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| Consequences | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: May 3 2009, 12:34 AM (680 Views) | |
| Alexander Flint | May 3 2009, 12:34 AM Post #1 |
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Polishing trophies. Their punishment for nearly killing one another was polishing trophies. Apparently the creative wonders of the illustrious Professor Genevieve Shaw knew no bounds. Alex had had a difficult time suppressing a sigh when the woman handed both he and Darcy their punishment for yesterday’s “barbaric” scuffle outside the Quidditch locker rooms. And whether the exhalation would have been out of annoyance or disappointment, he couldn’t be certain. This was his first detention in the almost-seven years he’d attended the school, after all, if he was going to finally be punished for a misdeed, he’d rather that punishment be something a little less… well… stupid. The task was such a menial one, it made him feel even more irritated that he’d allowed his emotions to get the best of him, leading to him getting caught in the first place. Alex just wasn’t a detention sort of guy. Not that he was a goody-two-shoes or anything—far from it—he just didn’t feel the need to openly participate in the sort of things students generally received reprimands and punishments for, much less get caught doing those sorts of things. The idea was reprehensible. Only people lacking in mental strength got caught. Nor did he wish to attract that sort of reputation. A reputation draws attention to oneself, good or bad, and Alex had learned very quickly that keeping quiet and subtle was far more favorable. The more unnoticed he went, the better. And Darcy Bishop had obliterated all of that in one accidental encounter. Alex was stoic and silent as he walked with the dark-haired Gryffindor girl on their way to the Trophy Room after being dismissed by Professor Shaw. He didn’t bother attempting to shorten his stride or offer conversation, too busy mulling over thoughts filled with doubt and confusion. In fact, he’d barely acknowledged Darcy’s presence at all ever since they’d shown up at the Professor’s office to receive their duties, finding it within his best interest to ignore her, lest something else unexpected happen. It wasn’t until they finally reached the Trophy Room, after a silent, winding trek through torchlit corridors, that he finally met her gaze. Slowing to a stop just outside the doorway, Alex turned and looked at her before he made a short, sweeping gesture with his hand, blue eyes turning vaguely mocking. “After you,” he drawled. The room wasn’t exactly one he frequented often (or ever, really), but when he entered behind Darcy, his eyes cast a brief and completely uninterested study of the towering display cases and shelf after shelf of gleaming metal awards, some of which dated back hundreds of years. Immediately he took note of the pile of rags and bottles of polish sitting on a wooden stool in the far corner of the room—a fond arrangement courtesy of Professor Shaw, no doubt—and gave something of a small grimace. Wands, of course, had been strictly forbidden. Because apart from making things too easy for them, using magic to bring the trophies and medals to a shining state that properly reflected their glory did not help build character. Or some equally ridiculous explanation. Alex felt his jaw clench. “I suppose I should be glad she took your wand away,” he said finally, addressing Darcy, though his eyes were fixed on the rags. Though his posture seemed unaffected and the grimace had slid from his expression, leaving it unreadable, his voice told quite a different and much less apathetic tale. There was something unamused and slightly accusatory in the deep timbre of his tone. “I’ve a feeling you’re much less likely to do something incredibly stupid when it isn’t in your possession.” |
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| Darcy Bishop | May 3 2009, 12:45 AM Post #2 |
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That Professor Shaw was one unique, creative, completely original lady. Polishing the trophies as a punishment? Without a wand? It was pure bloody genius. Honestly, she could be the next Minister of Magic if she kept this up. Darcy was being utterly, irrevocably sarcastic. Fucking hell, the trophies were probably still clean from her last detention. Any more polishing and they were probably going to disintegrate. A heavy frown graced her lips at this thought. Princess Shaw would probably have a field day with that one. Make her reassemble each one and then polish them again. And of course what made this detention just that tiny ounce better was the fact that she would be confined to a small space with Alexander I’m-actually-a-forty-year-old-man Flint. While she appreciated the fact that he had also gotten in trouble (really, it was about time), it would have been nice if they could have served separate detentions. He should have to clean the toilets or something. Probably had about as much personality as one anyway. His silent presence next to her seemed only to support this accusation. In fact, he had barely even looked at her this entire time. It was a fact that should not have bothered Darcy in the slightest, but for some odd reason, caused a prickle of irritation. It was a reaction that she did not wish to investigate further. “After you,” he finally acknowledged her, stopping outside the door to the room. Darcy, continuing her pace without even a slight hitch in her step, merely rolled her eyes and forcefully pushed the door open. Even attempting to stomp, the ever present grace was evident in the way she glided smoothly to the center of the room, looking about her with contempt. Yes, she was pretty sure she could still smell the polish from the last time she had been in here. Why couldn’t she ever have an exciting detention? Something daring and dangerous, like taking a trek into the forbidden forest to hunt malevolent creatures? Or exterminating all the Slytherins. That was much more beneficial than cleaning some damn metal that was already spotless. ”I suppose I should be glad she took your wand away,” Alex addressed her, causing her eyes to snap away from the trophies and medals to his dark form. “I’ve a feeling you’re much less likely to do something incredibly stupid when it isn’t in your possession.” She did not like the tone of his voice. Crossing her arms over her chest, she regarded him with cool light blue eyes. “Unlike you,” she replied flatly, eyes sparkling with resentment, “I am not completely helpless without a wand. Keep it up and you’ll find that waving a wand isn’t the only way a trophy can fly across the room and connect with your head.” |
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| Alexander Flint | May 3 2009, 12:58 AM Post #3 |
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Resigned, Alex made another, slightly more thorough sweep of the room with his eyes. As with most rooms in the drafty castle, the late hour had brought with it a faint chill that seemed to reside within the very stones of the walls—one that refused to abate entirely, even with the presence of the torch in the far corner providing light. It was nothing, of course, to the biting air of the dungeons, but those were conditions Alex was quite used to by now. Even the Slytherin common room itself seemed impervious to warmth of any kind—probably a far cry from the state of the one Gryffindor called its own. With this errant thought came the reminder that he shared the small space with someone who should, for all purposes, be a natural enemy. And yet, it didn’t feel that way. Even now, here, where he was serving a detention because of her, essentially… it still felt as though they were more similar than they were different. Not the same… no. But almost. Enough, anyway, to still be able to push the other’s buttons. He was still aggravated with her for her foolish display of put upon pride yesterday—the one that had forced him to behave in a highly uncharacteristic manner. And also the one that would have gotten her into a world of trouble had it been any other situation and not a schoolyard quarrel. Alex wasn’t used to people having the sort of effect on him that she had. Like his carefully constructed composure had suddenly revealed itself to be far less stalwart than he’d originally assumed it to be. It made being in her presence an interesting venture, to say the least. “Unlike you,” came her inevitable dry response, “I am not completely helpless without a wand. Keep it up and you’ll find that waving a wand isn’t the only way a trophy can fly across the room and connect with your head.” Alex paused in his slow perusal of the room and found his lips beginning to form a slight grin. How odd it was that he could feel utter frustration towards her one moment and sheer amusement the next. Suddenly it was difficult recalling why she’d upset him in the first place. “Ah, she throws insults and objects,” he replied, almost to himself. Still grinning faintly, Alex gave something of a low chuckle and clasped his hands behind his back as he slowly made his way further into the room. His gaze passed over the nearest display of gleaming gold awards with barely-there interest. “I’ll have to keep that in mind," he added mildly, completely unconcerned. He slowed to a stop shortly after he’d spoken the words and turned to face her again, regarding her with an interest far more genuine than the one he’d been giving the proudly displayed trophies and plaques mere moments before. “I’m curious though,” he went on, canting his head slightly as he studied her. “What makes you so certain I’m helpless without a wand?” His voice was light and even, no trace of malice or derision in the tone as he asked the question. A slight curl at the edge of his lips was the only sign that he was enjoying the act as one might enjoy a game. “I’m actually quite good with my hands,” he continued before she could respond, sending another brief glance at his surroundings, seeming perfectly at ease. His stare, when it finally returned to her, however, was positively wicked, alight with the blackest kind of mischief. “Or so I’ve been told, anyway.” |
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| Darcy Bishop | May 3 2009, 01:00 AM Post #4 |
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Ahh… the half-grin reared its ugly head again. This time, however, it was far less annoying. She tried to tell herself that it was because she knew that she could get to him, but it was hard to deny that their nearly playful bantering wasn’t just a tiny bit fun. As long as it involved insulting him as much as humanly possible, of course, and eventually led to one of them trying to kill the other. “Ah, she throws insults and objects,” he responded with a chuckle as he made his way slowly into the room, hands clasped loosely behind his back. Only Darcy’s eyes followed him, the rest of her remaining motionless closer to the door. “And food,” she added tonelessly, running her fingers idly along one of the many cases that lined the room. Really, nobody should have been surprised by this declaration. After all, it was no coincidence that she could recite every name and date on each of the trophies. She really needed to get on the Professors about the Forbidden Forest excursions as alternate detentions. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.” Well he better. They were in a room with no less than a hundred pointy metal objects, all of which she could turn into a deadly missile in a split second. This was no exaggeration either. Surely he had heard of the last Housemate stuck in detention with her? Let’s just say even his mother wouldn’t recognize him now. Honestly, Darcy was still slightly miffed at the big hubbub that had caused. She personally felt that she had done Harvey a favor. His nose had been rather large before she had reconstructed it for him. Realizing that she had been staring absently at the hand resting on the case, Darcy looked up to see Flint’s uncomfortably intense gaze upon her. She brushed her bangs out of her eyes as she regarded him just as coolly. “I’m curious though. What makes you so certain I’m helpless without a wand?” At this, a secret grin fought its way onto Darcy’s face and she was forced to avert her eyes to the side momentarily. In all her years of antagonizing Slytherin’s, she found that though they always seemed to be better with a wand, once their precious stick was no where to be found, they tended to flounder. While others could have connected this to their pureblood upbringing, Darcy tended to blame it on the fact that they “had more experience playing with their sticks”. And she didn’t necessarily mean the ones made out of wood. Hence the reason she couldn’t seem to keep a straight face at the moment. His next comment did not help matters whatsoever. “I’m actually quite good with my hands.” She could have howled with laughter at his proud statement. So close was she to doing just this, Darcy was forced to clamp down on her lower lip quickly to avoid making any noise. She bet he was good with those hands. “Or so I’ve been told, anyway,” he finished. Finally getting a hold of herself, Darcy’s gaze lifted to meet the wicked one currently being directed at her. To hell with insinuations, Darcy addressed the first thing that came to her mind when he said something like that. Her voice adopted a bored tone that contrasted sharply with the subtle shimmer of amusement that seemed to shine from her eyes. “Honey, whores will say just about anything for a chance at more money.” Lounging back against the case and propping her arms up on it, Darcy gave him a dismissive glance. “Come talk to me when you have a reputable source.” |
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| Alexander Flint | May 3 2009, 01:02 AM Post #5 |
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Was that genuine amusement he was seeing? And a smile, too. She was trying her damnedest to hide it, yes, but it was there. Any other girl would have probably balked at his shameless implication, but Darcy’s enjoyment seemed to match his own. That was interesting. Not all that surprising, though. If yesterday had taught him anything, it was that Bishop was an ace at deflecting any attempts others might use to try and intimidate her. Whether it was idiotic or not, the girl was as brazen as they come. Far more likely to play along in a game and give you a run for your money than to retreat with her tail between her legs. “Honey, whores will say just about anything for a chance at more money.” And there it was. The blunt response he should have expected. Darcy’s tone was languid and her posture relaxed, but it was her eyes that gave her away. Even from across the room, they sparkled. She was having fun. And despite having just been rather rudely insulted, so was Alex. The small grin on his face said as much. “Come talk to me when you have a reputable source,” she finished as she leaned back against the shelves behind her, sending him a thoroughly unimpressed glance. Alex, on the other hand, was affecting an expression that was quite the opposite. Blue eyes lighting with a quiet admiration that was only slightly mocking, he stared at her with all the patience in the world. “First I’m helpless without a wand, and now I have to pay for the pleasure of female company.” Mirroring her actions from only moments before, Alex crossed his arms and rested one shoulder on the nearest display case, lips parting in a Cheshire grin. “What will she say next?” Though the words were spoken in jest, the essence of them was the heart of the problem that was Darcy Bishop. The past week had been spent wondering what she would say next were they to cross paths again. It was that interest, so foreign to him, that had caused him to catch her eye across a room or corridor and just wonder. Even now, when he knew he should be scorning her and heeding Julian’s advice, he found he could only stare and grin, like a child with a brand new toy. “And this coming from the girl who strips on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” he went on, recalling their conversation by the lake with mirth in his eyes. His body, long and lean, relaxed against the glass, his pitch-colored hair falling in casual disarray around his very clearly amused expression. “Tell me something, Bishop, because I’m quite curious,” he continued, his tone almost conversational in its mildness. “Does that make you a non-reputable source, or are you exempt from your own judgments?” His stare held hers as one corner of his mouth tucked upward in a devious smirk. “I’d hate to miss out on an opportunity.” |
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| Darcy Bishop | May 3 2009, 01:05 AM Post #6 |
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“First I’m helpless without a wand, and now I have to pay for the pleasure of female company,” Alex replied in an amused tone, crossing his arms and leaning against a display case as if he regularly came to this room to discuss whores with girls. Actually, for all Darcy knew, he did do that. It wasn’t like Slytherin’s weren’t notorious for this sort of stuff. In fact, Darcy was nearly certain Slytherin girls were trained in the art of the hoe starting at a fairly young age. A slight smile played about her lips as she considered putting forth this notion to Flint. She could see it now. When exactly did your sister learn how to work the pole? Ahh… another double entendre. “What will she say next?” his question recalled her to the matter at hand. “And this coming from the girl who strips on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” he continued, large grin plastered on his face. He was obviously pleased with himself. Well, it wasn’t like she had ever said that she was a reputable source. Besides, she wouldn’t want to be a reputable source in this matter, would she? And yet, it was easy here, with the light reflecting off the various trophies and medals at odd angles, rays slanting across faces, illuminating certain features, to forget that it was a wholly disgusting, horrid, abominable, absurd— “Tell me something, Bishop, because I’m quite curious.” Almost instantly her eyes hardened, the only sign that she had thrown up a guard the moment the words had left his mouth. She regarded him warily, still lounging deceptively poised against the glass case. Chestnut bangs fell irritatingly into her eyes, but she made no indication of moving them, preferring that extra bit of shield than to leave her expressive eyes naked. “Does that make you a non-reputable source, or are you exempt from your own judgments?” he asked her, his impossible blue eyes boring into hers, his lips twisting into a smirk. A Slytherin smirking, how original. “I’d hate to miss out on an opportunity.” For a moment, Darcy remained motionless. In the next second, she had pushed herself off the case, walking towards him with fluid steps. A clearly feigned haughty look appeared on her face as she approached him. “Neither,” she answered him in a brisk, confident voice. “Strippers are far more respectable than whores. I just like to take my clothes off, that’s all. Is nudity such a crime?” Coming to a stop in front of him, Darcy tilted her head slightly upwards so as to meet his blue stare directly. “So, I’m not exempt from my own judgments and I am a reputable source.” She held his eyes, her arrogant tone doing little to hide the underlying laughter that exuded from her own blue gaze. Seemingly satisfied, she made as to pass him, but paused for a moment, hovering near his shoulder as she turned her head to catch his gaze once more. “Not that it matters,” she added coolly, “Whore or not, not even you could afford me, love.” A grin spread across her face as she turned away from him, moving towards a different trophy case so as to hide it from him. Content for the moment, Darcy pushed herself up onto the case, settling herself so that she was sitting with her legs dangling off. Propping her elbows on her knees, she hunched forward, placing her chin atop her hands as she watched for his next move, the hints of the smile still lingering about her lips. |
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| Alexander Flint | May 3 2009, 01:07 AM Post #7 |
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He watched the firelight flicker off of her features as she pushed off the shelves behind her and began to slowly approach him. Her stride was long and loose-limbed, unlike the practiced feminine sway that most women affected. Too many years spent around boys on a Quidditch pitch. Alex realized, with something of a smile, that Darcy had probably never paraded herself for a bloke’s sake in her entire life. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised. “Neither,” she answered swiftly, confidence lining both her tone and features as she neared him. “Strippers are far more respectable than whores. I just like to take my clothes off, that’s all. Is nudity such a crime?” His responding grin was immediate, his eyes meeting hers as she slowed to a stop directly before him. “No crime at all,” he answered lowly, amusement glinting in his stare. He didn’t expect her to be finished, and of course he wasn’t wrong. “So, I’m not exempt from my own judgments and I am a reputable source,” she continued, staring up at him over the haughty line of her nose. But he could see that his weren’t the only eyes that were glinting. Another moment, and she moved to pass him, halting at his side just before she could get far. “Not that it matters,” she added as an afterthought, her tone aloof and slightly condescending as she caught his glance again. “Whore or not, not even you could afford me, love.” One of his brows immediately swung upward at this admission, but Darcy was already moving away, jumping up onto a shelf belonging to a display case on the opposite wall. She seemed entirely too sure of herself as she rested her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, smiling faintly. Alex had to tear his gaze away and bite the inside of his cheek in order to withhold the urge to immediately express just how mistaken she was. Instead, he let out a derisive little laugh in the wake of the faint disbelief her smug comment had caused and lifted a hand to idly scratch the back of his neck. When he looked up again, he met her gaze directly, with irises that glittered with dark determination. “I wouldn’t have to afford you, darling,” he said finally in a voice that lilted with a slight drawl. Carefully, he pushed off the shelves upon which his shoulder still rested and made his way over to her as languidly as she had done to him only moments prior. His mouth took on a cruel curl as each step brought him nearer. Bishop may have been good at this little game, but Alex was a force to be reckoned with. And he was just about to prove it. Closer he came, his steps making barely a whisper as they slowly tread over the stones beneath him. When he slowed to a stop, it was only when he was within touching distance of her, though he made no move to do so. Instead, his hands reached out to rest on either side of her seated form, the line of his body relaxing all while holding her stare with his. “I’ll make you a wager, shall I?” he went on, the words so quiet they were almost a hum in his deep gravel of a voice. Then, in a slow, smooth motion, he leaned in even closer and brought his lips to her ear, his long arms supporting his weight. This time the words came in a velvety whisper that would not have been out of place coming from the lips of the very Devil himself. “One day, you’re going to beg me for it.” A slow flash of teeth became the rakish grin that followed. Somewhere, the Devil was taking notes. |
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| Darcy Bishop | May 3 2009, 01:09 AM Post #8 |
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Darcy stiffened slightly at his mocking laugh, but otherwise remained motionless, regarding him coolly from where she perched on her case. The wicked glint in his eyes warned her before he even began to speak. “I wouldn’t have to afford you, darling,” he enunciated carefully, slowly making his way towards her. She sat up straight, dropping her arms so that they lay comfortably on her legs. Though she appeared impassive, inwardly she eyed his approach warily. She would be lying if she said that she had figured out the Slytherin boy. In actuality, she was frustrated in her inability to decipher him. He was about as readable as their History of Magic book. This terrified the hell out of her, but as their conversation on that first day they had deigned to talk to each other, Darcy was not one to turn to cowardly flight. Which was why she stayed right where she was when he settled himself so that his arms effectively pinned her to the trophy case she sat on. She refused to allow him the triumph of seeing her shrink back or push him away. No, instead Darcy sat up that much straighter, facing him with a challenging air about her. He was going to have to do better than that. “I’ll make you a wager, shall I?” he continued in a quiet voice, leisurely moving towards her until his lips were right by her ear. Unconsciously, her breathing slowed to the point that she was nearly holding her breath. “One day, you’re going to beg me for it,” came the suggestive whisper, accompanied by a splash of warm breath on her cheek. A shiver ran up her spine and she was forced to fight hard to retain her composure. The bastard. She absolutely refused let him see how unsettled she was, if that's what you could call being quite turned on by the change in events... The fucking bastard. “Oh, I doubt that,” she breathed, a presumptuous smirk adorning her face. She pulled back only to the point that they were staring each other directly in the face. Her eyes glittered as they searched his lazily. “But I’ll take that wager,” she responded after a pause, her voice adopting a bored tone. Her arms remained hanging limply, uselessly really, in her lap. “It seems slightly unfair, though,” she continued in an unaffected manner. She peered at him from beneath her bangs as she clarified, “For you, I mean. Seeing as I never beg… will never have to beg.” Her smirk widened as a wicked glint entered her gaze. She leaned forward ever so slightly, tilting her head almost casually. While her posture exuded innocence, her features had taken on a positively shameless expression. “I always get what I want.” |
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| Alexander Flint | May 3 2009, 01:09 AM Post #9 |
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His face hovered near hers in those lingering moments after his soft avowal—so closely that when he breathed in, it was her scent that filled his lungs, not the musty air of the dimly lit room. Clean and alluring, it brought immediate recollections of the day by the lake and the conversation they’d held there. She’d stiffened at his proximity then, as she did now, but she didn’t recoil or show any other outward signs of discomfort. No doubt that infamous pride of hers was to thank for that. “Oh, I doubt that,” she replied after a moment, seeming to regain her composure and confidence in the breathy whisper. Alex watched her pull away and met her glinting gaze with his own very alert one. “But I’ll take that wager,” she continued, though her tone suggested she still thought it was an absurd notion and she was only humoring him. Alex resisted the urge to grin again. “It seems slightly unfair though. For you, I mean. Seeing as I never beg… will never have to beg. I always get what I want,” she finished, leaning in closer and smirking in a way that nearly rivaled the one he’d given her only moments before. His eyes were drawn to the motion almost immediately. And just as immediately, he wondered where she’d been all these years, escaping his notice. This wicked little hellion right under his nose. Perhaps it was the red and gold that had caused him to pass her over as insignificant, never bothering to learn more than her name and that she was one of the more ruthless participants of the sport the school had come to celebrate so ridiculously. Seemed this old castle still held its fair share of secrets. This train of thought sent a very faint peal of warning through his system—one that almost immediately went ignored. His own faint smile cleared any sign of hesitation that might have appeared on his dark, amused features. “I really don’t think I’m the one you should be worried for, love,” he replied smoothly, still hovering above her with eyes that only managed to shine further emphasis on his words. Implications were abound in them, and soon his thoughts were taking a direction that would have been very, very easy to see through. It occurred to him, in that brief, silent moment, just how easy it would have been to snatch her from the shelf and make good on all these suggestive looks and comments they’d been throwing at each other. A lingering survey of her face, the curve of her jaw, the dark length of her lashes, and he was meeting her gaze again, intense but mirthful in a vaguely mocking sort of way. “I’m not the one with the penchant for getting into trouble, after all,” he added evenly, lips lifting in a humorless fashion. When he spoke again, his voice had fallen to a whisper—one that blanketed the soft skin of her cheek as he leaned in even closer. “You might always get what you want…” Each word was uttered with singular emphasis, his gaze direct and full of promise. “But I’m very rarely wrong.” After the words had hung in silence for a moment, Alex finally lifted himself from the shelf and straightened, though his eyes never left Darcy’s. Extending one hand, he offered it to her to shake with a challenge resting in the blue of his irises. “Not a proper wager until we make it official, is it,” he said, tone deep and business-like, even though the curl at the edge of his lips still lingered. “What do you say, Bishop? Do we have an accord?” Hand outstretched, Alex awaited her answer with eyes that shone wickedly in the flickering torchlight. |
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| Darcy Bishop | May 3 2009, 01:10 AM Post #10 |
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“I really don’t think I’m the one you should be worried for, love,” he replied in his silky tone that caused her heart to beat erratically. Outwardly, she did her best to show him that he had no effect on her whatsoever, a lie if ever she did commit one. The tension between them was as thick as Nearly Headless Nick’s neck. Nothing could have severed it. But it was the suggestive undertones that really caused her skin to prickle with alarm—alarm that she blatantly chose to ignore. Darcy had never been one to heed warnings, after all. She had never taken herself for a temptress. It was absurd. Darcy Bishop didn’t have a seductive bone in her body. Merlin knew, a turtle would outdo her in a luring contest. And yet, it was easy at the moment to mistake her for one, especially judging by the look that Alex was currently giving her, studying her face as if it was the last thing in the world. No, she was by no means a seductress… but she could be considered passionate. It was this fervor, so rarely exhibited, that now exuded from her. The evidence was everywhere. The half-lidded eyes that peered up at him with an almost lustful look, the cheeks flushed from intensity, the sensual parting of full lips… She would have made a courtesan proud. … And it was all unconsciously done. “I’m not the one with the penchant for getting into trouble, after all,” he spoke again, before leaning in closer, dropping his voice to a whisper that she was almost worried she wouldn’t be able to hear over the pounding of her heart. “You might always get what you want…” he told her softly, “But I’m very rarely wrong.” One forgotten hand clenched her leg in a vice-like grip that she barely took notice of. She willed herself to keep breathing normally as she stared into the suggestive glint of his magnificently blue eyes. As he finally backed off her a bit, Darcy found her senses returning to her in rush that nearly caused her to topple over. She looked suspiciously at the extended hand he offered her, not believing for a moment that he just wanted to shake her hand. “Not a proper wager until we make it official is it. What do you say, Bishop? Do we have an accord?” She did not like the way his eyes glittered when he asked her this in a false business-like tone. “I find that hard to believe,” she stalled, relishing the familiar feel of cool indifference to the encompassing heat of passion. “About you rarely being wrong, I mean,” she clarified, the corners of her lips curling into a thin smile. “Besides, you’ve been making a large amount of incorrect assumptions about me thus far,” she added pointedly. Actually, she was completely bluffing. She had no idea what he had presumed about her, but it sounded good. And damn it all, this had done nothing to deter him from shaking on their wager, as if they were seriously considering doing this properly. They were students for Merlin’s sakes. They didn’t do anything formerly. Hell, they should be spitting into their hands first and then shaking on it. An amused spark entered her eyes as she contemplated actually doing this. It was worth it just to see his expression coming from the perfect, refined little Pureblood he was. However, her own damn pride refused to back down from so obvious a challenge. She rolled her eyes, condemning the decorous display as laughable even as she bent forward, stretching her own arm forward. “Unfortunately for you, we do,” she replied as her smaller hand slipped into his. “But what I would really like to know,” she continued, an evocative gleam entering her eyes as her lips curled into a suggestive smile, “Is what I get when I win?” |
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