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As Annabelle walks on the hard wood floor, it's wet. Wet with black, cold ink, lapping around her feet—despite its darkness, it only leaves a faint gray trace of water on her feet as she slowly steps forward. Her skirt drifts side to side as she walks, gently, just at her ankles, and she's careful not to make a sound.

The room is cold, such that it stings her skin, burning the edges of her ears and knuckles bright pink. The hardwood floor, as far as she can manage to see, which isn't very far, is all there is of any discernible structure. But even the panels of the floor are eaten up by black, and she can't feel any impression of the walls around her.

She can see a bed, though—and someone in it. There's been so many times she's been the last one to bed, even if it wasn't exactly regular enough to be the known norm and routine, and she's seen the Tanner brothers comfortably tossed about the bed, sometimes entangled. But this time, there's only one of them. She can see the outline of him in the moonlight, though there are no windows. He's in his bed clothes, and is asleep.

As she gets closer to the bed, her skin breaks out in goosebumps, her pupils dilating as her focus is drawn in unwittingly by him. The closer she gets, the warmer the air becomes, pulling her nearer as a source of comfort. She kneels against the bed, right at the end of it. Lauren is curled on his side, a little, and seems roused by the shifting of the weight on the bed. He shifts, slightly, noticing Annabelle coming in at the foot of the bed, rather than the side of it, pushing himself up a little bit, his hair a sleepy mess. He looks tired, but not confused.

She comes forward across him, and Lauren anxiously wets the crease of his lips with his tongue as he watches her, anticipating. Her hand slides up the side of his thigh, and he shifts so that his back is against the bed. She can see his cock shift in his sleeping pants, and she continues moving up. Her hand brushes his crotch, and his breath hitches, his eyelids fluttering from the passing contact. She doesn't give him any more than that, and she moves further up. Lauren takes hungry handfuls of her skirt at its sides, his body tense once he feels her skirt brush his collarbones.

Annabelle watches him, and she feels as if she's burning. He licks his lips, not even looking at her, one of his hands coming forward to eagerly push her skirt up. It's a lot of fabric, so she assists him, lifting it. His palm smooths over her belly, then around to hold the small swell of her ass, guiding her down. She relaxes, following his gesture, and she feels his breath against her bare skin and shudders.

There's the familiar, velvety texture of his lips, horizontal against the vertical split of her cunt. It's a full, plush and affectionate kiss, bumping the soft nib of her clitoris, and her eyes roll closed as she takes a deep breath, body stiffening. She feels his tongue part her, and softly bat her clitoris side to side. She sucks in her lower lip, holding it with her teeth, eyes closed as she knits her eyebrows. Her head hangs, and she smooths her fingers through his hair. She takes a commanding handful of his hair, giving an immediate, but gentle yank, and it earns her a pleasurable moan against her sex. She breathes out heavily as Lauren both depletes and encourages her lubrication with hungry, instinctive ease, finding his tongue the most clever when its between her legs this way.

He sucks on her clit and labia, and she can feel his hands come around the backs of her thighs near her ass, pulling her closer. Her mouth hangs open in a quiet gasp, the contact becoming fuller as he deepens every lewd ministration on her cunt. She clutches his head, feeling sweat beginning to break out on her fevered flesh. It's overwhelming, and warm, each wave mounting more and more intensely. More than usual, she thinks. He licks her from the bottom of her open, eager split to the base of her clit in broad, slow, and confident strokes. She shudders, rolling on him slowly and carefully, and feels another groan from him.

His focus lingers on her clit, predominantly, though he occasionally redistributes the waking of her nerves with playful licks to her outter lips and the wettest part of her. It's not long before the articulations and distinct movements of his work on her becomes indiscernible to her. The ink is lapping around the bed, much higher than it was before, staining the sheets. Her body does a series of small jolts, which involuntarily arranges her head tilted far back, some of her curly dark hair stuck around her sweated brow, eyebrows slanted backwards with desperation as she cries out loudly. He doesn't relent, and she grips his hair urgently as she cums in his mouth. She cries his name, then does it again, and—

Her eyes open with a gasp, and it's over. She's staring at the ceiling, the room alight with the morning sun. Her breathing is quick, and her skin and hair are both damp. She sits up, and sees Susan and Lauren. Susan is asleep with the back of his hand on Lauren's face, and Lauren is sleeping on his side, drooling a little on his pillow as his face is smooshed by his younger brother. Annabelle looks at him with wide eyes, a little jarred by the very different images painted between fantasy and reality.

She winces, and rubs the sleep out of her eyes with slow rubs of her knuckles against them. She pauses, holding her hands there, and bites her lip. Her clit and cunt both ache, especially on the inside. But she isn't like Lauren—she can't just go take care of it with great ease and convenience. She sighs irritably, dropping her hands, and glares at Lauren before she hops off the bed.

She goes to draw herself a cold bath. When it's finally full enough, she wakes both of the brothers with a start when she hollers in agony from plunging herself in it. When she eventually emerges, sopping wet in her towel, looking like a put out, drowned cat, she storms to her side of the bed to get some of her after bath care and explains nothing.

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"I am far from fine. I am suffering. Deeply. Immeasurably." She grins, tugging on the book, trying to pull it back. "Give it back, or I will set you on so much fire."

He grins at her, "Do your worst."

And then he lets go of the book, so the force of her own pulling knocks her off balance.

And so it does. She makes a sound of surprise, and falls back a little too hard into her chair. She scoffs, then laughs, and kicks him under the table as she clutches the book.

"You tit!"

She clutches the book a little bit more tightly to herself, over her chest. Perhaps too tight. Damn. Hormones are incredible. She feels completely enamored. And, you know, completely incapacitated physically.

"Can't believe this shameless audacity. I like it."

He just shakes his head resting his hand on his leg. Even as she kicks him, he can't stop finding this hilarious.

"Shameless!" he shouts, in joyful disbelief, "That's a riot coming from you!"

Annabelle laughs again, this time quite loudly, and raises her eyebrows, surprised by his candor. And kind of increasingly turned on by it. What the fuck.

"I've clearly been an astoundingly good influence," she remarks, looking smug as she looks across the table towards him. "Perhaps teaching is more my calling than I'd previously anticipated."

He points to her, his eyebrows rising, "No."

He can't even imagine her teaching anyone anything. They would all end up running away in fright or frustration before anything could get down.

"You have the patience of a child, how could you possibly get anything done with a student? You can't even read your book!"

His hand slams down onto the table, his head rolling to the side as he reaches for his drink again. When he sits it down again it's empty and he looks vaguely satisfied. He shakes his head staring into the empty mug.

"Ridiculous... Teaching."

Annabelle laughs incredulously.

"I've clearly done it well enough," she protests, gesturing to Lauren.

She knows it's most likely the alcohol. She raises an eyebrow, and takes his mug after she sets the book down beside her on the chair. "I think you've had enough, sir," she says near the rim of the mug, her eyes on her friend voraciously. She has a penchant for intense gazes, so its true nature is probably not readily apparent.

He raises an eyebrow back, though there's something in her gaze that makes his face heat. He wasn't going to order another serving anyway, but something about the way she's taken his cup makes him want to fight over it. He leans closer once more, meeting her gaze with his own, though it's more playful than voracious.

"I've always been this way, perhaps you just haven't noticed."

Annabelle smiles and bites her lip, and a little laugh bubbles from her. She reaches a hand forward to playfully give his head a gentle shove, simultaneously mussing his hair a bit in the process.

"That's because if that's true, you've selfishly kept it to yourself."

This banter makes her cunt feel like it's on fire. It's awful, but also wonderful; the energy they're exchanging is intoxicating.

He bumps his head back against her hand, looking at her affectionately.

"Maybe I don't like to share."

Annabelle feels a compromising throb, and shifts her legs, pressing them together anxiously. She smiles while biting her lip again.

"That's what makes this delictable," she retorts, and laughs a little. It's getting harder to ignore. She reaches into her skirt pocket, putting down a coin for Lauren's ale.

"Let's go outside."

He shrugs, before pulling back and coming to a stand. He reaches out for her hand as she leads them, holding it loosely in his own.

Annabelle's breath suspends in a hitch in her throat when he takes her hand; her physical reaction is staggering. She's never experienced this sort
of electrifying fire, especially not in response to another person.

She leads him out of the pub, and rather than taking him down the path that takes them back towards the inn, she sort of... wanders elsewhere, towards the center of the town, indicating she isn't done for the night—just done with the pub.

He follows her aimlessly, staring around them. Almost no one is outside still at this time of night, and the chilly air bites at his skin. It's dark, but his nightvision gives him the benefit of sight despite the lack of light. He can see Annabelle clearly in front of him, and he wonders just what her plan is in between moments of gazing up at the stars. Winter would come soon, he could see by the placement of the serpent, it's tail just over the horizon. He calls out it's name in elvish, stopping Annabelle for a moment as he points to the sky.

He starts to name them, in a mix of elvish and english as his somewhat tipsy mind struggles to translate the words for her.

Annabelle stops with a jerk when Lauren stops to name constellations, and struggles to keep his language straight. Something about it is so wrenchingly authentic; she feels like this, all night, has been a demonstration of Lauren's truest self. His affectionate antagonism, forgetting his second language, staring at the stars and clumsily holding her hand.

She watches him as he's pointing haphazardly; then she takes his wrist, lowering his hand, and leans in to press a kiss against his lips. It's easy enough—they're around the same height.

He's not startled, not when it happens. He looks to her as she grabs his wrist, watching as she pulls his hand away. He can see her leaning forward, her eyes falling closed, and he mirrors her action without thinking. Her hand is warm on his wrist, and as their lips meet something surges through him pushing him to action. He kisses back, pressing against her lips with his own as his still captured hand moves to cup the gentle curve of her cheek.

Annabelle exhales against Lauren's kiss. It's warm, soft and evokes enough of a reaction from her loins to have her make a soft grunt against his lips, especially with how he holds the side of her face; it's a sweet gesture, and she thinks it suits him.

The kiss itself makes her remember the dream she had a week or two ago, how velvety his mouth felt against her cunt. Remembering this causes her to lift her arm, tangling her fingers softly in his hair as she tilts her head, pressing her body against his, speaking a language she didn't even know she knew.

Lauren's own mind is blank. She's warm in the cold of the night, and the kiss is nice in a way he can't describe. It's affection, he thinks that's the feeling behind it, the warmth that's filling him now. It's a kind of feeling he's not wholly familiar with, and that makes it novel and worth exploring. But he feels her body press against his, and that evokes an entirely different reaction from him. Heat flashes through him. He can feel her breasts pressed against him through their clothes and he groans as she runs her fingers through his hair. It sets another part of him reacting as well and his prick begins to grow hard. The alcohol running through his system makes it hard for him to react as quickly as he wants to. He breaks from her lips. They weren't even kissing for that long, but already he's breathing deeply as he looks at Anna, shock showing plainly on his face. Sexual desire isn't a new feeling to him, but it's not something he was expecting to feel around her.

"Anna..."

Were she not under the affects of the enchantment, she would probably pull away self consciously—rare though it is, from her. She still holds him around his neck, peering at him with searching, dark eyes. Despite the certainty of her actions, she's no less confused about all of this. She's just doing what feels right, and what she wants.

Her gaze dips down, then back up, looking a mix of coy and hungry.

"Lauren," she answers plainly, and leans forward again, giving him another kiss, warm and full.

She can feel it—she's so wet now, she wants to die. This is just making it worse, but somehow, it's also satiating her instinctive needs despite that.

He is surprised by the gesture this time. He expected her to say something, offer some kind of explanation. When she simply kisses him again, it's stunning. He kisses back unthinking, his body wanting even if his mind can't comprehend. She's so close, pressing against him. As their kiss shifts, moving from closed to open mouth his desire grows. Her hand on his neck keeps him close, and his own hand shifts, down her neck and over her shoulder, down her back until he's holding the small of her back. He presses her even closer than before. He doesn't understand what's happening, but he wants it all the same.

In true teenaged fashion, the two of them seem completely unbothered by the fact that they're in the middle of a public outdoor sort of pavilion. Annabelle in particular has merely forgotten.

When Lauren opens up their kiss and deepens it, Annabelle gasps a little bit, a hand that's been resting on his collarbone tightening its grip on him—specifically, the collar of his shirt. It pulses all through her, and she presses against the back of his head, hand moving up from his neck to sift through his hair as she tilts her head. Feeling him press her closer makes her cunt ache. All she can think about is his cock.

It's very weird.

His cock isn't far from his own thoughts, as he can it pressing against the confines of his breeches. She can probably feel his hard on as he presses against her. He's not as far gone as Anna, but her desperation is amping up his own desire making his stomach twist inside him. His hand trails further still over the curve of her ass. She feels good, he idly wonders what she'd look like bare. There had been accidentally slips in front of each other here and there of course, but nothing as revealing as what his mind pictured now. His freehand slips under the fabric of her sweater, calloused hands feeling soft skin. He wants to go further, to feel her cunt against his finger or to press against her breast with his hand, but even drunk he's too shy to go much further than this, at least without her pressing.

Annabelle stutters a surprised little gasp into Lauren's lips when she feels his hand slowly scopes the curve of her ass, surprised with how viscerally her body responds to it. There's a slight, not super ardent and brief moan against his lips when she feels his worked hands under her sweater, even if they're not anywhere particularly stimulating. Just along her side, by her ribs, is enough for her. She pulls him closer, teeth momentarily bumping his as she hungrily presses her tongue into his mouth, brows slanting back as she exhales heavily. Her cunt pulses. She wants more.

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