Forums » General Roleplay » [Closed] Trick or Treat: Kissing Booth

@Fitzpatrick

Rayna caught the sound of his voice before she fully turned. It was crisp, measured, and just a touch too proper for the chaos of the fairground. Her lips curved immediately, a feline sort of smile finding its place as she looked him over. The man practically screamed diplomat, which meant he was either about to faint or surprise her. Either way, she was going to enjoy it.

Her hips swayed slightly as she leaned forward on the booth’s counter, one gloved hand extended to take the ticket he offered. The motion was languid, deliberate, and the way her green eyes sparkled beneath the lights hinted that she was already having fun. “That’s the general idea, sugar,” She said with a lilting amusement, twirling the ticket between her fingers. “You hand over the ticket, I work my magic, and you walk away wonderin’ what just happened.”

Her tone was teasing, but there was a warmth to it. It wasn’t mockery, it was more like she was testing how far she could push him before that polished exterior cracked. She tilted her head slightly, the faintest smirk tugging at her mouth. “But don’t worry, I don’t bite…” She paused, the sound dropping just a touch lower as she added with a wicked glint, “…unless you ask.”

One brow lifted, the playful challenge clear in her eyes as she leaned forward, mouth smiling but ready for the kiss while her eyes stayed that near electric green. “Now then, Mr. Manners. Are you ready to risk that reputation for a Halloween memory?”

Fitzpatrick, feeling the light buzz of the alcohol blazing through his bloodstream toying with his judgement. He hadn’t approached the kissing booth with expectations of anything more than a passive kiss between strangers, but the way she toyed with him. The use of the word ‘sugar’ as a pet name implied a flirtation because it was clear this woman was not southern. He started to feel a little awkward as she took the ticket from him.

Humor was used to make him feel more relaxed, though Fitzpatrick wasn’t normally the type that enjoyed being teased. Dominant wasn’t the right word. Control sounded too harsh. Confident seemed too arrogant. He liked what he liked, and this was certainly a change from what he normally entertained. But then she said something that caught his attention – she wouldn’t bite unless asked for? Pity.

He leaned in closer to her smiling lips but paused before they touched. “Mr. Manners? You might want to take that back,” he whispered against her lips, “I bite even without permission.” He closed the whisper of the gap between them and kissed her as a proper gentleman should…for about three seconds. His teeth grazed her lower lip, catching it briefly before he released it to see how she would react.

@ Aubree

Jeanne's eyes widened for a fraction of a second as Aubree stole the moment and went in for the kiss first. Her hand yanking in the chef and quickly smothering out the sudden gasp of shock that nearly left them. The sudden taste of sugar and lipgloss filling their senses and all she could do was grin into the kiss. Working in a hungry pattern to try and take back the lead that the barbie had stolen from her. It was the type of kiss that felt messy and reminded them of their first kiss in high school. A mix of innocent exploration and a desire that was always left unsatisfied.

And unsatisfied they were as they finally broke apart. Not because it was bad, but because Aubree kissed like she could breath life back into the moment and Jeanne wanted that feeling to last even a second longer. Her chest rising in quick breathes and lipstick was smeared over their lips like war paint and a memory both. The faux-chef was stunlocked and speechless for a moment as they stared at Aubree. It had been a very long time since a lady had knocked their socks off like that, and if they weren't in the middle of a kissing booth, Jeanne would have pulled her in for a second one.

"Yea that's...merde..." Jeanne swore, staring after Aubree as she sauntered off with a confidence that told Jeanne, she knew exactly how good she was. It was enough to leave their grey eyes trailing after her for minutes longer than Jeanne would ever confess to, still covered in pink lipstick and the scent of something more.

Shaking her head, Jeanne pulled out a fresh cigarette and quickly lit it with an old, worn lighter; the flame illuminating the carved cheeks and the bags under their eyes. With a puff of smoke that soothed over the frazzled and wanting nerves, Jeanne hung their head and gave a low sigh; letting the nicotine be the after care of such a wild woman. A slow, dizzy smile resting on their face again as they muttered to themselves, "What a woman huh."

@Red

Mercy looked up from where she’d been leaning against the counter, her drink catching the glow of the carnival lights. The voice that had cut through the noise carried a mix of confidence and trouble, the kind that always found its way to her. When she saw him, her lips curved slowly into a smile that was half amusement, half challenge.

“Evenin’, yourself,” she said, her tone smooth and low, the drawl wrapping around her words like honey. “You sure you remember how this works? You hand over a ticket, I steal a little piece of your night, and we both pretend it’s just for fun.”

She took the ticket from his hand, her fingers brushing his just long enough to make the air between them shift. Her eyes met his, steady and knowing, with that soft edge that came from someone who’d lived through worse and learned how to laugh anyway.

“Long time, huh?” she said lightly. “Then you’re overdue for a good memory.”

She set her drink aside, adjusting the brim of her hat as she stepped closer. “You picked the right booth for that, cowboy. Or maybe I just got lucky tonight.” Her voice dipped, teasing but warm, carrying that calm self-assurance that came from rebuilding her life piece by piece.

“So,” she added, her lips curving as she tilted her head, “you want the innocent version or the one that’ll make you forget your bourbon for a while?”

@Fitzpatrick

For a heartbeat, Rayna froze. It was not out of shock, but out of pure intrigue. That little flicker of surprise melted quickly into a slow, satisfied curve of her lips as the world momentarily narrowed to the warmth of his mouth and the teasing sting of his teeth, and her mouth danced in that little battle with him. Three seconds, she thought, and he’d managed to turn the entire encounter on its head.

When he pulled back, she stayed close, her breath brushing against his cheek as she laughed softly, the sound low in her throat. It wasn’t shy, or even embarrassed. It was the kind of laugh that said she’d just found something rare and dangerously fun.

“Well, well… look at you,” She said softly, her tone half–purr, half–challenge. “Guess I should’ve known better than to judge a book by its pressed collar.” Her gloved fingers lifted to trace the corner of her mouth where his teeth had caught, her smirk growing just a touch more wicked.

“You sure you don’t wanna sign up as a volunteer? Pretty sure you just raised the bar for the whole damn booth.” Then she leaned back slightly, but only just enough to meet his eyes, with that daring glint still alive and flickering. “And here I thought you were the type to play it safe. Gotta admit, sugar… you surprise easy, but you recover even better.”

Her tone wasn’t mocking. It was more impressed than anything. She reached up to gently tap his chest with one gloved finger, a playful reprimand. “Now, before you start a line fight, would you like another?” She asked this as she happened to notice the number of tickets in his hand, but she didn’t necessarily mean with her….unless that’s what he wanted.

@ Rayna Saffron

To say he found a little pride in surprising and impressing her wasn't far from the pitch. He was seldom seen as anything beyond a title and an uppity facade that was put in place by centuries of ridicule when one such as himself stepped out of line. A kissing booth was most certainly out of line. Perhaps that was why he was able to lower the curtain and give the super villain a small showing of what really was lurking beneath the princely appearance.

He ended the kiss shortly after it began. He might have offered a tiny taste of the possibilities he was capable of, but he was not about to reveal too much. Any spectacle too outrageous would only draw unwanted attention. He pulled back but lingered close so she wouldn't have to speak in a raised voice to talk to him.

He gave an almost bashful laugh when she asked if he wanted to volunteer for the booth. His tone was low, secretive, "I'll consider it. Some circumstances in my life will need to shift a little. But...maybe next year." He wasn't sure if he would even be in the country next year to accept a place amongst the volunteers - but it was fun to speculate.

When she asked him if he wanted another he grinned sheepishly, looking down as if he needed a moment to gather himself. "I would say yes, but I fear that would lead to gossip. However," he tore off another ticket and handed it to Rayna, "If I volunteer next year, you can get a kiss from me. Sound good?"

He stepped back from the intimate space of secretive conversation and looked over at his friend Red who was still busy with his kiss.

@Mercy

He’d seen worse ideas.

That was what he told himself as the Duke’s bribe still burned faintly in his pocket and the festival lights cast everything in a cheap, amber glow. He wasn’t supposed to linger. A walk, a drink, a bit of civility. That had been the deal. But here he was, standing at a kissing booth like some washed-up romantic with a badge and a questionable sense of humor.

The woman behind the counter, Mercy, looked entirely too at ease for someone surrounded by chaos. Confident. Self-possessed. The kind of calm that made the loud world around her seem rather small.

Her voice carried that lilting playfulness he’d come to expect from these sorts of setups. It was soft, low, and just self-aware enough to make him smirk. “Stealin’ from a cop?” He murmured, low and rough as gravel, “That’s brave even for you, darlin’.”

She took the ticket, fingers brushing his, and it hit like a live wire. At her comment, he huffed a laugh that was not quite a smile. “Yeah. Too long.”His eyes drifted briefly toward the drink she’d set down, then back to her face. “Could say the same about a good memory.”

She stepped closer, and he caught the faintest trace of her perfume. It was smoke and something sweet. Dangerous mix. His smirk deepened, tilting into something lazier, darker. Then she asked her question, innocent or bourbon-forgetting, and the corner of his mouth lifted just enough to betray amusement.

“Oh, I don’t do innocent,” He said softly, dropping low enough that she’d feel it more than hear it. “Haven’t in a long time. So make it sharp, make it sweet.” With that, Red leaned forward, hoping to meet her half-way.

@ Red

Mercy’s pulse quickened, though she hid it well behind the soft curve of her smile. There was something in the way he said it. The gravel in his tone sent a shiver running straight through her. Her eyes lingered on his for a heartbeat longer than necessary, blue meeting blue, curiosity sparking like a struck match.

“Sharp and sweet,” she repeated quietly, her voice steady but rich with something that just beneath the surface. “I can do that.”

She reached up, fingers catching the brim of her hat to tip it back just enough before stepping forward to meet him. The air between them felt heavy and electric, the kind that held its breath. Her hand lifted, light against his chest, the faintest trace of her touch grounding the heat that built between them.

The kiss began exactly as promised. Sharp in its precision, sweet in its taste. Mercy didn’t rush it. She let the world narrow to the space between them, the warmth of his breath, the faint trace of bourbon that mingled with the vanilla on her lips. The sound of the carnival faded until there was nothing but heartbeat and heat.

When she finally pulled back, her voice was low, her lips still close enough to brush the edge of his words. “There,” she murmured. “Sharp enough to remember. Sweet enough to make you wish you could forget.”

Her smile deepened, soft and knowing as she leaned back just a little. “Guess the question now is whether that was worth the ticket, if I need to give you a ticket, or if one of us needs to charge double, officer.”

@Mercy

The noise of the fair stretched thin around him, all flickering bulbs and hollow laughter, but it might as well have been miles away. He hadn’t expected her to kiss like that. There was a confidence to it, an unpractised enough to be genuine, measured enough to leave an echo. For one brief, errant second, it reminded him of the old days. Softer days. The kind that got people killed.

Red drew in a quiet breath through his nose as he watched her. Her words rolled through him, teasing, and easy, and he met them with a faint smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sharp enough,” He answered slowly. “I’ll give you that.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, almost a smile, but one built of habit more than heat. “And as for the ticket…” His gaze dropped to the counter, then back to her. “Keep it. Call it a charitable donation to the arts.”

He straightened, sliding his hands into his coat pockets, a man retreating neatly back behind the armour he’d briefly let slip. The scent of her still clung faintly, mixed with the burn of cheap bourbon and carnival smoke. “You do fine work,” He said, softer now, as if the words had weight. “Try not to waste it on men who pay for a moment and vanish.”

Then came the voice he’d been waiting for, ending a conversation with the black and green supervillain. The one he’d been waiting for. Fitz. Red exhaled, a sound halfway between amusement and resignation, before glancing over his shoulder.

He turned back to Mercy, that same restrained half-smile ghosting over his lips. “Good evening, Miss Mercy.” He added in a soft voice before he turned and headed back to Fitz to leave.

@Red

Mercy watched him as he spoke, the faint curve of her smile never faltering though something in her eyes softened. She had seen that kind of retreat before, the quiet step backward, the way a man folded himself neatly behind charm when something real had almost slipped through. It did not offend her. If anything, it made her understand him a little better.

“A donation, huh?” she murmured, her tone teasing but low, threaded with warmth. “Guess I’ll call it an investment then. You got a decent return on it.”

She reached up to straighten her hat, the gesture small but steady, grounding. When he mentioned her work, her voice gentled, losing its playfulness for just a breath. “Don’t worry about me,” she said softly. “I don’t waste anything. Not the good moments, and not the lessons.”

As he turned to leave, she let her gaze follow him. There was something about the way he moved, measured, careful, like a man who had learned the cost of staying too long anywhere. She had known a few like him before. Maybe been one herself, once.

“Goodnight, Red,” she called after him, her voice light but carrying easily through the noise of the carnival. “Try not to disappear too far. Some memories deserve a second round.”

Then she leaned back against the booth again, reaching for her drink, her expression unreadable except for the faintest smile that lingered, something between wistful and satisfied, as the music and laughter of the fair swept her back into the night.

@Fitzpatrick

Rayna stayed leaned against the booth for a heartbeat after he pulled away, her lips still tingling and that grin threatening to ruin her attempt at keeping it composed. He had surprised her, that much she’d admit. Perhaps not out loud, but it showed in the faint raise of her brows and the slow sweep of her tongue across her bottom lip as if to taste what was left of him.

“Well, well.” She said quietly, soft enough that the words barely carried over the buzz of the crowd, “Look who’s got a little bite beneath the tie.” Her tone was teasing, but there was something warmer underneath: amusement, intrigue, and maybe a flicker of respect for the man who could match her tempo and still walk away with composure intact.

When he tore off another ticket and handed it to her, she plucked it from his fingers with a feline sort of grace, sliding it between two black-gloved fingertips and spinning it once. “A promise for next year, you say?” Her smirk curved slow, but very deliberate. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Manners. But fair warning. If you volunteer, I’m not playing nice twice.”

As he stepped back, Rayna straightened, the lights from the fair dancing across her green-and-black suit. Her voice followed him with a lilting laugh, all confidence and entirely playful. “So I hope you’re ready when the time comes, sugar.” She added with a playful wink before he turned away.

Stepping back over to her drink to wait for another, she slipped the ticket between her cleavage to hold onto, amusement dancing in her features as she glanced one more time in his direction. “I do so enjoy a good surprise.”