seveninchmotto | The Apartment, New York, Friday

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The Apartment, New York, Friday

It was about time for Flick to return to Idris.

In fact, he was expected at a portal at the Institute in a matter of a couple of hours. Isabelle wasn't feeling very pleased with it, no matter how proud she was of everything he was doing at the Academy. She'd gotten all too used to him being at home over the break. Their bed was going to feel lonely and empty once he was gone again.

But it was morning, and she was out of bed all the same. Padding barefoot around the kitchen in a silk robe, she was making breakfast. Coffee, eggs and bacon, some pancakes with an interesting take on seasoning them. Flick was about to go back to Academy food, and Isabelle would be damned if she let him go without one last proper breakfast at home.

[ooc: NFB, for the guuuuy.]

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"I assume some have said that," she replied, shrugging. "Not to my face, though. No one's that stupid."

"I never said it," he told her, leaning his head back to try and catch a kiss. "Not even when we weren't together."

She let him have a kiss. In fact, she let him have two. "I wouldn't assume anyone I've actually slept with would've said something like that. Please, everyone who's actually been between these legs knows what a privilege it is."

"I've been between them the most, right?" Flick asked, grinning. "I'm top of the heap?"

Isabelle nodded, and kissed his cheek. "Top of the heap." She gave his ear a little nip. "Now and forever. So you better keep things interesting."

Said the woman basically hugging him with a spreader bar.

"I've let you shove shit up my ass," Flick said, going with crudeness because it was fun. "I don't know if I could make things more fun than that."

The crudeness wasn't technically speaking unexpected, but Isabelle let out a half-surprised chuckle all the same. "Oh, I don't know," she said. "I have faith in you."

A beat.

"Also every intention of shoving more shit up your ass in the future."

"And I do plan on letting you," he said, giving her a kiss before reaching for the spreader bar and giving it a twirl.

He smirked slyly at her.

"Do you wanna be laying down when I put this on you?"

"That would be the easiest," Isabelle replied, giving his cheek another kiss. "Unless you think you'd get all hot and bothered by seeing me waddle my way to the bed once the bar's on."

"It might be hot but I'd also be worried about you hitting your head or something," Flick said, gesturing to the bed with one hand. "I know you're graceful but this is something new for us both."

"I think I'd be more likely to bruise my knees first," Isabelle mused as she pulled away from him. "Not that it matters."

Because she was making her way to the bed, where she stretched out on her back, her head against the pillows.

"What a sight."

Flick sighed longingly.

"You need to do anything else before I put this on you?"

"No." She shook her head. "I'm naked and comfortable."

It was the best way to be.

"And beautiful," Flick said, kneeling on the bed so he could gently and slowly fit her ankles into the cuffs on the bar. He locked them and gave them a tug to make sure she wouldn't break them.

"How's that feel?"

Isabelle rolled her ankles, one at a time, feeling for any excessive tightness or looseness of the cuffs. Once she'd deemed the hold good but not too tight, she tried moving her legs further apart. Or closer together.

Unsurprisingly, neither was really happening right now, beyond the very slight movement the cuffs allowed her.

She looked up. "Like I'm giving you a sizable chunk of control."

"That's not anything new," Flick said, running a finger up from her navel to her throat and back down again. "I've had control before."

"True," Isabelle replied, briefly running a few fingertips along his wrist when his hand was close enough. "And you haven't exactly seized as much of it as you can. Yet, anyway."

"I was thinking about handcuffing you," he said, glancing at her hands. "I didn't know if you'd want that too."

"I want that."

The quickness with which she said that left little room for doubt. The glint in her eyes, too.

"I want to be at your mercy."

Flick licked his lips and got up, heading back to the closet for the handcuffs.

"You are a dream come true," he murmured, grabbing the handcuffs and swinging them around a finger.

"I know."

Modesty continued to not be her thing. Smirking at him while anticipation was building up somewhere around her stomach was very much her thing, however.

"And if you do this right, it'll be your turn the next time you come home."

There was no way he wasn't doing this right.

"Oh, you know I'll do it right," Flick said, coming back over to kneel on the bed. He reached for one of her wrists and cuffed it before he wove the hands around one of the bars on the headboard and reached to cuffed the other hand.

"Too tight, too loose?" he asked her.

Isabelle looked up at the cuffs as she tested the hold.

"No," she said, as she looked back at him. "Just right."

"And what a pretty picture you make," Flick sighed, smiling at her and tugging his shirt off, tossing it aside. "I could just look at you for awhile."

"Well, that's a choice you have," she replied, tilting her head and glancing down at his bare chest. "It's not like I can stop you."

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