"Oh?" He said it as if to challenge that coy little smile into telling him more. His hands tugged, luring her in by the belt loops for a final kiss. They were never going to reach the campgrounds if they stood, landlocked and liplocked at that part in the path. His left hand relented, his right seeking out hers when he turned and began again their ascent upwards.

In some places the flat rocks, like stairs, were inserted into the climb. At other times, it seemed someone placed a branch to indicate a border of the walkway. It was easy to imagine that the woods had created the path, opting to funnel feet into specific areas so that people would not randomly sprawl their footprint damage over its whole surface.

"Perhaps I'll show you sometime," she replied, feeling bold. Lips met a final time. It was so easy to want to linger there, her face upturned into his, her arms draped around his shoulders. But it wouldn't do to come all this way and not enjoy the full camping experience, so she let him pull away from her at last, slipping her hand into his when it was offered.

The path was relatively easy. This was good, because Layla was in good shape but this was still new territory for her, adjusting to the weight of the pack as she walked, and anyway her thoughts were perhaps a little more preoccupied with the man beside her than with where she put her feet. Something more challenging might have spelled disaster.

He squeezed he hand once and then pointed at a few of the ferns, explaining how their leaves would unfurl or tighten into spirals depending on how close it was to raining. Seemed that the rain was a ways off. Occasionally, shiny, slippery-looking lizards with blue tails scampered in a loud upturning of leaves at their approach. He told her about their tails, how they would shed them if given too big of a fright.

Layla listened, fascinated and hungry to learn. Even though she was growing accustomed to it with time, there was still something quite novel about her relationship with Jeremy. Beyond the touching, the sharing, the communicating. It was this exchange of knowledge, the way he taught her things and answered her questions, the way he asked questions with interest and actually listened to her answers, the sheer fact of —for the first time in her life - feeling like his equal. That still set her heart to fluttering nervously from time to time. It made her cherish and adore him all the more, and she came to crave that conversation, that transfer of ideas and experience.

After a mile and past where the path had been paved, he stopped to sit on a bench made of the lopped off truck of a tree. His arm twisted back, grabbing his water bottle for a swallow before offering it to her. They weren't sweating profusely but the mountain air had a wetness to it. It made their skin gleam as if it wrapped in plastic.

"Only about....a half hour more to go." He looked at the distance they had covered and smiled.

When he sat down, the girl lingered a moment before she joined him. With the pack still secured across her body Layla stretched, arching her spine as her rib cage lifted, tipping her head back slowly to keep herself from unbalancing. She swayed, shifting the weight from one foot to the other as she stretched out the tendons around her knees and hips.

And there, as she righted herself, was one sinuous roll of her hips, the telltale marker of the dance she practiced, were he paying enough attention to notice. It was in the S curve wiggle that it was distinguished from any other type of movement, something so long practiced that it was all but automatic.

Layla took the water bottle when it was offered, moving to sit beside him on the bench. "...Is the path much the same from here, or does it get more complex?"

Some of her revelations were lost on him, but it wasn't because he wasn't paying attention. It was just something he couldn't fathom. The idea of inequality because of gender was strange. The idea of things being considered less because it was women's work, or admirable because it was a man's, was likewise odd to him. If all the tasks were crucial to the life one wanted to lead, why would one be dismissed and the other prized" He could understand extraneous wants and needs being shrugged off but it was more than that.

After her little stretch, stamped by the "S" move, his hand came to rest atop of her thigh to squeeze it. He liked the way she moved and he had noticed only some hints of it in the theatre play they had seen together. The actresses had exaggerated their motions so even the people in the back row could see, making Layla's unintended display carry a greater, more subtle appeal to it.

"There is a part near the top that is a bit challenging, but after that it's more or less the same. There were some bad rains a few months ago that washed off part of the path so it's just really steep there until people wear it back down again."

Bringing the water bottle to her mouth for another sip, she passed it back to him as his hand slipped over her thigh. The gesture brought a smile to her lips, and Layla angled her body toward him, their arms coming together as she perched her chin there on top of his shoulder. "We can do it," she said confidently, despite having not seen the hill. It seemed that she, too, was feeling even more affectionate, more physical than normal.

Taking a deep breath, the girl let her lashes lower as she absorbed the moment. Jeremy smelled like sunshine, a hint of physical exertion, the scent of the soap of his clothes and the shampoo in his hair. And always there in the background, just a little bit of the tang of metal.

He twisted his head to catch her mouth in a kiss, the corners of his lips upturning in a sharper, more playful smile. Squeezing her thigh again with one hand, his other took the water bottle and struggled briefly to put it in its fastening. Once that was done, he climbed back up to his feet, one hand out in the air, opening and closing to get the attention of her other hand so that she would return it to his.

"Don't want to dally too much. Setting a tent up in the dark is always a pain! You'll lose sight of where you put something and use the flashlights to dig around for it." The certainty it was an annoying outcome, along with his grumble, indicated that this was an experience he had had before. Somewhere ahead, a football-sized bunny skittered over the path, its coloration as brown as the dirt. Jeremy tried to point it out to her before it entirely disappeared.

Layla was also smiling into that kiss, her far hand lifting to just barely skim the side of his face as he pulled away. While Jeremy fought with the water bottle, the girl smoothed a few loose strands of glossy black away from her face up into her pony tail. With her hair up like this, the piercings in her ears were more visible, simple gold hoops that were usually obscured by rivers of ink.

Rising to her feet to take his signaling hand in her own once more, the girl shifted under the weight of her pack and then nodded. "Alright. Let us make most haste, then." As she said it Layla was smiling up at him playfully, like maybe she was on to him about having made that mistake previously.

He looked at her over his shoulder. It was difficult to not be in a good mood, though he tried not to have any sense of entitlement about it. Layla could have changed her mind at any point about what the weekend would mean for her. He had to keep repeating that to himself because it was humbling and important to keep in mind. It was a big deal. It was important. It was the start of something else.

His mood was infectious, though — that happy, affectionate enthusiasm written in every line of his body had her feeling particularly high spirited in return. She walked with a bounce in her step, that is until they reached the steep part of the ascent.

At times, he asked himself....what if they broke up" Would she hate him for this weekend" Jeremy tried not to let himself think too hard, too long down that path of thought. There was a saying where he came from: If you envisioned something enough times it became true. He didn't want to see any of those apprehensive fears as an outcome.

Finally, they conquered the two-mile trail. They defeated along the way the steeps steps that caused the quads and thighs to burn to climb and finally, at a flat plain off the path, was a place to set up camp that no one else had claimed. It was flat and dry, perhaps twenty meters from the creek with the shoulder of the mountain making a shield on one side of them.

There her expression changed, turning serious as she concentrated on making the climb. This particular type of exercise was new for her, but she managed it without getting too winded. Once the trail evened out, Layla paused, taking in the view for a long moment while Jeremy scoped out an available spot. Moving to catch up with him, she tucked one finger into the belt loop at the side of his hip with a little smile.

"This is a pretty place. It is interesting to see hills so green." Tipping her head in against his shoulder, it was the closest to a hug she could manage given that they were both still burdened with their packs. "What shall we do first?"

"Take off our bags and set up camp. I can put up the tent on my own if you will pick up some of the fallen sticks and what not so that our area is clear." Jeremy's smile was there, head turning to kiss her cheek before he unsnapped the plastic buckle joined at the middle of his chest. Once the bag released it fell to the ground like it had been wanting to the whole time. Jeremy smiled and then reached forward, catching the latch just under her breasts and carefully pressing it so that the tension released and the shoulder straps drew apart, practically begging for its weight to be dropped on the ground.

"If the wood you find is dry that'll work for a fire, too."

Her lip caught in her teeth uncertainly, her head tilting in that way it did sometimes when she didn't quite understand him. Jeremy was talking about ....leaving" Like twin pools of liquid chocolate, her eyes searched his face, wondering how in the world he'd gotten that impression.

It wasn't the first-time Layla desperately wished she could do what he did, that she had that gift where she didn't have to talk to convey her feelings. The talking about it, speaking her mind and expressing herself, it still felt like a bold and daring act every time she did it. Lifting one hand as she joined him at the threshold, her just inside the little canvas divider and he just outside it, the artist bridged the distance by putting her hand on his chest.

"Jeremy, you....you brought up something about tonight and then....immediately changed the subject, without..." shaking her head to show her confusion, "...without any response to what I'd said or answering my question...?"

"I did?" He blinked at her, one of his hands resting on his hip. His eyebrows lowered and he looked at her, "I must have gotten distracted with the set up or....I don't know. What did you ask me?" It seemed that his intention had not been to dodge the question, after all. His other hand went to her waist, giving it a reassuring stroke so that she might restate the question. He realized that it might warrant an apology, "Sorry, I wasn't meaning to brush you off or anything like that."

There was a small smile appearing on his lips that also embodied part of that apology. Eyebrows ticked upward, just a tad, as he waited for her response.

Layla shook her head again, her gaze lowering and then averting altogether as she looked away. "...It is alright. It was just' strangely abrupt and left me thinking about things you ...very clearly were not thinking of anymore." His hand was at her side, and that at least was reassuring. Her shoulders lifted as she took a breath, letting it out in a small sigh as though to clear the matter from her mind. "Let us try these marshmallow things."

Jeremy at least had the sense to know that when a subject was delicately tip toed around in conversation that it meant it was a subject of worry or concern. That definitely meant she wasn't referring to how she was a ladybug or if the setup was right. He drew in a breath and then exhaled, both of his hands sitting squarely at that point on her waist that started its outward curve to her hip, "I've been thinking about this weekend ever since we talked about it. I'm happy. I'm worried. I kinda worry if we talk about it too much we'll talk ourselves out of it." There was the small break of his smile, bowing his head to kiss her on the forehead before he spoke, "I wasn't trying to be rude."

If he had guessed incorrectly, he really would be sleeping outside the tent tonight. It was the most tender subject he could think of, though, that had been recently brought up.

His hands at her waist had a way of drawing her back in, of making her lift those heavy lashes as dark eyes sought his face once more. Meeting his gaze just in time for that forehead kiss, a dim smile touched her lips. "So have I," she admitted quietly. "Of course I have. I am' all of those things, too. But you asked about it like you had something on your mind and then....dropped it again like it did not matter." The girl gave a little sigh, resolving to let it go this time, and she lifted herself up on her toes to press an answering kiss to his cheek. "It is alright. I am just....I think we are both nervous." That tentative smile was finally flickering back up into her eyes.

"Like it didn't matter?" He smiled, his hands lifting up to cup both sides of her face before leaning in to kiss her on the lips. He kept her face captured there, his eyes meeting hers and his smile breaking, less dilute than before, "It matters, it matters so much it's a bit overwhelming. I know what this means to you." He didn't. Not really. He knew what it meant based upon a few fragments of what she said which was, ultimately, just the glow of a single lantern in a very dark cave.

His head bowed, mouth stopping short of hers as if to give her a breath of space to refuse it or push up on her toes to meet him with it. He had brushed off the conversation after bringing it up and had been, in retrospect, quite blind as to how that might make her feel.

Soothed, Layla nodded, her fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt once more. "Alright," she agreed, although part of her knew that he didn't understand the full magnitude of it, either - that his world was just too far apart from hers for him to appreciate the severity of the culture she'd left behind. There were some things she just couldn't bring herself to say out loud.

Lifting herself the rest of the way up into his kiss, her mouth met hers, determined to drown out the nervous noise in her head.

It was easier when their lips met. As if they had just made an unspoken promise to one another and wished away the discomfort that had been previous. His hands dropped from her face to her shoulders. When his lips broke from hers he smiled, giving her shoulders a squeeze, "Now....how about marshmallows..." and in a very small, whispered voice, "that we cook together naked." It was an attempt at some humor, to make her laugh shake off the weight of their past conversation.

Jeremy turned to looked at the small fire, which had gained momentum and was looking less like a joke and more like a foot-high flame that could have cooked a treat.

It was easier, the kiss a language of its own, a means of communication that went well beyond their limited vocabularies. There was a visible change in the tension in her frame, the way she seemed to sag against him, her hands sliding up to his neck as his slid down from her face. He smiled and she reflected it back for him, a mutual relief there with a glimmer of anticipation peeking out from behind.

Layla was agreeing to marshmallows before he'd reached the end of the sentence, so it was that she'd already said "that would be wonderful" before she knew his additional stipulation. Her cheeks flushed pink pretty much immediately.

It had the result of him grinning savagely, winking at her in a way that said he didn't plan to hold her accountable. Jeremy kissed her one more time then broke away, clapping his hands together. A few more rocks in the area were added to the border of the flames, along with the fuel of some sticks that had the same diameter of coins. Stepping to the outskirts, he found some lopped off pieces of log others had used for seats. With a bit of effort, he was able to roll them towards the fire. It wasn't much, but it would keep them from having to plant their bottoms directly to the ground.

"Were you able to find them' There should be some long, metal sticks I packed for us to use to roast them." It wasn't anything fancy and possibly too short to be of any real good to them.

Layla had blushed scarlet by the time he broke away, her cheeks burning as she looked away. She was smiling too, though, and she turned back towards the makeshift kitchen she'd turned the secondary tent room into, retracing her steps to find the bag marked 'marshmallows' and the two metal stick things he'd mentioned.

"...Won't the ...metal things get too warm to hold, though?" She asked as she stood in the doorway again, balancing herself on one leg as the other foot found the opening of her discarded hiking boot, hooking it so that she could pull it on better with her free hand. Layla was paying more attention to the fire than to what she was doing, though her balance seemed undisturbed by her lack of attention to it. She had been working out in her head what he wanted the sticks for.

"Maybe wrap the end in a sleeve or the end of a shirt' I hadn't thought about it." The hint that it may have been his first marsh mallowing was starting to show. Another stick was adding to the fire just before he took a seat. At that point he twisted, looking at Layla in time to see the great dance of the shoe. His gaze followed her and he leaned forward, patting one of the round discs of wood that served as a seat.

So the ceramic artist had thought about the heat transfer inherent in metal and ....the blacksmith hadn't. Layla grinned, amusement making warm golden starbursts of the reflection of fire in her eyes. She successfully pulled the one shoe on, though she didn't bother to tie it, and then she stepped out of the tent, ducking under the overhead flap, transferring her weight to her now shoe'd foot and then pivoting half a turn so she could do the same with the other foot.

"You're slightly over dressed but it will do." And there was his smile, ready as he watched her. Some of the things she did with him were new to her and he liked seeing someone else that wasn't him enjoy a 'first time' experience.

Once she had both shoes back on successfully, she carried the bag of marshmallows and the skewer sticks over to the fire, taking her seat on the wood stump beside him. Her brows arched curiously at his comment. "By that logic, are you not overdressed, too?"

The blacksmith was hardly seasoned! Hadn't even a year under his belt but a whole lifetime of climbing trees and collecting coffee beans. Though, she had met him as one and that might be branded into her memory more than the other.

He scooted his seat closer to hers once she sat, stealing a kiss to her cheek before taking one of the metal prongs. He skewed a marshmallow onto it and then hung it over the flames to slowly roast, "I am terribly overdressed, and I would remedy it only if I didn't think I'd be stuck sitting naked next to a fully dressed woman."

There was that press of his lips along the outer curve of her mouth again, and Layla tipped her face into it, handing off the various things she'd brought with her so Jeremy could try his hand at marshmallow roasting. When he was finished, she likewise threaded a marshmallow or two onto what she thought of as a kebab, before she held it out over the fire.

Turning to look at him then, it was hard to keep her gaze from drifting down over his chest thoughtfully, calculating the risk involved, perhaps. "...Would that be so bad?" She asked, her lips quirking around the smile she was trying really hard to conceal. "Maybe we could compromise."

The marshmallow was getting a soft brown over its puffing, white surface. He turned the skewer over for the other side, watching as Layla mimicked his cooking techniques. He was about to say something, no doubt about the proper way to start a first and what should go in it, when she spoke. The barest hint of a smile for her, largely because she'd overwhelmed his mind with very specific images.

"I mean....I suppose it wouldn't but compromise is king." He swallowed, not looking at her but at the fire so that he might seem more casual, "What did you have in mind?"

"There is nothing wrong with you," there was more conviction in Layla's voice when she said it than perhaps there had ever been before. On this point, she was unshakable. "You just....do not quite fit the mold you were made in." She smiled then, one hand slipping out of her lap to brush his cheek with the backs of her fingers affectionately. "...Like me."

Jeremy was smart to refrain in this instance. As much as she loved it when he shared with her - that novel feeling of being at someone else's perspective completely outside of your own was exhilarating- in this instance, someone else's experiences of Jeremy specifically were likely to make her self-conscious, and never mind the territorial issue. It was something he could probably share with her later, as a basis for comparison once she'd had her own experiences with it. For now, it really seemed to matter to her that whatever she felt or experienced this first time come from him directly.

"It's good to be with another mold breaker." He admitted with a small shrug. Someone might have dismissed their sense of alienation, not knowing how much those little things could define and shape experiences. Sometimes it was all the little things that made such a difference.

Layla took a deep breath, shaking her head. "I think..." she started slowly. "That you are right. This is a thing that we may talk ourselves out of if we think too much about it." Her hand, which had lingered near the edge of his jaw, slid down his neck to the opposite shoulder, fingers tracing the line of tendon there gently. "You told me before that you were not comfortable....feeling like you had to be aggressive," reflecting on what he'd said about his most recent relationship, his former lover's apparent need to be commanded. "It is one of the things I like so much about you," there was a quick flash of a smile there, her fingers squeezing his shoulder gently. "But I think that....maybe just this one time....you should...think less about it and just....lead" Show me what you like, and I promise I will try to tell you if I feel uncomfortable or unpleasant."

He liked the feeling of her fingertips. They were cooler than he expected, given the exertion of getting to camp followed by the set up. She wasn't sweaty or clammy at all. His head leaned into it just before it went down his neck and to the exposed skin of his shoulder. Beneath her fingers were the heavy bands of muscle that buffered the bones beneath. He glanced down at her hand, the soft brown of it and then looked back at her when she spoke.

Yes, he had been encouraged to be aggressive. To "be a man" in a way that seemed to require a disregard for his partner that felt strangely abusive to him. Maybe he had never understood that it was a prearranged assertion, something that was wanted and agreed upon prior to happening. That was never how it felt, though. It felt as if he was meant to make decisions autonomously and implement them regardless of his partner's feelings. Leading, though, that felt cooperative. It felt like agreeing to something instead of just pushing what he wanted down her throat.

"I can do that." His smile appeared and then he scooted back, patting the t-shirt on the ground in between his legs for her to have a seat. He wanted her a bit closer to him and was feeling....surprisingly relieved at the discussion. Talking themselves out of it was definitely something to avoid.

It was a struggle to express herself on subjects she'd spent her whole life being taught to ignore, and Layla worried that she would say something wrong, that he would misunderstand or become uncomfortable. His smile, then, brought a strong sense of relief with it, accompanied as it was by his assent to her idea. Layla let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and her own smile surfaced then - bringing a light to her eyes like fireworks at midnight.

Nodding, she understood the intent behind the gesture and rose from her perch on that rounded off piece of log, turning at the waist to put her shirt down where she'd been sitting and to rest the metal spike she still held on top of it. Then she made the lateral step to stand between his knees before she lowered herself to the ground, her body flush against his as she sat between his thighs.

The good news about the discussion so far was that she'd had so many things to be self-conscious about already that she'd more or less forgotten to be self-conscious about not wearing a shirt.

"I like this," he admitted, his legs outstretched to either side of her, arms forming a band around her waist, "they call it spooning because it's where you fit your body in real close to someone else like two spoons do in a drawer." It seemed like letting her know what he liked was a good way to start and hopefully, along the way, she'd get her own ideas about things instead of just absorbing all of his preferences. This, though, he was fairly certain she would like. They had become close to one another, holding on tightly to each other while they kissed. The bashful nature she had about being physically near to him had started to fade but that may have been because she was protected by the knowledge that there was a line of conduct he wouldn't cross with her.

"Back home, no one looks like you." He bowed his head to kiss her shoulder. Some of them tanned but they didn't ever have a brown baseline to their skin tone. His fingertips moved over her shoulder and into her inky hair, "But everyone is dark haired, like you. I was so surprised to see red heads and blondes when I came here. I thought it was all hair dye at first."

Layla liked it, too. She'd come to enjoy being close to Jeremy. The freedom to hug him, to hold hands and kiss whenever they wanted no matter who might be watching, to have that considered normal behavior...it was terrifying at first but ultimately it had made her feel validated. The risks she'd run were, still enormous, but every bit of it was worth it for that gentle warmth that seeped into her chest every time Jeremy held her. This was the first time it had happened skin to skin like this, at least since that first aborted attempt. Despite the heat - the summer evening, the fire, the heat of Jeremy's body surrounding her, Layla's skin prickled in goose bumps, the tiny fine hairs on her arms standing straight up. "Spooning," she repeated the unfamiliar word, laying her head back against his shoulder. "I like this, too."

He kissed her shoulder and she tipped her head gently against his, almost a nuzzle. "Back home, everyone looks like me," Layla laughed, that whispered rush of breath with no audible tone. "But nobody looks like you." She went on, turning her face to look up at him above her. "Your eyes are so beautiful to me — they're my favorite color."

"My sister has green ones," he said with a smile, fingers going through her hair as he studied the color, "And hair just as black as yours. When she was little she would wear it in pig tails but....like other girls, she went for the one braid when she was older. I guess the two braids were things only little girls had." Jeremy would not pretend to be an expert on such topics. Female fashion and what it meant was all tricky business as far as he was concerned.

Jeremy's eyes weren't odd because they were blue, but because the blue didn't carry much variation. Instead of peaks of greens or browns or other hues, it was almost entirely solid. The rim did get darker, but the fade was soft and gradual. Had anyone noticed them before they might have just assumed he was wearing colored contacts, the sort that changed someone's eye color but stripped them of nuance. The ultimate affect was that his gaze seemed clear like ultramarine blue water. Certain, unflinching.

He nudged her cheek with is lips again, his arms squeezing her at the compliment, "And I like your skin and your face and your lips. Especially your lips." Another kiss, simple and sweet. His gaze swayed back to the marshmallow on the stick before he looked back at her, "Would you like some real food?" By this point the sun had begun to set and the sky was getting beautiful but dark.

Layla had noticed the uniformity of the color, comparing it sometimes to blue eyed customers who came into the shop. Layla clearly favored the color - it was even in the name of her shop - partially because of the history and mythos around Egyptian Blue. As a young girl, she'd often imagined falling in love with a handsome man with blue eyes, a thing that seemed far-fetched and fanciful in a land of desert dwelling Arabs and Africans who no longer appeared to value falling in love.

Now it didn't seem so far-fetched after all. There was Jeremy, and his eyes were deeply, impossibly, perfectly blue.

The recollection made her smile, her gaze fond as she tried to imagine what his sister might look like, if her eyes were as vividly green as his were blue. Jeremy complimented her and she blushed, answering his kiss anyway with an affectionately chaste one of her own. "...Thank you," she said, amused at how pleasantly awkward it was to be praised for her appearance. "No one has ever said they liked my skin before." Layla was a study in sepia, blacks and browns and reds and very occasional sun-kissed golds.

"They should have." The pigmentation was exotic, but beyond that it seemed softer and less stark than some of the winter-goers. The ones that spent more time at sea than on land. It seemed they dwelled in a world where the sun never rose for months on end. Those were the conditions the fish liked, though, and that drew them there. Jeremy was pale by comparison to her but tan by those of his own people. Agricultural workers were like that, though.

He mentioned food and as if on cue, her tummy rumbled. She was healthy, in shape, but her body carried a softness that was entirely feminine—her abdominal muscles, though powerful and skilled beyond imagination, were invisible, untraceable until they were actively engaged. Giggling a little, she slipped one hand down over his to her lower belly, exactly along the lazy crescent curve where the band of her dancing skirts would sit when she wore them. "...Apparently I would."

He heard her tummy announce its feelings on the matter and grinned, catching the outside of her ear with his teeth in a playful nibble before looking towards the cooler which sat just outside the tent. "We should probably eat the stuff that will expire first. I brought some sirloin for tonight, it's sitting in a marinade. Does the humorous need to be refrigerated?" He meant hummus, of course, but was still having issues with getting that word quite right.

There was another kiss to her neck before his arm tightened, squeezing her abdomen just before he climbed up to his feet. Jeremy was in foraging mode— ready to stalk the evil cooler and prepare the dinner accordingly.

Layla shivered, the reflex brought on as much by the way his skin felt as he moved against her, positioning himself to catch that ear as by the actual nibble. Shoulders squirming a little, they dropped almost immediately when his mouth found her neck, a soft hum leaving her lips before she even realized it.

His butchering of the word for his favorite Egyptian food made her laugh — at this point he was never going to get the name right — and she nodded. "It does not....strictly have to be?" The dish had been invented before refrigeration, after all. "...But it is not good to let it sit out overnight."

Jeremy rose and after a moment she followed him to her feet, joining him near the cooler. "So you want to make the sirloin and we will have the hummus," the correction was there in the way she looked at him, but it was gentle, playful. "What else shall we have tonight' The vegetables, perhaps?" She had cut up some broccoli, carrots and tomatoes to be added to the cooler earlier that morning.

"Hummus," he repeated and perhaps, maybe, the word would stick in his mind. He smiled at her and motioned, crouching by the cooler and the baggies in it, "I also have broccoli but....it's raw and can wait for later if we want," he twisted his head, looking up at her for approval as he also added, "And carrot sticks. So, it's one or the other tonight."

There was his grin, shadowed by the oncoming evening as he judged her face. Dashes of dark hair hit his brow and his smile was an unbreakable thing, waiting for her to give the verdict.

"We should have some vegetables with the dinner," Layla decided, "—if only to put the hummus on." She had pita bread too, of course, but still. Vegetables were an important part of dinner, right' "So let us have....some of them now and some tomorrow." Her grin surfaced and then spread. "We must save room for more marshmallows."

Turning away from him, she slipped out of her shoes again at the mouth of the tent, stepping inside in her socks. She went back to the little kitchen area she'd created when she unpacked, retrieving the pita bread and the bags of cut up vegetables. Sorting through a bag of other items, she stacked a box of tea bags up in her arms with the other items and moved back towards the entrance, repeating her careful balancing act as she stepped back into her shoes.

"Some vegetables," Jeremy repeated after her, though he wasn't entirely sure why she was so set on it. He didn't argue with her or state it should be otherwise, just nod a few times like what she said made perfect sense. Right. Vegetables.

"Marshmallows?" He chuckled, thinking about how much those would end up hurting his stomach. When she turned to fit into her socks he grabbed the metal grill piece and returned to the fire, putting it snuggly atop of the flames until it died into a smolder. This was a bit tricky to do without getting burned and required tactful poking and prodding for the situation to finally come along. Once a sheet of aluminum was laid over the grate and then the raw, soft red steaks placed over it. He figured that Layla had begun the raw veggie preparations.

Jeremy hadn't actually gotten to eat his marshmallow, though! It seemed important that he at least have one. Layla snagged a folded blanket that was sitting by the tent's opening on her way back out, and she stacked the various food items she was carrying on one of the log seats so she could lay the blanket out near the fire. There were a couple of plastic serving plates wrapped up in the blanket, and while Jeremy tended to the meat, she arranged pita bread and cut vegetables around the container of hummus on one of them.

"The marshmallow was good," she insisted when he echoed her. "You did not get to have one and I did not cook one properly. It seems we must try again." This was said playfully, and when she was finished with her arrangements, she stepped over to where he was. Though not exactly clingy, not yet, Layla appeared not to want to be terribly far from him.

"Well, I think I could handle the thought of that a whole lot better if we lost out bottoms." He was meaning their shorts. He gave her shorts a meaningful look and smiled, his hands drawing her into him so that he could hug her body in close when he gave her a kiss. Jeremy was simply an affectionate person. It came to him naturally, more than it did to be conservative about such things. A hand was on each cheek of her bottom as he grinned down at her, "What vegetables did you pick out for us and the hummus?" At least within a short time frame he was able to get the name right!

"Anything for you, princess," he hadn't realized until then why he called her that. He hadn't ever called her that before and it had nothing to do with her being a 'diva' or any such nonsense. It was because of the play, Arabian Nights, and the dressed up princesses that had been there. Layla was that for him, wasn't she"

Her finger turned in the air and he smiled saying, "Really' Oh! Over here." Stepping over to the cut log of wood, he sat down with his back to her. Picking up one of the sticks from the small pile she had made, he put it on their campfire and then grinned at her over his shoulder. Jeremy was too tall for her to be able to reach him properly if he was just standing there. Broad shoulders were drawn back.

The hour that hike up Mount Yasuo was not enough to put him in a torrential sweat, but there was a hint of his body's dew nonetheless. By tomorrow it would be unavoidable.

Layla caught the name, her head tilting curiously. She had a feeling that he was comparing her to Scheherazade, and the thought made her smile. "...Anything?" Questioning the declaration in a playful tone, she laughed silently when he seemed surprised that she was willing to do his back, too.

Jeremy moved away to sit down, and she followed him with her bottle in hand. The scent of lemongrass was distinctive, a spicy citrus that— to Layla, at least—was reminiscent of some of her favorite foods. It was as much a flavor as a scent, and it was soon to be all over them. The taste might have been too sharp for Jeremy on a normal basis, but it certainly beat chemical bug spray, and smelled better too.

Rubbing more of the liquid over her hands, Layla ran them over his back in long, easy strokes, her fingers following the knobby ridge of his spine, the smooth rippling slopes of ribs, the distinctive sinewy definition of his muscles. When she was finished, she bent at the waist, her hair spilling down over his right arm as she kissed the top of the shoulder halfway between the neck and its end. A smile curved her lips and she did it again.

Better than its smell was its taste. Putting on a chemical spray and then....possibly, probably....intending to commingle would be difficult. It meant that every kiss outside the face would be met with something bitter.

The heat of the fire baked his shins, his knees and face. He could feel the heat of it still his lips, drying them as he watching the flames renew themselves with the stick he had placed there. Her fingers worked over him and there was a point at which a moan of sound vibrated inside him. When she kissed him, when there was a pause of her lips at his flesh he turned his head to look at her, "I like that....but," He twisted his arm back to catch her hand, tugging her towards the front of him, "I'd like it more if you sat on my lap and did that."

He caught her hand and she let him, rounding the angle of his knee at his insistence. When she stood before him, it took her a moment to figure out what to do next, how to go about sitting on him as requested. Hesitating as she thought about it, Layla caught herself studying his face in the firelight. The tangy taste of lemongrass and the salt of his body were both still on her lips, and she licked them to savor it again. "You taste good," she said with a little smile.

"I'll taste better when you're not standing," he encouraged, leaning forward to catch her behind the knee. The pressure of his fingertips curled around the soft backside of her knee. He tugged her forward and in until, like a colt learning to walk, she came to settle her bottom at the edges of his knee. Wanting her closer of course, he put both hands at her lower back and pulled her towards him, spreading her legs further apart as she settled into his lap, "That's better."

Dragging her closer, it seemed Jeremy was going to answer the how of it for her, and for that she was grateful despite how awkward it was to take that position. Facing him, Layla sat where she was guided, straddling him face to face.

A strangely pleasant knot forming somewhere just behind her navel, she settled there, her breath shallow. The heat of the fire warmed her back, her body cast his face mostly in shadow but for the bright dance of flame mirrored in the corners of those incredible blue eyes.

Her nerves tingled - the novelty of it all was heady and intoxicating. There had been that one time on his couch when she'd been in her bra and panties with Jeremy over her, nestled between her legs. But he'd had on pants then, and his body had been something of a shield, suspended as it had been above her. This, though— the pants were gone, the layers of fabric remaining between them suddenly felt terribly thin — and she was perched on top of him, her thighs split wide around his hips. On display, exposed.

Trying to steady herself, Layla smoothed the backs of her fingers gently over his cheek, the other arm hooked lightly over his shoulder. She shivered once, and it had both everything and nothing to do with her lack of clothes or the night air.

"How's this?" his hands moved up her thighs but stopped politely at the outskirts, not moving that final breath to her bottom to grip her inappropriately. Instead, his hands gave pause, his smile there for her whenever she needed to see it.

It only occurred to him, seconds after the fact, that this was a "first" for her. That maybe there had never been another lap that she crawled into and that was why there was some coaxing necessary. His lips moved up, pressing at the nearest protrusion of her throat, down the esophagus to the part where the clavicle met and dipped down in a gentle, night-shadowed valley.

The smile was reassuring, and his hands felt nice on her legs. Even the way she was seated there, the heat of his body mingling with the heat of the fire, spreading up from her legs and down through her arms. It was intimate in a way she'd never experienced before. Layla nodded, her voice thick when she forced herself to speak. "This is....really nice."

His mouth found her throat and the sound that left her lips was a soft one, somewhere between a hum and a moan as she tipped her head back. Her fingers curled harmlessly into the meat of his shoulder - no talons on this one, she worked with her hands too much - and her eyes closed as he found that hollow just beneath it. "Um. That is....really, really nice."

"It is," he agreed, arms wrapping around her. The smell of lemon grass was intense because of the heat-sweat brought on by the fire. He smiled up at her, glancing towards the food and then back to her, "Would you like to eat before the meat gets cold or..." He had an idea that she was happy not moving an inch from where she was. Well, perhaps she was willing to move an inch or two.

"So the thing about you and your body is..." he bit his lower lip and then released it, looking up at her with the kindest expression that he could manage, "women have different orgasms than men. Different types and different strengths..."

Glancing over her shoulder at the food, Layla's gaze was slow in traveling back to Jeremy, dragging over his frame as it lifted gradually to his face. Her lips pursed thoughtfully, her dark eyes alive with all the new sensations, experiences, and even information as he explained about....orgasms. Even just the thought of it kind of made her shiver, an alien concept whose various descriptions were bewildering in absence of actual experience.

"...I..." The girl shook her head, brows furrowing. "I am not sure I understand. But I....suddenly do not feel particularly hungry, either." A little flicker of a smile as her throat went dry in anticipation.

His knowledge was largely due to where he came from and the way his people could share experiences. Jeremy would have to admit that there were some differences in what an orgasm was like for him, but it lacked the variation that was more dramatic with women. There were body orgasms, "G" spots, vaginal and clitorial. Hundreds of names to describe the nuances and feelings that arouse from them.

Had he known, her assignment before camp would have been more personal exploration. There was a smile when she said she didn't understand and he shrugged, just a bit. She was content on his lap so he didn't move her. He let her lounge, as relaxed as she liked, over his thighs. Part woman, part sensual twine.

Even given the assignment, Layla might not have had the courage to go through with it. It would just have to be something they figured out together. Jeremy didn't elaborate, and she didn't press him on it. She was pretty taken with the simple act of sitting together like this, for the time being.

Her finger moved slowly over his torso again, tracing the line of his clavicle all the way out from his throat to the shoulder joint and back. Layla had spent so much time tracing that particular line that she practically knew it by heart. It was a touchstone of sorts, a way of grounding herself when her heart began to race.

Leaning forward in his lap, she recalled what he'd said to guide her into that space in the first place, that he would like it better if she was sitting on him. Experimentally, then, the girl placed her mouth in the same spot as before, not quite halfway between the neck and the shoulder, where the trapezius muscle lifted away from the body. Kissing the lemony skin there, she lingered, pressing a handful of little dots of affection along that ridge.

On impulse, her tongue made a soft swipe then, tasting the mixture of hormones, exertion, fire smoke and mountain air there, all overlaid with the soft bite of spices from home.

If she was searching for a sign of approval, it was there in how his hands came to rest atop her thighs and squeeze. There was more than that, though. He liked the way her hands drew over his skin, moving like she was memorizing him like she did her clay. He wondered about that, if there were thing she wished her hands could correct or if she was just memorizing him for something else.

Her lips touched down, but to him it didn't feel tentative or uncertain. It was by experimenting that it came off somewhat like a light tease over his skin.

The smell of the cooked steaks was not far off, that combined with the scent of the scent of the bonfire gave the moment the sense of being home, of being secure and taken care of. Her cheek grazed his as she pulled back at length. Lifting dark eyes to his, her smile was on the shy side. The way his hands had moved over her legs and squeezed, the way his breath had spilled down her back in a slow, even rush, it all seemed to indicate that he had enjoyed the contact. Even so, Layla looked for confirmation.

Finding it in his eyes, her smile blossomed, growing in the flicker of firelight. She squeezed his shoulders gently with her fingers, draping them lightly around the back of his neck. She swallowed, searching for something to say or do next, and when no other ideas were forthcoming, she traced the corner of his mouth with her thumb and then leaned in to kiss him again.

"So many jobs," was his promise, soft and sweet, when he looked at her. The corner of his lips caught up in a half smile before the moment passed. Her legs made an undeniable grip of him and the noise was not shouldered out by anything other than the backstage music of the crickets. One more kiss to the curse of her breast, the comfortable curve of it, before he reached over, stabbed a cut of the steak and eating it before he offered up a follow up tasting of it for her.

He said that she had jobs now too, but didn't elaborate as to what those jobs might be. Then again, Layla had more or less lost that train of thought altogether, caught up as she was in the sensation of Jeremy's mouth. The girl shivered, a lick of flame colored heat flushing both cheeks.

Then almost as quickly as the moment had escalated, it settled back again. Jeremy was helping himself to a bite of steak—until exactly that second, Layla had forgotten all about the steak— and then offering her a bite as well. The girl giggled soundlessly, shook her head. She slipped one hand free of his shoulders to reach for the utensil.

He ate the bite that was meant for her. It wasn't by accident that their intimacy had pauses in between it. Jeremy was trying to be careful, to go about the task of unwrapping her from her predispositions while also giving her time to know she was comfortable with it happening. She moaned and encouraged, but he knew all too well that it could turn around. That there could be insecurity or some reminder of home that made her second guess it. Mention of food, of jobs, of whatever small talk he could think of....well, it was all "smoke breaks" between the moments of intimacy.

She reached for the utensil and he reared back on his knees, hooking the elastic band of her panties and working it down to her knees. This required some backward shuffle to make room. Either she would take the hint and slip a foot out from the constraint or his hand would drop, gently directing her to do so.

Denied, Layla let her outstretched hand fall to her side. Making no attempt to spear a piece for herself, she relinquished her hold on the empty utensil, abandoning any illusions about them actually having dinner.

Confirmation came when he gently tugged the fabric of her underwear over the sharp curve of her hip and down to her knees. Drawing herself up on her elbows, there were chunks of heavy black that fell into her eyes as she bent the one leg to facilitate the removal of the rest of the fabric from her body.

When the garment was slipped from her foot, Layla's heart was in her throat as she found herself completely naked in the presence of another person for the first time ever.

"Well?" he reminded her" There was still a plate of steak she could stab at, if she wanted to. What was the reminder, what was he talking about' Jeremy smiled and then moved, lounging on his side by her, kissing her on the cheek and then dropping his gaze back to his waist. He was referring to, of course, that he had said they would undress one another. It was up to Layla, then, to make sure that both of them were naked in the tent. Beyond that, it allowed her to 'slow things down' if necessary.

Oh, she remembered what he'd said, though she didn't realize at first that he was referring to it again with that 'well'. She thought, perhaps, that he was asking her how she was doing with everything so far, or something about the food. Layla was trying to figure out which, to formulate a response either way, when Jeremy moved away and then back, repositioning himself beside her. There was that deliberate downward sweep of his gaze, and suddenly she understood.

Still, the prospect was daunting. Layla sat up, and the feeling of the air moving over her exposed flesh reminded her that she was completely naked, alone with a man. A man who was waiting for her to finish undressing him. She could feel her heart pounding in her ears, and she swallowed once, her mouth feeling dry. Lifting her hands to her ponytail, the girl gently pulled the band free, letting it fall loose around her shoulders. For some reason that seemed to help, gave her the illusion of a veil to hide behind.

He was watching her face, the way it moved and then lit up with the true understanding of what he meant. There was his smile for her, as there always was. This one was more tender, though, and a small stab of guilt inched into the back of his mind. She'd asked that he take the lead and direct a bit more. In some ways, this felt a bit too commanding, as if she was trembling in the wake of an order instead of smiling along with the fulfillment of a suggestion. That was to be expected, though. Everything was new and her hesitation was not born from a place his oppressing her, but newness. Like with kissing, he reminded himself that she would grow comfortable with it. That it would become something she gave not a thought to and enjoyed.

Weathering the moments of her hesitation was harder than he thought it would be. He made sure to keep smiling for her.

Her dark locks dripped down, partly obscuring her. He could tell it was a curtain she was trying to wrap herself in, maybe so she wouldn't feel so exposed. For the time being, he didn't push her about it. He realized he hadn't said anything and that maybe he ought to. His tongue stuck out just enough to wet his lips before he spoke, "You're doing just fine."

Whatever hesitation she felt had absolutely nothing to do with Jeremy himself. Every bit of this had been her idea— the decision to go 'camping' together in the first place, the suggestion that he 'lead' so that they weren't left floundering in the wake of her inexperience. It was simply that every passing minute marked a new first, a novel situation: and as much as she wanted this, it was still a daunting thing to overcome years of training.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Layla turned towards him, flashing an answering smile. The words of encouragement she accepted with a little nod — more in gratitude than agreement. "I am so..." She blushed pink, taking a moment to pull off her socks since she still had them on, and somehow that felt inexplicably ridiculous in the moment. "...I feel very excited and also very shy." A pause. "And also dumb for feeling shy." Her smile was earnest, though, and Layla turned towards him again, rolling onto her side as she very suddenly pressed her mouth to his, kissing him deeply.

Because there had been a time not so long ago that kisses made her feel shy, too. Now she craved them. While they were kissing, she slid one hand down the length of his torso, hooking her fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs at last.

"You're adorable," he smiled, watching her cheeks hint with pink over the light brown color of her skin. It made them seem darker for a moment, fragile and uncertain. With the confession released he thought that she might roll back to her knees, take a breath and begin an casual conversation. Something about the weather or whether or not the hummus was any good. Jeremy was anticipating the retreat so much that her mouth against his came as a surprise. Feeling it move against him, her tongue slide against his, one of his hands cradled the side of her face.

His eyes were shut when he felt her hand catch his waistband and work up the moxy to draw it down. His free hand moved, gently brushing the back of his fingers over her breasts and then down, curling around her thigh as a means to broadcast his intention.

Finding the moxy took a moment, her body once again overly responsive to his touch, her chest rising into the gentle stroke of his fingers. It came, though, building up to a point where she pushed down, her wrist snapping back as the stretchy fabric caught on the angles of his body.

She had to redirect, her hand slipping underneath the elastic and then spreading over his hip so as to clear the angle there. The movements were clumsy, fumbling, a new born fawn learning to walk on legs that wobbled. Breaking from the kiss at last, Layla left another small one on his lips before she pulled back enough to look down, to figure out what the obstruction might be.

Tucking her other leg underneath her once he was finished with it, Layla lifted her head from where it had dropped back between her shoulders to see what he was doing. Her gaze leveled just in time to see him laying down again, to feel the curling of his hand around the ball of her shoulder and the gentle tug that followed.

She took a breath, reversing the angle at which her weight was balanced. Resisting, she turned away from him long enough to move the mostly untouched food —she'd never actually had any of the now cold steak—aside so she could lay back down beside him unobstructed.

A shrug moved over her as she tucked herself awkwardly into his side, laying her head on his chest the way the pull of his arms seemed to want her to. "I liked the freedom of it. Learning new things gave me more independence."

"What were your favorite classes?" One of his hands moved through her ink hair, straightening it so that it would lay in long, organized rivers down her back. He could feel her adjust into his side, trying to make sense of it, and realized that they hadn't spent much time cuddling. He would hold her and they would kiss goodbye, but because he'd never spent the night with her she had never had to sort out where her spot was against him when they were lying down.

Jeremy had seemed pretty dead at against it, in fact, except in short doses, until very recently. It wasn't a thing Layla had been conscious of at the time: she noticed it only in retrospect, in the contrast that had happened since. It was also that it still felt a little awkward, this 'after' period, to be laying together naked in the front room of the tent, without blankets and pillows or anything. Right now, everything was an adjustment for her.

"...Math," said Layla with a faint smile bidden by his recent confession of disliking the same subject. "And history."

Jeremy never thought of being naked as an adjustment, but he had the ability to understand that being naked with him was a challenge for her from a time before, when she'd slipped out of some of her clothes with him. Not having her that night was difficult, but he was largely reassured by the fact that it wasn't done in an attempt to taunt him. Layla wasn't a flirt, she wasn't a tease. She was just progressing with things at a rate that made her comfortable.

At the admission of loving math he groaned, his arm squeezed her like she just admitted that her cat was dead and needed a hug, "I'm so sorry," but there was a grin on his lips, anyway, before he added, "I like history but mostly the war history. Like who fought who and how they did it and where and why. It's really fascinating."

Layla hadn't the first clue what he was apologizing for, and given the angle of her position, she couldn't see his grin. Confusion wrote itself like a signature across her furrowed brow, but she let it go, looking without really seeing the expanse of his chest underneath her cheek. She watched the gentle rise and fall of his breath. "I like the history of my country before it became what it is now," she said quietly, thinking of the pyramids and the wealth of knowledge buried underneath them.

"What is the history of it like?" Layla often mentioned her country seeming to have a fall from grace. That it had become less when at one moment there had been so much promise for the future. What, exactly, was that promise" His fingers combed through her hair again as a reminder kicked in, "You still owe me a belly dance, you know." He remembered how bashful she had been at the thought of it as well as the conversation about it.

Jeremy's chest expanded enormously and then fell with his exhale. Turning his head, he tried to spy where the carrots and hummus had gone to and whether or not they were within reach of him,

"A lot of my world's most important history comes from my country," said Layla quietly. She had the arm underneath her crossed over her chest, and after a moment she laid her top arm over his. It was a small thing, but she was new to cuddling, and this was the final piece that made the position he'd chosen make sense. It was strange to consider how insignificant that history was when you got outside of Egypt, much less away from Earth. And here was Jeremy, who was neither from this land nor Earth, and to him it couldn't possibly be a relevant detail, this footnote in the narrative of a foreign world he would likely never see.

"We were some of the first people on my world to have things like writing and math," she went on, her voice soft, her smile dim. "Not the only culture, as we liked to believe, but....one of a very few that were scattered very far apart. When the rest of the people on my world were living in huts and surviving off what they could scavenge, the people of Egypt were building pyramids and —supposedly, anyway — communing with the gods. There are whole cities that are under the sea now, washed away before many of the countries that exist today were even formed." Her smile turned wistful. It occurred to her that Jeremy wouldn't know what a pyramid was, and she reminded herself to show him later. "The country was ruled by powerful Pharaohs—some of which were even women. Maybe even the most famous one." Maybe that was the crux of why she liked it — a more enlightened, equitable age than the one she found herself living in. Funny, then, that the age in question also featured actual slaves.

"My country was beautiful once. It is still, in its way, but the religion that dominates it now stifles what we once were." Jeremy's fingers were in her hair and she fell silent - it was too big, too complex an undertaking to try to make him see what she was saying. He asked about belly dancing, and even now - laying in his arms with the blood of their intimate encounter still drying on her thighs - the girl blushed. "I do not recall owing you any such thing," said Layla shyly, with a modest little shake of her head.

He sighed, and she shifted on his chest, thinking it was perhaps an indication that she should move. Recalling suddenly that they were only just joking about how he couldn't sit still for long. To that end, she shifted away from him, ducking underneath his arm as she moved onto her back so she could sit up. As she moved, Layla saw where he was looking and solved the problem for him, stretching herself out as she balanced on one elbow to snag the plate and bring it closer for him.

There were plenty of things he did not know. She was right about the pyramids. He guessed that they were some sort of building, just from the context of how she mentioned them. Building pyramids. Building....something tall and monumental. There was mention of gods but he got that same amused, uncertain look about his face as before. Jeremy and where he came from wasn't incredibly modern and their beliefs on life was, in many ways, tragically uneducated. In other respects, they were far reaching. They didn't have sexism or racism, but they were xenophobes for those outside their planet. They didn't have a lot of variety, everyone being lighter-skinned with dark hair. Most of the time their eyes were light colored, variations of greens and blues.

"I'm sorry that your home isn't what you hoped it would be..." he had never thought of his life as being more or less compared to the cultural era that came before it. Innovation was slow so his father's generation and his did not have many differences. Healthcare had improved as well as art and foreign relations. That didn't do much to affect the day-to-day life of a coffee bean farmer.

"I recall it clearly!" There may have been some exaggeration to that. He watched the soft blush crawl her cheeks and then leaned in, kissing the corner of her mouth before she adjusted. Jeremy was restless. It was hard to imagine he could study for very long or stay focused on a test. But give his hands something to do' It put everything into focus. Being active was like focusing the stare of a microscope.

When Layla sat up he was about to protest but then she brought food over. Beyond being restless, he was usually snacking on things. An eternal seventeen-year-old with activity and metabolism. He rolled to his side, one foot moving over to capture hers. There was his smile, though, playful and at ease with her, "Not going to feed me?"

Layla raised her brows at him skeptically. I recall it clearly' Right. What she'd said was that he could look it up on the internet sometime if he wanted to, though there were huge differences between what she did and....some of what was available on the internet (That, too, had been an eye-opening foray into using Rhydin's primary search engine...)

She retrieved the platter of carrots and pita bread triangles, the little container of hummus still balanced in its center, and set it down in the space that had opened up between them when he rolled onto his side and she moved altogether. At his question, the girl shook her head. "You mean like you fed me?" She asked with a tilt of her head, glossy black spilling down over her shoulder, curtaining her chest. She was referring, of course, to the way he'd helped himself to both bites of the steak earlier.

"Yes, I like being fed. It's intimate. I like being fed and bathed and also doing it in return. It feels like you're taking care of someone you love." Jeremy's smile wasn't broad but present and soft, head lulling to the side to rest on his shoulder after he spoke. Though there was something about her, a bit teasing, that told him she was giving him a hard time about something. His eyes widened and his head lifted off of the shoulder, "I offered! It had to be enjoyed by someone before going cold."

His foot tugged hers over further until it was his ankles that had hers captured over to them. There was one flicker of a glance downward at her breasts, innocent nipples relaxed and still basking in the warmth housed in their tent.

The first part of his explanation was sweet, but it also confused her. The bathing thing caught her attention first—it wasn't something she'd put any thought into yet. The idea of bathing with others wasn't particularly strange to her, oddly enough, but bathing with a man was. Was that something that married people did" Layla had no idea - no one had said anything in those whispered conversations, and she hadn't thought to ask.

The feeding thing he'd mentioned before, but his subsequent actions had suggested otherwise. He'd initially informed her that it was his job to feed her, but then when he speared the steak, he'd eaten it himself instead of sharing it with her. She'd even reached for it!

"...You did not!" Protested Layla when he said that he'd offered. Her dark eyes widened and then narrowed, full lips pulled into a pout. "When I reached for it you denied me and ate it yourself instead."

"You shook your head no! I was respecting your....head...shaking." Jeremy laughed, his blue eyes amused that she was trying to call him into question on the matter. Reaching down, he moved a carrot stick like a match over the hummus and then held it, no more than an inch, away from her lips, "I thought you were trying to say you'd become a vegetarian." Though he had wondered at it before up until they had gotten the sandwiches together. Still, anyone could wake up and become a vegetarian as of that day, that moment.

Layla was on the verge of a hummus lip-tap if she didn't eat up his offer.

There was something different in the way their mouths came together now, to be sure. The way her fingers seemed to press in as they moved over his skin, drawing invisible lines as they went. It was there in the way he squeezed her thighs, drawing her closer, more flush against him. There was an intensity to it that had become more vibrant, its colors filling in.

She was breathless when she pulled away from him, ready to recant immediately but Jeremy seemed to rally behind the idea. Her smile surfaced, her eyes like cinnamon, their heat deceptive. "See you soon?" She whispered, pressing one last kiss to his lips before she planted her hands on his broad shoulders, using them to lift herself to her feet.

"Yes and yes," he kissed her, catching those lips in a lightning contact before she went beyond his reach. Once she had risen fully he made no effort of concealing the once-over her gave her body. There was a grin and then he excused himself with, "What' You're pretty....amazingly sexy." With that he managed to grab his boxers, the plate of meat, and slipped out of the tent. It was easier to deal with possible strangers so long as he was wearing something.

The fire had been somewhat tame and small to begin with and was now only a suggestion, a small stream of grey curling up in the air from a bed of subdued coals. He hunted down the original rank before flopping the meat back onto it.

Jeremy was staring, and the heat it raised in her bloodstream was intoxicating. It was amazing, the difference that single, mostly painful encounter had made: Layla had a whole new appreciation for the intent behind that gaze, its implications. She smiled at the compliment, her gaze moving over him in kind as he stood. "...So are you."

She stood there watching him until he'd slipped out of the tent. Only then did she turn away, moving into the third, deeper chamber where their clothes and the blankets and things were still just stacked in piles. The girl made short, methodical work of unfolding and spreading out the blankets, layering them one on top of the other to make them a soft pallet for a bed. She arranged the small pillows near one end, stacked his clothes on one side and hers on the other.

Glancing around the small space, Layla tried to think of ways to make it prettier, more appealing. There weren't any, not really - you don't exactly bring decorations along when you're camping - but in truth the girl was just stalling anyway. At last, she went to the small stack of her clothes and toiletries that were piled up neatly to one side, her fingers riffling through another pair of pants, a couple of shirts, more socks, to find the items she'd concealed there just after he'd packed her bag for her.

With a nervous little thrill of anticipation, her cheek clamped firmly in her teeth, Layla dressed quickly to meet him outside. 'Dressed' was a loose term- she quickly pulled on the skirt made of a translucent turquoise gauzy material, gossamer light and flowing like water. An opaque scarf in thick, royal purple draped her hips tying along the inner ridge of her right hip to keep her decent. The top was essentially just a bra, low cut with scalloped edges, in that same turquoise shade. There was a jeweled broach at its center, tucked just underneath the swell of her breasts. Deft fingers moved swiftly over the outfit, ensuring that everything was secured correctly, and then she rose to join him.

Licks of his dark hair were forward, over his brow and acting like a visor for what remained of the daylight. It wasn't quite time for sunset but the sky was hinting at pinks and oranges beyond the darker silhouettes of the tree branches. He was on one knee, leaned over their small fire. He had found a few more rocks to better border it and had swept sticks and leaves further away. The flame looked like it had more purposeful housing and perhaps some of this was to make it safer and more appealing for Layla. Perhaps it was that effort, as opposed to a prearranged posh hotel room, that made it beautiful. They did the best they could for each other, even when there was no cost to do it.

Jeremy only knew she was stepping out of the tent because of the sound of the zipper running along its track. He was focused on the meat at that moment, turning it over and then he turned to say something to her about it. He was going to say something about how it was going to be medium instead of medium rare when he saw her, wrapped up in sheer layers in a type of garb he had never seen before. If he hadn't, why was it familiar" Oh! It came to him, then. The discussion of her dancing, of what the women wore and looking it up on the internet. When he understood what was happening his lips broke into the sort of smile that made his eyes squint. His head made a short jerk to the side to push his bangs from his eyes.

"You look like the women in the play we saw just....a lot more..." he wanted to say beautiful, but it felt as if that word was losing potency. It was all he could do to communicate with her. She was a lot more....lovely....pretty....sexy....he was wishing for a way to say it to her, deciding on, "everything."

The outfit wasn't particularly elaborate. Still, its hues were bold against the cool amber of her skin, seeming almost to insinuate little hints of color into otherwise dark eyes. It bared her midriff from just beneath her breasts to the crest of her hips, the 'waist' band of the skirt tracing a half moon crescent shape across her lower belly. Her feet were still bare, her wrists and ankles devoid of the chiming brass bells she would normally wear to complete it.

Layla moved forward, her steps chosen carefully in the fading light to ensure that she didn't put her foot down on anything sharp, joining him at the fire. Her smile was a shy one, seeming to grow deeper as her struggled for words. "...Everything is good, yes?"

It was still unfamiliar to him. Outside of what he saw at the play, Jeremy had no ability to know that it was a plainer attire. In fact, he found it exotic and elaborate, anyway. Her top was definitely revealing, something which he considered odd and contrary for her culture. Women were meant to be demure and in colorful bras and sheer clothes" Or was this her old culture, the part she spoke so fondly of, fighting in the shadows of a new social regime"

What he did know was that it was beautiful and that he liked the colors against her skin as much as the way it showed off her figure. Layla was feminine, her curves undeniable and usually guarded. When she stepped up to him, her feet checking her steps, he reached out to run his hands on the outside of her arms, "More than good. Fantastic?" Language was failing him and it seemed every word he tried was a miserable shadow of what he meant. Still, he was smiling and she wasn't cross with him.

It was a strange dichotomy to be sure - Layla couldn't possibly have blamed him for being confused. She found it confusing too, frankly, and just one more in a dozen reasons that the claustrophobic press of society at home had proven too much for her.

Her nerves felt tingly where he touched her, skin crawling with electricity. It was yet another first- letting him see this side of her - and her breath was caught in her throat for every step she'd taken towards him. Jeremy's reaction did a lot to soothe her, though, that smile - even the way he tripped clumsily over his words. Her gaze downcast, Layla ran her fingers lightly over his exposed stomach. "I am glad you like it."

"Is there still a chance to see the dance you were talking of before?" His voice crawled in close and careful, without the insinuation that he believed she dance because he asked and that the outcome was settled. With Layla, some things had been in steps while others, like this weekend trip, felt more like a semi-impulsive adventure. They hadn't spent weeks planning and saving up for it, just a few days of preparation and then they were there.

There was one step back as if to give her space. It didn't really occur to Jeremy that she might need music to feel comfortable. His eyes widened, "Oh! The food!" He leaned in, kissing her on the cheek before he turned, crouching down and picking the grate off the fire to set it aside. It was possible that the steaks were now done for but he wasn't going to cry over their loss. Instead, he turned back to it, clapping his hands off on one another as he stood back up, "I may have botched the whole....dinner bit," there was a smile to her, obviously glancing her over before he spoke, "But I was distracted."

Her brows raised at his question, her cheeks heating. The pink blush over her darker skin had a bronzing effect that was only enhanced by the fire light, and she raised both shoulders in a little shrug. "I" do not know if I am brave enough to do that, too, but maybe?" Perhaps the wine he'd brought would come in handy after all.

Jeremy remembered the food, and Layla also stepped back to give him room to maneuver the grate thing from the flames. Even if they were overcooked, Layla had hot sauce she could fix it with — that is, if dinner actually became feasible this time. "I am sure it will be fine," she reassured him as he looked her over, one hand moving to rest lightly on his arm. "Even if you are distracted."

"I don't suppose that hummus is an appetizer and a meal?" There was a light head shake of disappointment for himself, not at all pleased about what had become of the meat. He hadn't smelled it burning, though, so it was perhaps his fear was premature.

She said she wasn't sure if she was brave enough and that surprised him, somewhat. Perhaps dancing for someone was a bit intimate, but she had been dancing for years. His head tilted to the side as he thought about it, again feeling like he didn't fully understand her culture or how it worked. What he did know was that it was to his benefit. The ghostly, colorful cloth, the dip of her belly and the way she still smelled like sex caught his attention and held him there. The meat might very well grow cold again if showing restraint was dependent on him.

"It can absolutely be a meal, but I am sure the meat will be alright. I brought some things I can add to it if you do not like it by itself." Her smile was a reassuring one as she stepped closer to him, lifting that one hand off his forearm to smooth her thumb lightly over his brow, as though trying to actually erase or at least soften the furrowed lines there.

He was looking at her in that way again, the way he'd been looking at her just before he'd pushed into her the first time, and Layla held his gaze, feeling brave. Or braver, anyway. "Or we can just drink enough wine that it will not matter?"

"The meat won't matter and maybe we'll dance?" Then he recalled that belly dancing was, in fact, not a two-person event. It was just the woman doing it, sometimes in ways that seemed complex and overly choreographed. He corrected, "Maybe you'll dance." Beyond those few details, Jeremy knew little else about it. He had done some reading on it, honestly because he thought her bashfulness on the subject meant that it was something considered as lewd as prostitution. After a moment like that, knowing what was making her so shy, it made her blushes all that more endearing to him.

Her thumb that had moved over his brow had soothed him, more than he expected. There was a pressure, in many ways, to want today and everything about it to be perfect for her. "Wine and possibly overcooked meat will have to do." This was said in a much more upbeat way, though, not hinting to any internal disappointment.

The motions of her hips were surprising in that he thought of the time she had stretched and the wiggled during the hike, which at the time seemed like an unplanned twist. Now the similarity was apparently. Beyond that, her motions had been conservative with him when they were having sex, which made sense. She was wholly preoccupied with first time pain and experiences, not with expert hip rolls meant to bring him to the edge.

What he'd seen on the internet was dry by comparison. Someone with a stationary cell phone camera twenty feet away filmed it. Sometimes they zoomed in, which made the shaking of their hand more apparent. It all felt far away and impersonal. Perhaps it was that the video seemed to be so many people staring, turning it into a stage performance for a group instead of a personal show. Layla was....well, he could have reached out and easily touched her. The details lost in those far-off images had nothing compared to her skin and the motions of her body. She didn't have fake swords or fire, but Jeremy determined that her "hip work" was better than the small sampling he'd seen. The women in the other videos seemed, at times, to be struggling with the motions which Layla did with greater ease.

There were several swallows of wine taken as he watched her, his eyes following her diligently. There was interest because it was something new and then the appeal of watching her dance. His girlfriend dance. Jeremy smiled at the thought and when she sat, he offered, "I'm really glad you did that for me. It wasn't what I thought, it was even better." Her hand moved forward and was met by the glass. He used his free hand to reach behind himself, planting the palm and lifting up so he could scoot in further towards her.

Taking the glass when it extended out to her, Layla brought it to her lips, taking several swallows —to calm her racing heartbeat, most likely — before she gave him a smile in reply. "I am happy you enjoyed it. I was....very scared." Admitting that last with a little stain of a blush on her cheeks, the girl gave a small shrug of her shoulders.

He said it was better than what he'd expected, and that surprised her. If anything, she'd been concerned that he might find it boring, not half as titillating as what certain corners of the internet might lead a person to anticipate. And just like any artist sharing their most private practice with a new audience for the first time, she had a tendency to over-analyze each piece from a technical perspective. Like how the extreme control she exhibited over her abdominal muscles, able to isolate and move each one individually while the others remained perfectly relaxed and still, might look strange or off-putting.

It didn't occur to her at all how her lover might view the dance as a whole, and not each piece individually, how the skillful roll and drop of her hips might translate to ...certain other activities he was infinitely more familiar with. As Jeremy scooted closer, though, the idea started to form.

"Scared" I like you already and....I don't know enough about belly dancing to be a real critic. I think you looked better than the videos I saw online. It's not like what I've seen before. At home or in Rhy'Din." There was a pause, he lifted his glass in thought and added, "or in the play. They moved but it didn't look like your dancing." Some of them had been dance moves in the play, ones exaggerated so that the audience in the back seats could get a real look. Beyond that, the actresses had kept it simple because they didn't have years to perfect their motions.

From where he had been, the translation of the motion was unavoidable. He could not help but see it, to imagine it being repurposed. Layla was such a strange mix of conservative and experienced. She did not come to him in a large, demure sweater and hidden beauty. If anything, her inexperience had been a surprise and not an expectation. He hit the side of his glass to her like a chime to toast her dancing, "I could watch you every day, which will be good if you need to practice."

Shaking her head with a little smile, Layla sipped more of her wine, which may not have been a good idea considering that she never drank and had barely eaten today. "No, I mean that I have....never done that before in front of a man," she explained, her gaze on his face, "...or anyone, actually, so was not also dancing."

Her mastery of the dance and the inherent skill it required hinted at actual decades of practice, which is why her smile broadened in mirth when he suggested that he might watch 'if she needed' to practice. "I practice every day, Jeremy," Her laugh was soundless, but obvious as their glasses clinked together. "Twice so far today."

"Ohhhhh, is that so' Well, it looks like getting to know you will mean getting to see that more than just for tonight." He leaned in to kiss the corner of her lips, having scooted up close enough to her that their knees were brushing up against one another's. The hint of lemongrass was still on their skin, a soft fragrance that was just as strong as sex and gently mixing with it. Since his left hand was holding his wine glass his right and moved, drawing gently over the thin cloth of her dancer clothes, just at her bent knee.

"Maaaaaaaaybe," said Layla coquettishly, though she did move the wine glass aside, tipping her face into that kiss. "If you are lucky." His hand was on her knee and the girl shifted closer in her own right, bringing her folded legs more directly in contact, lightly overlapping his. She sipped more wine, and each successive swallow brought that smile more easily to her lips, the sparkle more readily to her eyes. She was looking at Jeremy and thinking about her dancing, and all of a sudden, the other applications for the things she could do began to dawn on her.

"If I am lucky' Am I not well behaved?" Finishing off his glass of wine he laid it empty on its side atop the spread-out blanket. Her knees crowded in closer to him which he didn't discourage. The wine was setting her a bit more at ease and he wondered how long it would be until that relaxed air was something that stayed with her, naturally, or if it simply was her personality to be a bit more restrained.

"One day," he said with a smile, drawing his shoulders back, the fingertips of both of his hands crowning her knee in a fingernail pressed circle, "I will take you to my hometown. I think it'd be kinda fun for you to see it." And while they were wary of strangers, it would be easier if Jeremy was there to vouch for her. Beyond that, there were only minor concerns. He had left because of a sense of discomfort, not because they'd sent him away.

It might always be that the dancing girl would always be just that little bit reserved, choosing to observe in careful silence before joining in on something new. There was room, though, for some of that confinement to thaw: the way holding hands and even kissing had become everyday things with time.

It was oddly liberating, perhaps even more so than moving away from Egypt had been, to be sitting here with Jeremy now, finishing a glass of wine. She had danced for him, she had had sex with him, even, and the world hadn't ended. Lightning hadn't struck, God hadn't reached down from heaven to smite her, Jeremy didn't seem to think any less of her. It was that sense of freedom, maybe, that knowing that she didn't have any more secrets, any more rules she could break, that brought fire to the sparkle of her smile.

"That would be nice," Layla acknowledged with a smile, tipping her head towards him as his fingers closed around her knee. "I would like to see where you are from."

"It's a bit rural," he admitted, right hand splaying through the air to illustrate his thoughts, "a whole plantation of coffee trees. They grow about thirty feet up and have these oval, single pointed leaves." This was usually not the image people had when they heard he grew up on a farm. The word 'farm' had been equated to fields of grass-like vegetation that needed to be plowed with a herd of cattle or some other animal. Instead of that, Jeremy and his family had grown up in the midst of a forest of coffee bean trees, all planted an appropriate distance apart to create semi-neat rows for several miles. Different farmers had different tricks that supposedly made their crop better.

"The fruit is about like a cherry with a thick skin. We gather them all up at the end of season. The fruit isn't really that great but if you add enough sugar to it, it doesn't make for a bad wine." There was a look to her glass as he spoke, "not as good as what we're having tonight. A bit more watery and less potent. I'd still bring you some, though," his hands slid from her knees to the middle of her thigh, constricting enough to give a flirtatious squeeze.

She leaned into him, trying to picture the place as he described it. She was familiar with coffee, of course, and had even seen coffee trees — in Egypt, at least. She wondered whether they looked different: different colors, different heights. Her head turned to the side to watch the gesturing of his hands, like she might be able to actually see the picture he was painting.

"I have never had ....coffee wine," Layla said after a moment as his hand made its squeeze. She scooted even closer, twisting her body at an angle so that she could sit more directly next to him as she finished the last of the wine in her glass. Her head felt just a little bit dizzy, and as she rested her head on his shoulder, her gaze cut sidelong at the tray of steak. "...Maybe I should have some food..."

"It's from the fruit so it doesn't taste like coffee at all." He admitted with a small shrug before adding, "Though there are vendors in town I have seen sell some sort of coffee wine. " At the time her head came to his shoulder he turned his head, kissing the bridge of her nose, "I'll go grab it. I'm afraid dinner is....what it is." Another squeeze of her thighs made to prompt her to lift her head up before he climbed up to his feet. Once he had he stood up he stretched his hands over his head with an arch of his back. He stepped away to the fire and crouched down, picking up the grate and bringing it over to where they were. Not just the steaks! He broke away to gather the remainder of the hummus and carrots she'd gotten out and set that beside the steaks.

Sitting cross legged with the grate of meat now between them, he peeled a small bit of the flesh along its grain and then ate it. The meat was cooked a bit more tough than he liked it, but it didn't smack of any burnt charcoal flavor. The next piece he picked and peeled from the base of it he offered up to her mouth, his smile the sort that could open someone up if they weren't prepared for its warmth.

Layla didn't want to move, but she did anyway, the barest hint of a pout on her lips. Jeremy rose and she studied her empty wine glass, watching the way the last rays of sunset reflected off its bowl. He returned with all of the food and she gave him a smile, watching him sort through the meat and taste it.

He didn't seem disgusted, but then Layla was pretty sure he hadn't actually destroyed the food in the first place. When he offered her a piece from his fingers, this time she was very sure not to shake her head for any reason. Lips parted as she bent down to accept that piece, taking it from his hand with her teeth.

"Well" How do you like your meat, anyway' I've always liked a good medium. It's still soft and has flavor, you know?" Meat, apparently, was not something all that different from where he came from. He ended up glancing at their wine glasses and then looking at her, "Another?" Between the two of them, they'd finish off the bottle that way. He lifted up his hands, illustrating the shine and dark hints of flaked meat on them, "I think it'd be better if you handled the bottle, if you want more."

Broad shoulders were curved forward as he continued to pick at the meat. This was not how he intended to do it, but steak knives had been forgotten. He had the regular sort but had decided that doing it this way was slightly less awkward than to attempt to cleave meat with an instrument with the same abilities of a butter knife. His fingers were too thick to look like they were meant for piano or a sophisticated stringed instrument. Jeremy would have made a suitable drummer, though.