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Third Person, Ariel
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The Portland night is damp, and heavy.
But that doesn't matter to Ariel Eberhart at the moment she's too busy moving alongside the outside of Mason's RV in a crouch.
Mason's RV is worn-down, and older than the both of them combined but it's well kept and lived in home on wheels.
Parked in an RV campground, Ariel is in a little more than her fire dancing outfit from the club, the rain makes her bare skin cold and wet.
But she doesn't feel it…not with the fire burning in her veins and loins that is burning hotter than the harshest of Oregon's winters could fight against.
She climbs atop the RV and climbs into the RV through the small pop-up bathroom window that looks like an emergency exit on a school bus…she slips inside gracefully like she's done this before.
She lands quietly in a smooth crouch like the predator that she is, a dusting of red paints her face as she feels almost ashamed at how easy it is to break into a powerful Alchemist's home.
She'd have to do something about this…she couldn't have her Alchemist unprotected like this.
Ariel pauses as it hits her that she just claimed Mason as her's in her own thoughts.
Ariel shakes away those as she opens the bathroom door and peeks inside of the RV.
The RV is dimly lit with small led light ropes.
A very small part of her that remembers being terrified from her mother's stories about the terrifying Alchemist who unlike the Grimms don't just kill Wesen but keep them in cages and harvest them for materials until they're too old and then they twist them into abominations called golems to serve them even in death.
Almost giggles at thinking the terrifying Alchemist uses nightlights because he's afraid of the dark while finding that thought incredibly cute and adorable.
Ariel tries again to shrug off her thoughts as she scents the air. The RV smells old, like Mason and magic.
Mason's strong scent hits her like a punch to the gut, and knocks the breath from her lungs and leaves her swaying where she stands.
Her instincts are pleased that she's here but she knows she shouldn't be here…she tells herself that much again…and again.
But she knew she was coming here tonight…especially after scenting him earlier when they parted…after he ordered her to bring her father soup and electrolytes like she was his intern and not a goddamn Dämonfeuer. And the worst part? She didn't just listen to him, she loved it.
And now she can't stop thinking about him. About the way his voice curled down her spine. The way he didn't flinch when fire licked his skin. The way he touched her dying father without fear, without disgust, and helped him…brought him back to life.
Her draconic instincts have been screaming at her all day, while her human side is fighting them just trying to breathe around him.
Ariel creeps through the RV, quiet and careful. Every footstep is as light as fog on glass.
She enters his bedroom, Mason is laying there on his bed in the center of the space, completely naked toned legs and ass partially hidden by a sheet while sleeps turned on his side, one arm under his pillow, the other slung across his stomach.
He looks so peaceful and relaxed, Ariel feels a flash of anger.
'How can you be so at ease when you make me so crazy?!' she shouts in her mind, but then she realizes he looks younger like this…vulnerable even…less like an annoyingly handsome stubborn pain in her ass and more like a pampered princeling who has no idea what kind of trouble just crawled into his castle.
Ariel doesn't think she moves, stripping off her skimpy clothing, lifting up the sheet, and slides into bed behind him.
The mattress dips, the springs sigh, but he doesn't wake…doesn't even stir in the slightest, completely oblivious to the intruder in his home and by extension his bed.
Ariel bites her bottom lip between pearly white teeth as Mason continues to breath deep and slow breaths, chest rising and falling steadily.
Ariel curls around Mason's sleeping form pressing her front to his back, his bare warm skin to her cold damp skin, but still she molds herself to him like she's on autopilot her body knows what to do without her.
Her arm curls over his chest. Her hand spreads over the flat of his stomach, fingers splayed. She can feel the pulse of his magic, subtle and steady beneath the surface.
Not like her own fire, but something stable…and ancient…in a way that she's not, it hums against her palm, like it wants her there…here.
Her heart pounds…heat simmers under her skin and pools between her thighs, muscles tightening without restraint.
She breathes his fresh scent in deeply and it both calms her down and makes her burn with greater desire.
And that terrifies her more than anything else.
What the hell is wrong with her? Why does this feel right? Why does being near him both quiet and enrage the roaring inferno inside of her?
She closes her eyes, breathes him in he smells of herbs, cooking spices smoke, sweat, soap…magic…and most importantly her.
Her dragon stirs in the depths of her chest, content and possessive. She's already marked him…scented him…ger instincts have chosen.
And now she's lying in his bed like some kind of primal claim has been made.
Her hand slips lower, finding a thick semi-erect slab of meat her eyes widen widely, her hand starts to stroke.
Ju-just for tonight, she tries to tell herself that…just a few hours…then she'll leave and never think about this annoyingly handsome man again.