mean to confuse you.” He was talking to himself as much as he was her. His eyelids lowered slightly. “Maybe we should stop.” Contrary to his words, he was leaning in again, head tilted and lips pausing an inch from hers. “I should pay you and let you go back to the club.” He kissed her lightly, but did restrain the rest of the urge, drawing back. His desire to strip her bare, from the inside out and otherwise, was entirely too clear in his eyes for a moment. He cast his gaze to the side, and with practiced effort, banished it.

Eluard removed his hands from her frame and turned. His eyes fixed on the rush of sleepless traffic and there he found what he needed to remind him that she was a lady of the night and he was supposed to confront a underground crime-lord in a couple of days. “I can’t do this,” he shared, and he didn’t know exactly what he meant. Whether he couldn’t go through with applying for her services or genuinely continue sharing privacies with someone he could come to like he couldn’t say for sure. He dragged a hand down his face and looked back to her over his shoulder, a little weary. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?” There was a small pause. “From the first moment you saw me.”

With a short sigh, Eluard looked away, dug through his pocket, drew out payment he had promised and it was probably five times more than she would receive normally and wandered back to her. He took her hand and placed the roll of bills in her palm, calm eyes on hers. “This is what I owe you and you are hereby released from your contract.”