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Post by BRITNEY TIMBERS on Apr 4, 2012 17:14:03 GMT -5
Brit drifted in and out of...something. She couldn't tell if it was reality, consciousness or some strange foggy mixture of the two. She only knew that one moment she was smiling lazily at Rogerson's kisses and the next moment her eyes were closed and they'd traveled a significant amount of yardage. She was in a haze of pain, a haze of confusion. She realized her previous comparison was wrong. This wasn't like being drunk at all. Being drunk was voluntary, an action she could start herself and eventually lose her mind to drink and dance. She remembered what Rogerson had said about her lifestyle and she stumbled, mentally and physically. While drifting out, she imagined her life without Nov and when the pain struck,she felt it in her heart too. She couldn't just give up on Nova, no matter how much it hurt her to be with the beautiful woman. A cynical thought entered her mind, imagining Rogerson bunked up in her apartment when Nova came over for their Sunday night pizza night. She gave a slight grin and then shook her head, looking down at the ground and biting onto her lower lip. Mustering as much strength as she could, she thrust Nova from her mind and leaned against Rogerson a bit heavier until he reacted suddenly. Whoops, he'd noticed the wound. She flushed and involuntarily fluttered her eyelashes. She looked up at him, mouth dry.
She wanted to speak up. She wanted to reassure the strong handsome man next to her that no one had injured her. Only an innocent piece of their stolen car. Karma, come back to haunt her and foreever remind her of what she had done. If she could even live past today. Her concern wasn't her wound; it was for him. She smiled up at him, all she could manage for now. She gave a small shake of her head and then continued walking with him. His hand was warm on her stomach, gently rubbing her wound. She closed her eyes and nodded her head carefully as he gently stroked her stomach and she turned her head to the side. She paused and looked up hopefully for Harrison, hoping for a sign from her most trusted pokemon. All she got was a fresh pull at her wound for her trouble and no sign of her precious pokemon. She leaned against Rogerson and pressed her hand on top of his, pressing his hand harder against her wound. She squeezed his other hand as she struggled down the river with him. She felt horrible for holding his hand against her wound, knowing that he probably was feeling a steady gush of blood as she bent over, looking down at the river. She nearly cried out from relief when the river actually came in sight and he started pulling her toward the river. Her mouth had completely dried out, leaving her with the desire to respond to everything but also devoid of the energy to actually do so. Stumbling, she broke away from Rogerson's confident, steady arms and dropped to her knees next to the flowing water. She only stared at the bottom for a moment before she quickly bent over the water and reached a hand out. Her stomach protested and blood dripped from her wound, onto the grass as she dipped her hands into the water.
But she took a deep, steadying breath and then lifted the water up to her mouth. She closed her eyes, feeling pure satisfaction as the cool water trickled down her throat. She felt like a woman stranded in the middle of a desert, finally finding an oasis to soothe her dry throat. She continued loading the water into her mouth and swallowing quickly until she felt comfortable enough to speak. She glanced over at Rogerson with a reassuring smile and then began to pull the water up to her stomach, slowly brushing it over her wound as she returned to sanity. The water helped, seeping in and brushing away the sticky blood that had accumulated when she tried to smear the wound away. Once she had cleaned herself and washed her hands clean, she turned to reply to Rogerson, feeling much better for wear, no matter how much her stomach still hurt. She frowned deeply when he punched the ground and she scooted toward him. Without saying anything, she took his arm into her hands and then gently lowered it into the water. She carefully rubbed her hands across the torn skin on his knuckles, brushing off the little spots of blood as they kept appearing no matter how much water she pressed on them. Once the blood stopped popping up, she looked up at him. She stared into his eyes and pulled on his wrist, bringing him closer to her body. She only struggled with his pants for a moment before she pulled them off and then tugged him in the water, climbing in after him.
She slipped into the water, giving a happy sigh at the feeling of the water brushing against her sides. The water was shallow enough that they could both sit in and not be washed away by the current. The rocks were a bit bumpy, but the cool feeling of the water made up for it. "You should stop beating yourself up." She said, folding herself between his legs and starting by lifting up a handful of water and spreading it across his chest. She lifted a few more handfuls across his chest and shoulders, rubbing it across his skin as best as she could. "Which reminds me." She paused for a moment and then leaned against him, to carefully dip him back, one hand braced behind his head so he wouldn't knock it against the rocks on the bottom, and helped to lift him back up, running her fingers through his wet hair and carefully trying to get the pieces of debris out and smoothing it down his back. She looked up into his eyes and then gently rubbed half a handful of water against his swollen eye, trying to bring some of the swelling down, even though she knew she would need more drugs and items for that. She smoothed the dried blood from above his eye, running her thumb gently against the cut there, wiping away some of the blood that was there. "How did you get all of these injuries?" She finally finished her thought quietly, turning her attention down to his stomach, rubbing her hand softly against the wound there. Because the water was high, the current had been doing the job for her, washing away most of the surface blood. She carefully pressed against the wound and then leaned back, folding her legs beneath her as she faced him.
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Post by ROGERSON CUMMINGS on Apr 4, 2012 22:17:07 GMT -5
His anger waned with every soft touch. The guilt, the frustration, the blame…it all lifted as she lowered him to the water. She blessed him, filling his heart with the peace of gratitude. He lavished in her soft touch but winced as the water flooded his senses; clenching his teeth, he cursed slightly to himself. The wounds were deeper than he previously perceived, but he took solace in her gentle hands. The dried and fresh blood met and danced with one another in the water, twirling away to the river’s soft rush. She washed his pain away in more ways than one, Rogerson’s eyes hazy as he watched pieces of him carried across the river. He seemed totally at peace as she revealed him: his most prized possessions, his Pokemon, lay a slumber in those balls, yet he trusted her enough to leave them for now. He was extremely glad to be rid of the wretched, blood soaked thing. In a wider perspective, however, he was extremely appreciative for her care. Not only had this beautiful woman saved his life, but now she was mending his wounds, when she was the hurt one! Rogerson had become accustomed since the nascence of his existence that no one cared for him; her generous display of affection captured him. He became sure she was the type of angel, the kind of dream he had long ago let go out of disappointment and indifference. He was beyond owing his life to her.
A strong satisfaction for her, a beaming light, slipped into worry once more as he intently watched her rub away her stomach’s blood. He had analyzed it all, recording every fluid motion, from her imbibing the water and then using it to wash the blood away. It all interested him, everything about her, that is, interested him. He kept golden eyes fixed on her even as she leaned him back, sighing deeply as the calm water blanketed the back of his head. He straightened himself up with a refreshed gasp as he lavished in the cool droplets dripping down his twisted tendrils. He combed it all backwards with his fingers, revealing his now clean (yet bulbous) eye; he wanted nothing to obstruct his view of her. He was so fatigued by now; he desired her to take control, and found her handling of him favorable. The washing of his hair, his shoulders, his chest: if she hadn’t done it, he would have washed away in the river all alone. Warm feelings quelled inside him as she cleansed his hip. He kept silent, satisfied with the situation, as he leaned into her and gently massaged her hips, circling his thumbs around her smooth frame.
“Baby, you give me far too much credit,” he replied after a sensual silence, “if my beatings ended as intended, I’d be long dead by now,” he ended with a hazy grin. Despite his nonchalance, he meant every word. Self destruction had long characterized his dismal life; it had seeped into his very being, into every beating, every suicide attempt. However, for the lovely lady’s inquiries, he had to ponder the true events of the disaster. He set clear eyes away from her as he stared up, trying to recreate the scene. He garnered what little memory he remembered concerning the events: he recalled the morning light peering down on little Fallarbor Town, and then he was flying free on Fui. His vision of the morning faded in and out at parts, yet he vividly remembered a certain event: suddenly, he cruised down towards earth, having fallen off Fui (if he voluntarily jumped, he could never be quite certain now). In the rush of events, he briefly recalled Fui attempting to catch him, yet something had gone terribly amiss in his endeavor and both master and slave had plummeted to the barren ground on rough sides. “That’s an interesting question,” he mused out loud to himself, tossing her a crooked smile.
“But you’re the important one here, doll. Does it still hurt?” he asked, attention back on her wound. He continued massaging her, swimming in the soft pools of her eyes before deciding to cheer her up. He hated seeing her so depressed, for something he was sure was his fault, the stupid, nonobservant blond he was. He cupped water in his hand and gently poured it over her head, sticking his tongue out at her. He watched the cool liquid trickle over her bonny head and moved again; he quickly sucked in air and ducked underwater, humming classical horror movie themes as he gently kissed her thighs underwater, nudging her with his hair. He sharked around for a few moments, dramatic and intense in his playful repertoire. Suddenly, splashing out of water like a jet, he met her in a full body hug with force! He kissed her on the neck again, trying to assemble any semblance of joy within her. He never entered this type of phase, yet he’d do anything at that moment to make her happy. He owed her happiness, and the greatest of joys, and only hoped she would appreciate his efforts. He briefly contemplated the serenity of the situation, and his thankfulness for it all, the blood, both accidents, his pain; he became thankful of everything leading up to this moment.[/color]
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Post by BRITNEY TIMBERS on May 10, 2012 20:41:10 GMT -5
Brit arched her back, a playful smile crossing her face as she closed her eyes and enjoyed his hands on her waist. Big, soft hands massaging her as she relished in the pain dissipating from her senses. Images danced on her eyelids, teasing her of a different future, a different path from the one she was treading now. In the images that taunted her, she saw nothing but Rogerson. Nothing but his strong back stepping in front of her, guiding throughout her day. Making things easier, making things more enjoyable. Having someone next to her to share her triumphs, share in her defeats. Feeling close to someone and knowing that they feel the same way back. A slight tinge of hesitancy entered her and she opened her eyes, almost lazily, one and then the other. She curiously watched Rogerson and wondered. Did he feel the same way she did? Did he feel like fate had entwined their souls and they were both now against each other, enjoying the cruel twist of fate and ignoring all sense of the word pain? She couldn't tell. She watched him quietly, an amused smile on her face as she waited for a sign from above. A sign from anywhere, actually. Something to indicate to her that she wasn't crazy. That what she was feeling was real. She blinked, confusion clouding her judgement and then a broad smile spread across her face when he spoke. She could feel a blush - a blush!!! - spread across her cheeks when he called her baby. Baby. The word probably meant nothing to him but she was transported back to a time, a time where the word actually meant something.
Back when she was younger, her mother would sometimes sit down and read to her long books, long books when she didn't have the attention span to read. Hell, she still didn't have the attention span to read now. It wasn't like she didn't have the ability to, she just often chose to prance around and throw herself at people than waste her time with a good book. But as she sat in the water with Rogerson, a lazy smile on her fer face, she remembered her mother sitting across from her in the huge recliner that sat in their living room. She wasn't more than eight or nine, just a scrawny little thing curled up under a blanket, staring at her mother with eyes filled with adoration. Her brother off playing with his friends and her father out searching for a quick drink, she was usually curled up on the couch opposite her mother, who read her stories on being a coordinator. Sometimes her mother didn't actually have the time to devote to her daughter and so she busied herself out in the world, being more and more adored by the public of Jubilife. One day, snuggled under her blanket and her affectionate mother reading to her, Britney heard a story about a girl finding her prince charming. It wasn't your typical 'knight in shining armor, damsel in distress story'. It was a long, beautiful romance of a woman and a man coming across each other in a chance meeting and their slow journey through the field of love. Whenever he showed high emotional stress, or seemed to be in the moment of loving the heroine, he would call her baby and she would know - just know - that he was really the one for her.
Brit's smile became wider as she fondly recalled the memory. All doubt fell from her mind and she curiously watched Rogerson, wondering what he would do next. Would he...get mad at something? Would he start rubbing her wound to try to make the blood go away? Instead he asked her a question and the corner of her mouth crooked up. Sure, pain filtered in and out of her senses every couple of minutes, but the water was making it much better. By having the constant barrage of the stream, she was able to ignore the discomfort it presented. "It hurts a little, but I'll be fine." She said, her smile turning into a full grin. She wouldn't be pitied. She could be strong, just like him. In the back of her mind, she was still a little thrown off by how much blood he'd probably lost. But without the reply of Harrison, she probably wasn't going to be moving him anytime soon. She looked up, hoping to hear the faint screech of her Swoobat. Distracted by searching the skies for his adorable pink nose, Brit didn't notice the water hitting her head until it was too laugh. She gave a little cough as the water went down her face and into her mouth and she turned to glare at Rogerson, a sneaky smile on her face. Luckily he was in a just-as-playful mood as her, if his smile was anything to go by. A jolt of excitement went through her veins and she could feel her blood pumping harder when he gave her a look and then dived under the water.
Euphoria crashed over her and she was a fit of giggles as he swam through the water, pretending to be a threatening shark. All stress and worry dissolved and she sat there, wiggling in the water as he kissed her thighs, laughing hard when he splashed out of the water and hugged her tightly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and the kisses to her neck made her giggle harder, squirming against him. Her hands pressed against the back of his head as she giggled and pressed playful kisses to the top of his head, covering his eye with as many gentle kisses as she could manage, her hands gently stroking the back of his head. Her giggles barely kept her breathing, but she was so excited, so happy to be squirming against him, that she didn't care of the discomfort that the giggles were causing her. Eventually, she had to fall back into the water to support his heavy frame, still grinning and laughing. She pulled him close to her body and curiously looked up at him. His hair hung down on either side of her face, making her feel like she was secluded from the rest of the world. Just she and him. Just him and she. She stared up into his eyes, her playful grin still on her face as she kept her hands braced on his shoulders. A million thoughts raced through her mind but she only acted on one. Carefully holding him still, she leaned up and close the distance between them, giving him one of the most passionate yet subtle kisses she'd ever managed. Her hands gripped his shoulders and she could feel the water coating half of her body, making her want to whisk away down the stream, forever encased in this moment.
She kept it light and playful, something that was completely foreign and new. She was so used to immediately turning affectionate into sexual promiscuity that she had forgotten what it felt like to be infatuated. She forgotten the thin line that laid between playfulness and sexuality that she'd been so far across for so long. She pulled back from the kiss with a grin on her face, her cheeks still red with happiness and some embarrassment. They'd been kissing on each other for a couple hours now, but that'd been the first actual mouth-to-mouth contact that they'd tried. Newness and excitement made her heart pound. It was the anticipation of not knowing the other person's reaction. She'd put herself on the line and she didn't know how he'd receive it. Her smile didn't falter, her happiness didn't fade. She just stared up into his eyes, one hand gently touching his cheek as she relished in her youth, celebrating the excitement and possibility of - dare I say it - new love.
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Post by ROGERSON CUMMINGS on May 19, 2012 1:24:46 GMT -5
Love’s poisonous seed grew in his mind, flowering into kisses along her fertile skin, zealously, passionately, emphatically; he failed to bear this burden longer, for he meant it, meant to make her happy, meant to impress her, meant to win her. For all of meaning’s sake, he was meant to love her. Breathlessly, then, he continued pouring whatever love his cold heart contained. He started at those lovely lips, lucky to finally taste them for the first time in all their full and gentle love, and he kissed back, rough and raw. Divine lips, flawless collarbone, beautiful shoulders: hands all over the place, he wanted to touch everything, kiss all of her, his skin afire. He quashed the desire and salvaged some remains of Rogerson, some aspect of a respectable gentleman, as he slowed down his passionate fit. Easing a hand down her back to pull her closer to him, he placed another hand atop her own and huskily huffed, “Thank you…for making me come alive.” He shot Brit his winning smile and gently lay his cleansed forehead on her own, flawless and cool as it was. He stopped out of pure respect. Noting her kiss chipper, he belatedly realized she was offering him a grandeur chance, the chance to earn her and treat her like the queen she truly was. He smiled at this thought: he mentally promised to work to this status, to make her his.
“Miss Timbers, you’re too beautiful to wait in this water next to a dying man,” he chuckled, looking up to scan the sky. Magenta and gold smeared over the earth like melted ice cream, puffy marshmallows of cloud disclosing a sleepy sun that nestled among the darkened mountaintops the couple had descended from. Sunset settled over…wherever the lovers huddled together, a fact that disturbed Rogerson (not the latter fact, for he beamed with ecstasy over new found love). Instead, his brows furrowed, growing concerned with not time, not location, but for Britney. In truth, the mostly nocturnal man reveled in the mystery of the night, roamed wherever his occupation drove him. His concern stemmed over her injury: although he managed to fish smiles and laughs out of her, a voice at the back of his head consistently reprimanded him for not moving faster to alleviate her pain. He needed somewhere to go, somewhere to heal her. His own palladium dripped away in the flowing water, his wounds halted into oozing scars but he had dealt with worse before. Her delivery from pain became imperative to him as he gazed back down to that creamy stomach, gash still apparent. Back up again: Rogerson trusted the brave Harrison to find something eventually, but he felt helpless waiting. Those golden eyes drifted down the course of the river now, regarding the calm stream’s crescendo into a wide, bottomless, tumultuous river.
An idea sprouted into his mind and he lightly twirled Brit’s fingers as if to reassure her before rising from the stream. Sodden boxers dripped cold water and he trudged back over to the edge, where his Pokeballs cuddled together in soft grass. He regarded the four plump balls: the first ball, a standard red and white classic, wobbled erratically, icy to the touch. Emanating a distinguished, furious heat, Rogerson set down the adjacent ball, a premier ball heavily rusted and nearly busted from its host Pokemon. The third ball, an austere piece of metal-work designed to house the roughest of Pokemon, lie completely devoid of any life. Rogerson seeked the fourth ball, the masterpiece. He had it hand-crafted more than a year ago and paid a handsome price for the luxury ball, a glistening, stylish sphere of black sunshine. He scooped all but that ball into his boxers and waded back over to Brit, flashing naughtiness in his eyes. He could have well explained what he planned to do, but even he wasn’t entirely sure of his own madness. “Oui,” he commanded, throwing the sphere into the air with his good arm. An array of maroon sparkles shrouded a formidable silhouette that towered meters high; a gorgeous, pale neck craned towards its master upon seeing scars, the rest of its body squirming smoothly among width of the stream and the rocks with the grace of a tiny butterfly among a vast field. Oui, the Milotic, gave a soft cry to announce her presence.
Rogerson hopped onto the sacred beast, motioning for Brit to sit in front of him on the adventurous water ride. He had not the slightest prediction as to the river’s future route or intensity. The river could easily bifurcate into another tranquilizing stream as easily as it could a raging torrent. He presumed Oui strong enough to handle any maelstrom thrust their way, creative enough to deter the duo from any vindictive vicissitude. He trusted Oui with his life, but even this perilous decision proved ostensibly questionable. Perhaps dementia had set in, as he assumed the river to lead to some healing pot of gold somewhere miles away, or perhaps restlessness, or a strong drive for adventure, a strong desire to spend more time with Brit – a combination of all may have constituted his sudden revitalization. He fancied a long cruise down the side of a picturesque river, with the beauty of the most beautiful girl. Darkness would descend before long but for now, adventure seemed to offer him the merits and gifts of a lifetime, even though he thought himself the luckiest, most blessed man in the whole world with her along his side. He spread his other arm out towards Brit, flashing his brightest smile. “May I have the pleasure of taking you on a ride?” [/size]
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