(no subject)
"Secrets are what keep us safe," Aly says: she's said it before, though not to Iago, and her own smile tips lopsided as well, though hers is an earnest sort of lopsided. "--and I've been the person who spilled 'em, before, and could have hurt a lot of people. Learned /that/ lesson," she says, then brightens things back up with another tweak of his earlobe before dropping her hand and sliding it where she can brush her fingers against his ribs, then tighten her arm around him. "--so, I won't push too hard if you tell me not to, and if I /do/, just tell me I am, and I'll back off. I appreciate the-- you know. Not promise." This is a whole lof of well-meaning chatter, but she does come back around to the real point of the exercise: "Oh," she says, all honest sympathy under a tiny ripple of amusement, "that's /awful/, Iago. I'm sorry. Maybe you should go to bars with worse lighting--" She is going to get smacked.
"Yeah, sometimes secrets keep us safe," Iago agrees in quiet understanding, squeezing Alyssa in a brief hug. He murmurs something, a noise deep in his throat that transmutes into a chuckle as her fingers drift to his ribs. She can feel the muscles contract under her touch, tensing and relaxing again. He tips his head to lean it against hers as she well-meanings at him. "You're welcome." The relative contentment, though, is a bit short lived as she manages to score against his bruised ego. Where she might normally get smacked in playful defensiveness, he just groans and tips his head back, looking at the ceiling. "Gee, /thanks/."
"Someone has to keep you humble," Aly says in response to the groan and tip of his head, though her fingers sooth against the muscles beneath them. She belies her own words in a moment, leveraging herself up with a wiggle so she can try to catch his eyes again. "Their loss," she tells him simply, whether for the chance of an Iago in bed or just an Iago in general. Her smile starts small, just the smallest quirk at the corner of her mouth, but grows quickly, and she snuggles back down -- down, down -- until she gets where she can press her face against him, be it chest or shoulder when she finally connects. "And because of them, I get an Iago hanging out in my bed? /Totally/ my gain." There's another momentary pause, then very, very quiet: "Thanks for keeping mine." What?
Iago makes some discontented grumbling noises about being kept humble, even with her soothing fingers. He does, however, her her catch his gaze, steady and dark, as he looks up at her. "Hmm," he murmurs softly, but his lips curve in a smile at her words, even if it is small and falls short of his usual smugness at words like that. Still...it is a smile and one that grows as her face presses against him, though she can't see it. "Well, I don't want you to think you're some kind of /second place/ prize, now," he warns reassuringly -- because she really isn't. "But, yeah. Hi." He's silent for a moment, unsure in the wake of that quietness, but eventually he just asks. "Uhm, you're welcome, but....what?"
"I am /nobody/'s second-place prize," she says against his skin, then tips her face up to meet his gaze again, though this time without going wiggling anywhere. "But I'm glad you know you can show up. I said that already, but-- it's true." She retreads this ground so that he may be sure of his welcome, then catches her breath on a laugh: this time, it's for her own slightly-self conscious moment; she flickers her eyelids again, and says again: "Thanks. For, you know-- not freaking out or running around telling people, or whatever. I don't remember if I said before." This time, the duck of her face is paired with a deliberate stroke of fingers down his side, in an attempt to distract him from her words.
"No, you aren't," Iago replies, voice low and sincere. "And I certainly /hope/ I haven't given you the impression that you are." He's not always been the nicest guy -- still isn't -- but there are ways to treat your friends...and /like shit/ isn't one of them. He turns his face to look back at her, steadily holding her gaze. Even with the extra-lid blinking she does. "Ah," he breathes, corners of his mouth twitching, amused under the sincerity. "Well. You'd have to do something more for me to be freaked out, I assure you." Lips too far away without moving a lot more, he settles for pressing a kiss to her forehead instead. "It's not my secret to tell others, anyway. Not /everyone/ is so...not forgiving, no, but...non-pulsed, I guess, as I am. Ah-!" Anything else is left unsaid as her fingers cause him to twitch beneath her and gasp as it tickles.
"No," Aly assures, "/you/ never have, don't worry." He may not be the nicest guy, no, but there's a difference between being not-always-nice and treating your friends like shit, and it's one she's intimately familiar with. She smiles, broad and bright under the kiss to her forehead, and wiggles up him -- with generous appilcation of hands and hips -- so that she can claim a real one. "No," she agrees again, "not everyone is," but apparently that's the end of the line there: she wiggles a hand between them, and walks her fingers up his stomach. "--do you wanna hang out in bed and /then/ get a shower," she asks after a moment, "or get a shower, and then come back and hang out in bed some more?"
"Good," he says simply, reassured (and confident that'd she'd likely give him what for if he was treating her like shit. At least, he hopes). The application of hands and hips gets a -- probably predictable, but still worth being smug over -- groan out of Iago that cuts off as she presses her lips to his. He also transitions some of that feeling into the kiss itself, comfortable and non-insistent as it is. Though he's in no great hurry to break away, either. "Hmmm," he muses, licking his lips and looking up at Aly with warm eyes, "I'll admit I'm comfortable here...but I /am/ a bit scuzzy, considering...last night." That is not making a decision, Iago.
Don't hope in vain, Iago: she totally would, don't worry. The predictable response gets a bright burble of laughter from Aly, and it ends up buried in the kiss. She continues to do so with enthusiasm, but let's face it: it's a lazy, comfortable sort of enthusiasm. "So you want to have your cake and eat it too," is punctuated by another wiggle, another bright laugh, "or you'll go along with whatever I decide?" That really, really isn't making a decision, Iago.
"I always want to have my cake and eat it too," Iago replies with a bit of a low growl in his voice to go along with a mischievous smile. "But," he adds as fingertips trail up and down her spine, "I'll go along with whatever you decide. I've already imposed on you, here, it's the least I can do, hmm?" There's a bit of real sincerity under the cheek, born of well-honed Midwestern politeness. He is a /guest/ here.
"Which, obviously," Aly teases, slowly sliding her hand up so she can, eventually, hook it around the back of his neck, "is why you're passing time with a pastry fairy." She shifts, considering, then declares: "I am having a lazy morning in bed," with a twist of her head so she can press a kiss to his jaw, rather than his lips, "which you are more than welcome to make a little less lazy ... either now, or later, in the shower--" or, says the sparkle in her eyes as she pulls back to grin at him, both. "--and then we can come hang out in bed some more and watch movies or something." She's an awesome hostess, don't lie.
Chuckling lowly, Iago replies, "Obviously." This is followed by a wink and a waggle of his dark brows before he bursts in to laughter briefly. Subsiding, he takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. His fingers drum against her skin as he thinks, but eventually, he makes a decision -- because it doesn't seem likely that she's going to. "I am taking a shower," he declares, though his smile slides sly even as he says so. "Which /you/ are welcome to make a little less of a chore and more recreational...assuming you don't just fall back asleep." He breaks into a wide grin and pokes her side. "And then we can hang out in bed some more and watch movies. Or something." He'd never lie.
Aly's laughter joins Iago's, and takes a moment more to subside -- the drumming of his fingers apparently doesn't help with surpressing mirth. "Mm," she says when he makes a decision, and the fact that it's been made at all seems to please her greatly. "I /think/," she says, with a wiggle of her eyebrows and a wiggle of her fingers -- the latter directed, finally, under the waistband of those truly terrible pajama pants, "that for the sake of recreational showering, I /might/ be convinced not to fall back asleep." There's another wiggle of one finger -- just one, against the skin of his hip -- as she grins up at him.
There's a low, slightly strained, noise that squeaks out of Iago's mouth emanating from deep in his chest as Aly's fingers take a decidedly southwards turn, playing just under his waistband. "Ah," he breathes shortly, brown eyes wide and sparkling. "Well then," is more decisive, and he arches his back to bump his hips against hers. "In that case, are you going to move off me, or am I going to have to drag you with me?"
Wide and sparkling brown is met with wide and sparkling green, and Aly meets the bump of his hips with one of her own, ante upped with a slightly lower skim of that one, lone finger. "I don't know," she says, but instead of starting another round of neither of us makes a decision, she rolls -- over entirely on top of him. (It necessitates the removal of her hand from his waistband, but it's not /that/ big of a loss at this point.) "I think there might have to be some mutual dragging involved."
Iago sucks in a sharp breath between gritted teeth as that lone finger sweeps lower, though he never loses his smile. He murmurs something -- grumbles really -- as she claims to not know, but whatever he might actually say about that it quickly forgotten. "Mmmph...you think, huh? I dunno how much dragging I can do from down here..." He wiggles a bit underneath her, case in point, then bends and knee and pushes to flip their positions. Whumpf. "Better."
The response Iago gets may or may not be the one he was expecting: as Aly's shoulders hit the bed with the flip of their positions, a peal of laughter rings out. She doesn't clap her hands, but lifts them both to run her palms up Iago's arms, a slow, twinned stroke from elbow up biceps. "/Well/," she determines, voice still full of that hitching laughter, "that certainly puts /you/ in a better position for dragging." She side-eyes the edge of the bed, and thinks better of trying to turn this into a contest -- not that it would be much of one, with Iago's superior size and strength. "--we're getting closer to the shower, though!" In this, apparently, it has been a success.
Is laughter /really/ that unexpected a reaction from Aly? Surely Iago has been around her long enough to not be surprised by this. He, at least, doesn't /seem/ surprised, grinning in return. "It does, doesn't it. That /was/ kinda my goal," he points out, amused. He also side-eyes when she does. He's got size and strength on her, but hey, you never know...he might let her have one if she wanted it enough. In the meantime, though, he scoots down her body (yes, with some appropriate handsiness for the situation) until he's got his hands around her ankles and tugs. It is not enough to tug her off the bed, no, but it is a firm pull.
At least he doesn't look offended by it, either. The appropriate level of handsiness is /appreciated/, if the hitch in her breath and squirm on the bed are any indication, but it turns into choked-off laughter again when he starts tugging on her ankles. She slides, not enough to come off the bed, no -- but then she turns, twisting her upper body so she can grab at the sheet, and let loose a clearly, /clearly/ mocking, "Noooooooooooo--" of defeat.
Iago laughs at her defeat -- though that laugh admittedly starts off accidently as more of a /giggle/ before becoming a properly villainous /Bwah/! "Come on," he encourages, giving her ankles a lighter tug this time while bending over to press kisses to her exposed side. "Are you really going to leave me to shower all by my lonesome?" He asks, nipping gently at skin before standing up straight at the edge of the bed.
Iago's giggle becomes Aly's giggle, though while his turns properly villainous hers stays true, and only rolls along merrily more at the kisses pressed to her side. When she gains her breath again, it is to flop back over onto her back and beam up at him. "That would be /awful/ of me, wouldn't it?" she says, and rather than making him pull her any farther, wiggles and hitches her hips and shoulders and uses her hands to worm her way off the bed. --plop, onto his feet. (Unless he steps back, or scoops her up before she can slither all the way off and down.)
He'd certainly like to keep his feet intact. This is not quite what happens, though: Sh catches a bit of his toes and causes him to hiss with her plot, before he manages to scoot a bit away. Once scooted, though Iago stops and grins. Recently abuse toes and drummed against the ground. "I think it's your turn to drag," he notes with an impish smile.
"Oh, /is/ it?" Aly says, and the bright gleam in her eyes is not to be missed. With a little space cleared between them, she can reach out a hand and start winding her fingers into the hem of one leg of his pajama pants. This isn't very effective at much of anything other than starting to pull them down, and while there's a moment -- a long-looked, /considering/ moment -- where she is very obviously contemplating continuing that slow creeping pull until they just come off-- she doesn't. Instead, she applies her other hand to the floor, hitches herself around so her back's toward the approach to the bathroom, and starts pushing with her feet and pulling with the hand on his pantleg. It is a definite attempt to /drag/. (It will require some assistance.) "Well?"
As that waistband of his pants slips down, just a bit and slowly, Iago's brows raise bit by bit and just as slowly. Ahem. Yes, he does quietly clear his throat, even. His /shoot/ up, though, no subtly about it when she drops to the floor to push and pull and /drag/. Well. He can't really leave her using all that energy needlessly, can he? There's a moment of resistance before he hops wobbly along with her drag, making a big show playfully about it as if he's /really/ trying to stop from being dragged. Fair play.
They don't, admittedly, get that far: the more Iago plays along, the more Aly's shoulders shake; eventually she gives up the pretense entire and laughs outright. The scooting stops -- with enough warning that the hopalong Iago doesn't overbalance, and she lifts her free hand with a wiggle of fingers. "Okay," she says on a gasping, cheerful breath, "okay, come on," which clearly means: give her a hand up. (The hand still on the pantleg gives one final pull, more directly downward than toward her (and subsequently their goal), but really: it's about a fifty-fifty shot whether or not it does anything.)
What, Aly doesn't want an overbalancing Iago collapsing on her? Hm, no, probably not. He stops hopping and settles down again, though he too laughs loud and deeply, even as he gives Aly a /look/ for that pull at his pants again (nevermind that it is the eventual /goal/ here). The elastic on the waistband keeps them on his person, however, as dangerously low as they get. "Oh, alright," he gives in and bends to reach a hand out and down for her to grab onto. "Lazy."
That elastic must be /acing/ its rolls. Aly looks vaguely -- momentarily! -- disgruntled as they slide loooow but do not come off, and there's another hiccuping, surpressed laugh. Her hand in his is firm, and her mouth is merry, her eyes bright as she looks up. It is /nearly/ a picture of perfect innocence (save for the fact that she's topless, butterflied, and on the floor.) "Well," she says as she levers herself up with his assistance, "I /could/ have just climbed up your leg, instead?" Then the pajamas really would have been done for.
Or Aly is just rolling ones repeatedly. Learn to pull harder, Aly. "Hmmmph," Iago grunts as he pulls up that not-really-a-picture-of-innocence. (The toplessness and butterflies really do ruin it). He stretches out then with another pop of his spine, before settling back, tall still, but more relaxed in posture. "You could've," he agrees looking down at the waistband and comments on just that, "But I think you'd've just successfully pants me instead of successfully getting up off the floor, hm?"
Damn ones. Inconvenient little bastards. Aly echoes Iago's stretch, with a lift of her arms up over her head and a rise up onto her toes; when she settles back it's with terrible posture: her slouch eats up at least a couple of inches. "I could have," Aly agrees, and hooks her fingers into the waistband in question, very deliberately just off-center. "But you kept giving me this /look/, like, 'are you honestly sitting on the floor and trying to pull my pants off like I won't notice?'" This time, when she pulls, it's as she takes a step backward -- and she's not trying to get his pants off, this time, just lead him with them.
"Well," Iago drawls, lips quirking as he brushes the backs of his fingers against her sides, "It's not like I wasn't going to /notice/ very suddenly being nude." There's a distinct note of amusement there, though, not annoyance. "However, you can try giving it another shot in the bathroom if you think you can not /fail/ at it," he adds with a grin. The jerk. He does, however, step in time with her pulling, letting himself be led.
"You could have been distracted!" Aly claims, "I am a very distracting person. It's /entirely possible/ you could have missed sudden nudity." She's grinning while she says it, and she looks up at him through the rumpled muss of hair escaped from her braids, to check and see if he's buying it. "I am /also/ perfectly capable of getting your pants off," she informs him with a sniff, and a thwack of her other hand's index finger against his stomach. It isn't hard enough to sting, so much as just make a slightly hollow-sounding *thunk*
"You weren't jiggling enough at the time for me to be that distracted," Iago replies with utter seriousness...except for the impish smirk and twinkle in his eye. He's buying it? Sorta? He reaches out to give a braid (the only braid left? There's been some hair catastrophes this morning) a tug. He snorts dismissively then, swatting at her poking finger with a broad swipe of his hand. "Really? It doesn't count if I'm so drunk I can't get my own pants off and /you/ have to instead, you know."
Iago has a good point: Aly demonstrates this after a moment by executing a shimmy, deliberately distracting. She gets distracted before she can execute her master pantsing plan, though, by the tweak of her sole remaining (much abused) braid. "--oh, god," she realizes what other people figured out long before now, "my hair is going to be /such/ a /pain/. --and that totally counts, Iago, don't lie. That was /even more difficult/." Aly didn't botch /those/ rolls. She's at least nice enough to let go his waistband once they hit the bathroom door, and gropes over fabric rather than under before turning away; it is only /polite/, since apparently he doesn't want his pants off.
You know what? Iago loves it when he has a good point, but it's especially nice when it's followed by a shimmy. He is, for a moment, appropriately distracted. It's only polite, after all -- if someone is going to shake like that, they deserve our full attention. (His attention has little to do with being /polite/). "Blah, blah, blah," he mumbles, making talky hands once he's, uh, less distracted. "Don't worry about your hair, I'll help. I'm very good with hair," he promises, earnest short-lived as he closes his eyes with a stifled moan for the groping. Given that they are /at/ the bathroom, this should probably be the end of the dragging, but that doesn't stop him from trying to scoop her up in his arms.
Aly loves making a good point, especially when it involves being a distraction -- but now Iago's distracting her from her own distraction, and she bursts out laughing (she is going to be so sore, later.) "Are you," she says, then has to stop herself to drag in a breath, "making /talky hands/ at me?" The fact that he's offering to help doesn't go unnoticed, mind: she answers that with a quick-bright grin and a nod; it shades slightly smug over his groan, and she'd probably go for the pants now that they've reached their goal -- but instead there is scooping. Aly squeals and wiggles, but helpfully: to aid the scooping, rather than trying to get away.
It is probably not a very big bathroom, so while there is scooping up and carrying into the bathroom proper...Iago pauses shortly afterwards and admits, "I didn't really think that one through." Not that he's entirely dissatisfied with the situation, as his wandering hands (as much as they can wander while carrying) and words prove, "Not that I'm /complaining/ about having you in my arms, mind." He grins and hugs her tightly against him, case in point.
Considering that the apartment itself is about the size of a postage stamp: no, not a very big bathroom at all, though considering it also houses the washer and dryer (upright, one unit) it's not quite as bad as it could be. "No," Aly allows from her grand and lofty perch in Iago's arms, winding her arms around his neck to more firmly secure her place there, "I didn't think you had." She hugs him back, because that is what one does, and if her hands can't wander /quite/ as much, she can at least run her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "I'm not complaining about /being/ in your arms, either."
"Yeah," Iago says a bit awkwardly as his grand plans don't fall apart so much as prove to never have existed at all. "I don't suppose I can blame that on residual distractions keeping my mind from being clear?" He asks hopefully, raising his brows even as he glances down rather pointedly. "Unfortunately, unless you're looking for even /more/ awkward fumbling -- and I feel like you've had to put up with enough of that so far -- I am going to have to put you down again." Not that he's in a great hurry to do so.
"No," Aly says again, but softens it with, "I thought it was really cute, though?" His pointed look down gets him an eyeful, really, but it's not like he hasn't been getting the same one since he stumbled in last night -- even if she does unhook one arm and lean back a little, to give him a better line of sight. /Considerate/. "I could always work the faucet from here," she supposes, twisting her head to consider the shower, hidden behind its curtain. "...but yeah, you're probably going to have to put me down again." Not that she seems to be in any hurry for him to do so.
So considerate. Iago, notably, does not complain, even if it isn't exactly a /new/ view. After a moment, though, he does clear his throat and sigh. "Yeah, I suppose," he murmurs, letting her linger in his grip a moment before letting her down slowly and gently, letting her get a good footing on the ground before he-Well. He doesn't let her /go/ exactly, as much as loosen his grip in an approximation of letting her go. It's something, anyway. Winking, he slides past to work the faucets. She probably gets a nice view of his backside.
Aly sticks close while Iago lowers her down, and the last few inches are completed with a sliiiide down him -- a careful one, but a pointed one. When Iago doesn't let her go, she laughs -- no half-laughs here, but this one's a quieter one. She starts to fold her arms across her chest and lean against the sink while he works the shower faucets, but apparently the fabulous view of Iago's backside is irresistable. (Either that, or she's tired of the fire trucks.) She unfolds, unleans, and reaches forward to snap the elastic on his waistband -- from the back, this time, then grab his ass. Because it's there. And she can. Hey there.
The shower fixtures are fixed, but it's probably going to take a few moments for it to stop being 'killing the mood cold' anyway. Before Iago can even turn around, though, there is /snapping/ and /hands/ on his /ass/. Butt-cheeks clench at the groping and he looks over his shoulder at her placidly. It is certainly a tamer look than how he /feels/. "You got plans for back there?" He drawls slowly, unable to keep a smile off his face as he raises his brows.
God save them from killing-the-mood cold. Aly is not unaware of that clench -- after all, her hand is /right there/, where she can feel muscle move below fabric. The look she meets his with is mild, mild, and her, "Only if you want me to," sounds teasing, but her eyes are honest. Her hand, though, slides up to the bare skin of his back as she takes a half-step to close some of the distance between them. "Otherwise, it was just-- you know, /there/. All grabbable."
"--/that/ depends /entirely/ on what you'll /allow/ me to do," Alyssa comes out with after a long moment's pause, in which her fingers stroke up along his spine, then back down again; she stays above the waist this time, though, when she stops. She meets his smug with a smirk, and wiggles her free hand at him. "I am the grabbiest of grabby things," she tells him, teasing right back, "no portions of your anatomy are safe!" That was kind of nerdy, Aly.
Iago murmurs low in contented pleasure at the feel of her fingers along his spine, eyes half-lidding lazily for a moment before they open back up as he smirks and replies, "Fair enough. I'll be sure to give you fair warning if you stray into off limits." Which means that there are some off limits...but also that there probably aren't /many/. It is especially emphasized as he grins and says, "Maybe my anatomy doesn't need to be safe." Hey, at least he didn't laugh at her nerdiness.
This seems to give Alyssa pause, if only momentarily -- she doesn't answer right away, and the hand on his back goes still before starting on another upward stroke. It's entirely possible she's running through a mental catalogue of /things/ that /could be/ okay, and trying to shuffle them onto the two sides of that line based on what she already knows of Iago. "--okay," she manages to get out after a moment, and the smile she gives him is lopsidedly bright, "fair enough." This time, when she runs her hand back down, she tucks the tips of her fingers below his waistband, and tips her face up to his. "I can put a lot more of it in danger of being grabby-handed, if that's the case."
Her mental shuffling is watched quietly and with a small, amused smile as if he's got a clue of what might just be going on inside her head at that moment. "I like to consider myself a fair person -- whether it's true or not," Iago replies with a lopsided grin of his own for her. "Mmmm," he murmurs, a low and deep sound as he tilts forward slightly, brown eyes fixed on her much brighter ones. "I think that's the idea, isn't it?" He asks and leans forward the rest of the way to kiss her without waiting for an answer.
Iago gets an answer despite not having waited for one: while he leans forward to kiss her, she brilliantly demonstrates the power of not failing her rolls: with one hand, she deftly divests himself of those persistently pesky pajama pants; with the other, she ably demonstrates that his anatomy is, in fact, not at /all/ safe from the grip of grasping, grabby hands. Hand. Thus arrayed, it's really no surprise when her press upward into his kiss also becomes a push backwards, then a turn and a pull and step into the shower; thus arrayed, Iago follows; the curtain quite literally closes behind them.