embarrassed? no, she's certifiably mortified when lance shows her up with ease. the smile on her face suddenly becomes hard to maintain and she doesn't know why, just that she's looking at him sideways and thinking thoughts as quickly as she's shoving them in a bottle and casting them out to another sea's shore. 

where another woman will come upon them, will read them quickly, and quick still think: what the hell was she thinking? 

"right, right," she says nonchalantly and rolls her eyes, rolling her shoulders in an attempt to get them to relax. "ranger comradery and all that. well, now i know who's going to decorate my shed with a bunch of new plushies." 

the feelings pass. her smile quirks. she even dares peck him on the cheek.

LANCE VOLLANS

☉

lance probably should've missed a few throws on purpose. but he isn't perceptive nor insightful enough to realize how it'd make her feel so he doesn't even think to do it. instead, he revels in the brief attention it gives him, chuckling when the attendant returns with an oversized bewear.[break][break]

"well, here is the first plushie."[break][break]

his arms wrap around it. even for someone his size, the plushie makes him look small. he turns and returns the peck on the cheek.[break][break]

"want to go win some more?"

[attr="class","ooc"]willow atkins[break]

[attr="class","pkspr pkmn-shedinja"]

the bewear could probably squish her and she's extra grateful lance takes the burden of it because there's no way in hell she's lugging that thing around the whole night. 

"i don't know, lance," she says with a grin, standing up on her toes so he can kiss her cheek, "with your skill, we might need to rent a truck to get this back to my place."

which makes her think about the fact that they haven't talked about tonight. he hasn't stayed over hers yet, nor she his, but they're in his city and it's already mid-afternoon and adelaide did tell her she could stay until the morning.

first, before all that, plushies!

LANCE VOLLANS

☉

eventually, their time at the pier comes to an end. they've visited most of the stalls, stopping for food and drinks along the way, and now, with a total of two plushies (darts was really the only game he was good at), their night approaches an end.[break][break]

the question now is...where to?[break][break]

"well, i don't think we'll be needing a truck anymore."[break][break]

a measly two plushies aren't enough to warrant that.[break][break]

not wanting to skirt around it anymore, he simply asks.[break][break]

"do you want to stay the night, will?"

[attr="class","ooc"]willow atkins[break]

[attr="class","pkspr pkmn-shedinja"]

"no truck," she agrees, though she's definitely not going to be making it home on horseback with that giant bewear plush. the taxi she ends up taking is sure to give her some flack for it, but it only makes her smile to think about it. 

she's sipping on freshly squeezed lemonade (which has far too much sugar in it, which is a shame) and coughs a bit when he just comes out and says it. she looks up at him, feels that something in her tummy, and shyly slips her hand in his. 

"that sounds nice. yes. yes, i'd like that very much."

LANCE VOLLANS

☉

smiling at her acceptance, he nods, squeezing her hand in return.[break][break]

"i'd like that too."[break][break]

and from there, it's a short walk from the pier to his house that sits on the cliffs of lilycove, overlooking the ocean to the east. it's not his beach house—that had been sold when he was presumed dead from the war—but it's arguably just as nice.[break][break]

just as empty.[break][break]

the lights flick on as they step into a modern interior, decorated finely as though a professional had done so. noticeably, it lacks any personal touch. no picture or trinket that ties the place to him.[break][break]

he sets the oversized bewear on the kitchen counter.[break][break]

"would you like a drink?"

[attr="class","ooc"]willow atkins[break]

[attr="class","pkspr pkmn-shedinja"]

his house is cold. when she steps through the threshold, it doesn't feel like a house. a house, as she's come to know it, is loved. it has creaky floorboards and scuffed paint. it has mismatched furniture and trinkets on the walls. hers is filled to the brim with greenery, with hanging ivy and sunlit plants hanging over the kitchen sink. 

if you'd walked her here blindfolded, she would have presumed she'd just walked into an airbnb. 

but she chides herself and says she's just being difficult. that she's imposing herself on him. that she's just not appreciating the differences between them. 

"yes please," she chirps and starts to slide into a barstool, but then stops, caught off guard by the view from the back of the house. she scuttles over to the bay windows and fawns over the landscape.

"this is beautiful," she says in awe. 

LANCE VOLLANS

☉

not too long ago, his definition of a house, a home, would've matched hers exactly. but he left that definition in sinnoh, buried alongside others.[break][break]

nodding, he circles around the kitchen counter to the fridge.[break][break]

"yeah it's, uh, something."[break][break]

it's definitely more beautiful than fallarbor but he chooses not to say it out loud. instead, he pours them their drinks, water first, before approaching her to offer her a glass.[break][break]

"you should see it in the morning. the sun rises clearly and it casts this, like, orange glow over the ocean. it's beautiful."

[attr="class","ooc"]willow atkins[break]

[attr="class","pkspr pkmn-shedinja"]

it's beautiful, but it doesn't come close to the view of her own backyard - of her flowers and her greenhouse and all of its denizens. her patch of greenery amidst a town of ash is a symbol she wouldn't trade anything for, nevermind a view like this. but she doesn't say that to lance.

she takes the glass of water and rests her back up against him. "well, good thing i'm staying the night," she says.

after a sip, she cradles the glass to her chest. the other goes up to lance's chin. she peeks up at him, blue-green eyes filled with an array of emotion. "i haven't done this in a while." it's not an admittance. they both know this. but it's a segue, a way of telling him yes without saying as much.

LANCE VOLLANS

☉

it's not an admittance, no. he takes it as an invitation, a segue into how he leans down to kiss her cheek. he stays close, not pulling away.[break][break]

"we can take it slowly. whatever you want, will."[break][break]

he trails kisses down to her neck, gentle in the way he navigates. his hands, free from the glass of water, move to her waist.

[attr="class","ooc"]willow atkins[break]

[attr="class","pkspr pkmn-shedinja"]

his breath blossoms warmth on her cheek, the side of her neck. she draws the glass closer to herself with a slow, shaky intake of her own breath. hands at her waist, she shimmies her hips back into him; a sheepish blush crawls up the back of her neck. 

she tilts her head and stares out at the sea, feeling his lips on her skin as the waves crash against the shore. 

"but what if i don't want to take it slowly?" she whispers, voice low and wanting. 

LANCE VOLLANS

☉

"then we won't," he whispers in return, voice equally low and wanting.[break][break]

more kisses only further his desires. he presses into her briefly, feeling her warmth before guiding her away from the window. he reaches for the glass she holds, intending on placing it on the counter as they make their way to the bedroom.

[attr="class","ooc"]willow atkins[break]

[attr="class","pkspr pkmn-shedinja"]

and it's all the things it should be. the sheets tangle and the duvet slips off the bed and they explore each other with a delicate sort of hunger, a restrained coupling of feelings misplaced. and afterwards, in those early hours when the rest of the world sleeps, she rolls on her side and closes her eyes. 

feels his fluttering heartbeat against her back and his arm wrapped around her side.

then grey light is filtering into the bedroom and spilling over the floor, their discarded clothes. they've drifted in their sleep, but that doesn't surprise her. she's slept alone for so long. she sits up, draws the sheet up to cover herself, and looks down at his sleeping form. 

touches his shoulder, the back of his neck. trails her finger down the curvature of his spine. her smile is warm, but it is small, when he finally stirs. 

"good morning, sleepy."

LANCE VOLLANS

☉