Saints - Take 3

Ms. Abbott laughed as she listened to Peyton pick on the usually untouchable man. She wondered about the relationship he had developed with the girl. "Oh yes, well, I've worked for the house a long time. It's practically a tradition that I make pancakes and eggs every Sunday morning." Ms. Abbott replied as she pushed her glasses back up with her shoulder as she whisked the batter once before pouring it into the pan on the stove. Popping and sizzling filling the air along with the smell of the batter cooking. "There is another worker here, Gary, he's the groundskeeper - I doubt you'll run into him and if you do he isn't much of a talker." She continued, leaning against the counter as she waited on the pancakes.

She hadn't noticed Abbadon lurking in the background until Peyton had pointed it out. Peyton was right, he didn't look like himself. She looked him up and down once before realizing what it must be. She looked towards Peyton very quickly, a look of realization, fear, and concern crossing her face in thew few milliseconds where she was unable to maintain her composure. No, no. She's such a nice girl, he wouldn't. Ms. Abbott told herself as she looked towards Abbadon for reassurance.

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Abbadon's eyes narrowed into a glare as he saw Ms. Abbott's expressions come and go in a flash. He shook his head 'no' at her. He didn't bring his food home - she should of known that. He raised his coffee cup to his lips, breathing in the warm, nutty aroma of the brew before taking a sip and placing the cup back down. He braced his arms against the counter, inhaling sharply, and twisting his neck and back until the bones popped.

His weary eyes rose up to meet Peyton's, the animalistic pupils more prominent than they had been in the past and accentuated by the dark circles. "Too much to drink last night, didn't sleep well, jet lag, long day - pick one." He replied as he took another sip from the cup and made his way over to Peyton, leaving a kiss on her forehead Pull away He told himself, the control he had over himself now was thin. He could hear her heart beating and he blood moving through her veins. His eyes fixated on the veins on her collar bone that was peaking through the robe. He knew how close what he needed was, he knew how easy that delicate skin would break.

Pull away He told himself again, this time mustering up the control to follow his instructions. This time his eyes bore into hers with a look of a primitive desperation. He scolded himself and closed his eyes for a long moment before looking back at Ms. Abbott. "I'll be in my study today, and out tonight. If she needs anything - I expect you'll attend to her." Abbadon said, perhaps more gruffly than he needed too, he wasn't in the mood for pleasantries though.

The hallway to the study lead Abbadon towards the back of the house, the artifacts of the house's, and his, history did nothing to ease the mood he was in - if anything, it made it worse. The heavy door slammed behind him as he walked into the study, the thud of it finding it's place in the doorway echoing through the house. He relaxed into the worn leather seat behind an oak desk as he looked over several papers scattered on top.

Peyton could feel the tension that was built around Abbadon as he leaned in to give her a quick peck on the head, and as she reached for his hand, he gently pulled it away from her grasp, and continued avoiding any physical contact with her. Normally it wouldn't have bugged her, his morose mood, but today he seemed slightly offended and off-put  by her presence, not exactly the greatest compliment or best way to begin the day.

Her nod was short and quick as Abbadon announced that he would be spending the day cooped up in his study, and his evening somewhere other than in her company. Trying not to sit around and sulk, she slipped down from the tall bar stool and went over to pour herself a cup of coffee, a feeble attempt to keep her mind from wandering. As she brought the hot mug of liquid to her lips, she paused slightly, watching it ripple as the slamming of what had to be Abbadon's heavy wooden office door came ranging down the hallway.

"Someone's in a dreadful mood.." She muttered, taking a small sip, followed by the wrinkling of her nose. "Could his coffee be any more bitter?" Peyton choked out, opening the refrigerator and searching the shelves and compartments for any sign of creamer. After finding the glorious bottle, she poured a hefty amount into the hot drink, turning the ebony coloured liquid into a khaki colour instead.

Peyton turned her attention back to Ms.Abbott and her cooking. "You said you've been working here for quite a while? How did you two become acquainted? Was it sort of a passing through the family thing? Or did he hire you himself?" She questioned. Her index finger became preoccupied with running around the rim of her glass in an attempt to soothe the voices chattering away in the back of her mind.

She was forcing herself to listen to the older woman as she spoke, but found it difficult for her mind not to wander. Apparently it had been obvious, because Ms.Abbott repeatedly called her "sweetie" to capture her attention once again and let her know breakfast was finally finished. "I'm sorry, Ms.Abbott. And, I'm Peyton, by the way. I don't believe I told you."

"What can I say? It suits his personality." Ms. Abbott remarked towards the coffee comment as she flipped another pancake, adding it to the tall stack that had already made. "I've just been around, details of how it came to be are lost to me now." She replied in response to the questions Peyton had bombarded her with questions. "Oh don't you worry dear, you have more on your mind than the ramblings of a batty old lady in the kitchen." She lifted a white porcelain plate topped with several pancakes onto the counter in front of Peyton. "Eat up, Dearie!" She said reaching for the bottle of syrup from the fridge.

Ms. Abbott fixed a plate with a pancake on it for herself and climbed up on the stool across from Peyton. "I wouldn't let his moodiness cloud your thoughts, he has his moods and he's just in one of them today." Ms. Abbott offered as poured syrup over the golden pancake. "His mood changes more than the tide, he'll be more chipper in the morning I'll bet."

The rest of breakfast was quiet, small conversation was made, but most of the sound came from forks scraping against plate. Ms. Abbott could tell Peyton's mind was elsewhere and she wasn't going to try and pry it from wherever it had wandered. "I have some housework to do, but I'll be around if you need anything. You should look around, Mr. Crankypants has quite a few interesting items out in the house." She said rising from her seat and taking her dish to to the sink before disappearing towards the laundry room.

Peyton finished her breakfast in silence, and following suit, poured out the remains of her coffee and discarded her dish and cutlery in the farmhouse sink. She ran the tap for a moment, erasing all traces of coffee in the sink to avoid sticky residue buildup that would eventually make themselves known. It drove her crazy when guests would forget or think nothing of it at her apartment, but they were never the ones who had to clean it up, either. She continued to make herself busy for ten or so minutes, cleaning minute little things around the mostly spotless kitchen to keep her mind at ease.

She decided on taking a tour of the house after a shower and in more appropriate attire. She now knew that it wasn't just her and Abbadon in the house, but instead at least two other people, one of which she had already embarrassed herself by being mostly naked in front of. Being in a thin, sexy nightgown that Abbadon had picked out for her wasn't exactly the ideal way to meet someone for the first time. She wasn't about to make the same mistake with the groundskeeper that was lurking around the property somewhere.

She bounded up the stairs and turned in the direction of her room. After taking a few steps into her designated bedroom, her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. She turned on her heel and stepped outside of the doorway, gazing at the picture now hanging just outside of her room. There was now a portrait of the plantation's landscape hanging in the place of the beautiful young woman dressed in Victorian attire. She would make sure to ask Ms.Abbott where it had run off to. Perhaps it had fallen, and as a result, the frame had broken and needed to be replaced. Either way, she was dead set on having it hang outside of the bedroom. She loved to gaze at the natural beauty, and was entirely jealous of not only the lady's good looks, but the ability to grow up in such an elegant era.

Confused, Peyton stepped back into the room, her eyes steadfast on the bathroom door. She longed for a steamy soak in the tub to relax in and flip through a few magazines. Well, relax was a relative term, as the magazines were that of her competition in the art community. After flipping through a few pages of them while submerged in the tub, she picked up a local magazine and began to eye the perspective they took on the art scene. It was much different from that of Chicago's, which was mostly modern, but New Orleans had a much more lively, community feel, something she would like to attempt while on this little vacation.

Peyton pulled on a pair of worn jeans, a black tank, and a pair of boots before finding herself wandering the halls and finding herself consumed in the various relics Abbadon had displayed in each room of the house. It was inevitable that she found herself opening the door to his office, and when she did, she hesitated in the doorway. "Sorry.. I was just looking around. I'll leave you to your work." She murmured, giving him a small smile before pulling the door closed behind her.

The study was a dark, wood paneled room. Light struggled to make it through the faded royal purple drapes that covered the tall windows. Looming bookshelves lined the space between the windows, only breaking their circle for a fireplace and door way. It was well aged like the rest of the house, but this room lacked the airy feeling the plantation home had, almost claustrophobic - despite the room's size.

The leather chair squeaked as Abbadon leaned back in it, enjoying the solitude and peacefulness that his study offered. The only noise was the occasional sound of Lucinda the parrot's talons digging into the wooden bean she sat on. His eyes fell closed and for a moment, time was indistinguishable. He was unaware of the changes three centuries on the soil of the 'New World' had brought. A slave's back could of been glistening with sweat under the sun as he tended to the crops, or Ms. Abbott could of been in the kitchen kneading dough for biscuits to make in the electric stove. He liked it that way, when time was blurred, it helped him to not feel so old.

Abbadon turned his attentions towards the door, his eyes fluttering open, as the bright mid-morning light peaked through from the hallway and into the dimly lit study. "You can stay." He called as he noticed a somewhat abashed looking Peyton trying to quietly close the door. He didn't want to see Peyton looking hurt, even if he had been rather blunt. It was easier for him to be written off as cranky than to explain. He perched himself upright in the chair, and rested his elbows on the desk with his fingers folded while he waited on Peyton to take a seat.

Peyton's hand still rested on the cold, metal doorknob as Abbadon's voice crept across the room to her. She hesitated in the doorway, eyeing the intricate designs that laced the doorknob before allowing herself into the room and forcing the heavy wooden door closed. She had no idea as to why he looked so forlorn as he sat in a large, hand carved mahogany desk on the opposite wall.

Instead of taking a seat as Abbadon had gestured her to do, Peyton politely shook her head, and instead, wrapped her arms around herself while she began to wander the spacious room. The room was not like the rest of the house; it was darker, stuffier, much more cave-like. It was jam packed with bookshelves lined with various trinkets from several eras, as well as books --all of which could be no less than 100 years old. It filled the air with that classic ''book smell," one she found comfort in for most of her life, which in turn, induced a reminiscent smile.

Her finger ran lightly across the smooth wood of a section of the wall length bookshelf that sat directly in front of Abbadon's desk. She was surprised how well he and his family had managed to maintain the entire property and its artifacts so well. Many generations tended to lose sight of their importance or merely lose track of items all together, but the plantation seemed stocked with every piece ever obtained by the family over the last 200 years.

She reminded herself that she wasn't alone in the room, and turned toward the desk. Peyton studied him silently for a few seconds before forcing the question that had been probing her mind all morning and shutting down all advances toward relaxation she had attempted. "Did I say or do something to offend you last night?"

Abbadon watched as Peyton looked around in timid curiosity at the old books and furniture, barley ghosting her fingers over them as if she thought they might turn to dust. They had survived far worse than the gentle touch of a woman. "You won't hurt them." He spoke softly his eyes looking up to meet hers and his tone much lighter than it had been in the kitchen.

His eyes didn't break from Peyton as she continued to look at the objects, though they did wander. First to the arch of her neck, where what he so desperately craved laid under delicate flesh. Then to where her pale skin stretched over her collar bone in the most alluring way, down to the slightest bounce of breasts as she walked across the oriental rug spread over the hardwood, the narrow part of her waist that gave way to her incredible hips, and settled on her barley there hipbones as she met the front of the desk.

He opened his lips to speak, but held back anything more than a short breath as he decided, for once, to think things over before he said them.
"No." He began. "And I'm sorry I was short with you this morning." He continued as he looked up at her. "I didn't sleep well, or much at all really - I stayed with you until nearly 4. I am jet-lagged and yesterday was quiet exhausting once it finally hit me. I woke up in a poor mood and realized how much work I need to get done today, but it was no reason to be rude to you." He reached out for her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it lightly. " After all, you are my guest." He placed her hand back on the wooden top of the desk, his hand still clasped over it. It was too much, he could feel her blood pulsing through the veins. He bit his lip and held back though offering Peyton a soft smile.

Peyton felt slightly guilty that he had stayed up so late with her, which was probably because he didn't want to wake her from her slumber. He needn't stay all night with her; after all, he had his own tasks to tend to, as she could see quite literally piled upon the wooden desk they both lingered at. She clasped her hands together and nodded as he mentioned his work had become backed up, her eyes glancing back toward the stack of papers in front of him.

"Yeah, of course. I'll let you get to it then." She murmured, striding towards the large, heavy door once more. She had to pull the wooden door with a bit of force to get it open, finding this to be the first one in the house to be a little sticky. With a second forceful tug, she managed to open it, though embarrassment clearly followed due to the inability to leave the room she had already been uncomfortable in.

"I planned on painting on the porch if that's okay. I bought a tarp last night, so I won't get any paint on the wood, but I'm still too uncomfortable to do so inside. The floors are too gorgeous to risk." Peyton insisted, tapping her nails lightly on the door facing. "Speaking of paintings, the one that hung outside my door of that woman is gone. Did something happen to it? I liked looking at her." She murmured, leaning on the doorway as she became slightly relaxed.

"Don't feel like this is your fault, I wanted to stay with you. I could of left much earlier had I wanted too." Abbadon reminded as reached for a stack of papers to his right and reached to turn on the Tiffany lamp on his left. The lamp cast a warm glow from the multi-colored glass over the desk and the papers. He flipped through the first set of papers as he listened to Peyton speak.

"The back of the wrap around." Abbadon noted, as if Peyton would know the rest of his thoughts without him speaking them, as he scribbled his signature down on several dotted lines. "The back of the wrap around, facing the gardens." He continued with his broken thoughts before setting the pen down at looking up at her. "It has good light, anywhere in the gardens should right now. But if you're on the porch. Southwest. You'll see a large live oak way out in the back - in the swamps - it's on a small island type lot, if that's in your sight, you'll know you're looking in the right direction"

Almost anything in the gardens would of been beautiful to paint, small pebbles lined the walkways that laid between tall hedges and flowers that never seemed to go out of bloom in the south. Weather beaten statues of cherubs, lions, and harpies of the cast iron, marble, and conrete sort had been tucked away into every space around every turn. Several small fountains, and two larger ones could be found, and heavy wrought iron gates protected the area from any wandering creatures from the swamps.

"It might rain later on today, paint inside it it does. Lay down some cloth if you're on the rugs, but it should wipe off the wood if you get it quick enough. " Abbadon smiled at her, he would love to see what the old house inspired her to do. It was a beautiful day now, but you could feel that a storm would come along by the chill that hung in the heavy air. For now though, the french doors and shutters were open letting the house air.

He picked up his pen once more, expecting Peyton would leave shortly, and began to read a few clauses of a contract that had been drafted up. "What painting?" Abbadon asked, a puzzled look coming over his face. "A woman? The landscape is the one that's been there for the last fifty years at least." He wasn't sure why he felt the need to deny the existence of the painting, he could of just of easily said that it had been taken down because the paint was fading, or it needed to be reframed. "You must of confused it with another painting in the house, there are quite a few." Abbadon remarked as he buried his head back into his work, waiting on Peyton to leave.

Peyton cast a quizzical glance toward Abbadon as he denied the existence of the the beautiful brunette woman with doll-like features. Her hair was perfectly kept, her eyes large and caustic, as well as her delicate, perfectly shaped lips. She was a striking woman, one Peyton would not forget. She decided not to push the subject though, as Abbadon had been in a relatively strange mood, even for him, all morning.

She had followed his directions for the most apt area for her to begin working. They were absolutely perfect, revealing the bright pops of colour contrasting with the dark iron and dirt stained concrete sculptures that poked their heads out from the breath taking garden. The entire plantation seemed so surreal, and no matter how long she gazed and basked in all of its wonder, she continued to find a new, distinctive quality the longer she looked.

As the sun began to go down, she packed her things up, pleased with how much she had manged to finish in between the spurts of longing looks she cast as far as her eyes could take her. Perhaps it would be a gift for Ms.Abbott, for being so kind and putting up with her less than chatty mood this morning. She seemed like a very lovely woman, one much younger than her years. The older lady was someone Peyton really enjoyed to be around.

She had to make several trips up the staircase with her supplies. Upon the first one, both due to her lack of coordination and the uncanny ability she had with paying little attention to things, she tripped over a white laundry basket, causing her to hit the floor on both knees. "Fuck." She muttered, glancing at the canvas she had just been working on. She realized no harm had been done to the work of art, and sighed in relief. It did, however, irritate her enough that she settled on bringing the basket full of Abbadon's clothing to his room. She had little patience to ruin her paintings and bust her kneecaps.

Peyton snatched the plastic laundry bin, and began down the hallway toward the singular door at the end. She vaguely remembered him saying to keep out of his room, but judging by the bruise that was already forming on her right knee, she didn't give a shit. She opened the door with ease, all intentions of setting the laundry basket just inside of his door to avoid any scuffles with him.

She couldn't help but notice that his room kept with the theme of his study: dark, depressing, and incredibly tantalizing. Biting her lip, she convinced herself she wouldn't linger too long, telling herself she was safe to creep around for a moment, as Abbadon had gone out about half an hour ago. Peyton lightly traced her fingers along a dark, wooden dresser nearest the door, unable to keep from touching the metal hinges, allowing them to tap lightly against the dresser.

Her next sight was the large, beautifully crafted trunk at the end of Abbadon's bed. It was wooden, showing much wear and tear, and the leather straps were also light and flimsy with age. Just as she had began reaching for the buckles, she heard rustling around near the stairwell. She decided to take that as her cue to leave, and she silently crept out of the room just as stealthily as she had slipped into it.

An orange cat who had been biding his time by hiding hedges watching patiently as Peyton painted, crept away as she returned to the house. Curious Valafar thought as he lept to the the top of a wrought iron post that surrounded the garden. I didn't know he had a new pet. He walked carefully along the edge of the fence, managing to stay tucked away and out of sight while Peyton gathered her paints and canvas.

He bounded across the lawn to slip inside before the french door caught on a gust of air and swung closed - the storm was close. Valafar took his time, making sure to track his muddy paws all over the valuable antiques and hardwoods of the estate. A gift for an old friend He mused as he lept down from a runner table, remembering his real intent. He may of setup a bit of a meeting with the man of the house, but a cat could play while the master was away.

At the sound of the forbidden ebony doors swinging open, the orange tabby bounded up the stairs. Where he noticed the blonde from the porch was standing on the spiral staircase that lead up to Abbadon's room. Looks like she was going down.... He paused at the top of the staircase Not anymore he trotted over to her, rubbing against her leg. "Meow." He mewed softly at her, looking up at her with eyes reminiscent of Vaseline, and purring as he rubbed against her leg once more then slipping past and hopping up each of the small, but steep stairs until he reached the bedroom, quickly leaping up on the dresser.

Peyton jumped slightly as she felt something brush up against her leg, obviously on edge as she crept in a forbidden room. It never occurred to her that Abbadon would be a cat person. He had only mentioned the wildlife and his parrot, Lucinda, not a large orange tabby. She bent to reach the cat's head, scratching it lightly. He purred loudly, leaning into the feel of her nails against the top of his head. At least someone is happy to be in my company.

Her heart skipped a beat as the large cat leapt onto the dresser, leaving a few smudges of mud from his mostly dry paws. "Shit." She muttered, scooping the cat up in one arm and feverishly rubbing the top of the dresser clean with the hem of her tank top. As soon as all traces of dirt had been erased, she let herself out of the bedroom, carrying the cat against her chest. She gently set the still meowing animal down onto the floor and decided to be about her business. She still had several bottles of paint, brushes, cups with paint residue sitting along the bottoms, and her tarp to bring upstairs.

It took three trips to lug all of her things up the intricately carved stairwell, all the while carefully avoiding any and all paint drops she could. Much to her surprise, when she returned to her room the cat had found himself perched on her bed, laying comfortably on his stomach while he watched her movements with very deliberate eyes. "Aren't you soft?" She cooed, running her hand along the cat's silky coat a few more times before her eyes shifted toward the clock on the bedside table. Though she had Ms.Abbott in the house most of the day, she found herself at a loss of how to keep herself occupied without Abbadon, especially since it had become too dark to explore.

Valafar arched his back and hissed as Peyton picked him up from his perch on the dresser, reaching out to scratch her but only managing to snag the top layer, not drawing blood but leaving a small red scratch. Even in feline form he would not be man-handled. He tried to leap from her arms onto the bed, but to no avail as she carried his squirming body down the stairs.

He landed on all fours, quite relieved, when Peyton had set him down. Valafar trailed behind her towards the bedroom, his pupils following her every move. Well he certainly can pick them He wouldn't deny the attractiveness of the human in front of him. As Peyton sat on the bed, he rose and climbed onto her chest, rubbing his head against her breasts. ....and they're real. He meowed at her again, more vocally this time.

Lead her not into temptation. He hopped from the bed and trailed his way across the hallway again, weaving in and out of the stair railing as he found his way to the door of Abbadon's room once again, meowing as he pawed at the door trying to wedge a large enough space for him to slip through.

She couldn't keep from laughing as the cat proceeded to headbutt her breasts. It had been a quirk of her old calico that she had never seen portrayed in another animal until this point. Scratching him underneath the chin, she grabbed the sketchpad that sat on her bed, deciding that since she couldn't pain, she could at least enjoy sketching a bit with the marker set she crammed down into her suitcase for the flight down south.

Peyton paid little attention as the cat decided to remove himself from her presence, knowing that there were much more interesting things to do rather than watch her draw with strong odored markers she had on hand. Often times, she found herself sneezing at the scent of them, so the cat hightailing it away from the bedroom didn't surprise her in the least.

She had found herself buried deep within the motions of drawing when the sound of claws scratching against the old plantation's wood caught her attention. Her eyes grew wide as she imagined the cat tearing up any part of the house. "Here kitty, kitty!" She called, hopping down from the bed and following the sounds of untrimmed claws tearing at the door frame. It took her no time to find him at Abbadon's door, where the cat had rather liked hiding out when she snuck in to set Abbadon's things out of the way.

Sighing, she pulled the door closed, making sure it was secure, before she scooted the cat away from the door with her foot. "He'll kick your ass, silly cat. The house is far too pretty for you to mark it up." She chided, continuing to usher the cat away from Abbadon's door and toward the staircase.

As she was doing so, the sound of a car door shutting rang from the front of the house. All concerns about the cat were soon diminished as Abbadon's familiar footfalls hit the steps of the plantation porch. It had been raining, and his hair was now glistening from the water droplets that clung to his dark mane. "Hey sexy." She purred, standing on her toes to reach up and steal a kiss.

Abbadon froze as saw Peyton's silhouette bounding down the stairs. She should be in bed. He had cleaned up the best he could, and the rain helped, he wasn't sure how much the metallic smell of blood would cling to his hair and clothes.

"Hey." He spoke softly before planting a kiss on her velvety lips, and then quickly stepping back out of the porch light. He cleared his throat before speaking. "My laundry should be sitting at my door, could you grab me some pants? I'm going to take a shower before I track mud all over." He gestured towards the stairs for her.

He was worried. He didn't want Peyton to see him like this. His body hadn't settled back as a human yet. His teeth were still jagged, his pupils still narrowed. "Please?" He gestured again, with his hand, elongated nails slightly outlined by the shadows. He felt...vulnerable. He had never felt that way in his true form, and only a handful of times as a human. He thought back to the last time he remembered, when Evlyn had finally agreed to let him bed her. He was more nervous than she was. He wasn't that way anymore, he was much more dominate and aggressive, the tenderness had faded away long ago.

He nodded once more in the direction of the stairs, before Peyton turned to go up them. Abbadon took a sigh of relief and began to strip down to his drawers, pushing the bloodied clothes under the crawl space of the porch. I'll take care of them tomorrow He promised himself, quickly slipping inside and to the only full bath on the lower floor, making sure the door was locked behind him before stepping into the shower.

Peyton watched as Abbadon became agitated, fidgety, the instant she touched him. It made her uncomfortable, self conscious, and very unsure of herself as he yet again brushed off her company and advances. Indeed he had confused her, what with being so intimate and adoring the night before, but today very cold and bushing her off at every opportunity he got the chance. He was sending her mixed signals, and perhaps fighting with them on his own. Either way, she was less confident in herself than ever due to the flip flopping of his nature.

She was sitting, laying against the pillows and headboard, when she heard the quiet padding of Abbadon's footfall toward the bedroom door. Her eyes flicked up to see him standing shirtless in the door way. Instead of speaking, she returned to listlessly tracing a solitary line in red ink, repeating the motions in silence. She was beginning to wonder why she had even agreed to make a trip with him, and even more curious why he would invite her, yet show little to no interest in her while they were vacationing. It made no sense to her as to why he would bring her somewhere, but avoid her like the plague.

She chewed on her bottom lip as she replaced the cap of her marker and reached for a creamy coloured one instead. She began drawing over the straight lines once again, ignoring the fact that Abbadon had now found himself perched on the end of her bed to the best of her abilities. She hadn't known whether to close her book and attempt to converse with him, or keep quiet and occupy herself. Option two was the best way to keep herself from showing too much vulnerability, which is what she went with. However, she couldn't help but glance up as he stared so intently at her.

Le sketch.
http://usingentertainment.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/tumblr-love-artworki---art-we-heart-it-pdcqqibz.jpg

"You're up awfully late." Abbadon commented as he stood at the end of the bed, his hands running along the woodwork of the foot board. The silence hung heavy between them even after he spoke. "I'm sorry, I was just soaked and...a mess really. I didn't want you to get any of it on you." It wasn't lying. It was the selective truth. He didn't need to specify messy with what.

"Do you mind if I sit?" He didn't wait for a reply, but instead took a seat where her feet ended on the bed. He felt better now, more in control of himself, he felt comfortable to be around her. Every second was not him questioning whether or not he could control himself enough that Peyton would live through the next second. "I know I've been off today, I'm feeling a lot better now though." He offered as he rubbed her knee over the blanket.

It wasn't sure if it was okay for him to ask to snuggle up to her. Peyton looked fairly intent on her drawing, her markers sketching over the paper illuminated by the amber lamp that glowed on the nightstand. He was curious as to what she had decided to paint earlier today and how it turned out, but the questions seemed better suited to another time.

Peyton winced and quickly jerked her knee away from the pressure of his hand. Not because she didn't long for his advances, but because he had managed to brush against the knee she banged up tripping over his basket of clothing. "I tripped over your laundry earlier.. I have a nasty bruise." She said softly, tugging the blanket from over her skin to reveal the purple and yellow discolouration surrounding her kneecap.

"I know you said to keep out of your room, but I set it inside of your doorway. I figured breaking Peyton-Abbadon confidentiality for all of two seconds was better than me killing myself on the stairs." She teased half-heartedly, shoving her art materials aside. She soon found herself nestled against his chest, grateful that instead of pushing her away, Abbadon wrapped his arms around her snugly. She hadn't enjoyed the day, what with his many attempts to avoid her, the orange tabby's scratches, and nearly busting her face on top of the knee she banged up.  Being revisited by the more affectionate Abbadon was a nice change of pace.

The quiet meows coming from down the hallway caught her attention. "Is that your cat? He followed me as I was bringing my things in earlier. He definitely does not like being held, he ended up scratching me when I picked him up." She murmured, pressing her lips lightly against the underside of his jaw a few times before she became confident enough to trail them along his throat before nipping his shoulder lightly. They were feeble attempts at affection, ones that she didn't know how he would interpret. They weren't passionate enough that he would immediately jump the gun and expect sex, but prominent enough that he would know to provide her with his undivided attention. Either way, she had mentally prepared herself for rejection.

Abbadon wrinkled his nose at the discolored skin, his hand tracing the outline where blue faded to flesh-toned. "Be more careful." He warned as he tenderly pressed his lips to the the mark. He knew the day had been rough for both of them now, but was sure that the short comings of Peyton's day were in direct relation to his attitude.

He adjusted himself on the bed as Peyton curled up against him. A slight small tugged on the corners of his mouth, knowing that if he hadn't been forgiven for the day's events - they were at least momentarily forgotten. He tucked his arm around the narrowest part of the Peyton's waist while she put her head on his shoulder, talking about the events of the day. "... A cat?" He looked at her confused. "I don't have a cat." His brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what Peyton was talking about.

"....That cat." Abbadon's eyes narrowed as he realized what had happened. "....Don't let that cat in." His heart dropped as he realized everything that could of happened in his absence. "He's a very..... troublesome cat." He kissed Peyton's lips in return, the feeling of her lips trailing down his neck though distracted him from speaking anymore. "Mhmm. That feels nice." His voice lower and more sultry now, and his hands running down her back.

A wave of relief washed over Peyton as she realized he hadn't tensed, flinched, or even made a point to announce she shouldn't have entered his bedroom, especially since he had provided her with strict orders not to at the beginning of their stay. She nodded silently at his gentle reminder to be more careful around the house. The tone of his voice was placid, much to her surprise. She had envisioned he would be at least a little gruff that she disobeyed the one order he had given her, but he seemed much too concerned over her little battle with the stairs to express any irritation he may have felt.

Peyton was reminded of how the cat clawed at the trim around Abbadon's door, tearing away at the well preserved centuries old wood. It now was carved away from the feline's claws, leaving evidence of his destruction to be seen by everyone who drew near the forbidden door. She supposed that was what he meant by troublesome, to which she could attest to being true. Even so, he had been excellent company while Abbadon had been gone. Animals were always therapeutic.

The meows from the cat still rang down the hallway occasionally, distracting her as she peppered his chest with alternating kisses and bites. It finally became too much and she gave him a firm push back onto the bed. She pulled the tank top over her head before leaning in to nibble lightly on his ear. "Throw that cat out or I'll start putting my clothes back on." She breathed, crawling off of him.

"Hurry back.." Peyton insisted, hopping off of the bed to peel off the jeans that clung tightly to her body. She walked toward the vanity, stepping over her articles of clothing on her way over. She shot a quick glance in the mirror, and began to pull the bobby pins that had held her hair in a bun, freeing her golden tresses. Shaking the curls free, Peyton leaned against the bedpost. "Tick tock.." She called, running a well polished nail over the ornate carvings in the bed frame.

Abbadon assumed it better to let it go about Peyton invading his privacy than raise suspicion about why he would be upset that she had merely opened the door. She hadn't done any harm, and she had admitted it - he assumed that would mean she would respect his space in the future.

"Well that would certainly be a tragedy" Abbadon said softly as he leaned in for one more kiss. "I'll get right on that." He replied as he rose from the bed, scooping the orange cat up from the doorway as made his way towards the staircase. The feline squirmed in Abbadon's grip reaching his paws out and swatting in any direction he could hoping to snag skin as he was carried down the stairs by the skruff of his neck.

"Out you go" Abbadon chuckled as he opened the front door and tossed the cat out onto the porch and swiftly shut the door before he could run back in. The cat looked in through the windows, pawing at the window in vain as Abbadon turned towards the staircase, heading back towards the bedroom.

"He's gone." Abbadon smirked, unbuttoning his shirt as he stood in the doorway. "Now, I kept up my end of the deal. You keep up yours." He added as he walked towards the bed, the linen button up falling to a pile in the floor. "Let's get the rest of this off" Abbadon purred, kissing her as he climbed over her, making her lay back on the bed."

Peyton leaned against the wooden bed frame as she watched Abbadon undo the buttons on his shirt with much ease. The pale blue shirt fell to the aged hardwood flooring into a delicate, crumpled pile that seemed to echo across the room. There were no other sounds in the house other than their breathing, and the sound of his footfalls drawing nearer which engulfed her and rang loudly in her ears.

Her breath caught as his lips brushed against hers for round two. His body language read passionate and needy, instead of the rougher, lust-influenced one that had been so prominent in their relationship. She fell back onto the bed, enticed by the kisses he showered along her jawline, neck, and collarbone. His breath was warm as it washed over her, and his lips seemed to ignite her skin and set it ablaze.

After Abbadon had managed to remove her bra and continue serenading her, Peyton pushed against his chest, shoving him down on the bed. "You're so damn sexy.." She breathed, wrapping her index fingers around the elastic band of his sweats and giving them a firm tug downward, only to be disappointed by the presence of boxers.

She blew the hair from her face before narrowing her eyes at him. "Who the fuck wears sweats and boxers?" She questioned, clearly unamused by an additional layer of clothing. This time she wasn't nearly as gentle in her quest to free him of all articles of clothing. "Next time don't wear so much." Peyton insisted, hovering over his crotch.

A small smile tugged at Abbadon's lips as Peyton pushed him back on the bed til his back met the duvet and his head was against the bed frame. Is this how you want to play? Abbadon mused to himself, watching as Peyton scolded him for his abundance of clothing before stripping him.

The power exchange amused him to say the least. He had always been in control in most every aspect of his life, not to mention in the bedroom. He was dominant and unyielding by nature, but he was willing to bend for Peyton. He'd let her have her fun for now.

"No one pairs sweats with underwear? Is that right?" Abbadon questioned before kicking the clothing that was wrapped around his legs to the ground. "I'll be certain to remember that next time I see you in them." He remarked in answer to his own question, adding a playful wink.

His eyes focused on every subtle movement her body made, turning attention rapidly from one place to the next. The amber light from the globe lamps reflected off the curve of her breasts, highlighting their perfection. The way she ever so slightly pursed her lips in anticipation of what she knew was coming. Her fingers ghosting across his chest in an almost hesitant manner.

It was intimate.

It was something he hadn't experienced in a long time, but this time he didn't feel sick. He didn't feel the need to shy away from her and sulk away. This time his past wasn't able to overtake the present. He felt at ease, happy in the moment instead of the resentment that he had held onto for so long.

His mind snapped away from his over hyped senses. They were strong to start with, but they were in overdrive from the earlier events of the day. "You're beautiful." He stated simply, hand resting on the small of Peyton's waist as his eyes looked up to meet hers. He was certain that Peyton was well aware of her physical attributes but he meant it on a surface level as well as a deeper one.

Beautiful was a term Peyton had grown accustomed to hearing. The compliments of various lovers boosted her ego and kept her mind from slipping into the cracks of self-consciousness. Abbadon had been one of the many, showering her with these lust-filled words in hopes of serenading her.

Beautiful.

The word seemed to touch her soul. The sheer intensity of his smolder coupled with the way his compliment was delivered caused her face and chest to flush. Never had she felt as fragile and vulnerable in someone's presence than she did in this moment. Though she had spent much of her time naked with him, she hadn't felt exposed before him. It was a slightly uncomfortable feeling, but one she decided against chasing away.

Peyton bent down and caught his lips between her own. She kissed him passionately, her tongue beckoning his mouth for access. Desire had ignited within the pit of her stomach, awakening the appetite she held for him even more fiercely than before the clothes had come off a few minutes before. There was something was incredibly sexy about the raw emotion and defenseless side of Abbadon that lay beneath her.

She ached for him as the two of their tongues wrestled tirelessly, desperate for one another. Managing to break free from his mouth, Peyton repositioned herself, guiding his member toward her entrance. Her breath caught as she lowered herself onto him. They quickly found their rhythm, her hips rocking in sync with the able thrusts that Abbadon administered.

Her head fell back, a wave of golden curls cascading down her back as she bit her lip between her teeth, quietly whimpering in pleasure to herself. The large, rough hands that had been on her hips, guiding every movement she made had now interlocked with her own fingers much to her surprise. Intimacy was never something the pair had ventured into, each of them with their own valid reasons.

Abbadon was caught off guard by the sudden intensity Peyton began to return his affections in. It was a desperate, pleading intensity -one that perfectly relayed her needs to him. They didn't need words in the moment. They fit seamlessly together, each responding as if the other was simply an extension of their own body.

His lips grazed her collar bone, nipping and pulling at the skin with his teeth just enough to cause pain of the most wonderful kind. His hands wrapped around her back holding her close to him as he made his way up to Peyton's lips kissing them in a disorganized, but effective, manner with small gasps and whimpers of desire from each of them breaking the chain.

He sharply inhaled as he felt Peyton lowered herself to him. He reached for her hips, guiding them and setting a rhythm for them. He was at her mercy and he knew it. His hands trailed up, gently grabbing one hand and then the other and laced his fingers through hers.

The escapade didn't last much longer , both far to enamored and impassioned with each other for any self control to be had. Abbadon pulled Peyton to his side and wrapped his arms tight around her, lacing one hand with hers and nuzzling against her neck. "How was that?" He questioned rubbing the top of her hand with his thumb.