[MitS] 009 - When you tease me the way you do
My little darling I'm a tangled mess
When you tease me the way you do
& what it would be like I can only guess
If you'd please me like I wanna please you
Well show me a friendship that's pure and chaste
And I'll show you and engine that's dying to race
Pulling in the warm air in the loft her chest rose out for a moment as she held it in tightly in her lungs. Pursing her lips she narrowed her gaze at him from across the way as the deep breath she held was drawn in tight and not going anywhere for the moment. Her features shifted as the tightness in her chest started to burn a bit from holding her breath. Her right eye squinted shut with a slight wince before she finally exhaled, rather over dramatically.
"You didn't even bother to argue with me on it."
"Why would I? I learned not to debate with God weeks ago."
Sticking her tongue out at him she moved across the floor to circle her arms around his waist, tipping her head back to press a kiss to the bottom of his chin, "I smell paint."
"What? You're kidding. I thought I got rid of all of that."
A fingertip dug into his side wriggling lightly, "I mean on you. The loft I'm used to, but the on you part still always smells different."
"Oh you mean different from the 'I haven't showered in a few days' smell?"
"You are horrible sometimes."
"That's how I know when to bathe."
Narrowing her gaze at him she sighed and slipped her arms out from behind him and turned around to press her back to his chest leaning against him. "Now you're stuck. You're not going anywhere, because if you move? I'll fall, and God shouldn't injure herself today."
She could feel his hands resting atop her abdomen, fingers curled beneath the hem of her shirt for a moment. The rougher feeling of lingering paint stains against the tips of them grazed to her skin. Shutting her eyes Sarah pressed her head back against his chest, her hair pressing up a bit at the back. "Ideas?"
"Always."
"Feel free to share."
"Never. I claim creative copyright."
"Mmm... disappointing." Her own hands moved to rest atop his, fingers pressing up to their tips tracing lightly along his fingers, feeling them brush between the gaps they formed when she stopped paying attention and just let her hands move against his. The back of her head could feel the movement a moment before it occurred. Dropping his head he let his mouth ghost across her neck, the warmth not unwelcome despite the August heat coming in from the open windows on the far wall. Sarah shifted against his chest, granting him further access to the curve of her neck for a moment as she takes in a deep breath.
"No more holding your breath until I paint you another turkey?"
Her eyes almost flutter shut with the murmuring press of his words to her skin. Barely a half nod of recognition as his fingers inch up beneath her shirt across skin. They twist and she can feel the roughness of knuckles healed with scars from stretching canvas pressed to her skin. She could feel the pull of fabric against her sides as he gathered the hem up in his palms, and the nudge to her neckline from his chin trying to get her to stop leaning on him so fully. Easing up from his chest wasn't exactly what she wanted to do but the urging of her shirt up over her head was more than a welcome notion.
Once it was off of her though she wanted to return back to his chest, to that healthy leaning press against him, that was comfortable and comforting in some way. Isaac though has moved away from that familiar spot behind her and is crossing the floor of his loft with her shirt in his hand.
Tilting her head curiously Sarah watches him for a moment before following him, unhindered by the notion that she has no shirt on at this point. The waist of her jeans low on her hips she leans her side against the table he's standing in front of with a raised eyebrow directed to him.
"I get the whole lack of attention span thing, but you can't do that to me."
Barely looking at her he replied nonchalantly, "But I did.. actually I didn't point in fact."
Top and bottom lip were drawn in to her mouth as her gaze narrowed at him for a moment. Then he turned to face her tossing her shirt over his shoulder. There really was no point in her arguing. She might have the lofty title of God, but he had this way of looking at her and there was pretty much nothing that beat that. It was the eye of an artist, or maybe that he could see something in her that she barely noticed herself. Moving closer to her he closed that gap between them, his hand curling around to her back where in one confident gesture he unhooked her bra and let one hand slip the straps down from shoulders. The breath she drew in had a bit of a shudder to it and all he did was smile at her in response. Reaching behind him he grabbed the palette he'd been mixing when she'd started her entire holding her breath attempt and pressed his fingertips across the surface.
The feel of the paint was cold to her skin at first, but the steady motion of his fingers across her eased the sensation to one that felt warmer even on first contact. It's the warmth of his fingers beneath the feel of oils and the pressure that rises blood to the surface of her skin even if it's just for a second. Even as his hands caress across her skin as canvas to him she watches his eyes because they don't see her as Sarah the woman that he's been with, they see her as something she's positive she's never been seen as.
A slow smirk crawls across his features as he continues and for a single moment his eyes meet hers, and he looks at her and his smile is the one she sees in his eyes only every so often.
"You should look."
She wants to, but she's not sure she's ready to tear her gaze from his eyes, from the way he actually seems to light up when he's painting. She's seen the disconnect he gets when she asks him about some of the paintings that show up nearly overnight, but the ones he knows, the ones he remembers give him a different sort of look. It's the look she's seeing right now a moment before she breaks from his eyes to look down at her bare skin now streaked with colors and a cool surface as it attempts to dry, but probably never will.
"Is that a turkey for me?" Sarah looks back up at him with a smile but her eyes widen for a moment as he takes her shirt off his shoulder and wipes his hands off on it. "Isaac!"
He winces and laughs at her for a moment as her eyes narrow and her hair falls over her shoulder to stick to a streak of paint that went up higher to her shoulder. Trying not to get hit he still moves closer to her pulling the hair out of the paint, but failing to realize that doing that has just put more on her hair. Still now the distance closed once more he leans down pressing a kiss to her still slightly pursed mouth.
The light pressure unhinges all the anger she might have had, and her shirt dropped to the floor as his arms wind around her low to her waist as her arms move high to his shoulders. The once painted turkey now becoming a slightly more abstract piece as he shifts her up into his arms and carries her up the stairway to bed. Parting from the kiss for a moment she smirks, "I still don't think that counts as the handprint turkey you owe me."
With that he sets her back to her feet in front of him pressing his palm flat to her abdomen running it upward to the curve of her breast gathering the still wet oils to his palm and fingers. The once vibrant separation of colors now a marred mess of blended hues sits on her skin and the slight aggressive moment from Isaac piques her attention as he leans in holding the paint laden hand out away from him for a moment. His mouth finds hers again, colliding with it a renewed moment of passion coming from a single second of possessive mannerisms. Out of the corner of her eye she tries to keep an eye on the hand, but his kisses tend to make her shut her eyes. So when she feels his hand press to the curve of her ass firmly she just leans against him further until he pulls away from her and turns her around. It's a bit dizzying to feel because it's such a sudden transition.
"Paid in full."
"Huh?" Sarah mutters simply still a bit hazy from the manhandling and the kiss. He grins and it's a bit impish and amused with himself as she twists around to see the dark outline of his hand on her ass.
"Oh that is not a turkey. That's just handprint. That's a claim of Isaac was here if anything," glancing down she unbuttons her jeans and shimmies out of them holding the handprint up to examine it. "No legs, see?"
"It's a mutant Turkey. Why else is it out in the middle of August? It won't make it to Thanksgiving on it's own. It needs your ass to exist now."
"Hmmmm quite a strong case, though I think the thing you fail to realize is that I'm pretty much naked, oh and half covered in paint and if I stretch my foot that way? I can touch your bed. You should do something with this information."
"You're right. I don't want paint all over my bed," he replies quickly as he picks her up and hauls her over his shoulder, to bring her back to the middle of the studio with her laughing in hysterics trying not to remind him that his hand and her upper half are still covered in paint.
[ooc: given the handprint!turkey seal of approval by the Isaac mentioned distortedcanvas - this should fit their current timeline easily.]
When you tease me the way you do
& what it would be like I can only guess
If you'd please me like I wanna please you
Well show me a friendship that's pure and chaste
And I'll show you and engine that's dying to race
Pulling in the warm air in the loft her chest rose out for a moment as she held it in tightly in her lungs. Pursing her lips she narrowed her gaze at him from across the way as the deep breath she held was drawn in tight and not going anywhere for the moment. Her features shifted as the tightness in her chest started to burn a bit from holding her breath. Her right eye squinted shut with a slight wince before she finally exhaled, rather over dramatically.
"You didn't even bother to argue with me on it."
"Why would I? I learned not to debate with God weeks ago."
Sticking her tongue out at him she moved across the floor to circle her arms around his waist, tipping her head back to press a kiss to the bottom of his chin, "I smell paint."
"What? You're kidding. I thought I got rid of all of that."
A fingertip dug into his side wriggling lightly, "I mean on you. The loft I'm used to, but the on you part still always smells different."
"Oh you mean different from the 'I haven't showered in a few days' smell?"
"You are horrible sometimes."
"That's how I know when to bathe."
Narrowing her gaze at him she sighed and slipped her arms out from behind him and turned around to press her back to his chest leaning against him. "Now you're stuck. You're not going anywhere, because if you move? I'll fall, and God shouldn't injure herself today."
She could feel his hands resting atop her abdomen, fingers curled beneath the hem of her shirt for a moment. The rougher feeling of lingering paint stains against the tips of them grazed to her skin. Shutting her eyes Sarah pressed her head back against his chest, her hair pressing up a bit at the back. "Ideas?"
"Always."
"Feel free to share."
"Never. I claim creative copyright."
"Mmm... disappointing." Her own hands moved to rest atop his, fingers pressing up to their tips tracing lightly along his fingers, feeling them brush between the gaps they formed when she stopped paying attention and just let her hands move against his. The back of her head could feel the movement a moment before it occurred. Dropping his head he let his mouth ghost across her neck, the warmth not unwelcome despite the August heat coming in from the open windows on the far wall. Sarah shifted against his chest, granting him further access to the curve of her neck for a moment as she takes in a deep breath.
"No more holding your breath until I paint you another turkey?"
Her eyes almost flutter shut with the murmuring press of his words to her skin. Barely a half nod of recognition as his fingers inch up beneath her shirt across skin. They twist and she can feel the roughness of knuckles healed with scars from stretching canvas pressed to her skin. She could feel the pull of fabric against her sides as he gathered the hem up in his palms, and the nudge to her neckline from his chin trying to get her to stop leaning on him so fully. Easing up from his chest wasn't exactly what she wanted to do but the urging of her shirt up over her head was more than a welcome notion.
Once it was off of her though she wanted to return back to his chest, to that healthy leaning press against him, that was comfortable and comforting in some way. Isaac though has moved away from that familiar spot behind her and is crossing the floor of his loft with her shirt in his hand.
Tilting her head curiously Sarah watches him for a moment before following him, unhindered by the notion that she has no shirt on at this point. The waist of her jeans low on her hips she leans her side against the table he's standing in front of with a raised eyebrow directed to him.
"I get the whole lack of attention span thing, but you can't do that to me."
Barely looking at her he replied nonchalantly, "But I did.. actually I didn't point in fact."
Top and bottom lip were drawn in to her mouth as her gaze narrowed at him for a moment. Then he turned to face her tossing her shirt over his shoulder. There really was no point in her arguing. She might have the lofty title of God, but he had this way of looking at her and there was pretty much nothing that beat that. It was the eye of an artist, or maybe that he could see something in her that she barely noticed herself. Moving closer to her he closed that gap between them, his hand curling around to her back where in one confident gesture he unhooked her bra and let one hand slip the straps down from shoulders. The breath she drew in had a bit of a shudder to it and all he did was smile at her in response. Reaching behind him he grabbed the palette he'd been mixing when she'd started her entire holding her breath attempt and pressed his fingertips across the surface.
The feel of the paint was cold to her skin at first, but the steady motion of his fingers across her eased the sensation to one that felt warmer even on first contact. It's the warmth of his fingers beneath the feel of oils and the pressure that rises blood to the surface of her skin even if it's just for a second. Even as his hands caress across her skin as canvas to him she watches his eyes because they don't see her as Sarah the woman that he's been with, they see her as something she's positive she's never been seen as.
A slow smirk crawls across his features as he continues and for a single moment his eyes meet hers, and he looks at her and his smile is the one she sees in his eyes only every so often.
"You should look."
She wants to, but she's not sure she's ready to tear her gaze from his eyes, from the way he actually seems to light up when he's painting. She's seen the disconnect he gets when she asks him about some of the paintings that show up nearly overnight, but the ones he knows, the ones he remembers give him a different sort of look. It's the look she's seeing right now a moment before she breaks from his eyes to look down at her bare skin now streaked with colors and a cool surface as it attempts to dry, but probably never will.
"Is that a turkey for me?" Sarah looks back up at him with a smile but her eyes widen for a moment as he takes her shirt off his shoulder and wipes his hands off on it. "Isaac!"
He winces and laughs at her for a moment as her eyes narrow and her hair falls over her shoulder to stick to a streak of paint that went up higher to her shoulder. Trying not to get hit he still moves closer to her pulling the hair out of the paint, but failing to realize that doing that has just put more on her hair. Still now the distance closed once more he leans down pressing a kiss to her still slightly pursed mouth.
The light pressure unhinges all the anger she might have had, and her shirt dropped to the floor as his arms wind around her low to her waist as her arms move high to his shoulders. The once painted turkey now becoming a slightly more abstract piece as he shifts her up into his arms and carries her up the stairway to bed. Parting from the kiss for a moment she smirks, "I still don't think that counts as the handprint turkey you owe me."
With that he sets her back to her feet in front of him pressing his palm flat to her abdomen running it upward to the curve of her breast gathering the still wet oils to his palm and fingers. The once vibrant separation of colors now a marred mess of blended hues sits on her skin and the slight aggressive moment from Isaac piques her attention as he leans in holding the paint laden hand out away from him for a moment. His mouth finds hers again, colliding with it a renewed moment of passion coming from a single second of possessive mannerisms. Out of the corner of her eye she tries to keep an eye on the hand, but his kisses tend to make her shut her eyes. So when she feels his hand press to the curve of her ass firmly she just leans against him further until he pulls away from her and turns her around. It's a bit dizzying to feel because it's such a sudden transition.
"Paid in full."
"Huh?" Sarah mutters simply still a bit hazy from the manhandling and the kiss. He grins and it's a bit impish and amused with himself as she twists around to see the dark outline of his hand on her ass.
"Oh that is not a turkey. That's just handprint. That's a claim of Isaac was here if anything," glancing down she unbuttons her jeans and shimmies out of them holding the handprint up to examine it. "No legs, see?"
"It's a mutant Turkey. Why else is it out in the middle of August? It won't make it to Thanksgiving on it's own. It needs your ass to exist now."
"Hmmmm quite a strong case, though I think the thing you fail to realize is that I'm pretty much naked, oh and half covered in paint and if I stretch my foot that way? I can touch your bed. You should do something with this information."
"You're right. I don't want paint all over my bed," he replies quickly as he picks her up and hauls her over his shoulder, to bring her back to the middle of the studio with her laughing in hysterics trying not to remind him that his hand and her upper half are still covered in paint.
[ooc: given the handprint!turkey seal of approval by the Isaac mentioned distortedcanvas - this should fit their current timeline easily.]