. smoke on sundays

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She's poured herself water, forgetting the ice in the icebox and opting instead to drink it at room temperature. The cup is made of plastic and not of glass, and it's warped a little on the side where she suspected someone must have put it in the microwave to melt. Her phone died on the counter, watching it as she sipped the drink, the white circle spinning until the screen went black entirely. Snow stuck to her peacoat, scarf tied clumsily around her blonde hair to protect it from the elements outside. Somehow, it just managed to make the bulk of the back of her head into a cluster of frizz and disarray. She tried to flatten it with her hand, but it still looked strangely disheveled despite her best attempts. She grinned and wiped the back of her hand on her mouth, shivering as she remembered the weather, removing the homemade scarf from around the top of her head. "I was so thirsty, but the cabby was a dick so I didn't want to ask him to stop for me." Her grin is slightly nervous, as she was slightly nervous to be there, tip toeing around him so far as to not insight any physical contact. To be in his apartment felt natural, though it was still new to her in this context. Bottles clanged together in a fabric shopping bag she held in her gloved hand. She looked a little sheepish, as she sort of always did, her face shy and a little self conscious that usually seemed to relax slightly over time. As over protective of her Holden might have been to insist on getting a cab, he wasn't aware of the pepper spray she carried, or the self defence lessons or classes on feminism she had taken in the subsequent months after his father's arrest. She still blamed herself, in a way, wondering if she had worn more sweat pants instead of skinny jeans, or if she hadn't been so flirtatious with Ezra in front of his parents. The culture of victim blaming has it's obvious faults, and Kate couldn't help but blame the victim that she was. As if she wasn't quiet enough already, more wallflower than party animal. Holden had gotten she and Ezra drunk years ago, and here she was in his kitchen, years later, pulling a bottle of white wine from the bag. 'Yours is in the bag. I know you're not a fan of white." The blonde works to remove the last of her outerwear, standing in her little ankle socks that had once been hidden inside rubber Hunter boots. She had worn shorts over, her top a loose vneck that wasn't terribly sexy, more shapeless than anything. Kate poured what was left of the water into the sink, not bothering to leave the bottle in the fridge for a minute and she pours her wine into the janked up cup she held. She's trying hard not to look at him constantly, to stare at his ruffled shirt and his ruffled hair. The wine is dry as it hits her tongue, and she almost dances around the kitchen, flitting corner to corner to look at things before she plants a kiss on his cheek before disappearing into the living room to throw her legs over the arm of the sofa. tagged: @holden notes: terrible music: taylor swift im sorry.

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A surge of smoke seizes from Holden's mouth. The cloud lingers in the air, it's transparency choking the purity. The man's malnourished figure starts toward the window of the kitchen, the hunch in his gait is natural and comes with little intention. With one hand he struggles to open the window, the pane is sticky with age old ivory paint and it's probably been ages since it was last open. Eventually he sticks his cigarette between his teeth and uses both hands, the window gives a little too much, the force of the frigid wind tunnels through his grey cotton t-shirt. At this his first reaction is to shove it closed, the suddenness knocks hot ashes from the tip of his cigarette and soot freckles on his forearm. Holden's expression is cool, despite his clumsiness. He merely takes the cigarette from his mouth, taps it off and brings it back, his other hand opening the window crack. As the wisp of the wind steals the slate coloured cloud, Holden plops himself in a stool, his back leans into the white refrigerator. His murky eyes settle on Kate, and the corners of his lips curve slightly upward. Looking at her makes him feel cold. Katie in her coat, scarf, and mitts; she's brought a trail of snow in with her, her rubber boats leave wet prints on the tile. The arrival of winter weather causes him to submerge himself into hibernation, only leaving the house for what's necessary (alcohol, food and socialization – though that often requires a judgement call). Right now the house has its thermostat cranked high, allowing him to keep clothed in his summer attire – black jeans and a grey shirt. Apparently Kate feels the same, disposing her thick winter shell and exposing what little is left. His eyes drift along her skinny figure, her pale skin skin glows frostily, her knees are painted a poppy red – something he finds immediately endearing. Holden flicks his butt outside the window and slams it shut. His six foot figure stretches upward, he sifts towards her, amusement plays on his features. His hand rakes through his black hair, ”ah, you remembered,” he speaks catching a glimpse of a familiar bottle of rum. His arm folds around her hip loosely, her lips press against his stubbly cheek abruptly, and he watches as she shimmies the other direction, his arm falling to his side. Holden grins crookedly, his hand twisting the cap of the bottle off. Edith Piaf hums softly in his work room upstairs. Her treble hits familiarity within his system, an admittance that would make a guy his age blush, but he wore it seemingly well. Ice knocks against his tumbler, when he sips at it there's an obvious kick of rum, it overpowers what else he has mixed in. Katie lounges on his fat leather couch, her big eyes bright like sapphires and her plump sofa lips pulled delicately. Holden sets a hand on her bony leg, thumb stroking the bridge of her bone, her eyebrows furrow, ”how are you not fucking freezing?” As he walks his hand slithers up her leg, stopping mid thigh to fill an urge, he leans down and presses his lips against hers. ”Been wanting to do that since you came in, couldn't help it any longer,” he smiles cockily, pecking her once more before settling into the couch next to her. Notes: sorry! Listening: def not taylor swift.

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There is something dirty about this whole situation, Kate noted, specks of ashes on the floor and her outwear in a heap in the kitchen. She looked a little more ragged than usual, often a flurry of leggings and bright Victoria's Secret lounge wear and NorthFace Jackets. The clothes the young blonde had on in that moment did little to keep her warm, but she wasn't dressing up for a night in with him. There was little reason or room to impress Holden (though if you asked her, Kate would assume she'd never be able to impress him anyway), given that he had seen her at her absolute worst, prepubescent, and recently, what she looked like when she woke up in the morning. Holden was a whole other scenario, though Kate often liked looking at him in his constant state of dishevel. Much unlike Ezra, who was prettier and neater than the both of them combined, Holden had very little refinement. Of course, after years of trailing along after his brother, this was a welcome change for the undergraduate. She bounced a skinny leg over the arm, his hand making a warm trail up her cold thigh that made the nervous tick of her movement stop. The blue of her eyes, bright and often innocently wide, blinked slightly as he brought his mouth to hers and the bottom of her stomach left her. It was moments like these, moments when he was physically close, that Kate was glad her time with Ezra had ended. Holden was overtly sexual with her in ways Ezra never was after the arrest of their father, something that ate away of the young woman's self confidence. As if teenage years weren't a struggle enough, there was the constant niggling reminder that he couldn't bring himself to touch her. All this made Kate wind a slender arm around Holden's neck that allowed their lips to linger. When he pulled away after the second kiss, she couldn't help but pull a pout to the fullness of her pink mouth. There is music somewhere upstairs, her hand clutched tightly around the warm cup of her white wine. She runs the other hand up and down his arm, tickling the dull skin of his arm with long nails. He finds a spot beside her with his cocky smirk and his rum, and her head rests in his lap, choosing not to sit up to accommodate his figure. Her skinny fingers, nail polish a bubblegum pink, hold the cup up to his and knocks against it gently. Kate giggles. "I'm not complaining, really." Her cup comes back down to lip level, and she sips it slowly as to not get wine all over her chest. Resting the cup on the coffee table, wine lingering on her full mouth, the blonde flips over on her stomach, her turn to run a hand up his thigh. "You're a hot blooded American man. I plan on stealing all of your body heat." notes: kittens music: bruce jenner the cat snoring

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Holden is the fidgety sort. Hyperactive since an early age (though more so in his mid-teens), he contains the disability to not be able to stand still. There are moments in the night where he'll shake awake, and need to do something – anything will do. At first it was as simple as his art and creating, doodling was a foreseen destiny. Cigarettes started not long after his father's conviction, followed by marijuana, coke, pills. Then a combination: coke, piano or pills, Netflix, or poppers, piano, pills, skateboarding, maybe some art. The fidgeting left him hazy. They glazed him over into a mass unfeeling piece of flesh, a cowardly often uninventive sack of shit. He was suddenly in one of those moods. His arm slings around Kate's neck in a faux choke-hold, the warm yellow light of the room is weak and casts dimly upon his collage of tattoos. What was moments ago art is now indistinguishable black inky blobs. His index finger is heavy with the weight of an molten metal ring, it taps gently at her collarbone, in a pattern similar to morse code. Holden swirls the rusty liquid in its glass, spinning it into an alcoholic twister before tipping the entirety of it into his mouth. The rummy-coke is bitter and hits his throat with violence, his molars gnash together in retaliation. He leaves his tumbler to fog up with ice on the coffee table, next to her less empty wine cup. He's amused as he watches her flip onto her stomach, snickering at the pure clumsiness of it. ”Oh yea?” he smirks at her statement, an uncalloused hand snaking up her shirt and caressing the soft tissue of her back. ”Is this something I can retaliate against, or a done deal?.. can I fight is?” At this he's childishly snapping the elastic of her bra, fidgeting across the span of her body. Notes: SO SORRY FOR THIS PILE OF POO NEXT WILL BE BETTER I SWEAR. Listening: catch me if u caaan

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Holden is, without question, rough around the edges and Kate couldn't have been more different. Prim and almost proper, she stalks the halls of NYU, reinforcing rules like a pretty hall monitor. She was used to being challenged, to the passive and not so passive aggressive ways that people could act. She had learned, long ago in dealing with Ezra, to allow tantrums to run their course, as there was only so much energy one could put into such fits. She was immensely patient, immensely curious, and at that very moment, absolutely taken with every movement the older Cohen made. He downed his liquor, something that she might have been able to do in the 12th grade but could not stomach any longer. She is impressed, but not surprised, as actions like these were entirely normal for the scruffy man that sat beside her. She squealed and giggled as the elastic of her bra snapped against her skin, and she sat straight up, wiggling closer to her wine, and taking a sweet mouthful. Two could play this game, even if her drink was not nearly as strong. Her lips and teeth linger on the cup, swirling the pale liquid around in the thick plastic as she looked at him over the edge. As wine tended to do, it warmed her cheeks. Not drunk enough to blame it on bravery, the young woman placed one leg on either side of him, moving to sit on his lap. Her hands fitted in his t-shirt, lips moving to his neck to nip at the tan skin there. It was an aggressive move, teething at his ear slightly as she whispered into it. "Nope, sorry. You have absolutely no say in the matter." It would seem as quickly as she had come, Kate was gone, clumsily sliding off his lap in all limbs, moving towards the kitchen to fetch the bottle so that she wouldn't have to get up again. Her hands lingered over both bottles, bringing them both with her. "So. Did you actually buy me pizza or were you joking? Your apartment looks like nobody lives here." The bottles are now on the table with their glasses and Kate doesn't bother to sit, a shy moment running through her to counteract the moment of bravery she'd just had. Unlike Kitty, or Madelyn, Kate didn't express or exert a huge amount of confidence. Instead of looking sexy and appealing, she stood gazing out of his window, dressed like a sorority girl ready for bed. She taps her finger on the window, silently noting the snow, turning her slender figure back to him, constantly moving, knowing full well if she stayed in one spot that she'd want to rid him of his clothes. notes: it was gud u turd music: silence ~~

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A sneaky grin fits on Holden's face, dimples crinkle in his cheeks and his milky teeth clasp the fat of his lower lip. He thought it was strange how the pretty little blonde had magnetized to him over the past year. People were often quick to label him a car crash waiting to happen, mostly relatives – aunts, uncles, his mother on more than one occasion. The crash had happened long ago. Whether it had been when he was fifteen, or when he estranged himself from his family when he was seventeen. He was the fiery crash that ensued, the licking fire, the uncomplicated scorch of sheet metal. As he sits, his back pressed deeply into the cushion, his smooth hands on either side of Kate's hips, he thinks this. What has brought her here; a ploy to make Ezra jealous, one last push to make him collapse? Or attraction to the collision, an inability to tear her eyes from it? The concept is lost as Kate inches closer, her light frame sitting deep in his lap. Her hot breath whispers into his neck, and he's ignorant to her words, a flurry of shivers crawling up his spine. Holden's hands sink deeper down her lips, forgetting the boundaries set by her little black shorts, his thumb setting on the elastic of her underwear. His face tips against her shoulder, waxy lips press softly against her collarbone, his shaggy hair falling out of place. As she backs away he grips her waist, his hands pleading her to stay, but she manages to sneak off.. quite ungracefully. ”You tease,” his eyes watch as she disappears, he throws his head against the back of the couch, sighing inaudibly. Seconds later Kate returns, her blonde mop of hair simmering euphorically in the dim yellow. His eye catched The Kraken, black rum waving viciously in the clear bottle. ”Hm?” he looks back up at her, her words registering in his head and he nods his head. ”Yea, I did, actually... in the freezer, Delissio,” Holden uses his hands to lift himself from the couch, grabbing the bottle of rum and carrying it over to the fireplace. ”I own all five floors, actually. A basement, this one, upstairs, another upstairs, an attic.. all full of nothing,” he sets the rum on the fireplace, reaching into his pocket to retrieve a plastic baggy and rolling papers. ”Except you know, a ghost or two, rats the size of house-cats, a few animal carcasses,” he's half joking, a sarcastic grin on his face, his hands busy rolling a tight joint. ”Lauren Palmer's somewhere too.. off sulking, probably. She's still pissed over me kicking of off my lap.. but you know, if someone teased me like that,” he lights the joint, motioning to her and bringing it to his mouth, ”I'd be pretty pissed off too.” He exhales, sarcastic wit playing on his features. Notes: Listening: andrew bird

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There is no artistry in the way Kate holds herself. She is as basic as they come, sexy only when she is unknowning, not when she is trying to be. He's talking to her, his words only registering after the dark wave of his voice hits her. She has always loved that voice, deeper than Ezras, unapologetic and often times rude in it's content. She can't help but wonder herself why she had set her sights on Holden now, or if she had even really set her sights on him at all. Was it possible anything good could come of the salvaging of the two? Or were they too altered by the same event for it to ever work. He was indeed, a broken boy, all pills and drugs and naked girls. She was guarded and wholesome in the majority of her ways, bad only when he urged her to be, teasing only when he was around to tease. He mentions the ghosts of the house and Kate was quite certain the only ghosts that lived between these walls were Holden himself. "Laura Palmer!" She squeals, "I had completely forgotten her. I'm so sorry Laura.." Kate keeps her distance from the fireplace for a moment, watching him with her pale eyes and an inability to make up her mind. Her gaze lingered on the joint he was rolling, quirking her head slightly in sheer interest. She'd smoked weed only a handful of times, an experiment in college that had never really stuck. Drugs, especially the kind that Holden seemed so fond of, was not something she'd dabbled in recreationally, scared by the highschool health class statistics that cautioned it's students about burning holes in their brains. Her teeth caught her lip, unsure but curious all the same. It was strange, that an event such as the one that had happened to them had left her so ignorant to the rest of the world, still so vulnerable and innocent. Her eyes look past him, as if she was looking to the rest of the house. As he motions to her, she steps closer, coming under his arms as he rolled the joint to fit herself in the hollow of his chest. "You better be sharing that, and also taking me on a grand tour of the place. I didn't get to go out on Halloween and I could do with a good scare." Her doe eyes, blue and bright roll upwards to look at him, hooking her slender fingers in the belt loops of his black jeans. She pulls his hips close to hers, a whisper of the attraction she felt for him. Her socked feet stand on their tiptoes, brushing her lips against his neck again, attempting to distract him as much as she possibly could from his joint rolling endeavor. "You know, I have a funny feeling you'll ever have trouble being pissed off at me for that." notes: luv them music: st00pid ppl in the library

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Laura Palmer! Kate's shrill voice pierces his eardrums. With the white stick of pot stuck between his lips, he raises his hands in fake shock and leans back like he's just been electrocuted. Now calm down, he's speaks like he's dazed, the joint still tight in his teeth. The little cat was probably curled up on his bed, it's grey fur likely scattering mites and fleas all over his bedding. Laura Palmer. Holden was fairly certain the cat was male. He had the giant thick frame of a tom cat, not to mention the stench of one. He rejected any sense of femininity, and had a greedy as well ravenous nature, practically stomping on the wooden floors of the old house. But he doesn't correct the enthusiastic blonde, he's afraid the correction will spoil any fantasy the girl had. Though it's just a name. Holden watches her hesitance. In his mind she's such a small fawn; curious, but flighty. He afraid that if he moves too suddenly, she'll be out that front door and bounding up the road, her white tail flicked up as she retreats. As he waves at her he half expects her to fall the other direction, but Kate's pointed toes start his way. He's quick to light the joint, thumb striking the rough grains of the BIC lighter, and the white of the paper turning a tigery orange and black. Kate's small frame feels cold against his and he immediately feels inclined to wrap his arms around her, resting his wrist against her as a perch for his joint. As a graduate of Drug Abuse Resistance Education... otherwise known as D.A.R.E. I'm obligated to advise that you do not smoke this pot, he takes a puff, exhaling hoops like a show-off. Do not smoke this pot, at that he sticks the joint to her lips, her eyes stern. When she pulls at him, he playfully resists. His eyebrows cross, but mellowing into an oh fine expression as he staggers forward. Holden stands almost a head taller than her, when he rests his chin on her fluffy golden head he sneaks a smoke. Is that so? his spare hand cops a feel, giving her a squeeze. So that tour, Holden lifts the girl, resting her feet on top of his and walking with her a few steps. We'll begin with my laboratory, and we'll end off where the monster sleeps, with one arm he lifts her off his feet and opens the yellow stained door of the basement. Follow me, it's a bit dark, watch your step.. they don't bite, he cocks a brow, lacing a hand through hers and using the glow of the embers to guide their way. Notes: sorry, this wasn't much to go off! Listening: edith piaf

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"You are the hairiest spokesman I've ever met."As he sticks the joint between her lips, there are very little options she has at that point. It tastes skunky, and poignant, one that she isn't very familiar with but doesn't feel disgusted by it in any sense. She takes a small drag, swallowing smoke and it makes her eyes water as she doesn't want to cough. The blonde manages to suppress the urge enough, and she exhales against his sweater, the smell of her breath and pot mingling against the spicy scent of his shirt. He cops a feel and she squirms in almost delight, the act of it making her more horny than it probably should have. He seems to have that effect on her, though. Perhaps it was his brother's inability to touch her that her enthusiasm was so overtly expressed. It was as though she had been repressed this whole time, unable to find an outlet to express herself through intimacy. Kate was still clumsy, still self conscious. Perhaps even a little inexperienced. As she is lifted, the blonde cannot help but sigh. Much like a ragdoll, she had no other choice, her socked feet on his as he walked her similar to a small child dancing at a wedding. Pale, slender arms circled around his neck, his smirks playing close to her face. She was fascinated by his mouth and the way he could convey so much attitude in the most minute twitch of a muscle. Holden walks a few feet and then gives up, but he removes her gently and Kate appreciates that. She stands behind him, still feeling quite cold, quirking her eye at the basement door, not exactly thrilled that he seemed to be taking this tour of the house in the dark. Maybe she didn't like thrills as much as she said she did. "All the way down there, huh? Seems a bit unsafe. I need to assess the situation before I can completely committ." Skinny fingers poke at his stomach, and she peers around him to the dark basement, her limbs holding onto either side of the door frame so that he couldn't get passed her (though she was certain he probably could if he tried). The undergraduate is half kidding and half not, as the house did seem rather creepy compared to the modern facilities of her dormitory at NYU. Yet, it was all in good fun, a smirk playing on her full mouth as she turns towards him, still blocking the entrance to the basement with her slim figure. "Okay, I've decided it's safe. However, I do require one thing before we start down there..." Kate reaches for the young man, pulling his body against hers. Circling her arms around his neck, her mouth moves across the rough skin under his jaw, lingering on the corner of his mouth as she whispers. "Can you guess what it might be?" notes: i ate chicken wings. music: u and ur edith

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Holden's gives a crooked smile, a stand of his too-long hair falling into his line of vision. He's charmed by her reluctance, turning to his side to watch her big sapphire eyes stare down into the pit of darkness, taking note of the scarlet cloud wrangling her optics. He pushes the loose stand of hair back, forking a large hand back across his scalp. Nothing to worry about Katie Kat. Just a few spiders, a fetus in formaldehyde, couple of wild hybrids I designed, another puff of the joint, it's dwindling now, the paper burning and sour vapours filling the air. Though now Kate moves in front the door, planting herself wide so that there's no way around it. Such an approach might work if she were fifty pounds heavy, the little hundred-and-something pound girl doesn't pose much of a thread. He doesn't show it though, lifting his hands and shrugging, oh shit, how will I ever get around? Her fingers press into his stomach, the bubblegum tips of her nails reminding him of how innocent she is. The thought doesn't last long, his attention span failing him in the heat of the moment. Holden crooks one arm around her waist and presses another against the wall, saving the two of them from spilling down the stairs. Katie smells sweet.. rosy, but licoricey? A floral textured scent that he can't quite get a hold of, one that he tries to label as he presses his lips against hers and squeezes the fresh of her torso. The moment lasts only a few seconds, before Holden loosens his grip. He lets Katie fall back just a little bit, enough so that their lips part and enough to scare the living daylights out of her. As quickly as he lets go, he's there to catch her back. Well, fuck, see what happens when you distract me? he grins sheepishly. The joint has finally fizzled and he lets it drop to the floor, the embers succumbing to the shadows. The young man crosses his arms beneath her back-end and hoists her so she's sitting on his hips. We're going down, he nods, taking the first step more dramatically than he takes the others. There is little comfort in the basement, it's darkness drains the warmth of the rest of the house. Holden is coy, his hands playful and ticking her skin as he carries her down the stairs. There is a light, he admits, letting her drop to the ground softly. His right hand strokes the wall, searching for the switch, somewhere.... ah! The room in suddenly bright, surprisingly clean and large... far more updated than the above floors. Welcome to my laboratory. A laboratory it certainly is. The promise of fetus in formaldehyde replaced with buckets of paint, dozens of spiders replaced with five screenprinters, and hybrids of papers rather than animals. It's more impressive than it looks, you should have seen the other place. Notes: i ramble, and it's terrible. but i wanted to reply before bed :c Listening: the roots.

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Unlike Ezra, who tended to be more serious, Holden was always playing with her. Perhaps that was why she decided she fit better at his side than with his brother, for despite all, he managed to be light hearted. She could look past the things that made her wary, the drug habit and the ambiguity of his sex life (as she was certain she wasn't the only girl he brought into this house on the premise of fucking), for the simple fact that he made life fun again while simultaneously understanding why she acted the way she did. Somehow, though Ezra never meant it like this, he always made her feel guilty, as though she had nothing to be scarred for. She felt blamed by him in certain ways, whereas Holden had never been anything but vehemently protective. There was the chance she was getting this brotherly nature confused with caring for her on a level more individual, but for the moment, she was happy enough with where they stood. The kiss was heated, as all their kisses were. As their lips part she feels the whooshing of her stomach, first with the excitement of the moment and then the terror of falling. Of course, both only last enough for her neurons to fire the messages of warning before he has wrapped his tanned arms around her and pulled her back to his chest. Adrenaline, however small an amount, warms her full cheeks and she rolls her eyes as he picks her up, once more condemning her to life as a doll. Her legs wrap around him, fingers pressed to his neck and she smirks at his words. Her upper half presses against him, turning away from his face to watch the steps he was taking in the off chance he fell and they both went tumbling. "Y'know, you can't always carry me everywhere. I do have functioning legs ... Not that I'm really complaining. As she slides from his waist, she is met with the sight of his studio, not so empty as she might have guessed. Kate is inquisitive again, her hands brushing along the thick rolls of paper and she bends to read paint on the buckets. "What a laboratory it is, Doctor." Joking right along with his simile. The screen printers are big and convoluted, with arms and panels and metal and an assortment of limbs that she couldn't begin to understand. She looks to him, a smug look on her full mouth. "Absolutely terrifying, really. I'm not even joking. Aren't you afraid it's going to grow a mind of it's own and eat you in your sleep?" She touches it on one of it's corners. "I would be afraid of that." She tip toes her fingers across various services as she moves about his studio. "I have a hard time believing you don't have a menagerie of naked girls parading in and out of here, begging you to draw them." Kate lifts her shirt, flashing him her bra and sticking her tongue out at the same time, as if to prove her point. notes: it's shite. music: bruce jenner is purring.

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Holden smirks, only buckling her closer to his waist, his socked feet trudging down the stairs. ”I'd a feeling you weren't heading down solo,” his answer is one of half honesty, the other half begged for her to be closer. His arms bridged around her back end, the boy finds it difficult to let go, and does so reluctantly. His hands itch to touch her more and he finds himself having to brace them on the large centre table. Holden's smirk is ever so slight, the most miniscule curve, though his muddy eyes are mischievous. He chuckles, lifting a screen upward, his thumbnail scratches at a flake of red paint. ”Well,” he intends to say something more but instead gets lost in a loop. His mind becomes momentarily fuzzy, the small spot of paint is taking forever to scratch off. He's away of the murmur of his heart, the slight light headedness. A high on top of another high. His scratches his head, her words making him feel a bit more guilty than she intended. ”Not quite,” that part is true. Most women he has in the house don't ask to draw them, they have little knowledge of the work he does. It's usually his physical being that drags them through the door – his crooked smile, inked limbs, and his elusiveness. Though she is part right, mainly about the number. Katie's silly as she makes a face, lifting her cotton-white shirt and exposing her honey toned stomach. He feels himself giving into his craving. That signature grin is etched across his mug, his gaze hazy but playful as they give her a once over. C'here, Medusa, though it's he who closing the space. He pushes her frame against a filing cabinet, its drawers squeaking tiredly as contact is made. Ringed hands are up her shirt, thumbs plunking upward at her ribs like strings of a guitar. His hands lift her up onto the cabinet, resting on the peaks of her hipbones before tunnelling down the small of her back and back to her nape. His lips graze her neck, his nose becoming engulfed in her floral perfume. He's transitions from soft into rough, lips and hands becoming more daring as he sinks into the moment. He's pushing his tongue against hers and when he parts it's far more reluctant than past kisses. His forehead pausing against hers and when he pulls back it's to offer comedic relief. Have you seen the upstairs? Notes: blahblah, crapcrap, powerplay. I'M SORRY!! Listening: benji booker

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Have you seen the upstairs? The context of his words make her shiver, as she had seen the upstairs many times prior to this moment, though usually drunker than she cared to be and in a platonic sense. How many times had she slept in Holden's bed without giving it thought, curled up next to him, letting her ass hang out of her shorts because she knew it meant nothing and she didn't care. Her brain was foggy for a million reasons at that moment, with his hands writing the premise of what was to come on her delicate skin, his lips rough on her neck and his demeanor changing with every passing minute. Seeing him naked for the first time seemed to awaken a possibility she never thought of. Though good looking, he was her brother in a sense, her older, ruder brother. She knew what his voice sounded like before it dropped, and he knew about the time she ran home crying from the Cohen household because she got her first period. Fucking him didn't come until later, much later. His hands skated over her curves that night, he drunk and high and she just drunk. She remembered it lingering on her ass, blonde hair sprawled across his bare chest. Kate had been wearing something completely unsexy, long socks that were grey and slouchy around the ankles and a pair of clean, but stolen, boxer briefs. The feeling of him cupping her rear had made her sapphire eyes come open, to catch his gaze. Holden wore one of those criminally perfect smirks and for every moment ever since, she had trouble keeping her hands to herself and her body not on top of his. The stiff scruff of his face burned rough and red against the skin of her neck. Holden never remembered her fragility in those moments, something Kate appreciated more than he could ever be aware of, if he was even aware of what he was doing to begin with. He didn't treat her like a victim, like she wasn't composed of bubblegum and innocence and Starbucks lattes. His hands make grabs at her skin and she winds her legs around his hips, tongue brushing his, her breathing coming less easy in the fire of the moment. As he pulls away, her tongue darts out to lick the taste of him from her swollen mouth. The filing cabinet was cold underneath the almost bareness of her rear. She wasn't drunk or high enough to feel this intoxicated, but he was in her head, as he had been the very moment he had kissed her for the first time. In the back of her mind, somewhere, she was aware that her feelings were developing quicker than she would have liked them too, a dangerous place to be. The last time Kate had fallen in love with a Cohen, it hadn't worked out so well. "Yeah, I have." She whispers in his ear, winding herself around him and putting her hands up his shirt, his dark skin hot under her fingers. "You better take me there." notes: hi music: steal my girl - one direction.

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Unlike Kate, Holden doesn't over think the series of events. While he's both calm and collected, his nature is probably the result of the pharmaceutical drugs in his system. His finger tips are number when they stroll across the contours of her body, his mind still worn and dizzy. His head is heavy on her neck, his lips sucking the nectar from her skin and bruising her with hickeys. He strolls with the moment, shoving any feelings he could potentially have into an abandoned corner of his mind. He's aware that Katie's not disposable, he's aware that his actions will have consequences. She's not just a mound of flesh he can fuck his energy into, not a form he tracks in like the mud of his boots. And when he pulls back to see her reaction, it's not quite clarity that is painted on his face. But when his hand rakes through her flaxen hair it is with affection and when he scoops her cheek with that same hand to kiss her less vigorously, it's reassuring. Holden smiles at her willingness, her change in attitude. Five minutes ago she was complaining about being carried and now she had her limbs around him, her bubblegum nails biting into his tanned skin. ”Let's make our way up then.” Holden's gentle with her body as he carries her up the flights of stairs, every so often dipping his face into her chest, kissing the warm bones of her ribcage. As they hit the second story Edith Piaf gets louder. Her French treble shaking the glass tear drops of the chandelier that hangs over the grand staircase. ”I'll change that, he says as his feet reach solid ground. Holden's room is large and haunted looking. The walls are painted a crimson colour.. or were, as age has not been kind to the, the paint cracking white lines. The king sized poster bed holds the same wear, it's stain rubbing uneven spirals, there's not even curtains to decorate it. Like he guessed the sooty grey cat lies on his pillow, his big body curled up, he doesn't even shift when Holden lands Katie on the bed. Leaning in he divulges in her once more then stands upright, ”You take care of that.. let me get this, he nods at the cat as he walks diagonally across the room towards his ipod. Notes: crap. few more posts before this becomes R rated and we have to bail. MAKE USE. Listening: dylan's monsterchildren playlist. not sorry.