(( rped with Kate (shifting sands). Thank for the rp!))
Text to Robert: its Tuesday
Text to Kate: the door's unlocked on Tuesdays.
Text to Robert: good, need you to come out of the door and get in car
Text to Robert: meet me at this address: 151 Woodrow Lane
Text to Robert: bring robe
This was against the rules, wasn't it? Right day, wrong place. It wasn?t a surprise to him, though. Robert drew in a breath, looking out one of the exhibit windows. Looking down at the latest message, though, the corner of his lips twisted in an inevitable smile. Damn it.
Robe in tow, he was in his hatchback, a cigarette furiously worked to the end of its life on the drive to the said location. A cemetery? This seemed like a mockery or, perhaps, a kink. With the robe draped over an arm, he stepped out of the hatchback and towards the vertical grey stones bordered by blackish-looking grass at night.
It was overcast, drizzling on and off, with the temperatures dropping to match the cold and blustery weather. Kate's hands were in her pockets, huddled against a mausoleum while watching a funeral take place a couple of hundred feet away. It was a big'n, at least fifty people gathered like crows on a body, pulling together as if that would beat out the cold brought on the chill wind that traveled up coats and skirts alike, skated its icy fingers down the backs of collars to make one shiver no matter how much you were bundled up. Not even Kate was immune to it, steaming breath barely visible. A fifth of vodka was keeping her warm and company, serving double duty while she waited for Robbie to show. If he showed.
After checking her phone for the twelfth time, she glanced around, wishing he'd hurry up.
It was the peak of neon pink in her clothes that 'gave her away' when he arrived, but he came with a wind on uncertainty, "What are you doing here?" Said it like a displeased father finding out his daughter was sneaking out at night. Clearly, Robert had been quite the solitary creature for a long time. What he did, and how he did it, didn?t come with the ease of someone who was used to company.
Would she have known, as a stranger, that a static snapping preceded him? Robert's hazel eyes moved uncontrollably over his shoulder to the gathering and then back to her.
The same sort of electric popping that happened when they had sex the first time? Careful, Robert, your ardor is showing. She spotted him as he made his way over to her, smiling and waving him closer, even though he was already on his way. Go Captain Obvious. Once he was close enough, she stage-whispered a, "Hey," and then pointed to the crowd some distance off. "Eh? You like? I thought that would be a good-sized meal for you. Well, I hoped, anyway. At best, a filling snack. Are there creamy insides? Please tell me you taste creamy insides." His sour mood was ignored completely.
"Hey," grabbing a fistful of jacket to get his attention back to her. "If you keep looking over there all worried, someone is going to notice that faster than anything else. Now, what's the burr up your butt?"
"What?" Stage whispering back, the crowd and what was happening impossible to ignore. Along with the not-sex, it was practically a reflex that he pinned her up against the white-faced mausoleum. It was more than a filling snack, it was an eletric charge of what he needed being injected into his veins. Into his breathing, unexpectedly. Robert never seemed so pained, or miserable. Such was his status quo. How very British.
"I've not done this with anyone," a correction, a racist one, but one none the less, "like you before." He meant that maybe on some other nights he and some demons messed around on tears or howling loses of humans. In his defense, that was decades ago. It was a bit disconcerting to have one of mankind's own (sort of) corral his body, and indeed, his hard-on, close to her while loved ones wept.
Was he feeding already? It was hard to tell, he still looked vaguely panicked but then he was sandwiching her between cold stone and a hard body. Well that was unexpected. She pushed at his shoulders, trying to back him up a minute. "Robbie, you ain't ever met anyone like me, I can guaran-damn-tee it. But slow the fuck down for a minute. Did you...do your thing?" waving a hand at the grieving throng. "What is it like? Are you full or something? Got an extra spring in your step?"
"Is this an experiment?" A breath sucked in, a breath's body distance from her. He reached into his jacket pocket, the flint and flame sparking between his thumb and forefinger with a new cigarette between his lips. Smoke inhaled. Felt just like home.
"I'm not full." He blinked at her, forgetting at times that this wasn't obvious to her, "I don't... get to be full. I feed on sorrow." That was explanation enough before his hand waved over the graves, over those gathered in grief. He was leaned in close, engaging in that stage-whisper she had employed, "As much as you have ever ached, did ever feel that there was more?"
"Not really," her tone slightly defensive. Not really an experiment, it helped him, right? Feeding a demon couldn't be a bad thing in Kate's book, since it was something he said he'd die without. That would be a bad thing. See? She was helping!! Don't be so negative. "I just wanted to watch," shrugging her shoulders, shrugging off his question. "You said it was just breathing." But maybe he glowed or something? She squinted at him, just in case she missed it in the ambient glare from the clouds.
She, too, leaned close while eyeing the widow and her kids. Maybe kids. Could be gaggle of underage lovers, who knew these days? "More what? More ache to be found? More of whatever made me ache? Use your words."
A low heat and an electric crackle were the quiet, subtle cues his feeding amounted to. She hadn't touched his skin enough to realize he was warm, but she felt it other signs of it. The tension of a static discharge with breaths dragging in longer, pulling the air in through his cigarette so it could settle inside his lungs. As much as he was chastising her, his hazel gaze betrayed his? enjoyment, his approval. It was the sort he didn't want to show. He kept shoving it under a show of indignation. Why was he doing that?
In short, he didn't know.
He leaned in close as a warning, to send her scampering. It would take more than that to make her shake in her boots. She just leaned back, asking questions. The scent of her skin irreparably close to his own.
"More like... food... or sustenance?" She was not his ideal crowd, being that the loss of others was a mere by product of what she did and not the purpose. His weight turned to roll away from her, from the scene of hunched shoulders framing the sounds of tears with a eulogy the priest had used so often the ghosts would complain. Robert was trying to roll away, to hide behind the corner of the mausoleum.
Electric crackles were still pretty cool! Did her hair fan out due to the static? She worked so hard to be frizz-free. And why the hell was he so damn grumpy about this? Robert was leaning toward her one second, scurrying away the next. He really needed to stop hanging around cemeteries. "Hey, what's wrong?" Catching up to him, she caught his arm to stop him in place, trying to get in front of him. "Why do you seem unhappy about this? You're all charged up and can zap some socks together. No one over there even knows and so what? It's like eating fruit - it's gonna grow on the damn tree anyway whether we eat it or not. Those people were gonna be sad, anyway. So, you got a little jolt off it? So what?"
"Kate," He gripped her by the elbows, pinning her up to the solemn face of the mausoleum again, "Usually I sit and read a book and quietly mind my own business, going unnoticed. Everyone is happy," there's cinnamon and copper indignation coupled with the undeniable sense he was battling something off. Did she know? Since stepping onto the grounds, he'd been seeking her out. The robe was somewhere on the ground, lost in the motions of their back and forth.
A glance to the lingering procession before he looked at her, "I'm keyed up to fuck and you're giving me a jolt."
"Robert," mimicking his somber tone even as she was pushed up against the cold stone exterior of the building. Again. "You don't seem very happy," she murmured, more an observation than a judgment. Maybe that was a demon thing? Or came from feeding off so much sadness but he had a gloomy air about him, rather like Eeyore.
The scent of cinnamon was high in the air, Kate tasted it on every breath and it really made her want some coffee. Or maybe clove cigarettes, she hadn't smoked those in a minute. "I think you mean the funeral-goers are giving you a jolt, Pony Boy," winnowing her hand between them to stroke him through his pants. "My my, ready to go, are you? Is that what feeding does for you every time?"
If Robert wasn't a demon, it was hard to say that he would have been sunshine and rainbows. He had a gift at being dry and bitter. It was hard to imagine him being anything but slightly put off all the time as he ashed a cigarette. Demons were definitely not always this way. A succubus or a greed demon tended to be the 'life of the party' far more than one born in the black plague, feeding on the airs of sorrow. He absolutely was the demon version of Eeyore.
As an illusionary demon, his powers were considered so-so. That was because all he did was change the perception of what was going on, sans touch, as opposed to changing the thing itself. In upper management, a dog could be turned into a frog. Those atoms of the cosmos, of God, would be rearranged. For Robert, though? He just made the perception of it change, which was infinitely easier but not quite as impressive. People underestimated that, though. He could convince someone that there was a step where there wasn't, or a road where there wasn't. They could smell and hear things.
Like now? The funeral watchers had seen an odd scuffle of two people nearby. Now they saw and heard nothing. It cut away some of his focus from Kate which was a... good and bad thing to do. Part of him had to maintain that illusion, now. It was good because he didn't think that the funeral?s attention had come to them-- people were focused back on the service. It was bad because he wasn't able to defend so much against her teasing. He breathed in the sorrow, an electric tingle tainted with the promise of sex. Her hand scratched at a hard on that could fuck a brick wall. Her question make him uncomfortable-- Robert was too dull and proper for these sort of moments, "No, it's just you're here." Robert's smell is a Halloween on cloves but he doesn't mind blaming Kate for his situation. He didn't mean to be kissing her neck like he was, except that it was there and looked as if it needed bruising.
Were Kate a demon, she probably would have fed on greed. However, had she been born a demon, who knows how she would have turned out differently, rather than forced to a life on the road, never settling even if she longed for it. She could have been a lot of things but this was where she was now - teasing an aroused Eeyore demon in a cemetery while people tried to mourn a loved one. Did that surprise anyone? Not at all.
A bark of laughter escaped her, trailing into a gravelly purr as he bent and plied his mouth and teeth to her neck. "Just like a man, always blaming a woman for what's going on with his junk." But she didn't take her hand away, didn't stop squeezing or stroking, scratching her nails against the fabric just under the head. "I don't know if I should be flattered or insulted. But why don't we take this party elsewhere? A little more private. Unless you feel like showing off your pale ass to those gathered for the dearly departed?" Kate had picked the lock on the mausoleum when she first got here - at least it had a roof if it started to rain again.
"They can't see us. It's one of the few things I do well-- illusions." His voice against her throat as he continued, "I could bend you over the coffin in front of all of them and they wouldn't see or hear a thing," it was more like a plea for things not to stop until she offered the alternative. Robert rather hated that she knew he wanted her. That she could be amused, playfully coy, and still have the utmost certainty he wouldn't want to tell her no. It wasn't unlike her little addicts coming to her for a score, each one in her pocket with little puckered up pleas for more.
There's a little groan in his throat at the play of her trained hand. He hadn't pieced together that she meant inside the mausoleum, "You brought me all the way out here to tease and then go somewhere else?" Was he about to start suffering from the Terrible Tuesdays? His head pulled back enough so that he could catch the expression on her face.
That fun fact was tucked away for a different rainy day. There was, no doubt, lots of fun things they could get into if Robbie was willing to play along. How to bait an Eeyore demon?
"You like bending people over, don't you?" musing as her hand moved lower to palm and cup his sac. It wasn't that she was purposely toying with him to dominate or control; Kate loved the anticipation, stringing herself and her partner-du-jour along until they were both frantic and blind to anything else. Call it a gift or call it a failing but Robbie let her get away with it. Fact was, he didn't tell her no - who was to blame for that?
"Can you blame a girl for wanting some privacy with all this?" A smile played upon her lips, manicured brows rising as she posed the question. However, hands were busy unfastening his pants, lowering the zipper until she had enough room to slide a hand down there and make contact skin to skin. "I like to tease," she whispered against his neck, flicking the tip of her tongue against it for a taste. "But I always deliver."
Robert relished the delay. He was known for it, rather, of being aroused by tantric build ups. Timing between them had been bad, the contract had him on edge and impatient to copulate. The contract preferred that he put his efforts into Lizzie and not this 'distraction' instead. In normal circumstances, he would have appreciated her so much more, smiled along a bit even as if to ask 'is that all you have?'
As it was, he was a tightly wound clock. Already frenzied, he needed just a nudge to feel like he'd fall over the edge. More like a hungry teenager than an adult with intention. Kate was in a situation where she was playing with her food.
She felt around as he replied, "I like a lot of things. " There was something to be said, though, about the idea of bending someone over a coffin or a tombstone. That a whole gathering would be unaware that grandma's coffin was getting varnished with sex. While she unfastened his pants his hands moved behind her, working to find the clasp of her bra. "I like to tease, to watch," he felt the snake flicker of her tongue against his neck, "and if you're good, I'll deliver." Kate was, as it turned out, very... very good. Coaxing him inside the mausoleum would require only a series of well-placed steps.
Joke was on him - Kate never wore a bra. Found them to be restrictive and uncomfortable for not a lot of payout. And while public places, the hint of exhibitionism, usually turned her on a great deal, all of her attentions were focused on Robert. She had little care for the mourners or their dead.
While she originally intended to get him inside the mausoleum, Kate found that this situation they were in right now appealed to her more - hand down the pants, him so thirsty for it that he was moving his hips against her, curled around her to keep her warm, breathless against her. Yeah, she liked that, too, and didn't feel like moving.
"Just feed, Robbie, concentrate on that," crooning to him softly. "Until you can't take anymore. I'll handle the rest."
Text to Robert: its Tuesday
Text to Kate: the door's unlocked on Tuesdays.
Text to Robert: good, need you to come out of the door and get in car
Text to Robert: meet me at this address: 151 Woodrow Lane
Text to Robert: bring robe
This was against the rules, wasn't it? Right day, wrong place. It wasn?t a surprise to him, though. Robert drew in a breath, looking out one of the exhibit windows. Looking down at the latest message, though, the corner of his lips twisted in an inevitable smile. Damn it.
Robe in tow, he was in his hatchback, a cigarette furiously worked to the end of its life on the drive to the said location. A cemetery? This seemed like a mockery or, perhaps, a kink. With the robe draped over an arm, he stepped out of the hatchback and towards the vertical grey stones bordered by blackish-looking grass at night.
It was overcast, drizzling on and off, with the temperatures dropping to match the cold and blustery weather. Kate's hands were in her pockets, huddled against a mausoleum while watching a funeral take place a couple of hundred feet away. It was a big'n, at least fifty people gathered like crows on a body, pulling together as if that would beat out the cold brought on the chill wind that traveled up coats and skirts alike, skated its icy fingers down the backs of collars to make one shiver no matter how much you were bundled up. Not even Kate was immune to it, steaming breath barely visible. A fifth of vodka was keeping her warm and company, serving double duty while she waited for Robbie to show. If he showed.
After checking her phone for the twelfth time, she glanced around, wishing he'd hurry up.
It was the peak of neon pink in her clothes that 'gave her away' when he arrived, but he came with a wind on uncertainty, "What are you doing here?" Said it like a displeased father finding out his daughter was sneaking out at night. Clearly, Robert had been quite the solitary creature for a long time. What he did, and how he did it, didn?t come with the ease of someone who was used to company.
Would she have known, as a stranger, that a static snapping preceded him? Robert's hazel eyes moved uncontrollably over his shoulder to the gathering and then back to her.
The same sort of electric popping that happened when they had sex the first time? Careful, Robert, your ardor is showing. She spotted him as he made his way over to her, smiling and waving him closer, even though he was already on his way. Go Captain Obvious. Once he was close enough, she stage-whispered a, "Hey," and then pointed to the crowd some distance off. "Eh? You like? I thought that would be a good-sized meal for you. Well, I hoped, anyway. At best, a filling snack. Are there creamy insides? Please tell me you taste creamy insides." His sour mood was ignored completely.
"Hey," grabbing a fistful of jacket to get his attention back to her. "If you keep looking over there all worried, someone is going to notice that faster than anything else. Now, what's the burr up your butt?"
"What?" Stage whispering back, the crowd and what was happening impossible to ignore. Along with the not-sex, it was practically a reflex that he pinned her up against the white-faced mausoleum. It was more than a filling snack, it was an eletric charge of what he needed being injected into his veins. Into his breathing, unexpectedly. Robert never seemed so pained, or miserable. Such was his status quo. How very British.
"I've not done this with anyone," a correction, a racist one, but one none the less, "like you before." He meant that maybe on some other nights he and some demons messed around on tears or howling loses of humans. In his defense, that was decades ago. It was a bit disconcerting to have one of mankind's own (sort of) corral his body, and indeed, his hard-on, close to her while loved ones wept.
Was he feeding already? It was hard to tell, he still looked vaguely panicked but then he was sandwiching her between cold stone and a hard body. Well that was unexpected. She pushed at his shoulders, trying to back him up a minute. "Robbie, you ain't ever met anyone like me, I can guaran-damn-tee it. But slow the fuck down for a minute. Did you...do your thing?" waving a hand at the grieving throng. "What is it like? Are you full or something? Got an extra spring in your step?"
"Is this an experiment?" A breath sucked in, a breath's body distance from her. He reached into his jacket pocket, the flint and flame sparking between his thumb and forefinger with a new cigarette between his lips. Smoke inhaled. Felt just like home.
"I'm not full." He blinked at her, forgetting at times that this wasn't obvious to her, "I don't... get to be full. I feed on sorrow." That was explanation enough before his hand waved over the graves, over those gathered in grief. He was leaned in close, engaging in that stage-whisper she had employed, "As much as you have ever ached, did ever feel that there was more?"
"Not really," her tone slightly defensive. Not really an experiment, it helped him, right? Feeding a demon couldn't be a bad thing in Kate's book, since it was something he said he'd die without. That would be a bad thing. See? She was helping!! Don't be so negative. "I just wanted to watch," shrugging her shoulders, shrugging off his question. "You said it was just breathing." But maybe he glowed or something? She squinted at him, just in case she missed it in the ambient glare from the clouds.
She, too, leaned close while eyeing the widow and her kids. Maybe kids. Could be gaggle of underage lovers, who knew these days? "More what? More ache to be found? More of whatever made me ache? Use your words."
A low heat and an electric crackle were the quiet, subtle cues his feeding amounted to. She hadn't touched his skin enough to realize he was warm, but she felt it other signs of it. The tension of a static discharge with breaths dragging in longer, pulling the air in through his cigarette so it could settle inside his lungs. As much as he was chastising her, his hazel gaze betrayed his? enjoyment, his approval. It was the sort he didn't want to show. He kept shoving it under a show of indignation. Why was he doing that?
In short, he didn't know.
He leaned in close as a warning, to send her scampering. It would take more than that to make her shake in her boots. She just leaned back, asking questions. The scent of her skin irreparably close to his own.
"More like... food... or sustenance?" She was not his ideal crowd, being that the loss of others was a mere by product of what she did and not the purpose. His weight turned to roll away from her, from the scene of hunched shoulders framing the sounds of tears with a eulogy the priest had used so often the ghosts would complain. Robert was trying to roll away, to hide behind the corner of the mausoleum.
Electric crackles were still pretty cool! Did her hair fan out due to the static? She worked so hard to be frizz-free. And why the hell was he so damn grumpy about this? Robert was leaning toward her one second, scurrying away the next. He really needed to stop hanging around cemeteries. "Hey, what's wrong?" Catching up to him, she caught his arm to stop him in place, trying to get in front of him. "Why do you seem unhappy about this? You're all charged up and can zap some socks together. No one over there even knows and so what? It's like eating fruit - it's gonna grow on the damn tree anyway whether we eat it or not. Those people were gonna be sad, anyway. So, you got a little jolt off it? So what?"
"Kate," He gripped her by the elbows, pinning her up to the solemn face of the mausoleum again, "Usually I sit and read a book and quietly mind my own business, going unnoticed. Everyone is happy," there's cinnamon and copper indignation coupled with the undeniable sense he was battling something off. Did she know? Since stepping onto the grounds, he'd been seeking her out. The robe was somewhere on the ground, lost in the motions of their back and forth.
A glance to the lingering procession before he looked at her, "I'm keyed up to fuck and you're giving me a jolt."
"Robert," mimicking his somber tone even as she was pushed up against the cold stone exterior of the building. Again. "You don't seem very happy," she murmured, more an observation than a judgment. Maybe that was a demon thing? Or came from feeding off so much sadness but he had a gloomy air about him, rather like Eeyore.
The scent of cinnamon was high in the air, Kate tasted it on every breath and it really made her want some coffee. Or maybe clove cigarettes, she hadn't smoked those in a minute. "I think you mean the funeral-goers are giving you a jolt, Pony Boy," winnowing her hand between them to stroke him through his pants. "My my, ready to go, are you? Is that what feeding does for you every time?"
If Robert wasn't a demon, it was hard to say that he would have been sunshine and rainbows. He had a gift at being dry and bitter. It was hard to imagine him being anything but slightly put off all the time as he ashed a cigarette. Demons were definitely not always this way. A succubus or a greed demon tended to be the 'life of the party' far more than one born in the black plague, feeding on the airs of sorrow. He absolutely was the demon version of Eeyore.
As an illusionary demon, his powers were considered so-so. That was because all he did was change the perception of what was going on, sans touch, as opposed to changing the thing itself. In upper management, a dog could be turned into a frog. Those atoms of the cosmos, of God, would be rearranged. For Robert, though? He just made the perception of it change, which was infinitely easier but not quite as impressive. People underestimated that, though. He could convince someone that there was a step where there wasn't, or a road where there wasn't. They could smell and hear things.
Like now? The funeral watchers had seen an odd scuffle of two people nearby. Now they saw and heard nothing. It cut away some of his focus from Kate which was a... good and bad thing to do. Part of him had to maintain that illusion, now. It was good because he didn't think that the funeral?s attention had come to them-- people were focused back on the service. It was bad because he wasn't able to defend so much against her teasing. He breathed in the sorrow, an electric tingle tainted with the promise of sex. Her hand scratched at a hard on that could fuck a brick wall. Her question make him uncomfortable-- Robert was too dull and proper for these sort of moments, "No, it's just you're here." Robert's smell is a Halloween on cloves but he doesn't mind blaming Kate for his situation. He didn't mean to be kissing her neck like he was, except that it was there and looked as if it needed bruising.
Were Kate a demon, she probably would have fed on greed. However, had she been born a demon, who knows how she would have turned out differently, rather than forced to a life on the road, never settling even if she longed for it. She could have been a lot of things but this was where she was now - teasing an aroused Eeyore demon in a cemetery while people tried to mourn a loved one. Did that surprise anyone? Not at all.
A bark of laughter escaped her, trailing into a gravelly purr as he bent and plied his mouth and teeth to her neck. "Just like a man, always blaming a woman for what's going on with his junk." But she didn't take her hand away, didn't stop squeezing or stroking, scratching her nails against the fabric just under the head. "I don't know if I should be flattered or insulted. But why don't we take this party elsewhere? A little more private. Unless you feel like showing off your pale ass to those gathered for the dearly departed?" Kate had picked the lock on the mausoleum when she first got here - at least it had a roof if it started to rain again.
"They can't see us. It's one of the few things I do well-- illusions." His voice against her throat as he continued, "I could bend you over the coffin in front of all of them and they wouldn't see or hear a thing," it was more like a plea for things not to stop until she offered the alternative. Robert rather hated that she knew he wanted her. That she could be amused, playfully coy, and still have the utmost certainty he wouldn't want to tell her no. It wasn't unlike her little addicts coming to her for a score, each one in her pocket with little puckered up pleas for more.
There's a little groan in his throat at the play of her trained hand. He hadn't pieced together that she meant inside the mausoleum, "You brought me all the way out here to tease and then go somewhere else?" Was he about to start suffering from the Terrible Tuesdays? His head pulled back enough so that he could catch the expression on her face.
That fun fact was tucked away for a different rainy day. There was, no doubt, lots of fun things they could get into if Robbie was willing to play along. How to bait an Eeyore demon?
"You like bending people over, don't you?" musing as her hand moved lower to palm and cup his sac. It wasn't that she was purposely toying with him to dominate or control; Kate loved the anticipation, stringing herself and her partner-du-jour along until they were both frantic and blind to anything else. Call it a gift or call it a failing but Robbie let her get away with it. Fact was, he didn't tell her no - who was to blame for that?
"Can you blame a girl for wanting some privacy with all this?" A smile played upon her lips, manicured brows rising as she posed the question. However, hands were busy unfastening his pants, lowering the zipper until she had enough room to slide a hand down there and make contact skin to skin. "I like to tease," she whispered against his neck, flicking the tip of her tongue against it for a taste. "But I always deliver."
Robert relished the delay. He was known for it, rather, of being aroused by tantric build ups. Timing between them had been bad, the contract had him on edge and impatient to copulate. The contract preferred that he put his efforts into Lizzie and not this 'distraction' instead. In normal circumstances, he would have appreciated her so much more, smiled along a bit even as if to ask 'is that all you have?'
As it was, he was a tightly wound clock. Already frenzied, he needed just a nudge to feel like he'd fall over the edge. More like a hungry teenager than an adult with intention. Kate was in a situation where she was playing with her food.
She felt around as he replied, "I like a lot of things. " There was something to be said, though, about the idea of bending someone over a coffin or a tombstone. That a whole gathering would be unaware that grandma's coffin was getting varnished with sex. While she unfastened his pants his hands moved behind her, working to find the clasp of her bra. "I like to tease, to watch," he felt the snake flicker of her tongue against his neck, "and if you're good, I'll deliver." Kate was, as it turned out, very... very good. Coaxing him inside the mausoleum would require only a series of well-placed steps.
Joke was on him - Kate never wore a bra. Found them to be restrictive and uncomfortable for not a lot of payout. And while public places, the hint of exhibitionism, usually turned her on a great deal, all of her attentions were focused on Robert. She had little care for the mourners or their dead.
While she originally intended to get him inside the mausoleum, Kate found that this situation they were in right now appealed to her more - hand down the pants, him so thirsty for it that he was moving his hips against her, curled around her to keep her warm, breathless against her. Yeah, she liked that, too, and didn't feel like moving.
"Just feed, Robbie, concentrate on that," crooning to him softly. "Until you can't take anymore. I'll handle the rest."