If it hadn't been unequivocally clear that Lenore is not planning to react with moral outrage, or anger, or even mild irritation to Gideon's indecencies, it certainly is now. She is, in fact, a touch surprised that her captor plays along with her story (though it would be interesting to see how Blondie and Eyepatch might be taking it, alas that she can't!). This surprise - along with any shreds of irritation she might feel toward the continued failure to get a rise out of her new owner - shrivels up and burns away beneath the diabolical onslaught she's being subjected to.
The onslaught being, of course, Lenore's terrible proximity to her own body. She can feel the enticing push of bone from the vampire's hip, and the soft trace of a fingertip over her bicep sends sparks racing along her spine so electrically that she might just keel over and die. She doesn’t, though. Instead, Gideon tries to maintain her poise...with tries being the operative word. Her heartbeat comes so heavy and quick that she's ready to swear it fills up the room, and her breath catches in her throat just softly, like silk over splinters. She becomes deeply, intimately aware suddenly, that Lenore is the hottest woman she's ever seen in the flesh, and that this is the closest she's ever been to anyone without the inclusion of violence. Never mind someone who fits her captor’s description.
It shuts her up, and she swallows thickly. Heat blooms from the base of her throat and threatens to spread upwards, until she's forced to turn her head away and pretend to be very interested in the wall. She ought to sit up, or move away, or something. Fuck knows she should-- but she doesn't want to. What she does is keep very, very still, for fear that any further movement on her part will cause Lenore to disengage.
This is the shape of her mental state, then, when Lenore asks her question. She should tell her to fuck off, that she'll never be able to trust her, that revenge must be taken for the deaths of the people who had...always fucking hated her guts. It's hard to break the habit of a lifetime, to cut herself loose from the aching parts of her that had wanted to win someone - anyone - in Drearburh over. But Lenore is here, right now, and she's a stone-cold fucking fox. A fox whose eyes Gideon can feel on her face and fuck if she isn't weak to it.
She clears her throat. Takes a conspicuously deep breath. Tries to ignore the wetness she can feel gathering between her legs.
"Uh...," smooth, "I mean...you're practically sitting on top of me and I haven't breathed a word of committing extreme violence. I'm being exceptionally well behaved right now, in my humble opinion. But I dunno...I guess you could ask me to do something. See if I'll do it."
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The onslaught being, of course, Lenore's terrible proximity to her own body. She can feel the enticing push of bone from the vampire's hip, and the soft trace of a fingertip over her bicep sends sparks racing along her spine so electrically that she might just keel over and die. She doesn’t, though. Instead, Gideon tries to maintain her poise...with tries being the operative word. Her heartbeat comes so heavy and quick that she's ready to swear it fills up the room, and her breath catches in her throat just softly, like silk over splinters. She becomes deeply, intimately aware suddenly, that Lenore is the hottest woman she's ever seen in the flesh, and that this is the closest she's ever been to anyone without the inclusion of violence. Never mind someone who fits her captor’s description.
It shuts her up, and she swallows thickly. Heat blooms from the base of her throat and threatens to spread upwards, until she's forced to turn her head away and pretend to be very interested in the wall. She ought to sit up, or move away, or something. Fuck knows she should-- but she doesn't want to. What she does is keep very, very still, for fear that any further movement on her part will cause Lenore to disengage.
This is the shape of her mental state, then, when Lenore asks her question. She should tell her to fuck off, that she'll never be able to trust her, that revenge must be taken for the deaths of the people who had...always fucking hated her guts. It's hard to break the habit of a lifetime, to cut herself loose from the aching parts of her that had wanted to win someone - anyone - in Drearburh over. But Lenore is here, right now, and she's a stone-cold fucking fox. A fox whose eyes Gideon can feel on her face and fuck if she isn't weak to it.
She clears her throat. Takes a conspicuously deep breath. Tries to ignore the wetness she can feel gathering between her legs.
"Uh...," smooth, "I mean...you're practically sitting on top of me and I haven't breathed a word of committing extreme violence. I'm being exceptionally well behaved right now, in my humble opinion. But I dunno...I guess you could ask me to do something. See if I'll do it."