4/17 Instance: Taking Advantage

[fourpawsonthefloor]

Timeline: Current

Mayhem: Mayhem was sprawled across the sofa, head propped up on the arm as he stared at the TV, not focused on it at all. His eyes were heavy-lidded and his tail barely twitched, and anyone could have mistaken him for asleep.

Mayhem: He was anything but, leather biking jacket on the floor beside him, hat on top of it, torso bare as he scritched the tattoo of the clockwork heart on his chest. Actually, he was high as a kite, only a thin circle of green around the fully-dilated cat's pupil.

Monet: Monet paused in the door of the rec room, gaze slowly moving to nearly dead looking cat to the low buzz of the voices on the TV. She crossed her arms and moved into the room, stepping over to be next to his head on the couch. "Sloth."

Mayhem: "Naaaaw." Mayhem flicked his eyes up to Monet, giving her a lazy wave. "Would be if I did this all the time, eh." He stretched, letting an arm flop onto the floor, relaxed totally. "Once inna while...well. Every guy needs downtime."

Monet: "You are a slovenly excuse for a man." She turned around and picked up the remote from where it had likely fallen from his hand and turned the TV off.

Mayhem: "Sure t'ing. Whatever you say." Mayhem agreed amicably, yawning. "Hey, where'd TV go?"

Monet: "It hasn't gone anywhere. Open your eyes and look for yourself."

Mayhem: Mayhem did as he was told before grinning up at Monet, letting his head roll to the side. "You know, if you wanted my attention, saying 'hello' would have worked. Want me to move so's you can sit?"

Monet: "No. I was just turning off the television. You were wasting electricity." She let the remote fall on his stomach. "You do not seem to be enjoyable company at the moment."

Mayhem: "Oooh. Sting." The remote was cold, bringing him out in goosebumps before he pushed it off. Mayhem rubbed his nose, before levering himself up to a semi-sitting position. "So why're you still talking to me, eh?"

Monet: "Because you appear to be fairly stoned so now I'm wondering if it was you who left the marijuana under my pillow."

Mayhem: "Mmm?" Mayhem shook his head. "No. Not me. Ain't got any, more's the pity." He gave Monet a half-smile. "Not yet, anyway. And yeah, I'm fairly high. Been a while so'm a bit lightweighted right now."

Monet: "Doesn't your healing factor counteract the effects of the drug? Or at least push it through your system quicker?"

Mayhem: Mayhem frowned at her. "I don't have a healing factor." Why did everyone assume he did. "Otherwise why'd I have tats?" He scratched lazily at the one on his shoulder as if in emphasis, realised he was doing it and stopped. "Bloody glad I don't. I like getting high."

Monet: "Hmm. Interesting." She raised her eyebrows in the guise of a shrug and walked back toward the kitchen.

Mayhem: Mayhem watched Monet walk away, eyes sliding down her before he realised what he was doing and shaking his head. Eh. Only problem when he was high. "Hey - can you grab a pack of biscuits or something in there?"

Monet: She paused and looked over her shoulder at him, "Get it yourself. Like I said: Sloth."

Mayhem: "Hmph." She had a point though. Mayhem dragged himself off the sofa, standing and stretching slowly, purring to himself before scratching his stomach and plodding into the kitchen after her. He was starving. "Cat, actually."

Monet: "You suffer from the deadly sin of sloth." She opened the fridge and leaned in to get the makings for a sandwich.

Mayhem: "Naaaah." Mayhem shrugged, heading for a cupboard he knew held biscuits, tail curling. "Like I said. Maybe if I was like it all the time. But I'm not. Every guy needs to rela- oooooh. Bourbons. They'll do. You want a cuppa or anything?"

Monet: "I'll get anything I want for myself because I'm not a lazy pig." She rolled her eyes and pulled back from the fridge with the things she was searching for, bumping it shut with her hip.

Mayhem: "Whoa, okay lady, that's enough of that." Mayhem rolled his eyes, leaning against the counter and opening up the biscuits. "Just because you caught me on my back once don't make me lazy." He smiled at her, delicately pulling out a biscuit with his claws. "An' I'm offering out of the kindness of my pretty stoned heart."

Monet: "I doubt your heart is pretty. The heart is in fact an ugly organ." She put the ingredients on the counter and started putting the sandwich together. "I caught you on your back stoned off of your ass. You weren't napping or paying attention to the television. You were just lying there doing nothing."

Mayhem: "Once. Once. If it had been the eigth time I could understand it." And he was tying himself in knots trying to argue with her when he was stoned. It didn't help that the cannabis was affecting him in other ways. She was pretty after all. "Like you'd be climbing the walls after a joint or two, eh?" He reached over, picking up the kettle and putting down the biscuits to fill it.

Monet: "Actually, I have a healing factor. Therefore, it takes much more than that to make me truly high. After 'a joint or two', I'm just content in my surroundings." She glanced over her shoulder at him, "Stop thinking things about me."

Mayhem: Oh crap. He'd forgotten about that. Mayhem blushed, glad his dreads were over his face. "Eh. Sorry. Runaway train. And you have a healin' factor? Handy." He put the kettle on the stand and switched it on, trying to think of something else. "Must suck for getting drunk though."

Monet: "I like to drink, but getting drunk isn't very sophisticated. So I don't mind at all." She finished making the sandwich and moved the plate to the table. Monet then set about making coffee, setting out a mug and a bottle of baileys while it steeped.

Mayhem: "Fair enough." Water in cup. Sugar, milk, nice ass- Mayhem cut that thought off, biting his lip. Damn him for getting stoned. "Don't you ever...y' know, want to just get ratted?"

Monet: "No, not really. I would rather not see if I had the same ...problems that you do." She had to grin when her back was turned though. It was fun to have someone think things like this about her. Hmm... Maybe she could do something about it. She pushed a slight suggestion into his mind, making it seem as if it were his own thought. This could be fun.

Mayhem: The flush deepened a little as Mayhem stirred his tea as the random thought of what her hands would feel like on his back slithered in. Damnit. Stupid weed. He chewed his lip again. "Um. Do you. Want a biscuit or anything?" He asked lamely, trying to distract himself.

Monet: Monet's grin broadened as she caught some of his thoughts, "I could take one. But I don't think it's what you're wanting. Is it?"

Mayhem: He nearly dropped the cup. "Um. Mind staying out of my head?" Nope, the persistant little thoughts weren't stopping. Fuck. Mayhem muttered something under his breath. She didn't exactly smell pissed but still. He kept his back to her, though goosebumps ran over the skin at the feel of her gaze.

Monet: Monet walked over to him and put one hand on his lower back while the other reached around for the cookie. "I can't help it when you project, darling. Learn to shield." She took a snapping bite next to his face then went to pour some coffee and baileys.

Mayhem: That made all sorts of tingles go up his spine. "Learn not to tease then." He shot back, sounding a little more confident then he felt. He flattened his hands against the counter to hide the shaking. She hasn't move her fuckin' hand!

Monet: Monet laughed at that and ran her nails up his spine gently before taking the mug and the cookie and going to sit at her spot at the table. "It's better than insulting, isn't it?"

Mayhem: "I'm not sure. I'll get back to you on that one." Mayhem managed, wondering if he should just take his tea and biscuits and flee. Possibly gibbering. "Um. You know, this could come under the thing of taking advantage....?" He turned, leaning against the counter and sipping his tea. Safer then sitting. He didn't trust himself.

Monet: "Taking advantage? Of what?" She sent another image to him of her own version of 'taking advantage'.

Mayhem: His hands actually went white-knuckled around the cup and Mayhem put it down quickly before he broke it. "That wasn't fair." He croaked.

Monet: "Oh no?" She grinned at him, "I find it highly amusing. And you liked it. So what's the harm?"

Mayhem: Mayhem shook his head, risking picking up the cup again. She was just teasing. Playing with him. That's all. He felt vaguely disappointed, but he'd gotten so used to it from girls by now. "No harm, I guess, if it gets a laugh, eh?" He grinned lopsidedly at her, taking a sip. Though it was going to take a while to banish the burning feeling of her hand on his skin...

Monet: "What a good sport you are, mon chat." She finished off the cookie by dunking it in her coffee and popping it in her mouth. "Hmm... Get me a spoon will you? I forgot to mix the liquor in it."

Mayhem: "Just used to girls." Mayhem not-quite-mutttered, turning to the draw and pulling it out for her, bringing it over. "Eh, so long as I make one person laugh, I've done my job. Even if it is at my expense." He gave her a grin, feeling his feet back on firmer ground.

Monet: Monet took the spoon with a soft 'merci' and stirred her coffee. "Tell me, mon chat, do you like it when people laugh at you? It's not a fun experience." She looked up to meet his eyes as she put the spoon in her mouth to suck it clean.

Mayhem: Mayhem very quickly looked away, blushing again. "I like it when people laugh. And I take the mick out of myself enough for it." He shrugged, looking down at his tea. Now he wished he wasn't stoned. "I mean, if they laugh because I'm acting stupid, fine. If they're laughing because they're being bastards...well yeah."

Monet: "You can look, if you want. You shouldn't be embarrassed about enjoying yourself." She put the spoon on the edge of the plate and picked up the coffee to take a sip.

Mayhem: "That's teasing again." Mayhem shot her a look, smiling at her from under his dreadlocks. "Sorry. I get embarressed too easily by it." He ran a hand through his dreadlocks, trying to steady his nerves.

Monet: "Yes. You do," she agreed. Monet put down the mug and started to eat her sandwich. "Maybe you should stop that. There's nothing to be embarassed about. Your responses are completely normal and expected."

Mayhem: "I know that" Mayhem waved a hand vaguely, slouching amicably against the counter again. "It's just. Well. You know. Never." He shrugged, snagging himself another biscuit, tail curling around his leg.

Monet: "That should have nothing to do with it." Monet arched an eyebrow at him. "Have you done anything?"

Mayhem: Mayhem chewed his lips and looked away for an answer. "Not....exactly. No. Well. Not really."

Monet: She blinked at him. "Have you even ever kissed someone beyond your family?"

Mayhem: A slightly dirty smile answered that one. "Well yeah. A couple of people." He took a deep gulp of his tea.

Monet: "Then you've done something. I know that you are a virgin, but have you gotten anywhere beyond kissing?"

Mayhem: "Why do you want to know?" Mayhem said defensively, before shrugging. "Not really. Hands down trousers, that kinda thing, but...."

Monet: "Trousers, hmm? How far down?" She grinned at him. "Is that all? Truly?"

Mayhem: "Far enough." Came the muttered reply. "And yes."

Monet: Monet took another bite of her sandwich and subtley projected an image of the two of them engaged on the table.

Mayhem: Mayhem's face slowly got more red until he had to turn away from her, though from the tenseness of his back it was obvious no matter how hard he tried the teasing was working. "Can you not do that please." His voice was somewhat strangled as he put the cup down and leant on the counter. "It's not fair."

Monet: Monet sighed and rolled her eyes. "Fine. You have to admit it would be fun."

Mayhem: Mayhem frowned and looked around at her, not quite believing what he heard. The little part of him that was making him feel more then a little overheated believed her alright, though. It was the pot again, he told himself. Get a grip. "...What?"

Monet: "Do I need to 'project' it to you?" She smirked at him then went back to her sandwich.

Mayhem: "No, think I'm getting it loud and clear. Just not believing it." His tail curled at the thought of what she was suggesting. Or maybe...maybe she was...she was just playing, still. Mayhem closed his eyes and bit his lip again. Yeah. They always did. She seemed the type to string him along anyway. Oh, she had that slight tint to her scent but she was laughing at him.

Mayhem: Mayhem scrubbed his face, picking up his cup and pouring the rest of his tea into the sink before washing it out. "Y' know, not exactly ladylike to play a guy like that, ma'am." He kept his tone light and sarcastic, but the easiness had gone, tattoo'd back tense.

Monet: "Pardonnez moi?" She looked over to him, "Like what? And why on earth would you not believe it?" Monet frowned. Maybe he wasn't so much fun to play with. He wasn't catching on quick enough for her taste.

Mayhem: "Je suis desole, mon ami, but I've had too many girls tease me to really...I dunno, find it funny any more. Or find it easy to believe, if you are being serious." The smile he sent over his shoulder was a little bitter. "I need a little proof."

Monet: "Proof? The images that I've put in your head aren't proof enough? If I had no interest, I would not even bother projecting them. I get amused enough by insulting someone. Why waste mental energy by projecting when I can just open my mouth and make them angry?"

Mayhem: Mayhem looked down at that, then grinned just a little behind his dreads. "I ain't no telepath, Monet. I don't understand the whole business with the mind. What I do understand, though, is good ol' fashioned physical touch." Thank god for weed. He was still stoned enough to be relaxed, so no being stupidly nervous.

Monet: "So the hand and the projection at the same time weren't enough? You are so hard to please. Maybe I'm losing interest."

Mayhem: "And you like having it too easy." Mayhem shot back. "Obviously they weren't enough. Or they were, because now I want more." He turned, then, facing her, drying his hands on a towel with a slightly cocky smile on his face, eyes still half-lidded from the joint.

Monet: "Oh you do?" She smirked, "Well then maybe it's not me who should be doing anything, mon chat."

Mayhem: Mayhem shook his head with a smile. "You're a bad girl, Monet." He murmured, a tight knot settling somewhere in the pit of his stomach as he gently pushed himself off the counter, suddenly feeling shy. "What do you want me to do?"

Monet: "Oh no, Mayhem. I've been told that I'm very good," she grinned. The grin fell and her blank face went back in it's place as she turned back to her sandwich. "I do not care."

Mayhem: Her scent said otherwise, which was the only reason why Mayhem stepped forward, listening to the same instinct that had had him fighting Hepz the first time they'd met. A dozen different approaches flicked through his mind before he just figured to go with it, a hesitant hand brushing over her hair when he was close enough.

Monet: Monet shifted her eyes to watch him, but didn't move her head or adjust her facial expression. "Are you a hairdresser? Checking to see if I condition properly? I do, by the way."

Mayhem: "What, you'd rather I did something else?" He was more amused then irritated by her tone, though felt a long way from being as calm as he hoped he sounded. Sliding out his claws, he trailed a thumb over the skin of her neck, behind her ear.

Monet: Monet tried to fight the shiver at the touch, managing to force most of it down. She picked up her coffee and took a drink, pretending that his hand wasn't there. If that was all she got he was definitely too innocent to play with.

Mayhem: Mayhem felt the slightest tremor, smiling a little triumphantly before deciding to try something else. Crouching down behind her, he leant in. "You know, I can hardly know what you want unless you tell me." He murmured, right by her ear. "Unlike some, I ain't psychic." He followed the path his claw had taken with his tongue, nipping her skin lightly as his hands settled on her waist.

Mayhem: Not quite confident enough to want to try and work out where the hell to put them.

Monet: Monet gasped quietly and her head tilted a bit to the side for him. "Figure it out. You seem to be smart enough. If you can't, then you should not be touching me."

Mayhem: Bingo. "Trial and error, then?" Mayhem murmured against her skin thoughtfully. "Seems a good way to learn. Is this the best place for it though?"

Monet: "I can make it seem like we're not here if you want. But you realize I have not finished my food or my coffee."

Mayhem: Mayhem shrugged. "Shouldn't have offered then." He smirked a little, nipping a little harder as he slid his hands to the hem of her shirt, lightly tracing his claws on her skin.

Monet: "The actual offer never left my mouth," she grinned and melted a bit under the teeth and claws. She projected another image in his head, just to give him a few ideas.

Mayhem: This was definitely a new way of doing things, Mayhem decided as he grew confident enough to slide his hands under her top, sucking at her shoulder gently. "You haven't exactly asked me to stop either." Please don't ask me to stop...

Monet: "And why would I do that?" She purred and wriggled a bit between his hands, forcing them to slide up under her top. "You don't want me to."

[steyn]

Oooh, Mo sure likes the big kitties, doesn't she?

there in't by any chance more of this story, is there?

[Edited on 18/4/2009 by steyn]

[Esynthia]

there will be, steyn. but we can't finish until monday b/c I'm going out of town unti sunday night ><

[steyn]

awww