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Cardia snaps her book closed, a huff accompanying the sound. She was done reading about damsels-in-distresses and what have you by this point, finding the fairytale stories more and more ridiculous as she mulled through the chapters. Would it hurt the protagonists to try, well, anything? At least it killed a few hours, time bleeding into early evening, the reading room quiet except for Van Helsing commandeering a table opposite her.
Parts big and small are scattered across the top, the man meticulously taking apart one of his shotguns to clean and oil it, calloused hands moving with quick precision and memory. He made an excellent partner for quiet, Cardia hardly hearing the man besides the scrape of his chair and the soft clunk of pieces picked up and placed down.
She leaves her novel behind on the lounge sofa, now more curious in watching her partner. Cardia peers over his shoulder, Van Helsing paying her no mind and continuing to clean the barrel of his gun, a bore brush disappearing down the metal tube. She watches with keen interest. For all the action these guns had seen, they are still pristine and polished, ready for whatever was needed next. And while she hoped there was no next, the notion that he took care of his possessions warmed a part of her she’d rather not comment on currently.
“Need something, Cardia?”
His question pulls her out of her thoughts, Cardia stiffening behind him in surprise. Van shifts enough to glance over his shoulder and up at her, face expressionless until he realizes she wasn't expecting a reaction. The corner of his mouth twitches, just enough to show her expression is endearing.
She clasps her hands behind her back and leans closer, her laugh breezing past his left ear. “Mmm, nope! Just watching. You’re good with your hands.”
His fingers still, the blonde pausing. She’s too busy watching him move to see the smallest burn of a blush across his cheeks, and by the time she looks up to meet cobalt eyes it’s already gone. Van Helsing exhales, his jaw tight.
“... Am I now?” he murmurs, eyes slanting down to his palms. A few months ago the only thing he thought was the perpetual smear of red that covered them no matter how many times he scrubbed his skin clean. Instead, tracking along the worn and toughened lines baked into his skin, he thinks now of Cardia relishing even a fleeting brush of them against her clothed form.
Cardia smiles small and nods her head. “I like watching you work, you’re fluid with your movements,” she starts, prattling off compliments like it’s the easiest thing to do. The bore brush drops to the table, his chair scuffing back abruptly. She blinks as his hand shoots out to snag her upper arm, tugging Cardia forward. He yanks her off balance, his other arm wrapping around her waist to pull her close. She falls awkwardly on his lap, hands reaching out to his shoulders as her legs splay on each side of his torso.
Cardia fumbles a few notes of confusion, trying to steady herself as his arms pull her closer. Van Helsing gives her a slow once over, a smirk growing. “We could work on your movements though, if you'd like,” he comments, fingers dancing across her waist.
She sputters, her face turning a funny shade of red. First he tugs her out of nowhere, then he takes her perfectly innocent comment and hits back with something just shy of uncouth. Her nails dig into his shoulders, and if it bothers him he doesn’t show it.
“Van.”
“Yes, beloved?”
“Van Helsing,” she tries again, frowning. Frowning and not hopping off his lap. “The others are probably not far.”
He scoffs, as if that was an excuse to stop what he had in mind. His hands move to readjust her, his thighs spreading wider so she perches solely on his right one. Van Helsing lets his left leg droop off the seat of the chair, Cardia’s shins taking up the space not seated on him. She continues to give him a look bouncing between nervous and curious, so curious, and it’s her curiosity that lets him know he can proceed full steam ahead.
“What’s your argument here? That I shouldn’t do what I’m doing because they might walk in? Might see you like.. this?”
Van flexes his right thigh and presses it up between her own, Cardia sucking in a breath when it brushes against the crux of her lower body. Her fingers curl into the short strands of hair at the base of his neck, the fabric of her gloves grazing against his skin. Lighter blue eyes snap to his darker ones, wide with a growing realization of the situation.
“We can’t do this here, don’t be ridiculous,” she grits out like a liar. Van’s palms are hot on her hips but they aren’t ironclad and if Cardia truly didn't want this she could slide off at any point. But she doesn’t, so he nudges his thigh again like he’s hunting for something. He shifts and rotates until the friction between them causes her to still, a quiet gasp slipping past her defenses.
He repeats the movement, muscle taut but this time pulling her hips forward with his grip. Cardia’s cheeks flush, eyebrows furrowing to try and keep whatever she’s feeling behind locked doors. One more try and the rotation of her clothed mound against his leg causes her to moan softly, eyes fluttering shut.
“There it is,” Van Helsing murmurs, unable to hide a cheeky grin especially with how shy she looks on top of him. “Cardia,” he calls out, waiting for her to refocus. “Does that feel good?”
Her face burns, she knows he can see it, and it’s mortifying until it’s not, the feeling softening into something closer to excitement. Embarrassing? Yes, but it’s Van taking delight in something for himself, even if she's ultimately the winner. She knows the man well enough now to surrender to his whims, her hips slowly rolling of her own accord. Van's face lights up as Cardia starts to move, cutting the distance until their exhales mingle.
She breathes out, experimentally grinding her core on his leg, trying to find the same spot and feeling he discovered. His palms slide up and down her body, back to waist to back, a silent expression of his patience to allow her to figure this out for herself. Another rotation of her hips and she strikes gold, a spark of sensation blooming low in her gut. Cardia chases it, eager to replicate, eyes sliding shut in focus until the feeling is so profound they snap open.
He looks at her with an open gaze of adoration, pleased with her quick learning. Watches her take what she wants from him, more than happy to provide. “Van,” she whispers, wanting nothing more in that moment than to close the gap and kiss him, to feel her bare fingertips against his heated skin, to feel–
He pulls her hips forward, determined to make Cardia keep the rhythm she had started.
“Keep going,” he orders softly, words coated in tenderness. She obeys, rolling and chasing a friction that burns brighter and inches up her spine. Content with the knowledge she’ll continue, his grip slithers up to her clothed collarbones, teasing at the high neck of her dress. Cardia had to chase and dig and persevere to see what truly lay dormant behind steely eyes of blue, but the payoff is absolutely blinding.
Everything he can’t communicate with his touch lingers instead in his stare. In the way his eyes narrow at her swallowing back a breathy moan, Cardia’s throat bobbing behind fabric. How his eyebrows furrow and reveal a want that he can't act upon, his own breathing quickened as he watches her learn how to fall apart above him.
Pleasure drums in her veins and she does what he cannot, covered fingers skating up to cup his face. Her words stutter, the tempo of her grind escalating, accelerating. “Feels really good,” Cardia finally answers, breathy and low, her gaze focused on his lips that part in surprise. She can’t help but thumb over them, feeling how full they are, how his thigh bucks up against her. “You make me feel good, so good,” she repeats in a ramble, shifting to card one hand through soft blonde locks.
Van doesn’t fight her, head tilting back when she pulls at his roots, the heat inside her beginning to reach a point she could no longer deny. She gave up on being demure minutes ago, low moans tumbling out with each wave of pressure against her clit. One of his hands tracks quickly down to her rear, digging in to pull her closer.
“Let go for me then, beloved, show me what you’ve learned,” he murmurs near an ear, grinding up to meet her in time. Dutiful as ever, Cardia cries out and tips her head back, the rotations of her lower body molding into tight swivels. Her peak washes over her in pulses, a dull, over encompassing sensation that explodes before tapering out. She isn’t sure what sounds escaped but the satisfied look on his face tells her what she needs to know once the feeling ebbs, Cardia inwardly swatting away her urge to be embarrassed.
Her posture finally loosens in his lap, Cardia sliding down off his right leg to settle between both, tucked sideways against his front. Her underwear feels damp and uncomfortable but that’s a problem to ignore, still coming to terms with what just occurred. He brushes errant strands of hair off her shoulder, ignoring his own need trapped inside his trousers. Later, he muses. Much later.
Cardia worries her bottom lip, clearly thinking about what to say but she’s beaten by the door across the room flying open.
Two pairs of eyes fly over to meet the noise, Impey all but leaning off the doorframe, eyes bright and mouth open in a big grin.
“There you both are! Dinner’s ready, if you were–” he pauses, mouth catching up to brain, Cardia turning a stark shade of red and a frown growing on Van Helsing’s face. The position is fortunately not as damning as five minutes prior, but–
“Ehehe, seconds then, perhaps?” Impey jokes, eyes crinkling in what he considers a fantastic line.
He’s met with a double order, both occupants yelling: “Get out, Impey!!”
The redhead shrugs. The last thing he sees is Cardia hiding her face in her hands and his arm wrapping around her back.
“... Should we go join them?” Cardia mumbles after a pause.
Van Helsing sighs before entwining her hand in his, squeezing gently as he loosens it away from her. “I’m doomed to a life of comments, but for you, yes,” he admits with a rare, joking warmth. “I caused this mess, anyways.”
“I won’t argue with you there,” she replies quickly. He fights the urge to snap back with wit. He loses.
“Oh? I’ll make sure my lap is off limits then, if it was that big an issue.”
Cardia looks at him in a mix of amazement and indignation. She drops his hand, moving to the doorway ahead of him. “Men! All of you, I swear.”
She stomps off in what he can tell is half an act, but for once Van Helsing doesn’t mind doing the chasing.