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A teasing light shone in her green eyes. “Not for not devouring me on the spot?” She cupped her hand over his, then turned her head to kiss his palm quickly. “Are you still hungry?” Summer murmured. “Or has this satisfied your desire to dine out in Midgard?”

A chuckle came and passed as his eyes flickered from his empty plate and wine glass. He nodded. “Aye. Thank you, for bringing me here this evening.” He then rose from his chair. “Should I take this as a hint that you wish to go?” He asked playfully, not minding where they went, so long as they did so together.

“Let’s just say … there are some other experiences on earth that I think you might enjoy that customarily require a greater level of privacy.” It took her a moment to scrawl a note and leave a few bills on the table. Then Summer looked up at Fenrir. 

“I’ll just … keep the lead, until you tell me no. Okay?” Her smile was soft, inviting. She offered a hand.

His raised a brow, his grin remaining as he watched her. He was no fool. He knew what she meant. He took her hand in his and his dark lashes met in a quick wink. “Perfectly fine with me.” As they turned to head towards the front of the restaurant, Fenrir found it impossible to keep his hands at his sides. An arm found its way about Summer’s waist. This evening was beginning to unfold into more than he had anticipated. And by no means was he complaining.

The little voice in the back of her head, screaming ‘what are you DOING?!’, abruptly shut up when Fenrir slipped his arm around her. She smiled to herself, putting her arm about him in return, and headbutted his shoulder lightly. The walk back to her apartment was entirely uneventful, unless events included her trying to sneak her fingers under the green t-shirt. She had to let go to unlock the door, but didn’t let the contact lapse for long, drawing Fenrir in and shutting the door firmly behind them.

It wasn’t the first time that instant connection had formed for Summer, but it looked to be the first time acting on it wasn’t going to backfire horribly. She let her fingertips trace little circles in the palm of the hand she was holding.

fenrir-the-monster-wolf:

iamthefirechild:

A teasing light shone in her green eyes. “Not for not devouring me on the spot?” She cupped her hand over his, then turned her head to kiss his palm quickly. “Are you still hungry?” Summer murmured. “Or has this satisfied your desire to dine out in Midgard?”

A chuckle came and passed as his eyes flickered from his empty plate and wine glass. He nodded. “Aye. Thank you, for bringing me here this evening.” He then rose from his chair. “Should I take this as a hint that you wish to go?” He asked playfully, not minding where they went, so long as they did so together.

“Let’s just say … there are some other experiences on earth that I think you might enjoy that customarily require a greater level of privacy.” It took her a moment to scrawl a note and leave a few bills on the table. Then Summer looked up at Fenrir. 

“I’ll just … keep the lead, until you tell me no. Okay?” Her smile was soft, inviting. She offered a hand.

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iamthefirechild:

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iamthefirechild:

The hesitant touch of Fenrir’s hands was almost like pain. She didn’t try to deepen the kiss, or push it any farther, or anything at all. Summer drew back enough to look at those dark eyes, letting her breath out slowly. Her free hand covered his.

She’d shut up the fears and dared herself to touch him, and he’d allowed it. He seemed to be welcoming it, but it was right here, in this kind of situation, that she always began to doubt herself. Everything about herself. She didn’t dare rely on her empathy, didn’t dare let that guide her for fear she’d trick herself, push too hard.

“Fenrir?” Summer asked, low.

His brows came down over his eyes just slightly as his eyes searched her, almost as if he were looking for answers. As if he were trying to look into her thoughts; somehow develop a similar power as her own. Be able to know what was going through her mind. Why she suddenly seemed so withdrawn. So shy and hesitant. He wished to know. He longed to just understand.

“Yes Summer?” He echoed in a tone matching hers, thumb idly brushing over the smooth skin of her cheek—gently, almost as un-touching as an idle breeze. The ghost of an action. “What is it?” He urged, wishing in that moment above all else that she would simply know that she was safe here. All of her was. Her words, her actions, her thoughts, all of it.

The whirling in her brain wouldn’t settle down to a single thought. So Summer went with instinct. This time, she kissed Fenrir with intent, fitting her mouth to his precisely and letting the kiss and her projection tell him what she couldn’t find the right words to say.

Taking chances was terrifying.

In his mind he stumbled again at the odd feeling of being able to so completely know what was going on in Summer’s head, though he righted himself as quickly as he could. He doubted it would be an easy thing to get used to; her thoughts entering where only his own had previously dwelled. But aside from that he minded it little.

Fenrir’s hand wandered from Summer’s face toward her hair, fingers weaving between the soft strands before resting just behind her ear near the back of her skull. His lips moved against hers as well as with them, allowing something else to take over and move him as it willed. The feeling of having another being so close was indescribable for Fenrir. This moment with Summer, in all of its glory, was simply and truly perfect.

Nothing made a sweet kiss sweeter than knowing the other person enjoyed it as much. Summer breathed in the bliss of Fenrir’s happiness, pouring it back over him for a long moment before she broke the kiss. One finger traced over his cheekbone as she smiled slowly. “Thank you.”

He smiled in return, eyes wandering about her face—flickering from her lips to her eyes and all around. His thumb smoothed over the softness of her cheek and he leaned in to gently place another kiss upon her nose. “You needn’t thank me for anything.” If anyone was to be doing the thanking, it would be Fenrir.

A teasing light shone in her green eyes. “Not for not devouring me on the spot?” She cupped her hand over his, then turned her head to kiss his palm quickly. “Are you still hungry?” Summer murmured. “Or has this satisfies your desire to dine out in Midgard?”

fenrir-the-monster-wolf:

iamthefirechild:

fenrir-the-monster-wolf:

iamthefirechild:

The hesitant touch of Fenrir’s hands was almost like pain. She didn’t try to deepen the kiss, or push it any farther, or anything at all. Summer drew back enough to look at those dark eyes, letting her breath out slowly. Her free hand covered his.

She’d shut up the fears and dared herself to touch him, and he’d allowed it. He seemed to be welcoming it, but it was right here, in this kind of situation, that she always began to doubt herself. Everything about herself. She didn’t dare rely on her empathy, didn’t dare let that guide her for fear she’d trick herself, push too hard.

“Fenrir?” Summer asked, low.

His brows came down over his eyes just slightly as his eyes searched her, almost as if he were looking for answers. As if he were trying to look into her thoughts; somehow develop a similar power as her own. Be able to know what was going through her mind. Why she suddenly seemed so withdrawn. So shy and hesitant. He wished to know. He longed to just understand.

“Yes Summer?” He echoed in a tone matching hers, thumb idly brushing over the smooth skin of her cheek—gently, almost as un-touching as an idle breeze. The ghost of an action. “What is it?” He urged, wishing in that moment above all else that she would simply know that she was safe here. All of her was. Her words, her actions, her thoughts, all of it.

The whirling in her brain wouldn’t settle down to a single thought. So Summer went with instinct. This time, she kissed Fenrir with intent, fitting her mouth to his precisely and letting the kiss and her projection tell him what she couldn’t find the right words to say.

Taking chances was terrifying.

In his mind he stumbled again at the odd feeling of being able to so completely know what was going on in Summer’s head, though he righted himself as quickly as he could. He doubted it would be an easy thing to get used to; her thoughts entering where only his own had previously dwelled. But aside from that he minded it little.

Fenrir’s hand wandered from Summer’s face toward her hair, fingers weaving between the soft strands before resting just behind her ear near the back of her skull. His lips moved against hers as well as with them, allowing something else to take over and move him as it willed. The feeling of having another being so close was indescribable for Fenrir. This moment with Summer, in all of its glory, was simply and truly perfect.

Nothing made a sweet kiss sweeter than knowing the other person enjoyed it as much. Summer breathed in the bliss of Fenrir’s happiness, pouring it back over him for a long moment before she broke the kiss. One finger traced over his cheekbone as she smiled slowly. “Thank you.”

fenrir-the-monster-wolf:

iamthefirechild:

The hesitant touch of Fenrir’s hands was almost like pain. She didn’t try to deepen the kiss, or push it any farther, or anything at all. Summer drew back enough to look at those dark eyes, letting her breath out slowly. Her free hand covered his.

She’d shut up the fears and dared herself to touch him, and he’d allowed it. He seemed to be welcoming it, but it was right here, in this kind of situation, that she always began to doubt herself. Everything about herself. She didn’t dare rely on her empathy, didn’t dare let that guide her for fear she’d trick herself, push too hard.

“Fenrir?” Summer asked, low.

His brows came down over his eyes just slightly as his eyes searched her, almost as if he were looking for answers. As if he were trying to look into her thoughts; somehow develop a similar power as her own. Be able to know what was going through her mind. Why she suddenly seemed so withdrawn. So shy and hesitant. He wished to know. He longed to just understand.

“Yes Summer?” He echoed in a tone matching hers, thumb idly brushing over the smooth skin of her cheek—gently, almost as un-touching as an idle breeze. The ghost of an action. “What is it?” He urged, wishing in that moment above all else that she would simply know that she was safe here. All of her was. Her words, her actions, her thoughts, all of it.

The whirling in her brain wouldn’t settle down to a single thought. So Summer went with instinct. This time, she kissed Fenrir with intent, fitting her mouth to his precisely and letting the kiss and her projection tell him what she couldn’t find the right words to say.

Taking chances was terrifying.

fenrir-the-monster-wolf:

iamthefirechild:

fenrir-the-monster-wolf:

iamthefirechild:

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Blue eyes were drawn towards the movement Michelangelo provided, and Fenrir donned a fake smile as the man set their food before them, flurrying away almost as fast as he had come. When they were once again alone Fenrir took one last sip of his wine, draining the glass and staring at it, still touching the cool, clear material.

“Revenge is one word for it. Destiny, I suppose, is another.” He waved it away. “Come. We should eat, before it cools.” 

“Yes, Fenrir,” Summer responded wryly, already spreading her napkin across her lap. The next few minutes disappeared in the consumption of the delicious pasta, until initial hunger was sated. Laying her fork down, Summer picked up her glass and eyed Fenrir over the top of it.

Michelangelo notwithstanding, she could already tell that she was going to spend a lot of her daydreaming time thinking about Fenrir after he had to leave. However he’d been turned human, his human form was extremely attractive, and his polite, warm personality just made the attraction stronger. Touching him with her gift, of course, heightened it even more; but that was a side effect she was used to.

Pressing her lips together, she forced her gaze away and back to her plate. She could at least try not to ogle him openly.

Fenrir had been enjoying his veal Marsala innocently, and wiped at his mouth with the napkin, still looking down at the plate as he set his fork aside and swallowed.

“Are you going to finally tell me if there is something on my face? You have been staring at me all night. Perhaps there is something burdening your mind?” His eyes had a rehearsed innocent serenity to them, twinkling just right with the hint of mischief. He did so love to tease her a little; put her on the spot. It was rather… cute to watch.

It took Summer a split second to register the comment before she burst out laughing. “Fenrir!” She couldn’t say anything else for a minute between laughing and hiding her face. “Okay, you got me. I am watching you. There’s nothing wrong with your face, which is the problem.” Another bubble of laughter interrupted her.

He hid a slight smirk behind his hands, folded before his mouth as he feigned not knowing what she meant. “I am a problem?”

“Yes!” she giggled. Shoving the chair back, Summer got up again, stepped around, and pulled his hands gently down from his face. She so short, and he so tall, they were nearly at a level, and, oh so carefully, she projected her desire for him, taking care to shape it as a foreign emotion to him.

Slowly, she leaned forward to kiss him.

Stunned, Fenrir knew not what to do at first. He honestly didn’t know what he had been expecting when she stood up from her seat. And yet here she was now, inches from his face and nearing at a steady pace. He was thrown further by the surge of her emotions. By the different ways they felt in comparison to his own, simply because they were not his own.

And they were not what he would have expected.

He had no idea she fancied him so. And he doubted that he would have ever known without the help of her empath powers. Fenrir, it seemed, had not improved at all in understanding humans. 

Not knowing what else to do in this situation, he allowed their lips to meet, reaching out and gently taking a hold of her wrist, then almost hesitantly placing a hand on the side of her face, his fingers brushing against her soft hair. Gods, he was so out of practice with this kind of thing. Not that he had ever really been in practice. 

The hesitant touch of Fenrir’s hands was almost like pain. She didn’t try to deepen the kiss, or push it any farther, or anything at all. Summer drew back enough to look at those dark eyes, letting her breath out slowly. Her free hand covered his.

She’d shut up the fears and dared herself to touch him, and he’d allowed it. He seemed to be welcoming it, but it was right here, in this kind of situation, that she always began to doubt herself. Everything about herself. She didn’t dare rely on her empathy, didn’t dare let that guide her for fear she’d trick herself, push too hard.

“Fenrir?” Summer asked, low.