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[mycursedface]

One noticeable thing about Medusa is that she often has henna tattoos. Across her hands and feet, curling around her legs and arms, edging her face. These tattoos are not always there, of course, but when they are, they are often different.

Medusa is of the firm opinion that normal tattoos would be boring.

So is plain skin, which is why the Gorgon has been spending some time making henna paste in Sam's bathroom. Sift out the power, mix with lemon juice and honey in a ceramic bowl, cover and let set until the dye releases, let the snakes of her hair bob a greeting to the boyfriend as he stands in the door.

"Morning, Luce," she says cheerfully, if a little absently as she poked the paste with a spoon to see if it was ready.

ooc~ henna-ness

Comments

[necessary_child]

Sam smiles at her sleepily from behind still-ruffled her.

"Hey, Beautiful. Brought you breakfast."

[mycursedface]

Medusa brightens at this, and turns to look at him properly.

"What kind?"

[necessary_child]

"Lots of kinds," he says cheerfully, magic nudging the tray over to her.

"Because I am a sensible boyfriend, and aware that Medusas like their food. And to be given tea."

[mycursedface]

That gets a giggle as she recovers the henna and gracefully catches the tray.

"Tea makes the world go 'round."

[necessary_child]

"So the English keep telling me," Sam admits, giving her a kiss before snagging his own drink from the tray.

"But I still say coffee makes it go round faster."

[mycursedface]

"And then you get the jitters and can't fly and crash into the ocean and break limbs and it hurts," Medusa replies, serenely if not exactly sensibly.

[necessary_child]

That makes him laugh, laugh and kiss her neck.

"I love you, Beautiful. Just so you know."

[mycursedface]

"It's always nice being told." Beat. "And it's true."

Give her time, Sam, give her time. She'll come around to this 'coffee' idea.

[necessary_child]

He lives in hope.

"Well, if you insist on reminding me," he grins, sipping hot coffee. "What're you up to, anyway - henna again?"

[mycursedface]

"...henna is fun."

[necessary_child]

Sam chuckles. "Yes, it is. Smelly, though."

When you have somewhat preternatural senses, this sort of thing is important.

"But with possibilities."

[mycursedface]

She glances at him.

[necessary_child]

Sam just grins back at her, eyes dancing.

[mycursedface]

"You're thinking wicked thoughts, aren't you."

[necessary_child]

"Yes. Yes, I am."

Sam, completely unrepentant, kisses her neck. "Think you'll cope?" he asks.

[mycursedface]

"I'll try and manage," she says, bravely. Then she dimples a smile and asks, "What kind of wicked thoughts?"

[necessary_child]

"Oh, very wicked ones," he says solemnly, clever fingers swirling a pattern along her collarbone by way of suggestive demonstration.

"Very, very wicked. I'm almost ashamed of myself, they're so wicked."

(He isn't.)

[mycursedface]

"That'd be a first." But there is a wicked smile and the way her snakes move suggest she has guessed what he means. "Why don't you tell me?"

[necessary_child]

"First time for everything," Sam says, smiling right back at her as his fingers stroke their way along her arm.

"And I could tell you, true. But it's much more fun to show you."

And he's taken a creative writing class or two. Probably.

[mycursedface]

"Okay, then," Medusa says, watching him and shivering slightly under the feel of his fingers. "Show me."

[necessary_child]

Sam smiles at her then, slow and filthy, still tracing.

"Your wish is my command."

[mycursedface]

The Queen of Gorgons turns her head to meet his eyes, and briefly runs the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip.

"Waiting, Lucifer..."

[necessary_child]

"Well," says the Prince of Heaven softly, "We can't have that, can we."

He picks up a delicate small brush, swirling it in the henna paste for a moment before touching it to Medusa's skin. He hasn't done something quite like this before, so the first design is simplistic and experimental, a curving fern-like pattern tracing over her shoulder and collarbone like frost on a window.

[mycursedface]

After centuries of practice, Medusa knows how to be a patient canvas. But the touch of cold paste to warm skin is still enough of a shock to make her breath hitch, even as she stays very still. In that very stillness, though, was the waiting, expectation and tension normally reserved for when he traced over her skin with his hands and mouth.

The way Medusa watches him, through veiled dark eyes, only heightens the promise in her stillness.