open post for pic prompts, starters, and texts. f/m or f/f for shipping. see here for more permissions. please link nsfw images. compatible with all seasons of wynonna earp.
( full picture: there are things oliver still withholds, details he doesn’t find significant enough to uncover. he’s married, he has a son and a daughter he will never get to watch grow up, and he’s working alongside a man that calls himself the monitor to save a world that will, eventually, vilify him and the people he cares about. ( and he knows that he’s meant to die in 2019, so there’s that, too. ) none of that seems quite as relevant here in duplicity — not his marriage, not his children, not the future. he won’t lie to wynonna if she asks but he’s not interjecting it into the conversation because he’s already decided those things can’t matter if he’s to have any chance here.
she steps towards him and gets a hand around his arm and he softens, feeling less like someone weathering a storm and more like he’s going to come out on the other side. it’s a nice gesture on her part. oliver doesn’t glance down to confirm their connection because he’s watching her face, reading her lips and searching her eyes. it feels impossible somehow, to make a friend like this in a universe that isn’t either of theirs, but here they are.
he exhales when she wedges his arm down and away from his body while the other follows, giving her the room to do as she likes. they haven’t crossed this line yet — standing this close, walls down. )
Yeah. ( as if confirmation alone is an adequate reply. he nods once, gives her a tiny reassuring smile and then turns his hand over from where she's holding his wrist so that he can grab hers in return. they must look weird, holding wrists instead of hands but oliver doesn't care. tethering himself to wynonna feels so much more intimate than the other actions he could take that spring to mind. he attributes that to brushing his fingertips over her pulse. ) But if anyone should be grateful, it's me.
( he could do it. one pull and he could try and yank wynonna right into him but he doesn't. he cocks his head slightly, needing to know first. )
You're more understanding than I thought you'd be. Must be all that revenant-wrangling you were telling me about. You're—hah—sort of unbelievable. ( and it's less of a laugh, more a means to offset his nerves again. ) And I say that while recognizing that I'm the one admitting to fighting crime and egomaniacs.
( he may not believe he deserves wynonna's kindness but he basks in it, and that is the biggest difference between who he was and who he is. )
[ And real talk: there are still plenty of people here in Duplicity that don't know what Wynonna's had to give up, what she had to send away to protect back home, who she still thinks about when the nights are quiet enough to bring back the memory of that new baby smell and a tiny hand closing around her finger. Some people have shared her memories unwillingly, bear the weight of them right alongside her, but it's nothing she really chooses to offer up front and chances are it won't necessarily swirl to the surface between them either. Sometimes she has to content herself in the knowledge that a partial picture is better than being kept in the dark — or being lied to, which somehow hurts even more than omission.
He might still be withholding things from her but she doesn't get that sense of him trying to deliberately mislead her, or making the choice to tell her the truth based on what he thinks she can handle. She's never been a fan of that decision being made for her and she never will be, especially considering how often it's happened; people want to spare her, think they're acting in her best interest, but it takes away her right to decide for herself and it has never not ended badly for everyone involved.
But here they stand, establishing that tether, and she's not sure she can feel his pulse stuttering in his wrist but she's pretty positive hers does, especially when he slides his fingers over that point and looks at her with a tilt of his head, almost questioning. Her breath catches in her throat and she glances down to whatever stretch of space still exists between them. It's not much anymore, certainly no closer than they've necessarily been when sparring before, but she's even more aware of what it would mean to close that distance altogether now.
He turns her words back around on her and she chuckles, a self-deprecating sound paired with a duck of her chin before she lifts her gaze to him without tipping her head back, gazing up from underneath her eyelashes. It's supposed to be a product of her hesitation; she's nervous. They both are. ]
Look, I've been lied to more times than I can count. You get pretty sick of it after a while, so — it makes the reverse stick out even more, when it happens. And I'm really not one to judge what people get up to in their spare time, unless it's something that affects me and mine. [ That's code for Waverly, especially; anyone who comes for her is going to have to deal with big sister wrath; she pauses, as if she's trying to work up the nerve for what comes next. ]
So why don't we just skip past the part where we argue over who's the more tolerant between the two of us and come back in right around you kissing me instead?
( he respects wynonna too much to handle her as though she’s some sort of equation on a white board that he’s worked out every possible variable of. oliver’s seen firsthand what keeping people in the dark to his crusade does to them — tommy, most notably. as with laurel, quentin, and thea ( two of whom are deceased ), he also knows what bringing them into the fold does. it doesn’t get any less terrifying, wondering if someone is going to reject him for the person he’s become, for failing to be who they thought he was but he’s learning that relationships mean more when people choose to open or shut a door with all of the facts.
if he’s supposed to be brushed off by the duck of her head and the bittersweet laugh, she misses her mark. he’s only more enamored by her. an honest display for a vulnerable topic, it seems fair. the realization that he ought to glance away, ease the tension for her, dawns on him but he doesn’t lessen the awkwardness for her. though it would help assuage her of her nerves, it feels rude somehow to disengage now. )
I know what you mean. ( as often as he’s been the man cultivating his secrets, he has also had his heart and organization infiltrated by people he cared for and trusted blindly. he likes to think that means he won’t trust with his eyes closed anymore but which is worse? seeing shadows where there aren’t any, enemies in the faces of friends, or never again lowering that wall? ) It's been a really long and winding road to get me here, but if I've learned anything from those struggles, it's that I can't expect trust without giving it first.
( that's all he has time to insert into wynonna's pause. she casts out a line, hooking him, and he feels the slow drag of being reeled towards her down to his bones. there's no shrinking back. she calls it like it is and oliver grins freely, unwilling to mask it. his hand around her wrist briefly clenches in order to enact his previous impulse. he pulls her into him, precise and quick, while his other hand finds the small of her back to balance her out if she needs the assist. just because it happens in a span of seconds doesn't mean she can't react, he gives her that moment when he releases her wrist to cup the side of her face, caressing her cheek with the pad of his thumb. )
But for the record, you'd win. ( although he feels like he's the one that's victorious here, once he leans down and does as he's told. he finally gets to discover what her lips feel like upon his and he can put a name to what she tastes like. kissing her feels slightly like flirting with disaster—she isn't one, he is—because oliver's emotions and desire are a lot like a damn and once something slips through the cracks, everything does. he's all or nothing. curiosity grips him, keeping him temporarily reined, so that he's catching her upper lip between his and then trading it for her lower lip in the lingering press of his mouth instead of rushing to swipe his tongue along the divide of hers. )
[ Even from their first meeting, when she'd approached him back on the cruise ship before everything had gone ghosty and she'd had the feel-good side effects from one too many glasses of whiskey coursing through her, their conversation had felt easy. Sure, some of that had definitely been the alcohol, which tends to make even the less talkative of their twosome (not her) feel more inclined towards sharing; maybe a piece of it had been her, she of the eternally inclined towards self-effacing humor and the tendency to wheedle others into just loosening up. But even after that conversation and the dancing that had followed, they'd continued to seek each other out, coaxing out pieces of one another in the process.
So he probably knows that when he voices a compliment like that, she's going to try to brush it off, to downplay it as is her tendency, sidestepping anything that could border too close to sincerity in favor of keeping things light, chill, not too genuine. But try as she might, they're veering into that territory, prompting a small shrug from her, a reflexive curve of her fingertips to tuck some of her hair back behind her ear with the hand that isn't currently grasping onto him. ]
Yeah. Next we can totally do some of those falls they always tried to make us pull off in gym class. [ Guess who always got dropped because no one wanted to stick their hands out to catch the weird Earp girl? It's a joke to try and mask the quickening in her breathing, especially when he goes and tugs her into him in a move she definitely would've paused to give him props for if she hadn't felt entirely uninclined to pump the brakes. One second there's still claimable space between their bodies and the next, she's right up in his business, and she can't disguise the flutter of her eyelashes or the way she unconsciously tilts her head into the touch of his hand, the sweep of his thumb across her face. ]
That's — [ She doesn't get far enough to argue her case, damn it, because he's already leaning down to cover her mouth with his, warm and tasting of vodka, and she can't help it, she practically melts, curving into him with a soft sigh that gets lost somewhere in the middle of it all. He kisses her like he's been curious about it for a while, learning her lips with his own, and she doesn't rush it either for once in her life, tilting her head slightly to deepen the kiss in a firmer press before inviting him further with the subtle part of her lips. ]
( he hopes that wynonna will forgive him for keeping the i’d catch you in his head. perhaps it’s one of those unspoken truths shared between two people. truthfully, oliver’s style of bonding consists of breaking people to pieces over the rocks of reality—life is tough, be tougher. luckily, wynonna isn’t a friend trying to get on his level on the battlefield. she doesn’t seem to require the reassurance, judging by how she leans into him; her sigh a vibration that almost tickles upon his lips. oh, but it’s perfect. her unhurried pace, how she turns her face to give or take more, and oliver surrenders even as a part of him compartmentalizes how wrong ( right ) this is.
his fingers twist in the back of her jacket, anchoring himself to his decision and to wynonna. they’re out in the open and that means he can’t participate with reckless abandon, but he can respond to how she opens her mouth under his by doing the same. he brushes the tip of his tongue through that divide, seeking hers, and pushes his palm across her cheek back into her hair. it’s as soft as it looks — which is great, except that oliver gets more of a thrill from her mouth than that tidbit about her. it’s up to her, really, how far she wants to take this out on the street. he’s content with learning how to navigate this new territory, how the wet heat from her tongue sparks the beginning of a new hunger ( one that’s cropped up during banter or sparring ) and fans those flames gently.
this is a yearning he’s felt since that first dance and again, later, when each person discovered their dualcam counterparts. not to mention the risqué photograph that had been sent to him by mistake. actually doing this sends him spinning because it’s heady and wonderful, and exactly what he needs. unfortunately, he does kind of have to breathe eventually. barry and kara got all those pesky superpowers. oliver’s only human so he breaks for air, not far enough to put a stop to anything. )
[ It speaks to the possibility that she's maybe thought about what this would be like already, because she doesn't move to do anything just beyond kiss him while they're still standing here right out on the street — but jeez, she's really not complaining about this part of it, his hand fisting a grip in the leather of her jacket hard enough to make it squeak between his fingers and the other sweeping back into the waves of her hair, combing against her scalp and making her turn into that touch with a tilt that doesn't seek to peel her mouth away from his.
And if she'd wondered about what kissing him would actually feel like, those early thoughts pale in comparison to what he actually does, making both her scalp and her lips tingle from the intensity of it, his tongue dipping into her mouth to taste her and prompting another quiet sound from her in turn. She rocks up onto her tiptoes to close more of the height difference between them and her arms wind around his neck, fingers of one hand gently stroking across the short hair down across his nape.
It's where she hovers when the kiss inevitably breaks, but she doesn't shift back down right away, hasn't even opened her eyes yet to take him in from this close, so when she whispers across his mouth it's relying on everything by feel alone, the tip of her nose barely brushing his. ] You know, I might be a little biased, but my place is pretty good for more of this talking thing.
( sometimes, what you build up in your head doesn’t live up to the actuality. that’s not the case here. more often than not, oliver’s body is like a taut wire with no slack, pulled tight and fixed. he relaxes when wynonna’s arms come up over his shoulders and around his neck. her fingers are hypnotic and the sole point of focus with his eyes shut. is she looking at him? is she waiting for him to open his eyes? is she as comfortable as he is? oliver can’t quite bring himself to open his and discover the truth.
he chuckles, more air than depth, and drags her upper lip between his. one more languid kiss, selfish and warm; he tries to avoid to get around the scratch of his facial hair on her skin though it’s somewhat unavoidable. when he pulls back a second time, he retracts his hands from the small of her back and her head to lower her arms from around his neck delicately. he’s fairly certain he could scoop her up in a fireman’s hold, however he’s also convinced there’s no way, no how that she would allow that for the entire length of the walk to her place. )
I see your bias and raise you: then what are we waiting for? ( oh, sorry. did she think he kept the illusion of being prim and proper up 24/7? he's polite because it's beneficial to him. if he's perceived one way, then it's incredibly simple to conduct his private life in another. ) I've wanted to be alone with you from the moment I stepped into your bar.
( closer to the truth. he's not positive he wants to be so forthcoming with himself, let alone wynonna, to admit he sought her out with one purpose in mind. he can be himself around her, now more than ever. )
[ He might be trying to avoid the scratch of facial hair against her chin but she doesn't lean away from it, doesn't avoid the instinct to slant their mouths together solely because she's worried about a little razor burn; if anything, it only adds to the sensation of what kissing him already feels like, that rasp that somehow works in tandem with the firm warmth of his lips on hers for those few minutes that they're entwined like this, standing out on the street bathed in lamplight.
He's slowly winding her arms down from around his neck but not moving to separate himself from her beyond that; she can faintly perceive the warmth of his skin where her front just barely grazes his, permeates through the thin cotton of her shirt, tantalizingly close enough to make her want to draw in even more, to peel all the layers away until there's nothing between his body and hers anymore. ]
Honestly? Might have been even earlier than that, for me. [ If he's going to fess up to feeling a certain way about wanting to see her naked after tonight, then she can raise him even more truthfulness; she'd be lying if she said this hadn't been on her mind, playing somewhere in the background, even if it hasn't necessarily rocketed to the forefront of her awareness until now, when she knows what his mouth tastes like.
But they're not waiting anymore, if that's the agreement they've each navigated towards, and when she finally rocks back onto her heels it's with an accompanying jerk of her head down the street; she's never not appreciated that the bar is a short walk away from the high-rises, and she appreciates it even more at a time like this one. ] But we can get even more alone than this.
For how long? ( try as he might not to come across as overeager, the curiosity cuts through effortlessly. her body serves as a stronger temptation, right there, even as his hands retract from her wrists. he’d forgotten in a way, what this felt like with someone new. a current of excitement and anticipation so varied from being with someone you have mapped out. he wonders idly ( though it doesn’t particularly matter when ) if it had been as early as out on the dance floor or if it had been during his endless drills of exercise. sex is a pretty inarguable defense against running another mile. it would have worked.
he hates himself for breaking away from her and for living in the reality of the moment, for needing privacy and four walls. wynnona doesn’t seem too bothered when she indicates their direction with a tilt of her head and oliver falls into step with her with ease, delighting in the allure of her invitation. more alone than this is what he's after. is that fire going to dwindle on the walk over? is she going to cool off and change her mind? is she going to be the sort of person that needs a glass of wine to jump in once the moment's in front of her and it's not impulsive? there's a lot of details he doesn't know about wynonna at all. ) Because I'll admit after seeing that photograph, which I deleted, I was curious.
( he shrugs, not ashamed of the truth albeit a little awkward in regards to being the first to take the plunge and confess. )
[ Her hands almost instantly slip back into the pockets of her jacket — not to preserve any warmth, since it feels like it's radiating out of her now in a way that's almost impossible to ignore in the immediate aftermath of their kissing, the drink she still tastes on her tongue, but rather for lack of anything to do with them in the right now. She'll have plenty to do with them eventually, but right now, she curves her fingers in against her palms and casually sweeps her tongue across her lower lip, as if trying to subdue her reaction to the rising anticipation of it all, the spreading crookedness of her grin. ]
Maybe I was curious if you'd actually done anything with that picture after all. [ She knew he hadn't, had taken him at his word when he'd said he'd gotten rid of it then, but the thought of what it could have potentially led to had given her more than one image to dwell on. ]
Before that, though, the sparring. Watching, learning how you fought, how you moved. Sort of made me wonder how you'd handle yourself some other way. [ And how they'd move together by the very nature of a different tangling of limbs; if he'd let her bear him down or refuse to go easy on her, apply that same kind of concentrated focus once her thighs were wrapped around his hips or if he'd let himself lose control a little more like she knows he's capable of, had glimpsed hints of down in the Arena. She shrugs one shoulder, hair spilling forward across her profile with the movement, forcing her to toss her head slightly when she finally gives him a sidelong glance, trying to gauge his reaction to what she's implying by not saying. ]
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she steps towards him and gets a hand around his arm and he softens, feeling less like someone weathering a storm and more like he’s going to come out on the other side. it’s a nice gesture on her part. oliver doesn’t glance down to confirm their connection because he’s watching her face, reading her lips and searching her eyes. it feels impossible somehow, to make a friend like this in a universe that isn’t either of theirs, but here they are.
he exhales when she wedges his arm down and away from his body while the other follows, giving her the room to do as she likes. they haven’t crossed this line yet — standing this close, walls down. )
Yeah. ( as if confirmation alone is an adequate reply. he nods once, gives her a tiny reassuring smile and then turns his hand over from where she's holding his wrist so that he can grab hers in return. they must look weird, holding wrists instead of hands but oliver doesn't care. tethering himself to wynonna feels so much more intimate than the other actions he could take that spring to mind. he attributes that to brushing his fingertips over her pulse. ) But if anyone should be grateful, it's me.
( he could do it. one pull and he could try and yank wynonna right into him but he doesn't. he cocks his head slightly, needing to know first. )
You're more understanding than I thought you'd be. Must be all that revenant-wrangling you were telling me about. You're—hah—sort of unbelievable. ( and it's less of a laugh, more a means to offset his nerves again. ) And I say that while recognizing that I'm the one admitting to fighting crime and egomaniacs.
( he may not believe he deserves wynonna's kindness but he basks in it, and that is the biggest difference between who he was and who he is. )
no subject
He might still be withholding things from her but she doesn't get that sense of him trying to deliberately mislead her, or making the choice to tell her the truth based on what he thinks she can handle. She's never been a fan of that decision being made for her and she never will be, especially considering how often it's happened; people want to spare her, think they're acting in her best interest, but it takes away her right to decide for herself and it has never not ended badly for everyone involved.
But here they stand, establishing that tether, and she's not sure she can feel his pulse stuttering in his wrist but she's pretty positive hers does, especially when he slides his fingers over that point and looks at her with a tilt of his head, almost questioning. Her breath catches in her throat and she glances down to whatever stretch of space still exists between them. It's not much anymore, certainly no closer than they've necessarily been when sparring before, but she's even more aware of what it would mean to close that distance altogether now.
He turns her words back around on her and she chuckles, a self-deprecating sound paired with a duck of her chin before she lifts her gaze to him without tipping her head back, gazing up from underneath her eyelashes. It's supposed to be a product of her hesitation; she's nervous. They both are. ]
Look, I've been lied to more times than I can count. You get pretty sick of it after a while, so — it makes the reverse stick out even more, when it happens. And I'm really not one to judge what people get up to in their spare time, unless it's something that affects me and mine. [ That's code for Waverly, especially; anyone who comes for her is going to have to deal with big sister wrath; she pauses, as if she's trying to work up the nerve for what comes next. ]
So why don't we just skip past the part where we argue over who's the more tolerant between the two of us and come back in right around you kissing me instead?
no subject
if he’s supposed to be brushed off by the duck of her head and the bittersweet laugh, she misses her mark. he’s only more enamored by her. an honest display for a vulnerable topic, it seems fair. the realization that he ought to glance away, ease the tension for her, dawns on him but he doesn’t lessen the awkwardness for her. though it would help assuage her of her nerves, it feels rude somehow to disengage now. )
I know what you mean. ( as often as he’s been the man cultivating his secrets, he has also had his heart and organization infiltrated by people he cared for and trusted blindly. he likes to think that means he won’t trust with his eyes closed anymore but which is worse? seeing shadows where there aren’t any, enemies in the faces of friends, or never again lowering that wall? ) It's been a really long and winding road to get me here, but if I've learned anything from those struggles, it's that I can't expect trust without giving it first.
( that's all he has time to insert into wynonna's pause. she casts out a line, hooking him, and he feels the slow drag of being reeled towards her down to his bones. there's no shrinking back. she calls it like it is and oliver grins freely, unwilling to mask it. his hand around her wrist briefly clenches in order to enact his previous impulse. he pulls her into him, precise and quick, while his other hand finds the small of her back to balance her out if she needs the assist. just because it happens in a span of seconds doesn't mean she can't react, he gives her that moment when he releases her wrist to cup the side of her face, caressing her cheek with the pad of his thumb. )
But for the record, you'd win. ( although he feels like he's the one that's victorious here, once he leans down and does as he's told. he finally gets to discover what her lips feel like upon his and he can put a name to what she tastes like. kissing her feels slightly like flirting with disaster—she isn't one, he is—because oliver's emotions and desire are a lot like a damn and once something slips through the cracks, everything does. he's all or nothing. curiosity grips him, keeping him temporarily reined, so that he's catching her upper lip between his and then trading it for her lower lip in the lingering press of his mouth instead of rushing to swipe his tongue along the divide of hers. )
no subject
So he probably knows that when he voices a compliment like that, she's going to try to brush it off, to downplay it as is her tendency, sidestepping anything that could border too close to sincerity in favor of keeping things light, chill, not too genuine. But try as she might, they're veering into that territory, prompting a small shrug from her, a reflexive curve of her fingertips to tuck some of her hair back behind her ear with the hand that isn't currently grasping onto him. ]
Yeah. Next we can totally do some of those falls they always tried to make us pull off in gym class. [ Guess who always got dropped because no one wanted to stick their hands out to catch the weird Earp girl? It's a joke to try and mask the quickening in her breathing, especially when he goes and tugs her into him in a move she definitely would've paused to give him props for if she hadn't felt entirely uninclined to pump the brakes. One second there's still claimable space between their bodies and the next, she's right up in his business, and she can't disguise the flutter of her eyelashes or the way she unconsciously tilts her head into the touch of his hand, the sweep of his thumb across her face. ]
That's — [ She doesn't get far enough to argue her case, damn it, because he's already leaning down to cover her mouth with his, warm and tasting of vodka, and she can't help it, she practically melts, curving into him with a soft sigh that gets lost somewhere in the middle of it all. He kisses her like he's been curious about it for a while, learning her lips with his own, and she doesn't rush it either for once in her life, tilting her head slightly to deepen the kiss in a firmer press before inviting him further with the subtle part of her lips. ]
no subject
his fingers twist in the back of her jacket, anchoring himself to his decision and to wynonna. they’re out in the open and that means he can’t participate with reckless abandon, but he can respond to how she opens her mouth under his by doing the same. he brushes the tip of his tongue through that divide, seeking hers, and pushes his palm across her cheek back into her hair. it’s as soft as it looks — which is great, except that oliver gets more of a thrill from her mouth than that tidbit about her. it’s up to her, really, how far she wants to take this out on the street. he’s content with learning how to navigate this new territory, how the wet heat from her tongue sparks the beginning of a new hunger ( one that’s cropped up during banter or sparring ) and fans those flames gently.
this is a yearning he’s felt since that first dance and again, later, when each person discovered their dualcam counterparts. not to mention the risqué photograph that had been sent to him by mistake. actually doing this sends him spinning because it’s heady and wonderful, and exactly what he needs. unfortunately, he does kind of have to breathe eventually. barry and kara got all those pesky superpowers. oliver’s only human so he breaks for air, not far enough to put a stop to anything. )
no subject
And if she'd wondered about what kissing him would actually feel like, those early thoughts pale in comparison to what he actually does, making both her scalp and her lips tingle from the intensity of it, his tongue dipping into her mouth to taste her and prompting another quiet sound from her in turn. She rocks up onto her tiptoes to close more of the height difference between them and her arms wind around his neck, fingers of one hand gently stroking across the short hair down across his nape.
It's where she hovers when the kiss inevitably breaks, but she doesn't shift back down right away, hasn't even opened her eyes yet to take him in from this close, so when she whispers across his mouth it's relying on everything by feel alone, the tip of her nose barely brushing his. ] You know, I might be a little biased, but my place is pretty good for more of this talking thing.
no subject
he chuckles, more air than depth, and drags her upper lip between his. one more languid kiss, selfish and warm; he tries to avoid to get around the scratch of his facial hair on her skin though it’s somewhat unavoidable. when he pulls back a second time, he retracts his hands from the small of her back and her head to lower her arms from around his neck delicately. he’s fairly certain he could scoop her up in a fireman’s hold, however he’s also convinced there’s no way, no how that she would allow that for the entire length of the walk to her place. )
I see your bias and raise you: then what are we waiting for? ( oh, sorry. did she think he kept the illusion of being prim and proper up 24/7? he's polite because it's beneficial to him. if he's perceived one way, then it's incredibly simple to conduct his private life in another. ) I've wanted to be alone with you from the moment I stepped into your bar.
( closer to the truth. he's not positive he wants to be so forthcoming with himself, let alone wynonna, to admit he sought her out with one purpose in mind. he can be himself around her, now more than ever. )
no subject
He's slowly winding her arms down from around his neck but not moving to separate himself from her beyond that; she can faintly perceive the warmth of his skin where her front just barely grazes his, permeates through the thin cotton of her shirt, tantalizingly close enough to make her want to draw in even more, to peel all the layers away until there's nothing between his body and hers anymore. ]
Honestly? Might have been even earlier than that, for me. [ If he's going to fess up to feeling a certain way about wanting to see her naked after tonight, then she can raise him even more truthfulness; she'd be lying if she said this hadn't been on her mind, playing somewhere in the background, even if it hasn't necessarily rocketed to the forefront of her awareness until now, when she knows what his mouth tastes like.
But they're not waiting anymore, if that's the agreement they've each navigated towards, and when she finally rocks back onto her heels it's with an accompanying jerk of her head down the street; she's never not appreciated that the bar is a short walk away from the high-rises, and she appreciates it even more at a time like this one. ] But we can get even more alone than this.
no subject
he hates himself for breaking away from her and for living in the reality of the moment, for needing privacy and four walls. wynnona doesn’t seem too bothered when she indicates their direction with a tilt of her head and oliver falls into step with her with ease, delighting in the allure of her invitation. more alone than this is what he's after. is that fire going to dwindle on the walk over? is she going to cool off and change her mind? is she going to be the sort of person that needs a glass of wine to jump in once the moment's in front of her and it's not impulsive? there's a lot of details he doesn't know about wynonna at all. ) Because I'll admit after seeing that photograph, which I deleted, I was curious.
( he shrugs, not ashamed of the truth albeit a little awkward in regards to being the first to take the plunge and confess. )
no subject
Maybe I was curious if you'd actually done anything with that picture after all. [ She knew he hadn't, had taken him at his word when he'd said he'd gotten rid of it then, but the thought of what it could have potentially led to had given her more than one image to dwell on. ]
Before that, though, the sparring. Watching, learning how you fought, how you moved. Sort of made me wonder how you'd handle yourself some other way. [ And how they'd move together by the very nature of a different tangling of limbs; if he'd let her bear him down or refuse to go easy on her, apply that same kind of concentrated focus once her thighs were wrapped around his hips or if he'd let himself lose control a little more like she knows he's capable of, had glimpsed hints of down in the Arena. She shrugs one shoulder, hair spilling forward across her profile with the movement, forcing her to toss her head slightly when she finally gives him a sidelong glance, trying to gauge his reaction to what she's implying by not saying. ]