betagainstme | early 1949 // las vegas, nv

early 1949 // las vegas, nv

Alice was in her element.

The lights, the music, the glamour and glitz of Las Vegas' most exclusive casinos--this is where Alice and her gifts thrived. She had her hair curled and pinned, her makeup perfect, nails painted; her dress stopped just below the knee, a silvery-green color that draped at the waist and was cinched by a belt. Her shoulders were left bare, her neck decorated by sparkling diamonds that matched the ones at her ears.

She steps out of the car with the help of the valet, accepting the man's hand with her own. Turning, she intercepts Jasper as he comes around the side of the car, blinking at the pomp and circumstance of a casino in the late 40's.

They'd hunted extra this week, just before arriving in Nevada, to make sure he'd be okay for this night. His eyes are completely gold now--she's so proud of the progress he's made. And she's very proud of how handsome he looks tonight. His curls swept out of his face, his suit fitting perfectly. He turns his wrist, fixing the watch on his arm, and looks every bit at ease in that moment.

And Alice falls in love all over again.

She steps to his side, fixing his tie before looping her arm through his. "I hope you're ready to win big tonight, Mr. Whitlock." She nods at the bellhop who lifts their suitcases onto a cart and hands her a room key. Alice slips it into Jasper's inside pocket in his jacket with a smile. "I'm your lucky charm."

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Has it ever been just kissing with them? Jasper doesn't think so. Which is why he's grinning still when her foot trails along the back of his calf.

He kisses her again, another few seconds, before he's pulling away, sitting normally, just her feet in his lap again as a pool attendant passes by with a tray of drinks.

"Sure you don't want to win another hundred and fifty first?"

He's not sure why he asks, when he's more than ready to go check out this room of theirs.

"We're here all weekend," Alice reminds him, her smile slow and predatory. "We can check out our rooms, do a costume change. Come back downstairs after dinner services are finished. They'll start those shortly, I'm sure. We've got seats, but well, I know you've already eaten."

There's a lewd joke in there somewhere, but she can't quite make herself say it. She's a lady after all.

"After dinner the bigger bets will come out--everyone has a few drinks when they're eatin', looses 'em up. Easier to swindle. I mean--win fair and square, of course."

He’s returning that slow, predatory grin. “‘Suppose that all sounds very agreeable.”

Even the swindling part. Which he is quite looking forward to? Now that she’s mentioned it. Some of these humans could handle being swindled, anyway.

He leans in to press a kiss to her jaw before he’s collecting her shoes from the ground, slipping one on her foot and then the other.

His hand lingers on her bare leg, sliding toward the hem of her dress.

“But now what was this about having already had dinner...?”

She lets her knees part, just a little, allowing him an easier path past the hem of her dress, if he so chooses. The people around them are distracted again and she will never get tired of his fingers on her skin.

“There’s always dessert,” she breathes, her hand reaching out to grip his tie again. “If you left room for it.”

Her legs parting like that, allowing his hand to slide under her dress, drawing him closer, is, undeniably alluring.

“God, Alice,” he mutters against her mouth in another kiss.

He needs - wants - has to get it together before he gets too carried away with her out here.

He pulls away reluctantly, soothing down her dress, before he stands fluidly, pulling her to her feet with him.

“Let’s go check out this room.”

Her laugh is delighted, low and sultry, taking his arm as they meander back inside. The games are still going, but a large portion of the guests have made their way to the dining room. She can hear the clink of china and tinkling glass over the hum of conversation.

They wander toward the elevators with their big, brass cages and attendant waiting inside. She gives the floor they want, fourteen, and the young man pushes the button. He’s gaping, glancing furtively between the couple beside him. He can’t be more than seventeen, all gangly arms and legs, and when Alice smiles at him with closed lips he gulps and looks away.

She thanks him as they exit the elevator, leaving the boy behind to simmer in his adolescent lust. They find their room easily—number 1420 — at the end of the hall. Slipping her hand inside Jasper’s suit jacket, she retrieves the key, but not before stealing another kiss from him. The door opens to an opulent suite, the curtains drawn across the room to showcase the lights and buildings of Las Vegas.

“Oh, now isn’t this lovely.” She lets go of Jasper to explore for a moment. A bathroom to the side, with an enormous claw foot tub (“I think even you’ll fit in that!”), closets near the door where their bags have been neatly set inside. A radio on the dresser, pretty lamps that emulate ones from Tiffany’s (though she doubts they’re the real thing) and between the bedside tables: the largest, softest looking bed she’s ever seen.

Turning to face Jasper, she claps her hands in delight. “Oh, this will be an excellent place to hide when it’s sunny tomorrow!”

Jasper does not care that there is a tub big enough for him, or a bed, or all the other pretty, glitzy, shiny things that Alice is pointing out, he cares about Alice and getting her out of her dress as quickly as possible.

He’d been following along behind her, trying to unzip the thing when she turns toward him.

He decides then, in that moment, to pick her up and toss her on to the bed. Gently, but with intent.

He pulls his suit coat off, chips clinking around when he tosses it to the floor on his approach, tugging his tie off next.

“Uh huh, yeah, it’s all very, very lovely.”

She laughs again when she hits the bed, arms spreading wide to touch the blankets, noticing she can’t reach the edge on either side of her hands. It really is the biggest bed she’s ever seen. “Don’t wrinkle the jacket,” she points at him, fixing him with a mock glare. “Or the tie.”

Kicking her heels off, Alice rolls onto her stomach, wiggling slightly to make sure his attention is on her. “Be nice to my dress, too.”

When he comes to unzip it, he’ll find that under her dress is merely a pair of underwear, lace and satin, with nothing covering her chest. With a dress like that—sleeveless, backless—she didn’t have any proper underthings to wear.

She doesn’t think he’ll mind.

The way she turns over, that little wiggle -

He grabs her by the hips, to tug her toward the foot of the bed, pressing against her as he slides the zip down her back.

“I am being nice,” he murmurs as he nips at a shoulder blade when he urges her to her knees to push the green fabric off of her and reveal what she’s wearing (and not wearing) underneath it all.

Specifically the not wearing, at the moment.

“Tú me vuelves loco, cariño.”

She does this on purpose, doesn’t she?

Alice hums at his muttered Spanish, leaning back into him when he pushes her dress down her legs. Grabbing his hands, she presses his palms against her skin, holding them against her breasts as her head falls back into his shoulder, blinking big, golden eyes up at him.

Less golden now though, as lust darkens them, blowing the pupils wide when she murmurs for him to come closer, so she can kiss him. There’s something she adores about this—so often she ends up naked before him, held against his clothed body, and it does something to her, sends thrills down her spine.

The impressive size difference in their hands always gets her too. Hers barely cover the back of his hands where she holds them to her. Another thrill that sends her smirking into his kiss. Arching slightly, Alice presses herself against his hips, desperate to feel more of him.

She makes him feel like a fiend in the way he can’t get enough of her, and of this.

He could spend the whole weekend worshipping her and it wouldn’t be enough.

Her breasts feel perfect in his hands, and the way her body presses back against him. Her lips were meant for his, his for hers, even as he has to maneuver in just a way so he can kiss her, their height differences making them strange companions to most.

But they’re just them. Opposites, and alike. And totally wrapped up in each other in the moment.

He palms her breasts as he pushes back against her, rubbing against her eagerly and not at all afraid to show her how he feels now in the privacy of their room.

“What do you want?” he asks in a low murmur. He has a few ideas, all kinds of possibilities before them.

All of it—all of his ideas and visions pouring forth from his decisions he toys with, she wants all of it. Him, over her, under her, behind her; his hands all over her, in her hair, her hands on him—

She twists in his grip, pressing kisses everywhere she can reach—his cheeks, chin, lips, neck. Sliding past him, standing in her stockings, garters and underwear, she turns him around, pushes him until he’s sitting on the bed, her fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt.

“Well first,” Alice whispers. “I’m going to find and kiss every scar on you.”

Every time Alice talks so openly about his scars, he gets a little less nervous about them. A little more open about acknowledging them too.

(With her, at the very least.)

“Gonna need longer than a weekend for that, darlin’.”

And he’s not exactly helping with the getting undressed part of it, as he slides his hands between her legs to rub his fingers over silk and lace and her.

He leans in to kiss her again too. To nip at her jaw as she tries to shove the shirt off his broad shoulders. To kiss her collarbone as she tries to get at his pants.

"I'll use that vampire speed," she mumbles, fingers catching on his belt as she tries and fails a few times to unclasp it. He's very distracting, with his fingers between her legs, his mouth on her collarbone.

Alice growls softly, in her throat, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing him back, away from her, so she can kneel between his legs and concentrate on removing his belt, then his pants, shoving the fabric down his legs quickly.

Her fingers dance and skim back up his legs, curling at his calves to hold him still when she traces a scar on the inside of his knee, dragging her tongue upward as she blinks innocently up at him.

Yeah. Innocently.

Jasper wants to touch her so badly, yet he obeys her little command - smirking at the growl in her throat as he'd been pushed back - and he's leaning back to watch as she moves to her knees.

He raises an eyebrow when she looks at him oh-so-innocently like that.

He's trying for unaffected, and doesn't quite manage. His fingers twitch, grabbing at the blanket, throat bobbing, interest evident.

"Vampire speed, huh? Gonna have to speed it up there a little."

Edited 2020-07-16 00:28 (UTC)

"Mm," she hums against his thigh, pressing a kiss against a few of the scars clustered there. "I wanna take my time here."

And she does, in this intimate space, where the scent of him is stronger and makes her light-headed with want. Moving up, she presses kisses against his abdomen, the jut of his hip, her tongue tracing scars and mindless patterns as she works.

All while steadily avoiding certain other parts of him. It's torture for her as well, as she pants against his skin, her fingers slipping just under the waistband of his underwear, teasing but not giving in to what they both want.

Alice wants him wild with need, wanting, for those twitching fingers to slide into her hair, messing it up from its perfect pin-curls. She wants him panting under her, growling at her when she continues to take her time. The visions say it'll happen--she's just got to wait it out.

So she shoots him a smile, all innocence and sunshine, before scraping her teeth against scars clustered at his hip, her free hand tracing another set on his inner thigh. "What," she murmurs against his skin, flicking her gaze back up to his, "do you want?"

Edited 2020-07-16 00:32 (UTC)

The pace she's set is agonizing.

What does he want? What doesn't he want?

He's managed composure pretty well until her teeth scrape against a cluster, and her lips move against his skin, asking that.

"Pretty sure you know what I want," he gasps out.

"It's no fun if you don't say it," Alice giggles, moving to remove him of the final barrier, dragging the fabric from him and down his legs just as slow as she pleases.

They're tossed behind her head as she settles more comfortably on her knees, her arms braced on his legs, her hand--

Her hand wraps around him, wrist twisting as she leans in closer, kisses the inside of his thigh, the spot just under his hip, the same on the opposite side, still avoiding. A deft pull of her hand and she's watching his face as she finally takes him into her mouth.

”Fuck.”

He’s biting down on his lip, nearly enough to scar, as he’s watching her, gaze flickering between her eyes looking at him and her mouth.

He shifts, thrusting just a little, and his hand moves to her hair with a groan. And then she starts moving, a wicked little glint in her eye, and his fingers tighten in her hair.

He’s soon panting, swearing, thrusting up to meet her, growling as she slows, groaning as she quickens her pace again.

A mess, just like she’d wanted.

She won't let him finish like this, as much as the idea has appeal. No, she simply drags him closer to the edge with each twist of her hand, each drag of her tongue down his length, but as soon as she sees it becoming too much, she's up, in a flash.

Shushing his growl, Alice leans over him, kissing his neck and the concentrated cluster of scars there--so many more in one spot than on the rest of his body, the easiest place for newborns to have reached--soothing away the pain of their existence with her lips, tongue, teeth.

Her movements are hurried, almost frantic, as she straddles his thighs, lifting up on her knees to move the satin covering her to the side, her hand wrapping around him again to guide him into her. It takes the air she never needs out of her lungs, every time, the slide and stretch of him making her knees feel like jelly. A gasp, a groan, her small hand pressing hard on his chest as she lets herself adjust before rolling her hips forward. Eyes closed, lips parted, starbursts behind her lids.

"I love you," she whispers, her voice harsh as she pants, curling forward to kiss him desperately. "Oh, God, I love you."

“I love you too,” he’s gasping into her kisses.

And he’s saying it again when his hands find her hips to hold as she sets and controls the rhythm.

Again, when he finally flips them around so she’s on her back and he’s thrusting into her with urgency and the bed hits the wall, again and again.

And when he’s laughing as the bed legs finally snap from under them, whispering it in her ear.

Then later still, as she’s curled up in his arms, her head pillowed on his chest.

She aches in the best way. It makes her turn toward his chest to rub her nose against his skin, to kiss where she can reach. She loves it--the burn in her muscles and the shaking release of tension--and she wants it as much as possible.

Alice props herself up against his chest, laughing at the disarray of pillows and blankets and broken bed under them. "Oh, they'll definitely take this out of our winnings."

There's no heat in it though, she's far too busy straightening her underwear out, fixing the garters that popped off her stockings, rolling the nylon back up her thigh to fasten them in place. She has things to do--after all, she promised a kiss upon each scar.

Alice swings her leg over him, sitting herself on his stomach so she can gently tilt his head to the side, allowing her access to the myriad of criss-crossed crescent mooned marks on his neck, humming as she presses kisses against each one she finds.

Jasper sighs, offering himself over to her ministrations just as happily and helplessly as his sigh. He stretches out under her, giving her even more access to the old wounds.

“Guess we’ll just have to win more.”

He rubs her arms as she leans over him, kissing this scar and that scar.

He couldn’t tell her the stories behind half of them. Some have stories, some are forgotten, and the majority don’t have any tale behind them, just another battle, another scar.

There's several she wonders about. In places that make little sense to her--how does one bite someone on the knee, for instance? Or the ones in more intimate areas of his body--the hip, his thigh. She tries not to think too hard of their origin, sure she won't like the answer.

Before the cloud of sadness she feels can descend upon them, Alice focuses on the scars on his collarbone, her fingers tracing paths down his side. Her lips press quickly against each one, until she reaches one at the dip below his throat. There, she lingers, tracing the mark with her tongue before looking up at him again with a love-struck smile.

"God, Jasper." She sighs. "I love you, so much."

He mouths an I love you too before he winks at her.

“Sure that’s not just the great sex?”

(He definitely knows it’s not.)

early 1949 // las vegas, nv

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