A Lesson in Aesthetics (for asthedrivensnow )

[prettyawkward]

Maybe there was something to be said for less sleep in a twenty-four hour day.  Rabastan hadn't done much to the rest of the house, but his studio was, for the most part, much cleaner than it had been previously.  He had even purchased a new chaise, shoving the other in the far corner as a new storage place for scrap canvases and boards.  The lighting had been rearranged, and he had even managed to paint the walls in solid colours, relieving it of the splattered paint swatches, cracks, and tears that had developed over the last few months of his restless nights.  His room, of course, was still an absolute disaster area, but Narcissa hadn't mentioned needing to occupy that space.  

Currently, Rabastan was sitting in the hall that led to his bedroom, staring at the wall before him.  Several times, he had imagined Narcissa returning, to the point where he had almost convinced himself she had, only to realise it hadn't happened, after all.  His eyelids closed and opened in near slow-motion.  Everything felt delayed, and he wasn't really sure how long he had been sitting there.  There was a mutter, and he responded, but so quietly he could hardly make it out himself.

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[prettyawkward]

There was a brief hesitation, and then Rabastan moved toward her, stopping a few inches from her. With a wary, halting sort of reach, he moved his hand in an attempt to touch that same shoulder.

He wasn't sure if she'd allow it, or if it would ruin anything, but he somehow just felt utterly compelled to do it. Just a small, light touch. Fingertips on skin. A harmless part of her, he'd hoped.

[asthedrivensnow]

She watches him approach, her wariness firmly squashed by the dreamy lassitude the potion has induced in her. Grey-blue eyes watch his fingers move toward her shoulder as if through water, and when they finally reach her skin, she sighs.

"Feathers... that feels like feathers..."

[prettyawkward]

"Yeah?" he asked, feeling a bit more confident now that she seemed to appreciate the touch. He moved his fingers up across her neck, and then back down her arm.

"You really do feel soft. I think...it might be the drink. It makes everything feel different. Not strange, or anything, just...different. Do you like it?"

[asthedrivensnow]

"Yeah... I mean. Yes," she corrects herself, the skin that he's touching shuddering under his fingertips. "Feathers."

She feels very fuzzy and cloudy, like she's wrapped in cotton wool, and she stares at him when he asks his question, not quite sure if he means does she like his touch, or the effects of the drink. Both are causing a physical reaction, and she covers her confusion by lifting her glass to her lips and taking another mouthful. A single drop of potion-laced whiskey falls from her lip to the top of her breast, leaving a darker patch on the lace-edged peach silk. "It's... nice." Which doesn't answer anything, and she thinks she's been marvellously clever.

[prettyawkward]

His eyes fell to the drop, swallowing hard as he was considering how to proceed. He knew everything he wanted to do, but he wasn't sure it was something he should do, and her behaviour wasn't really giving him a definitive reading.

"You've...spilled," he muttered, barely audible through a shaky breath. She was so close. So close, and so thinly dressed.

[asthedrivensnow]

Her gaze follows his, and she looks down at the darker drop of silk with a vaguely confused air.

"...oops?" There's a quiet sound that might be a giggle on someone less refined, not that her currect state is anything approaching refinement. Her hand lifts to touch it, the tip of her index finger lightly brushing the wet fabric before it falls to her side. "You wanted me to take it off at some point anyway, didn't you?"

For Art. Of course.

[prettyawkward]

"Ah---" he hesitated, not expecting that question, so he just sort of mumbled an incoherent, yet positive, response that he topped off with a nod of his head.

[asthedrivensnow]

Her eyes are clouded from the potion, the only part of her iris not swallowed up by her artificially enlarged pupils much more grey than blue, and she drains the rest of her drink, setting the glass down on the table.

"You should," she begins poking him in the chest and then turning around and drifting to the door, peach silk only just covering her backside, "use your words."

[prettyawkward]

He followed along like an obedient dog as his eyes kept a close watch on just how that silk kept everything just out of sight.

"I'll use whatever you want me to," he let slip out, not really sure what he meant by that, or how she'd take it.

Rabastan's own mind was clouded over by the potion, the alcohol, and now that familiar, building lust. He had been doing well with keeping himself at bay, but now it was like the floodgates had been opened.

[asthedrivensnow]

"Will you?" She turns her head to give him an arch look over her shoulder, and stumbles only slightly as she makes her way along the hall. One hand uses the wall for balance, and she muffles a giggle. "But I like words."

Words do more for her than money, material possessions, looks... as soon as Lucius works that out, Narcissa will end up giving in. But so far, he's too busy trying to impress her the same way most other girls are impressed - with his name, and his wealth, and the places he can take her. He's neglecting to take into account that the Blacks are just as wealthy, and that as the youngest daughter, Narcissa has already seen young men falling and fawning all over her sisters. She knows what she wants, and he's yet to give it to her.

Slipping into his studio, her balance abandons her, and she crumples into a giggling heap on the floor.

"Oops..."

[prettyawkward]

He knelt down to pick her up, or to help her to her feet, or something along those lines, but his balance wasn't all that great, either. He stumbled a bit and fell down right next to her.

"Fuck..." he muttered as he gave up and lied down on the ground, staring at the ceiling. Everything felt more stable from this position, anyway.

[asthedrivensnow]

"Ow..."

His elbow caught her knee as he fell, but she's not really hurt, and she's really only saying it to let him know he'd done it. Noting that lying down looks to be marvellous fun, she does the same - but she uses his stomach to pillow her head, her long golden hair splayed over his hips and thighs as she stares up at the ceiling, too. One lock curls up over his ribs.

Her hands rest on her stomach, and she looks both innocent and wicked like this, drunk and high in her undergarments but lying in a pose of comfort, not seduction.

"Let's not move. Then p'rhaps the ceiling will stop swinging."

[prettyawkward]

There was an overwhelming sensation that filled his body and mind at that moment. He felt his breath catch in his throat, as if he was afraid any movement whatsoever might make this all dissolve away from him.

These sorts of moments were rare for him. This sort of comforting and platonic touching sent a real feeling of warmth and love into every inch of him. Likely not at all what she meant to spark in him, but it happened. Not that she loved him, or that he was falling in love with her (although he had a tendency to feel that way about any woman giving him any sort of attention), but more that he felt loved at that moment. If he could hold onto it for the rest of his life, he would. Unfortunately, those sorts of feelings easily fade, and fade fast. He'd just have to enjoy it while it lasted. Right here, in this moment, with her so close, and so comfortable.

He let one of his hands move to her hair, gently running his fingers across her head and then gliding through the long strands, over and over.

"This is...nice. I'll try...I'll try to stop it from moving. I'll use all my focus. For you."

[asthedrivensnow]

"Good boy."

She does like to touch. But Narcissa is normally very choosy with whom she allows within her personal space to be touched, and given what had happened last time he'd drawn her, things had gotten a little too close for comfort. She'd never been so open in front of anyone, and because he'd respected her boundaries, Narcissa's subconscious mind has decided he's relatively safe - for a Slytherin and a Lestrange - so now that she's in a state of relaxation, she's trusting him.

And then he starts to play with her hair, which is just heavenly. Her eyes close and a pleasurable shudder rolls through her as the strands move under his fingers, making tiny little movements on her scalp. She adores having someone play with her hair, and given the influence of alcohol and that potion, she's completely unaware of the happy little sigh she gives. It has just a hint of vocalisation, not quite a moan.

[prettyawkward]

"I wish you could stay here forever," he uttered, not even aware he had said it out loud. He was certain it had been in his head. He was certain of so much, lately, even when he was shown it to be incorrect. He was starting to live his life in his own fantasy world, where everything worked the way he wanted it to, even when it didn't. If someone left him? They'd return. Sometimes he'd wake up next to them, even if it wasn't really them. Sometimes he'd hear what he wanted. Sometimes he heard what he didn't want, and he'd react in whatever way he saw fit, despite the person doing everything they can to make it very clear they didn't say it.

It was confusing, at first. It was mildly upsetting. Now, though, it was just something that happened. Something relatively normal. The lines between reality and fantasy were blurred, and he couldn't be arsed to find the difference.

[asthedrivensnow]

If Narcissa had any idea of the conflicted mess his mind was in, and the blurred lines he was forced to cope with just to function, she'd be out that door in a flash. But she doesn't know, though she may later suspect, and right now she's drunk, high as a kite, and he's indulging a physical pleasure very few know about as his fingers card through her long hair. So she takes words for what they are, since the ability to think clearly escapes her, too.

"It might be nice," she sighs. "Lying here. Just... Feeling."

Her hand falls from her stomach with a quiet thud to lie palm-up on the floor by his chest, fingers curled up a little. She'll have bruised the bone in her wrist from that, though it won't show for another day or two.

"Not thinking about anything I have to do or people I have to please..."

[prettyawkward]

Throughout his life, he'd been decent at keeping his problems hidden, although it did have a tendency to rear its ugly head when someone's spent a lot of time around him. His girlfriends, for example, all went running for the hills.

That was the point of fantasy, though, wasn't it? He could keep himself from extreme depression if he just faked it all.

Rabastan let his tongue wet his lips as he thought about his situation here, and stared up at the ceiling.

"You can stay here and forget everything as long as you feel like it. Anytime you want to just...come and forget. I'll be here. I'm always here."

[asthedrivensnow]

She turns her head towards him at that, the movement pulling her hair through his fingers and making her eyes close momentarily in hedonistic pleasure. She's quiet, at first, the potion cushioning her brain in clouds and fairy floss and the alcohol making her tongue heavy and loose.

"You'd do that for me?"

Breathy, grateful. Not how she normally sounds at all. But this isn't how she'd normally behave, either, and right in the present moment, it seems right.

waaaah sorry, halloween craziness

[prettyawkward]

He wanted to sit up, to show her how serious he was, but he also didn't really want to move. Instead, Rabastan just looks down to meet her eyes as best as he can.

"Absolutely! I mean that, any time!" he said, maybe a bit dramatically. He wasn't the best at wooing a woman, and he hadn't quite figured out that complete and utter--to the point of obsessive--devotion wasn't really what most girls were seeking in a long-term mate. So it was his default plan, most of the time.

I hope you dressed up awesome!

[asthedrivensnow]

She rolls onto her side to face him, heedless of the hardwood floor beneath hip, ribs and shoulder, her eyes heavy-lidded and almost entirely pupil, and her head a little heavy on his stomach. Gold curls slide over his hips.

"...p'rhaps you two aren't so bad," she sighs. "Rodolphus taught me where to hurt a man who wanted more from me than I'm willing to give, you're full of compliments and delicious potions and... and escape."

It's not as though her life is terrible, but there's only so long that Narcissa can be what she's expected to be without cracking, and even her mother recognises when the music room fills with melancholy. This, while not sensible in the least, is at least something different. And he treats her with such reverence... it's a heady thing.

Vanellope Von Schweetz from Wreck-It Ralph!

[prettyawkward]

Rabastan only lightly considered that advice from Rodolphus as pertaining to him. Rabastan wasn't the best at understanding boundaries. Sure, his mother had established a lot of rules as to what he should and should not do, but he tended to block her out most of the time. In his mind, as long as he could rationalise it, it was perfectly fine.

Luckily for Narcissa, he was deathly afraid of the Black sisters. He'd follow her lead, automatically.

"That's right. I'll be your escape, then. That's what I'll be."

Aaaahhhh cool!

[asthedrivensnow]

It pertains to everybody, though thankfully, the young men of her acquaintance have so far respected her requests to stop when things got as far as she was willing to let them go. Granted, none of them had gotten her drunk and high. But Narcissa thinks that perhaps Rabastan will still be cognisant of her boundaries, especially if she isn't.

"I..." She pauses there, momentarily lost in her train of thought, then reaches out to press a fingertip to his inner elbow. "Shall. Hold you to that."

Her smile is hazy and perhaps a touch vacant, the potion having more than done its job.

[prettyawkward]

Rabastan's eyelids felt heavy, and his entire body and mind felt comfortable, which was a rare sensation. He could probably fall asleep right here, and be out for days. Usually that only happened when he was completely, and utterly exhausted, and even then it could be easily disrupted by the horrors that his mind seemed to conjure.

"I feel...like I'm being a bad host..."

[asthedrivensnow]

Perhaps they've both found a comfort point. Narcissa is perfectly content to use him as a pillow if he's going to keep playing with her hair, and his words draw forth the sleepiest smirk to ever grace her features.

"Only if you say no to the rain."

She waves her hand absently at the ceiling, where wisps of cloud begin to form, then dissipate, only to attempt to reform. She'll need her actual wand (or his, if he'll let her) to make it rain inside, but wanting to play in the downpour still lingers in her mind.

augh sorry! distractions, distractions

[prettyawkward]

It took him a moment to realise that maybe he should offer his own wand. He watched her attempt a few times, and then things clicked and he searched for his, handing it over.

"Would this help? Are you going to drench us, then?"