"Damn," Erik mutters, both at the figure Wanda cuts with or without the towel and at that kiss, heady and full of smoke. He likes what he sees and sweatpants don't tend to leave much room for the imagination to decide just how that affects him].
Half the point of wearing them, honestly.
He holds up his hand to take the blunt from her, if she wants to give it up; if she doesn't, he doesn't mind. Either way he'll also offer her a hand into the bathtub, before settling on the floor at it's edge.
It's a change for her, being with him, being this exposed to someone else; and perhaps she should get to know him better, and perhaps she should listen to a few of those warning bells going off about him and some of his more extreme views but. Then again. She was in that place herself, placing her anger in causes she believed would give her that revenge she so desired.
They say she's redeemable. Wanda isn't so sure.
She doesn't think about that as she places the joint between his fingers again, helping herself into the tub with a soft sigh as she sinks into the water. Briefly, she disappears to wet her hair, reappearing with a grin that's altogether coy and inviting.
One of the things about Erik's extreme views is that he sees Sokovia and it's people to be just as much the victim as his own people, trapped in the United States' racist institutions with no clear way out. Refugees from the most fucked up situation brought about by war and arms dealers, Erik has no idea how Wanda can stand to work with Stark after everything he's done but...
Some people are much more patient than he is. Wanda is definitely in that category.
He's leaning against the edge of the tub, watching her with not a little bit of heat while taking another drag of the blunt and blowing air away from her. The invite doesn't have to be extended twice; the sweatpants are off in a blink and he's carefully climbing in as to not send water in every direction, hands braced against the side of the bathtub.
Once he's in leans forward and offers her a kiss, before leaning back and taking one of her feet in his hands and pressing into the ball gently with his thumb, trying to gauge how stiff the muscles there are. "Thanks."
The world is an incredible mess. She knows that people do what they must in order to survive.
But there are moments in which one can find softness. Here they are, their edges sanded down just a bit, enough for them to seek out that intimacy they occasionally crave. Wanda smiles as she watches him move, the corners of her eyes, not as dark as her family's eyes, crinkling just so.
"That feels nice," she whispers, feeling each of her muscles relax just after one hit, some of those worried thoughts in her brain quieting, dulling themselves to a mere murmur.
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Half the point of wearing them, honestly.
He holds up his hand to take the blunt from her, if she wants to give it up; if she doesn't, he doesn't mind. Either way he'll also offer her a hand into the bathtub, before settling on the floor at it's edge.
no subject
They say she's redeemable. Wanda isn't so sure.
She doesn't think about that as she places the joint between his fingers again, helping herself into the tub with a soft sigh as she sinks into the water. Briefly, she disappears to wet her hair, reappearing with a grin that's altogether coy and inviting.
"Come in."
no subject
Some people are much more patient than he is. Wanda is definitely in that category.
He's leaning against the edge of the tub, watching her with not a little bit of heat while taking another drag of the blunt and blowing air away from her. The invite doesn't have to be extended twice; the sweatpants are off in a blink and he's carefully climbing in as to not send water in every direction, hands braced against the side of the bathtub.
Once he's in leans forward and offers her a kiss, before leaning back and taking one of her feet in his hands and pressing into the ball gently with his thumb, trying to gauge how stiff the muscles there are. "Thanks."
no subject
But there are moments in which one can find softness. Here they are, their edges sanded down just a bit, enough for them to seek out that intimacy they occasionally crave. Wanda smiles as she watches him move, the corners of her eyes, not as dark as her family's eyes, crinkling just so.
"That feels nice," she whispers, feeling each of her muscles relax just after one hit, some of those worried thoughts in her brain quieting, dulling themselves to a mere murmur.