aeons_crackshot | Trinity/FreakAngels AU: 18th Birthday.

Trinity/FreakAngels AU: 18th Birthday.

Things have changed a LOT since the FreakAngels last celebrated their birthday. For a start, they're in a different universe entirely. (A better universe in oh so many ways, but different.)

Sirkka has seemed more smug than usual the last few days, for who knows what reason. (If tradition holds, she and Jack will probably spend most of the day in bed.) The others are doing their own things too, even the often sulking Luke. Which means Connor has time to visit his girlfriend, if he was so inclined.

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Inclined?

Inclined?!?

He could hardly think of a better way to spend any free time...

If he were any more inclined, it would be a perfectly vertical drop.

There's a light knock at Annabelle's door.

"Come on in, Connor," Annabelle's voice can be heard through the door. Yes, she can recognize his knock, it's a thing.

Once, the room didn't curve sharply to the left, but that was before Annabelle demolished a wall to give herself more space. The room is actually starting to look like a place someone lives, as opposed to a storage facility that's sometimes used as a horizontal surface for sleeping.

Which is likely Connor's influence at work.

If you go around the corner, there's a couch that the two of them have spent a lot of time on. Annabelle is sprawled out on the couch, and she smiles when she sees him.

She's wearing the birthday present he got her, and....not much else. Well, unless you count large amounts of red ribbon, anyway. That? Can be blamed on Sirkka.

...

...

Hot Girlfriend has caused a General Protection Fault in Speech and Thought modules.

...

(Staring, jaw hanging.)

It's a good thing the door shuts on its own then, isn't it?

His reaction is not entirely unexpected, although she hadn't anticipated this degree of severity.

.........

OK, now she's starting to get worried that she's caused brain damage or something. The last person she saw with an expression even remotely like that had just had one hell of a blow to the head.

"Connor?"

Oh, she's going to KILL Sirkka for suggesting this. Possibly more than once.

Breathe, Connor.

Breathing's good.

One deep breath, two deep breaths, three.

"Wow..."

Annabelle hugging him in relief is probably not going to help, is it?

"I was starting to worry I'd broken you," she says with a small chuckle. "Happy Birthday."

Well, no, much the opposite: close hugging can be quite... embarrassing, right now.

But for once, Connor is not worried: Annabelle is drawn into a long, passionate kiss.

That presumes that Annabelle is in any state to A: notice or B: care if she did. (She was a little worried about his reaction, even before his brain had a temporary misfire. It's not like she's done this before, after all!)

Annabelle approves of the long, passionate kiss, returning it in kind. I take it you like your present? she asks, mental voice teasing.

Oh, look... daring hands.

Yes. Yes I do... Did we ever mention how he likes Annabelle's wild side?

It hasn't been mentioned before, but it will be noted now. Funny how the calm, quiet guy likes someone who can be a little wild?

It's Annabelle's turn to have a brain shut-down, it seems. At least if that particular half moan, half sigh and any trace of coherent thought disappearing in a surge of sensation are anything to go by.

Well, can anyone blame him for wanting to return the brain-shutdown favor?

Besides... hot girlfriend.

Wearing almost nothing.

Blame? Who said anything about blame? Annabelle's...enjoying herself at the moment.

She draws a shuddering breath. "Remind me why throwing you onto the couch and having my wicked way with you was a bad idea again?" she says, blushing.

Damn hormones. They feel so good, and yet they cause so much trouble.

"I... really can not think of any reason why it would be a bad idea." His voice of reason has drowned.

"That's what I was afraid of," Annabelle replies with a small smile. "I'm sure I must have had one, to resist these lovely, lovely hands of yours."

Annabelle's voice of reason is keeping Connor's company on the bottom of a metaphorical ocean somewhere. She's never been this....wound up in her entire life.

"Like this?" He lets his hands wander again, while resuming that passionate kiss of a bit ago.

Connor is still behaving, some...

"Yesssss," she hisses into his mouth, her body arching into his hands.

It's getting harder and harder to think with every passing second...especially once her own hands start wandering.

Thinking.

That's very... overrated, sometimes.

As long as Annabelle wants to keep to actions instead of words, well, why not move to the couch, sit and guide his hot girlfriend to straddle his lap, and boldly start moving away some of those ribbons?

(Or all of them?)

That is an excellent plan. Like the movie theater, only without an inconvenient audience and, for Connor at least, a lot less fabric in the way.

(If you'd told Annabelle a year ago that she'd be doing this, she would have said you'd completely lost your mind.)

As to the ribbons, it depends. Is he the kind to take the wrapping paper off a present slowly and carefully, or rip it off all in one go?

In either case, having a mostly naked Annabelle in his lap is definitely an invitation to second base, right?

Slow, careful and really enjoying the progress to second base.

Hm, hot girlfriend, less and less clothes. Sounds like a plan.

Slow and careful is not at all descriptive of Annabelle's approach to anything, for the most part. This, however, is important enough to be savored slowly and deliberately.

The slow, delicious pace has given her frontal cortex enough time to recover that she can actually PLAN her seduction instead of operating on something akin to automatic pilot.

Annabelle breaks the kiss, glancing into his eyes with a rather mischievous expression. "You are wearing entirely too many clothes," she remarks with a throaty chuckle. Hopefully, he's with it enough to help his girlfriend remove his shirt?

Once his shirt is off, she grins at him, her expression teasing and a little...hungry. "So many options to choose from," she quips, "who could pick just one?" So many lovely places to touch, taste, kiss, caress and tease. Unless Connor decides to share his preferences empathically or telepathically, she's going to focus on what produces the most intense physical or verbal response from her boyfriend.

Why not... both?

You see, Connor is not against exploration, but hes also very willing to share sensations, so... Annabelle will discover yet another advantage of dating an empath.

The loving touch, physical and mental.

The sharing of sensations, the mixing of thoughts, and the delicate, careful mingling of personas. With her, he lays down the barriers and opens his guard.

Oh.

Oh!

It's hard to say whether the gasp is out loud or not, if it even matters. Human language lacks the words for how that degree of sharing really feels, as it's never needed them before.

It's hard for her to believe that he trusts her THIS much, that he wants to...well, she's not sure what to call the mingling of their very selves. Intimate seems like such a woefully inadequate word right now....

He does.

It's not him and her, it's them.

They don't need words, do they? Minds and souls, open to each other, whatever happens over the next few... hours, is shared and enjoyed together.

...

Time runs by, and when they emerge from that deep connection, it is to find themselves in Annabelle's bed, half under covers, and skin to skin. Nudity should not be a concern, since they saw much deeper than a normal couple would ever reach.

Fire fed fire, and there are no secrets between them now, no room for doubts to take root and fester.

Annabelle emerges from the connection, basking in the physical and metaphysical afterglow. Being limited to her own senses, aware of only her own body and thoughts again is an almost strange feeling.

Half-lidded eyes flutter open at the prompting of late afternoon sunlight. She had no idea that...THAT was even possible.

"Was it always like that for you, before you learned how to keep people out?" That level of awareness, union with other people?

Connor gives a small sigh, shaking head while drawing her closer. "No. I never let anyone in that deep. I hid away, with books, with the other angels, away from people and all the psychic screaming they do. Until I learned how to shut it off." He would have gone crazy if he let people 'in' before he was ready.

"Oh," Annabelle replies. On the one hand, it's very flattering that SHE'S the only one he's done this with. On the other, that means he didn't know what would happen if he did, which could have resulted in him getting hurt.

One hand brushes his hair away from his face in a caress. "I'm glad it didn't end up hurting you, letting me in that deep. I...I don't know that I could have borne that."

Connor shakes head slowly, cupping her cheek. "I knew you'd not hurt me." Funny, right? Some people would see just the shooter, the gunslinger.

He sees the decent person Annabelle is inside.

That is the face she tends to present to the world, her shield. The hero, the killer. (It wouldn't have been the face the Angels first saw when they woke up in a new world, because they were clearly terrified kids.)

She blushes. "Not on purpose, no," she agrees. "But there could have been, I don't know, weird metaphysical shit or something. You would have had no way of knowing what letting anyone that close might do to you."

"Unless Sirkka's been...experimenting?" Connor's likely to pick up on the fact that Annabelle has been receiving entirely unsolicited advice from Sirkka with regard to certain things for about a month and a half. (The idea that it's perfectly OK for other people to have different comfort levels and expectations with regard to sex seems to be beyond her grasp....)

"I stay as far away from Sirkka's experiments as I can." Connor shakes head. It's like... this.

And they are merged again: Annabelle can feel him, his mind, his feelings (his love). She can feel less distinctly other people nearby, around the building. And then people on the streets, and on town.

As the focus widens, the sensations become less and less clear, but it does shift steadily for the worse.

People are sad.

People hurt.

People are angry.

Before the sensations get too strong, he draws back, pulling Annabelle into their safe contact once more. There's always noise in the background. I have to stay alert to not fall for it.

Oh, right: and the other Angels are very loud, if Connor does not shut them off.

It feels so good when it's just the two of them. Love a more potent drug than anything made by man. But that can't stay once things shift for the worse, the instinct to pull away from those unknown others rapidly coming to the fore.

I think I understand, she says, hugging him mind and body. It's a little like that with me, though not with thoughts...

Annabelle's not aware of thoughts, but she IS aware of people. All the time, every second of every day. Her mind is constantly assessing the world for threats: reading body language, motion, environmental stimuli. Sorting and assessing that could easily become maddening if she hadn't learned to seperate the important threats from the everyday chaos of life.

So.

They understand each other, very well.

Not so different, after all.

Not so different at all. Annabelle cuddles close to him, just enjoying his presence.

She's a bit too sated and relaxed to consider seducing him again, at least for the moment.

She hums in contentment. "I could get used to this."

"Me too."

Actually, Connor hopes they will have the chance to really get used to this.

Many and many times over.

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Trinity/FreakAngels AU: 18th Birthday.

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