the l i e to my true sight [killian

[kae]

Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill,
That in the very refuse of thy deeds
There is such strength and warrantize of skill
That, in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more
The more I hear and see just cause of hate?
O, though I love what others do abhor,
With others thou shouldst not abhor my state...
-Shakespeare

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Inspiration. Inspiration is very important in the world of the arts. The oddest things can inspire a person. Right now, Kae was desperate to find something. Her muse had left her. Oh, if only Selma Hayek would walk in dressed as Serendipity and make a random pinging noise. An idea would fly into Kae's head, and she'd be writing away. Why, oh why, couldn't she write?

She had been everywhere, looked at everything, and it seemed hopeless. Inspiration was unreachable, at the moment. For the love of God, why? At an arts college, Kae figured she could at least find ONE stupid thing to inspire her. Everyone else here had their ideas, but Kae was currently drawing a blank.

She needed to write a short story, and she needed to write it now. Things that used to help her seemed to be procrastination instead. She sneered at the thought of soap operas, sighed at the idea of having to watch a movie, and felt like lying down to sleep if Poe even entered her head for a second. Nothing involving words was working. Nature wasn't working. It all seemed... boring.

That's when it had hit her. There was a place certain people would go. Some people can look at one thing and see a whole new world. They can hear something, or feel something, and make emotions apparent with colors. Painters were talented at finding inspiration. Maybe, just maybe, one of them could help her find hers.

It was awkward to be in the art building. Kae wasn't a visual art student, so the place was foreign to her. There weren't signs, no one was around to point her in any direction. That's what she got for coming when most classes were out. Students tended to bounce once professors let them go. Maybe this was truly hopeless. She'd just turn in another shitty paper with a stupid plot, a sorry hill for a climax, and the poorest resolution in the history of man.

Kae sighed loudly before something caught her eye. What the hell? A person? Maybe this day wasn't so hopeless, after all. She couldn't tell who it was. He was hunched over his work, his back to her. For all she knew, it could be a woman with a pixie cut, as well. The door to the room was open, so Kae took a small step forward and leaned in a bit.

No. The arms were a bit too muscular; the shoulders were too broad; the waist wasn't skinny enough. It was definitely a man, and he seemed very focused. She knew as she stepped into the room that her shoes tapped softly on the tiled floor. She stayed on her toes though, trying not to disturb him. There was something interesting in the way he moved. Was he deaf, or was he so in love with his work that nothing else in the world mattered?

"Uhm... Hello?" Kae asked softly, trying not to disturb him too terribly much. "Mind if I just sit and watch for a bit? I'm... researching." Yeah. That was a good way to put it. Make it seem more educational and important.

outfit;here
tag; Killian (trent)

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[klr]

A fucking mess. If there was one thing that Killian Reagan was ALWAYS getting into trouble because of, it was making a mess. It was an odd thing to assume considering the man was generally a very neat person (neat in that sort college-guy sort of way, where there was at least separate laundry corners and a pathway to his bed through the wreckage). Cleanliness was next to Godliness, his Dad would always say, and through hygiene and general bouts of minor OCD with his belongings, the Irish lad had never really had a serious issue with this concept. The altercations dealing with him making "messes" or "wrecking the house," didn't start until the age of around thirteen or fourteen, when Reagan had finally found his calling. His art. And as far as he was concerned, if he wasn't making monstrosity, he wasn't making art.

As his own personal motto on the ratio of "art splatter" (as his father would call it) to passion for a piece, it was believed by the Irish that if you didn't leave a creation with some new stain from your medium, something on your skin, and at least a new shade to the depths of your finger tips - you weren't making art. Art was an expression, the stored honey to a human's soul. Every little part was apart of whom ever the artist was and a piece just wasn't canvas, but an emotional purge from heart. Every artist had an autobiography, written by themselves through the panels of their work. Anything forced or any art that made an artist have to be consciously aware of his surroundings by minding his mess just wasn't of the same grade.

With that in mind, Killian had supposed that that could be why he had been suffering severely from a lack of muse these past few weeks. The were term papers, analysis', and if he had to squeeze out some lack-luster piece of art psuedo-inspired by some shitty art-informast 70s movie one more time, he'd ask to take a bullet to the head instead of a passing grade. Forced art was a mockery. Especially for a grade. It was demeaning. And a mockery to his passion. Much like like enslaving Jimi Hendrix and telling him what notes to play on his guitar, Reagan had found his passion begin to wain in the past few weeks of structuralized thought processes, and more than likely what brought him down into the art wing even after classes had been let out.

Judging by the black charcoal stains on his finger tips, shirt, neck, and even face - he had found his muse again. And judging by the mess, his passion. He hadn't a goddamn clue how long it had been since he had come down here, but determining by the rate his blackened hands moved against the parchment, time was something that didn't matter. Stroke after stroke, his heart beat to the pace of an excited child, his green eyes inspecting every part of his soon-to-be masterpiece as if looking upon the woman of his true love (an ironic statement to say the least as the drawing itself in question was of a woman). She was beautiful, or so he had made her, her naked back turned towards the viewer as she clutched the blanket of her drawn bed around her, alluring eyes peaking over her shoulder at the viewer as if pulling them in to join her.

Mind if I sit and watch for a bit? I'm...researching.

There was a voice. A some what familiar voice that brought him back from his fantasy of the woman in bed, his hands jumping a little off of the paper as if doing something illicit to his lover. "Oh, uh.." Suddenly becoming aware of his derelict nature as a man stained in onyx, hunched over his drawing board like a savage, his posture raised itself as he tried to find the words to explain, "Research? Oh, um. Yes?" Unsure of himself, he turned to face the owner of the interjection, twisting his torso behind him and peering over his shoulder. His heart both skipped a beat and slowed down at the same time. It was that girl.

Kae Hansen wasn't some one that Killian had necessarily tried to get along with - not because he didn't care or that he didn't find her attractive. In fact, she was probably one of he most attractive girls on campus that he had ever laid eyes on. The only thing that had really deterred him from her was, well, her. His brow furrowed a little, some what disappointed in her presence. Maybe she wasn't so bad? It's not like he had actually given her a chance before...maybe just came off as the "that girl" type. Or maybe Killian was just being a dick head...Turning around from his seat to face her, he absent-mindedly wiped his hands on his black band t-shirt, it's white lettering that spralled across the chest that read "Deftones" faded by the charcoal stains due to his touch. His dark jeans, also stained, as he rested his hands on his lap and looked at her through a sooted complexion.

"What...erh, can I help you with?"

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[kae]

"Oh, uh.. Research? Oh, um. Yes?"

As if it wasn't hard enough watching a man work, realizing who the man was made Kae antsy. Time slowed down as he turned. His shirt made a slight sound as the fabric slid across his skin, and his eyes seemed to search for her. For that split second, every one of his movements caught her attention. It wasn't good, either. Killian Reagan. Of all of the people on this godforsaken campus, why did it have to be Killian Reagan? Kae had to admit, she was a bit scared of the man. He always put off this aura of "Don't fuck with me" and she constantly caught him spitting nasty phrases at people. Although it was amusing, Kae couldn't help but want to hurt the man.

She didn't know him well; hell, she hadn't even really talked to him before. How did she even know his name? They were probably in some stupid gen. ed. class together, but the taste he left in her mouth made him seem unimportant. Who wants to remember sour, anyway? She knew her eyes widened at the sight of him. It was almost as if she could feel her pupils shrink, and her irises grow in fear. The look he gave her when he turned around... it was odd. She'd seen that look before. It was common for him to flash at women. The scary thing was... why didn't it have a glint of mischief behind it?

She knew of his reputation. His little black book was probably overflowing. Hell, he probably had two... or seven. As for details, Kae didn't much care. Why would she? Surely a man that got around so much wouldn't be safe. And she'd had her fill of guys that hit and quit. And booty-called. How disgusting. She tried not to show any disgust on her face, but couldn't help but glare at him a second before looking down at her lap. With a sigh, Kae tried to wipe her mind clean. This wasn't a time to judge Killian. This was a time to talk to an artist. That's all he was to her, right now. She had no time to think of him as a... Shit. She really had to get rid of her thoughts. It was best to start with a clean slate.

"What...erh, can I help you with?"

What had she come here for, again? "Erh..." Starting with a clean slate was good, unless you couldn't even remember what you wanted in the first place. "Oh! Oh yeah..." Well, this was awkward... "First off, I'm Kae." Her hand twitched as if she were to put it out, but then she remembered his charcoal-covered... self. Wow. All of him seemed to be dirty. How fitting. STOP! .. She cleared her throat before letting her hand rest again. "I would shake your hand, but.. you know..."

How hard was it to fake a smile? It couldn't be that hard. Kae tried, but all she seemed to get was a smirk. "I need inspiration for a short story, and I was hoping that seeing how other people get their inspiration could help me. Not every artist thinks the same, right?" She decided to catch his eye in conversation, but the second she did, she just had to look away. What was it about his look that made her... feel funny? She couldn't put her finger on what it was, exactly. However, it sure as hell didn't make her comfortable.

"For instance, what made you want to start..." She looked behind him and saw the woman. She seemed perfect. Every curve was placed so that the female screamed seduction, yet the fact that her back was turned gave her a shy, innocent look. Kae saw something in the woman that seemed familiar. Was it fear? Shame? Heartbreak? Whatever it was, Kae's eyes softened at the sight of the woman his hands had created. "...her."

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[klr]

Just like a writer, he thought to himself, rolling his eyes as she mentioned shaking his hand - don't want to get dirty unless it meant brushing the dust off of their conventional keyboard. Primadonna's. He wiped his hands off-handedly onto his jeans once again, rubbing his calloused hands together as she spoke. Maybe they did need to be cleaned...but after. Anything that made this harpie find him revolting was necessary at this point. Wait. No. Dammit, Killian shut his eyes in frustration with himself. Be nice. She was a stranger, at this point, and nothing good ever came out of judging a book by it's cover. Or so, the saying went. Maybe she was something more than a pretentious fiction writer who gushed for Shakesperean writing and debated upon punctuation placement. Maybe she was an artist.

He laughed, lowly. Yeah. Ok. No.

"Killian," His irish accent was prominent as he used his introductory statement to cover his off-handed chuckle, "Killian Reagan. There's no need to tell me you're here for a story, by the way. I can tell you're a writer by your articulate stuttering." Maybe it was a little rough of an intro, but he plastered on a smile to hide what ever doubt he had in it. After all, he was joking...Kind of. Sort of. It wasn't like people hadn't given him shit for being an artist when out in public and covered in paint. Judging by the way her eyes widened as she turned around and the look on her face as she recognized him, she probably expected nothing less from him then some hurtful kind of remark, "Maybe you should get a dictionary, first though? Just a suggestion..."

He noticed how she tried to catch his eye, then brought it upon his work, his stomach some what fluttering and torquing itself at the same time. Was he really that intimidating that she couldn't look at him? Or was it something else? And why was she so interested in other people's work...Bloody writers. It was funny how they worked on a different level than actual artists...Always stealing from other people's work. As she mentioned "her," he turned instinctively towards his piece to eye it over, Kae's softer tone as she spoke satisfying him and reinteresting him in it once more. He scoured it over - half of the action being of a critic to inspect it once more for his own good, the other half a bit nervous to let her see it half done...almost as if he cared about what she thought of "her." Almost.

After what seemed like an eternity of staring into the eyes of the charcoaled woman, he scrambled to find the right words for a reply, "I don't know." It was the best he could come up with, Killian's voice lowered as well as he looked back at Kae to explain himself. Of course he knew what gave him the inspiration for it, but he wasn't about to tell some complete stranger about that, now was he? No. That's not what art was. The meaning of art was, well, that was the glorious thing. There was no meaning. It was all about the artists portrayal, and the viewers interpretation. With that in mind, he posed his next question on the obtrusive writer, "If you were me, what would be your inspiration for a piece like this?"

[kae]

What was it about the woman that drew Kae to stare? It's not like Kae was a lesbian, so the picture didn't intrigue her in any sexual sense. Likewise, she didn't care about shades, stroke thickness, or anything physicals artists like painters, sketchers, or even sculptors cared about. All Kae cared about was expressed emotions, and this painting seemed to catch her imagination.

"...There's no need to tell me you're here for a story, by the way. I can tell you're a writer by your articulate stuttering."

Kae was ripped away from her thoughts about the two-dimensional woman in front of her, and her to listen to Killian's smart ass remarks. She just sighed; this was going to happen eventually. It sucked he got it out of the way early. It meant he would probably keep it up longer. This was a bad idea...

""Maybe you should get a dictionary, first though? Just a suggestion..."

Was that an insult? Kae's face contorted to reflect her shock and anger. First impressions were everything, and even though this wasn't the first time Kae had ever seen Killian... the first conversation was an ice breaker, and he'd just sent ice chunks floating down the river. They weren't gentle; they were the kind that would destroy farm lands and river-side cabins. Did he even know what he'd just said to her?

As a writer, Kae's vocabulary was very important to her. All of the words trapped in her brain were like precious treasures. She would only use them when nothing else fit, and then tuck them back in their nice little corner again. For him to insult her like that, attacking her vocabulary.. Honestly, it really pissed her off. Killian, however, wasn't one to impress by proving him wrong. Not directly, anyway. He always found a way to turn words, and twist your arm with his own until you just gave up. Kae was determined to fight for this one, though.

"If you were me, what would be your inspiration for a piece like this?"

"Love." Kae said, without even thinking. She looked at Killian, almost glaring as she continued. "And I say that as my inspiration because a person as callous and with as many loose morals as you have isn't capable of such an emotion. .. or so I've heard." It was meant to be a sting, and Kae honestly didn't care if she got results from it or not. He probably couldn't even feel emotion, let alone express it.

She walked up to the other woman, her arms crossed, inspecting the piece. "If I were you, only with thinner skin and a warmer heart, I'd say whoever she stands for.. I love her." With a sigh, Kae looked over at Killian quickly.

"The lines aren't as dark as they could be for her outline. It's like you're trying to capture the softness of her skin; the slight shading at the edges is the glow from the sunlight pouring from a distant window..." Kae looked away from him and down at her own arms as she continued. "Making her whole body shimmer when she moves." There was a slight pause before Kae looked at the painting again. She concentrated, trying to make the painting as real as possible to her. It was like an illustration in the book, and Kae felt the need to tell her story.

"With her being naked under a sheet or blanket, that shows that she's an object of your desire. And her eyes..." Gesturing with her hand, Kae stared at the woman's eyes. They were large, expressive, and they showed... "You're hers, too. However, there's pain because of it. It's as if there's some sort of distance between the two of you."

It all hit home too much with Kae. It reminded her of Liam. She knew he liked art, but the two didn't talk about it much. Did he ever draw her? If so, how often? How did he depict her? Did they show as much as this woman did? Did they tell a story?

"She wants to be with you, too. That's why she's holding the sheet so loosely, and so low. She's waiting. And even though it seems as if you're inches away, she misses you. She misses you as if you were thousands of miles..." All of the sudden, Kae stopped. She couldn't continue. There was a lump in her throat as she thought of Liam. So many nights were spent expressing things like this with him. But with both of their schedules, she hadn't heard from him lately. She missed him, too.

Kae had to break focus. She had to break contact. It almost hurt as she dropped her eyes from the woman and to the floor. This was embarrassing. Killian seemed like the kind of man that would feed off weakness, and the last thing Kae needed to do was show it. She cleared her throat, and looked at Killian. "As if you were thousands of miles away."

All of the sudden, she felt a bit light-headed. There was an ache behind her eyes, and her jaw tightened as she tried to keep deadpan. "That's just my writer point of view, though," with emphasis on the word 'writer'.

[klr]

Get the fuck out of here. Out of my studio. Don't speak to me. Don't even look at me, you fucking harpie.

Was that would you are supposed to say when some one stabs you in the heart? Or better yet, when some one rips your heart out of your chest, checks its label and tosses it so casually back into your rib cage as if a petty item at the store not worth any value. You're supposed to shut down. Right? You're supposed to shut down and shove everything away as if it's broken your heart, poured sugar in your gas tank and anally raped your mother. His stomach unlatched itself from his esophagus and the part that attached his vocal chords to his brain denied him the right to speak his mind. As if any words dared traverse his conscience at this moment in time, anyway...

The impact was gradual before Killian had hit this brick wall, her words subtly pushing him over the edge. The word love had made him smile. It was a thoughtless and obvious answer that any person could concoct with at least two brain cells. Love was such a tossed around word these days that the smile was almost forced with how mundane of an answer he thought it was. Every one knew love these days...Love was your eighth grade boyfriend who held your hand underneath the rainbow slide at the elementary school, then cheated on you with your friend Stacy. Love was that girl who you never got the courage to go up and speak to that works at Starbucks. Love was the guy you met at the Plain White T's concert in New Jersey who took called you beautiful and texts his ex-girlfriend behind your back.

He scowled at her as she decided to toss in an insult or two at her perception of him. Ignorant little girl. Did every one believe everything they heard these days, or was he the only one that at least tried to get past appearances? Calloused. Cold hearted. It was a shame she assumed so much about him - she almost for a moment seemed worth his time. Stupid, ignorant little girl. He was thick skinned to her type, but was warm hearted. He was warm hearted, firstly. He had morals. And he knew love. Above all else, he knew love - or what he believed to be love anyway. At least, it felt like it could be love. Then again - was it even really possible to be in love with a woman that you've never even met?

Killian looked at Elena; the woman on the parchment. The woman of his dreams. It was one thing for Kae to stand before him and say that she was drawn out of love, but to say that she was an object of desire. To say that he was desired as well...the Irish man shivered in his own skin as he swore he imagined the skin of the charcoaled figure glistening in the sunlight of his bedroom...She was far from a figment of his imagination, but she might as well could have been with how tangible she was. When the simple pain of living was too much, she was his savior. The smile on his lips in times of stress. The words that laid his head to rest on those notorious weary nights. The unseen goddess to his tumultuous sub-conscience. Her name was Elena, and she lived inside of his computer.

They had never met before, and back when Killian had started speaking to her, he hadn't ever planned to. She was simply an internet friend; because when real life relations fail, it was what there was to turn to. He didn't like sports and believe it or not, there was a time in his life when drinking wasn't his go-to pass time (gasp, I know, right?). Life began changing, but Elena? Well she was the only thing that seemed to stay the same. From coconuts to love, to sex positions and back to music again - conversation and a smile was never in scarce supply. When life got him down, Elena was there to talk him back up again. And in a life with an unstable father, little to no family, and a sister who went off the deep end...it was something that wasn't only greatly appreciated, but necessary for his sanity.

It was only logical that he'd fall for the woman he'd confided his whole life in. And he did. Hard.

She didn't know this of course, Killian stirring once more in his seat and folding his arms as Kae started that the girl wanted to be with him. It was wishful thinking, to say the least; a realization that made his arms ache out of Elena's absence. Was it possible to miss something that he never had in the first place? He was too rapped up in his own heart ache to comment on her even softer tone as if speaking from the heart; the sound of her voice almost setting a calming background sound as he stared longingly at his interpretation of Elena. It amazed him that after all of these years, he still didn't even know what she looked like. Or that it didn't even matter to him. Love was love, or at least...what ever feelings he had towards the impalpable beauty.

That's just my writer point of view, though.

It had brought him back down to Earth once the woman's voice had gotten deadpan and off topic. He snatched his eyes from the piece as if having been caught eyeing something illicit, replacing them self upon the blond woman near by. She seemed...off. Bothered. And instinctually for some reason, he felt the need to comfort her - logically fending off the urge by reminding himself that she had called him calloused, thick-skinned, and cold-hearted. "Spoken from experience?" He asked, maybe a little too hastily to compensate his emotionally weak state. His arms uncrossed themselves, one tucking to the back of his neck to sooth the awkward feeling that currently shot through his body as if feeling exposed, while the other rested in his lap idling for better use. There was a pause before he began again though, choosing his words carefully. "And all of that came from my artistic perspective. It's the beauty of real art, Kae. The inspiration doesn't matter. It's all about what the viewer takes from it."

[kae]

"Spoken from experience?"

There was something in the way Killian said those words that made Kae feel incomfortable. She stared at him, unblinking, studying his facial features and noticing how he'd seemed to have softened. Had she hit a spot on him, too? Maybe she'd been right about certain things she'd said, although she doubted he could relate to her story fully. Killian was a physical man, and it seemed virtual love wasn't something he could comprehend. It was too safe. That's exactly why Kae liked it.

Liam didn't really know her. Well, he did. He knew her every thought, and feeling. If Kae were upset, she would type a couple sentences to him online, and instantly he would ask her what was the matter. As much as that seemed like a godsend, it was also scary. With screens, and miles between them, how easy would she be to read in the real world? She'd never shown him a picture of her. He'd never heard her voice. Hell, he didn't even know her real name.

She was in middle school when she'd first talked to him. He was different from her. He seemed calm and collected while she was... not. Her mother had always told her to be careful online. There were perverts that pretended to be kids. That's why Liam didn't know Kae's real name. Instead, she gave him the name she was called by in Spanish class. Elena. Although Kae had only taken Spanish for three semesters years ago, she was still known as Elena to one person. She'd tried many times to tell him the truth. She wanted him to know her real name. However, she was scared that he'd be paranoid of her. Maybe he would think she was the pervert. After seven years though, would he still be wary?

Kae was lost in her thoughts. She knew a few descriptive traits of Liam; often, those traits were applied to her male characters. He was tall, had a mop of dark hair, and he had this habit of calling himself a chick magnet. Kae picture him in her mind's eye, staring at Killian, morphing them two of them and being surprised as her mental image of Liam sunk and Killian was the only thing there. However, that was easily explained as she noticed his lips were moving.

"And all of that came from my artistic perspective. It's the beauty of real art, Kae. The inspiration doesn't matter. It's all about what the viewer takes from it."

He was probably right. What did Kae know? She was a writer inspired by things around her, and random thoughts that would be strung together. Perhaps Killian had just put his charcoal to paper, and let his hand take control. Maybe this was his subconscious working through his nerve system, and he couldn't really know what he was doing until it was almost finished. However, his voice seemed just a touch less harsh. Kae noticed it, and was intrigued.

"Inspiration does matter, in my world. Are you saying the written word isn't an art form? Without words, we wouldn't be able to express things that are beautiful." She wasn't trying to prod at his opinion, really. She was trying to protect her own. Turning to the painting, Kae reached out to touch a part that didn't have charcoal on it. Apparently charcoal was easily smudged, and the last thing she wanted to do was ruin his work. A pissy Killian wasn't something she wanted to deal with, at the moment.

"If drawings were enough, there wouldn't be a need for language. We'd be lost without words. Why do you think we graduated from cave paintings to oral storytelling? Why do you think there are pictures in children's storybooks? They help the story, but without the words, once would be lost. That's why there's print in comic books, political cartoons, and other things." Kae nodded, letting her fingers slide down the drawing for a second before pulling her hand away and letting it drop to her side.

She kept staring at the woman. How could Kae's story relate to Killian's? "Your artistic perspective tells me your inspiration, though. I can't pinpoint it, but..." Her gaze dropped to the floor before slowly sliding up Killian's stool, his legs, his torso, and eventually making it to his face. "Let's just say your pain isn't a secret. Neither is hers." Nodding back at the painting, Kae sighed and stepped forward towards Killian.

"Trust me, Killian..." This would be a leap, but Kae had the urge to do it. If words weren't enough for the artist, maybe a different approach would be better to relay her message. Slowly, cautiously, she set her hand upon his that sat in his lap. Her fingers gently gripped his, and she leaned forward to whisper in his ear..."Don't tell others your inspiration doesn't matter. If your inspiration hears about it, she might just up and leave."

The situation seemed almost intimate, and for a second, Kae was lost in it. For a split second, Killian was her Liam. In that split second, her lips pressed against his skin, right on the edge of his jaw. It was soft, yet lingering, and then as it occured to Kae that it wasn't Liam's skin she was kissing, she pulled away. There was a gentle squeeze from her fingers to his, and Kae kept her head down as she took a step back. Her hand slipped out of his own, and she crossed her arms. "I'm sorry if that was over the top. Sometimes I let my emotions get a hold of me." The words had given her the strength to look up at him and deliver a small, shy smile. It had felt natural, and all of the sudden Kae was a bit scared to be close to the man. He was a man, after all, and feeling natural wasn't a good thing. She'd promised not to go into her past. Killian, however, had a reputation of a runaround. The last thing she needed to do was get tangled up in him... or with him... in her.

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[klr]

He was losing his edge these days, wasn't he. Watching as she put an outstretched hand on his portrait, his stomach turned a little. Charcoal smudged, little harpie. Would she like it if he put his finger on her harlot eye make-up? No. But for some reason, the urge to smite her never came. It must have been her softness, the lad noting on it as she spoke as it abolished his urge to interupt her speech on writing as well. Instead, Killian just eyed her finger placement, shifted in his seat a little to look back at the photo and wonder to himself what kind of a man he was turning into. Not yelling at some one? Who was he these days?

If it were some human that he liked, maybe he would have seen the physical contact. After all, once woman went all soft and squishy, it could usually be expected that they'd do something along the lines of affection. A soft voice was synonymous with at least some form of a hug and/or cuddling...and maybe a mercy fuck afterwards. But he didn't expect it from Kae. Or really want it, either. With that being said, it was completely unexpected how his heart jumped as her hand met his own, Killian having a small flashback to Junior High when it was still a big deal to work up the courage for such a physical gesture. Her touch was delicate and warm, and her words seemed to taper out as he focused on the expression.

It had been a while since any one had done something so spontaneous. So kind. So...genuine. Although questionable as per the origin of her urge, he wasn't minding in the least. In a world where the only thing he craved to press his lips against were the rim of a bottle, when something touched him instead with out the intentions of ravaging his wallet, getting into his bed or trying to pick a fight, the sensation of something so sincere was a phenomenon to the Irish lad that wasn't going un-enjoyed. He was jaded when it came to this kid of affection - as platonic and harmless as it was. Even if it was from a woman whom he had deemed abrasive, ignorant and unlikable. If anything...that almost made it just that little bit better.

Trust me, Killian. Don't tell others your inspiration doesn't matter. If your inspiration hears about it, she might just up and leave.


The words shook him, as improbable as they were. The thought of no Elena...The thought of being alone. Having no one to talk to. Having no one to be something to. Having...nothing. He shook a little at the thought, a lump the size of an asteroid forming in his throat. Killian didn't even try to swallow it. He knew, logically speaking, that she'd never hear him say she didn't matter. She'd more than likely never even hear him period. Nor touch him. Let alone see him. If after seven years he hadn't even seen a photo of him, he couldn't imagine how many years it would be before she actually told him where she lived or if she could even see her. The fear of losing her to something he did in real life was almost ridiculous. After all, how could you lose something you never even had in the first place, right? If he knew if she even felt the same way about him.

His mind went blank.

Elena.

His heart beat ran a little faster and he inhaled a little more then usual. Something with reality wasn't right because for a moment there he thought...Killian's eyes widened. Did he say that out loud? Would she be insulted? She wouldn't understand it either way. When Kae's lips had pressed against his chin, he swore for a moment he had gotten a dose of the woman he loved. Or at least, what he had imagined it would be like. Or maybe it was wishful thinking - maybe his subconscience was tricking him again. After all, it wouldn't be the first time he had pretended some woman was Elena before and she certainly wouldn't be the last. It didn't, how ever, explain his urge to do nothing less than jumping out of his seat and finding out what kind of sensation her lips would offer his own.

"It's fine..." The words seemed to stumble out of him, their delivery more of a splutter than an actual articulate sentence. He could feel the color start to raise in his pale cheeks, a feet that no girl had accomplished in at least five years. A streak now broken by some harpie who strolled into the art room to harrass him in the middle of his work. It was a few seconds before he continued on the complete his train of though, deep accented voice collecting itself and taking the next phrase word by word as if learning a new speech pattern, "It wasn't over the top. It was a compliment. I'm sorry for...

[/i]" Killian didn't know if he should even apologize at all, seeing as he wasn't sure if he had accidentally blurted out Elena's name, "I don't know. Not being so suave?"

A hand raised itself to the back of his head, scratching at the layers of thick black hair before he realized there was still a debate to be had on the matter of art versus literature. A topic that should be handled tenderly if he wished to receive another kiss that gave him another stutter so that her "art form" wasn't insulted. "Regardless of the fact that I'm turning red," His hand slipped from the back of his head to his lap again, looking from his fingers, to her fingers, to her face as he spoke, "And that you're the first girl to catch me off guard in about seven years...You're still wrong." Smiling softly to soften the rebuttal, he continued, "There are 26 letters and about 171,476 words in the dictionary. And you couldn't find the accurate combination for what you felt just a moment ago...so you kissed me. Words aren't everything. And art - and action, I suppose too - make up for what your 171,476 lack."[/size][/blockquote]

[kae]

What was she doing? How could she be doing this? Kae recognized the gesture hadn't just been one between friends. Killian hadn't even been her friend to begin with. She'd just felt the need to approach him, touch him, kiss him along the jaw. She felt the urge because he reminded her of Liam, in some twisted way. The boy knew how to hold a conversation, even with that accent of his. He seemed a bit introverted, although his exterior came off as pushy. There was something Killian wasn't telling Kae, and it made her heart ache for him. Somehow, she could relate to it. Empathy wasn't something she was familiar with. Usually she only felt it when talking with Liam.

There were so many nights she would spend wanting to hug him, wanting to kiss him, and telling him she wished he was laying at her side before she fell asleep. She would take a body pillow and wrap a leg around it, pretending it was his waist, and lie her arm across it as it would his chest. Sometimes, when she'd get up the courage to tell him of her physical urges, she could feel her lips tingle at the thought. So many nights were spent telling him how badly she craved physical touch.

Sometimes it got so bad that she'd pretend other boys were him. She found herself attracted to boys that only reminded her of him. Her eyes would close, and there'd be nothing but feeling between her and her pass time. He would say her name, and she'd try her hardest to remember his as what she imagined of Liam was in his place. It all ended one night, though.

Never had Kae felt worse. She had been at a party, IMing Liam from her phone, when they got into a small fight. The fight led to a minor depression, which led to drinking. The drinking caused her to get more and more vulnerable, until she found herself laying on her back, swatting at hands that were trying to undo her jeans. She'd told him no. She didn't want to be that kind of girl. In her mind all she was thinking that this wasn't how it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be Liam making up with her, not this creep. However, with an already weakened emotional state, giving in was easier than fighting. Since that moment, Liam was all and Liam was it. However, Killian was worming his way into her mind. There had been something, some spark against his skin, that had intrigued her.

And that's when Kae heard it. Elena.

Her brain stopped all of the sudden, and she stared at Killian. What was he? Psychic? There was no way he could know- no possible fucking way. For a second her mind went into overload, before Kae decided to just shut it down. No. It had to be someone else. It was the girl he was using for his piece, more than likely. Elena was a common name, sort of, so why should kae get worried about it? There was no need to get worried.

"It's fine. It wasn't over the top. It was a compliment. I'm sorry for... I don't know. Not being so suave?"

What the hell was he talking about? Not being suave? All of the sudden, Kae couldn't help herself. "Regardless of the fact that I'm turning red," Was it? Could it really be? No. No, it couldn't. Liam was a totally different person than Killian. "And that you're the first girl to catch me off guard in about seven years...You're still wrong." There was a better chance of her dieing in a barrel of acid than meeting Liam. Killian was calloused, cold-hearted... That's when he smiled.

What was wrong with her? She couldn't be doing this- not again. His words sunk into her skin, warming her, making her fingers twitch and her lips tingle. She'd promised herself to never go back to those ways, but it was like a monster ripping at her insides. It wanted to come out and play, and Kae was trying to... She was done fighting it back.

"So between physical art and stories, I think we both agree that actions win." Before he could even respond, Kae took two quick steps forward, put both of her hands lightly on his neck, and let her lips find his. Why was she doing this? Because he reminded her of Liam. She missed Liam. Since she couldn't have the real thing, a damn close substitute was good enough.

[klr]

There was an over whelming sigh of relief as she continued conversation...she hadn't heard him. It was a bullet dodged, to say the least. The last thing he wanted to do was to loose what ever sensation she had brought to him. Women never took well to being assigned a different name other than something along the lines of "honey" or "baby." Let alone a completely different name all together...especially when it was the name of whom Killian was pretending the girl to be. Petnames just weren't his thing and although, yes, imagining his sexual partner to be another identity was a habit, he always went out of his way to try and remember his partner-of-the-nights name. Which was why it had taken him back so much to have slipped out Elena's upon Kae's kiss. It just wasn't his style to make such a mistake. A mistake that made him curious if her body matched what ever it was that her eyes did to him.

He watched as she seemed to struggle something internally, green orbs taking notes on the minute facial twitches that seemed to illustrate her struggle. It was about him, judging by the way she looked at him. It was about her feelings, about her emotions...Killian stirred in his seat awaiting a response, anxious for her next action, no matter how subtle or chaotic. She didn't seem ok and the insides of his arms felt an instantaneous sort of soreness that came from the kind of addiction that can only be paralleled to a small child and his teddy bear before bed. He needed something physical from Elena. No. Kae. And it looked as if she suffered the same. It wasn't wishful thinking to know that the writer felt something she hadn't expected as well in that kiss and the realization that came over the Irishman hit his skin like the fresh breeze of an April day. One thousand other girls had tried to reach him. How could she, of all people, be the one?

Maybe it was the way she saw his world spin beneath him when she had called out his anguish for the piece of art work, maybe this was just pity. But what ever it is - it was a heavy dose of what ever Killian Liam Reagan had needed all these years. As she spoke, there was a soft ease about her. A confidence, yet softness that made his ears perk up, and eyes find her two steps too far away to reach out and grab her closer. He doubted that she wanted him to be so physical so fast seeing as it was just five minutes prior that she was calling his calloused and loose moralled. Was it normal that it intrigued and almost boosted his self esteem that a woman that honestly disliked him, found herself attracted to him due to a piece of his art? Art was, after all, a small piece of the artist's soul, maybe some where deep down they had connected on a level that he wasn't aware of. Maybe she knew what it was like to have some one too far away to touch. Maybe she knew what it was like to be in love with them. Maybe she knew what it was like to have some one like Elena. Maybe she knew him as Liam.

Maybe.

Just as he thought wishful thinking was getting the best of him, she had crashed against him. And it was beautiful. The pressure of her hands against his neck made a soft pink hue regain its power in his cheeks, her soft lips, although extemporaneous, resembled the taste of that first sip to a glass of red wine. Out of instinct, the sensation of such an impromptu display meant he reciprocated, the man standing up to his full height before her. A charcoaled stained hand found its way to the side of her waist, pulling her softly against him, the other resting in the middle of her back gently pulling with the same intention as the other. Killian didn't just want the taste of her. He wanted the feel of her. The feel of Elena. He'd ask her to whisper in his ear what ever it was she wanted in return for the favor her sensuous, supple body did to him. He'd give her anything to feel this coming.

His lips parted from hers briefly, then pressed against hers once again. Then parted, than pressed against her again. The heart-skipping impression that Kae's kiss left him with wasn't just a one off chance. It was a constant. A realization that made him want a little bit more as he felt his palms get hot against her body. Anything else that found his way against him had lost it's luster as tomorrow mornings wake up entered his mind. She should be at his side. Wearing nothing but a blanket. Looking back, smiling at him. He could fall in love with her. He could...No. No, this was all wrong. Like pulling a band-aid from a wound, his found his lips ripping themselves off of her - only the pain hitting him hard in the gut instead. The hand on her back had slid to her hip, hands pressed against her waist, his body not ready to step away from the landscape of her own. He was almost ashamed.

This was not Elena. It was a harsh reminder that he needed to keep himself aware of. This was Kae. A girl he had once found abrasive and unlikeable. A girl who he would scoff at when she'd answer questions in class or make snide remarks about when his mates would mention her name. Until this moment, she had meant nothing to him and here he was...putting her on a pedastal in the name of the woman that he loved. It didn't make sense. It didn't add up. Maybe he was going crazy or maybe he was just tired of not having Elena for himself on his own. Sure, it could have been projection - but why now did a girl have to cameo herself into his life with all the right sensations to make him scream? Maybe it wasn't him. Maybe it was her. Maybe, just maybe, he had actually found some one who he was compatible with. Maybe Kae was just what he wanted and the only feelings he had ever known like this before was for Elena. Hence the comparison.

"I'm going to take you out some time in the near future," his composure was gone, the words that seemed to fall out of his lips more of a blurty outburst than any real thought out statement. A woman who had some how worked their way under his skin with nothing more than a kiss wasn't one to just be bedded, "You might not believe me because you think I'm a runaround but...If it's fine by you - may I?" What ever fortitude he could muster ended up coated in his proposal, Killian knowing just how silly he must have looked for ending such a sexily impulsive moment to exclaim his intentions - the man even using proper grammar seeing as she was a writer and all. There was a pause that felt awkward to him as he searched for more words. None came to him, so instead, he indulged himself in her lips once more, pressing them against her own, lingering and slowly pulling away before some syllables came to him, "Like I said it's just...you're the first girl to ever catch me off guard in...god knows how long. I like that. Love that. And unlike most harlots who call Emerson home - you intrigue me."

[kae]

Someone had once told Kae that you can tell a lot from a person by how they kiss. The source wasn't easy to remember, but she knew she'd heard the words before. Why had she even kissed Killian? They'd been talking about his art, and now it seemed as if she'd known him for years. Maybe she was over analyzing? That had been her first thought as her lips found his, but whenthere was a soft pressure against her own lips things seemed to change. His lips were strong, but not overpowering. It wasn't a hungry kiss of desperation; likewise, it didn't seem like he was displeased with her action of choice.

When he pulled back her eyes closed and chin dropped a little bit. In that second, he had become a part of her. That kiss had told her more than he probably would have ever said out loud. Her lips were still warm from being pressed against his- their color deepening from the blood that rushed to her cheeks taking a short detour. Now that his lips were gone, she'd focused on her hands. One slid down his chest a bit. It couldn't go far seeing as he'd pulled her against him, but she didn't mind. She could feel his heartbeat against her own chest, and the fact that her pulse wasn't the only one speeding up made her want to smile. That couldn't be done though, seeing as he'd kissed her again... and again...

Her knees were starting to go weak because of the intimate situation. If it weren't for his hands on her back and waist, she probably would have been floored by now. Surprisingly, she didn't mind of his hands were dirty anymore. She actually kind of smiled into the last kiss as the thought registered. She'd been so determined to avoid shaking his hand earlier because of the staining affects of charcoal. That didn't really seem important now, though. She wanted his hands there. They felt hot, soothing, and she couldn't get enough of him against her.

That's when it ended. The sudden movement of him pulling away, out of the reach of her lips, made Kae snap back into reality. This was Killian, not Liam. Killian was a totally different person. He was the boy she glared at in classes every time he'd make some disgruntled noise at her answers, or debates. She would see him on campus chatting up other girls and just look straight ahead, not acknowledging him or his latest victim. How did she feel about him now? Confusion would be the key. Something in his kiss said that there was a connection of some sort. Kae couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something about Killian that kept her attention.

"I'm going to take you out some time in the near future,"

Kae was a bit surprised by Killian's statement. It scared her, as well. Had he not felt the same things she had, in those few kisses? She thought that she'd instantly become some sort of temple in his eyes. Was it just her mess up? Maybe her chapstick tasted good, or something, and that's why he'd kept coming back to her lips. Maybe he just wanted the experience of getting the girl no one else had been able to snag. Was she turning into some sort of trophy? Surely it'd be something to brag about- knocking boots with one of the most prude women on campus.

"You might not believe me because you think I'm a runaround but...If it's fine by you - may I?"

Well, damn straight she did. She'd heard the things, and seen how many girls he had drooling over him. If he kissed every woman like that, it wasn't a wonder why they wanted him. That put the thought in her head of, ...am I special, or just another attempt at a notch? The corners of her mouth drooped a bit, but she didn't have time to fully pout at her thoughts because Killian was kissing her again.

Why was he so intoxicating? She got up onto her toes a bit, pushing back into his kiss. His lips were soft and smooth, pressing against hers with just the right pressure that made her feel as if this was something more than just carnal desire. Was it wrong to be saddened when he pulled his lips away again? She slowly lowered herself back onto her heels, and let her blue eyes focus on his green ones. It was a bit shocking how his eyes matched the way his lips were. Usually she'd just get a hard, cold glare from him. However, in this moment they'd softened. He looked as if he were longing something... Maybe to kiss her again? Maybe for her to say yes? Maybe for her to be the woman in the drawing? Kae knew the feelings he was expressing were probably just him channeling his feelings for the woman he'd drawn towards her. It felt nice to be wanted like that, though.

"Like I said it's just...you're the first girl to ever catch me off guard in...god knows how long. I like that. Love that. And unlike most harlots who call Emerson home - you intrigue me."

Harlots. Yeah, that described them pretty well. Kae knew the lifestyle, and she smirked while shaking her head lightly. Going out and letting some random guy hit it every few nights wasn't fulfilling. That was something you'd do to simply get urges out. There wasn't feeling behind it, other than the one she'd experience between her legs that made her whole body tingle, toes curl, and hands white-knuckle the nearest grip-able surface. From the stories, Killian knew how to deliver that feeling. However, that didn't seem to be what he was getting at. Was he actually connecting on a mental level with her, for once? Yes, Kae was surprised... it was a good surprised, however.

"I'm not someone you can just wrangle up and take out in a matter of minutes, Mr. Reagan." The line was delivered with a smile, her head cocking to the side a bit as she looked at his chest. She noticed the writing on his shirt and traced it softly with one of her fingers. Watching her finger slowly skim across the shirt, she continued. "I'm not saying no... but give me time to think about it. Unlike other girls, I actually like to consider who I let see my eating habits, or pay for popcorn at the movies, or something." It wasn't a total lie. She really wasn't sure if he was just leading her on, or if he really did like her in a matter of ten or so minutes. The hidden part of her speech was one thing... Liam. She had to ask Liam.

She knew he went out with other girls. He was a guy, of course. His libido was a bit higher than hers, and seemingly harder to suppress. Kae, on the other hand, didn't often go out. It was mainly because she'd never felt a need to. Liam was enough... Okay, he wasn't enough. He'd be enough if she could actually touch him. So many nights she longed to just lay somewhere with him and look at the stars. She had nothing for him but complete and total adoration, maybe even love, and no one else seemed to make those feelings bubble up inside her... except Killian.

She'd have to tell Liam. It felt like she had to get approval. She didn't want him to feel hurt or betrayed. She was the one, afterall, who usually kept her hormones in check. Killian was making it hard, though. The way he kissed her made her head swim with thoughts that shouldn't be there, but Kae liked them. She couldn't quite sort out her feelings. That's what Liam was good for. She would talk to him, tell him everything, and he'd help her make up her mind.

"Don't take it as a no, yet. If anything, take it as me being a tease, taunting you with an answer hanging over your head on a thin string." She gave him a smile, and the hand on his neck slid up so her fingers disappeared into his hair, with her thumb resting gently on his cheek. She could feel the stubble, just barely, contrasting against the close shave he'd probably done not too long ago. She let her thumb rub against his cheek bone gently before leaning in to kiss him softly, again. She lingered a bit, admiring the taste of his lips, letting her eyes close and her nose just barely touch his as she let her lips brush against his own before pulling away with a smirk gracing her features.