fjordicswagger | Tamsin's House of Sharp Things And Presently Not Enough Alcohol, Thursday Evening

For a couple of minutes, Tamsin had contemplated the idea of just opening up Town Hall for the party, but... what would be the point in that? People were fired up on hormones, people wanted to get laid, you needed a space small enough to get 'em close together. So to speak.

Also, this way she got free booze out of the deal, so-- win win.

She'd hung the black sheets back in front of the large store windows (partly to keep the light out, partly so it was slightly less obvious the house was technically a shop she was technically maybe squatting in). She'd tossed a ton of pillows and an old mattress on the floor, since she didn't actually have a sofa, per sé. The rooms upstairs were... well, okay, they were rooms.

And there was a table for incoming booze. With solo cups. Of course.

Perfect. Time for a party. If anyone had seen the posters...

[[ ocd ~~incoming...~~ up! adults only party is a go! eta: i should probably note browse responsibly, since there might be hints of nsfw in the comments at some point, i have no idea how this post will roll ]]

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Oh, she' would definitely let him.

"Interesting choice," she said, sounding a touch distracted. "Well, you are the artist, monsieur. Whatever you choose to do, I leave it in your hands. Capable hands, I don't doubt."

Which she was looking at quite intently.

"I'm very talented," Jack said, following her gaze with his eyes. He gently pushed the fabric aside, then dipped a clean index finger into the pot of red body paint. "Hmmm. Maybe not liberty. Maybe something to match the theme of the week."

He started to trace letters onto her chest in his neat cursive. B-I-S-O-

Éponine squinted down at the letters, which was difficult from this angle, but laughed once she finally puzzled out the word in progress. "How do you like that! Are you leaving people instructions on what to do?"

In a lower, slightly rougher voice she added, "It's very nice, your handwriting." The quality of the penmanship, yes, but there was a paint-coated finger gliding over her skin and she appreciated that significantly more right now.

"You know, I think I am," Jack laughed. "Though if they kiss it too much they'd wipe it off, and you'd have to come back to me for another coat of paint."

He wrote that final U and finished the word with a squiggle underneath,his finger shaking just a bit from excitement as he did. Then he stood back to get a good look.

"I like it," he decided, voice deepening to match Eponine's. "And thank you. You wear it well."

Jack, don't do that. It didn't exactly encourage Éponine to give you back your personal space.

"I'm sure I wouldn't mind if you had to paint me again," she said, smirking faintly. "I'll have to be careful, now, not to get any of this on my shirt though."

Convenient excuse to undo another button, wasn't it?

"I might have smeared the B a little, though," Jack informed her, a strange new brightness in his eyes. "Right ... there."

He ducked his head to touch his tongue to the spot he meant -- a tiny fingerprint just to the right of her bra strap ~~or equivalent~~. What was the point of edible body paint if no one licked it off you at all? It would be a waste, and Jack hated waste.

The fact he'd always felt a simmering attraction to Eponine, or at that moment thought he had ... maybe had something to do with it.

That was the thing about sex pollen messing with people's minds, wasn't it?

"How careful you are," Éponine said, dragging out the words in a low voice and reaching up with one hand to play with his hair. "Is the rest of it acceptable, or will you have more to clean up?"

She didn't sound like she would mind the latter.

"It might need a few more touch-ups, m'mselle," Jack said, through a throat that was suddenly dry. "Just ... little spots where my finger slipped."

And, since she sounded like she wouldn't mind, he took the liberty of licking at those (largely imaginary) places before looking up at her and, quite deliberately, finishing with a kiss to the side of her neck. "And that was just to thank you," he said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.

"What've you got to thank me for?" asked Éponine in a tone that she'd meant to be flippant but came out dazed and a little bit breathless instead. (She was fairly sure there hadn't been that much smudged paint on her.) "Seems to me I ought to be the one thanking you."

In kind, of course.

"Letting me do that," Jack said,and dropped a final kiss just above the line of her cleavage before pulling away.He sounded dazed and breathless as he spoke. "Not that I'd turn down your gratitude."

In any form it might take.

"Oh, the pleasure was mine, monsieur, I tell you that. Whatever you want in return, you've only got to say, since that's fair, but first, let me thank you." Éponine leaned back in to kiss him -- lightly, but with every intention of lingering for a second or two.

It started out as a light, friendly kiss, but after a moment Jack started focusing on the feeling and it deepened into something ... more than friendly.

He lingered in it, not wanting the moment to end.

If he was going to do that, Éponine would just have to reciprocate, with a light nip at his lower lip -- as she'd said, it was only fair. Suddenly feeling as if the kiss wasn't enough contact, she brought her hands up to rest them on his shoulders.

Oh, that was nice. Jack made a low, pleased sound and moved in even further, planting his hands on Eponine's waist and opening his mouth slightly to return the nip.

Tamsin's House of Sharp Things And Presently Not Enough Alcohol, Thursday Evening

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