A woman I knew sat clapping in acknowledgement as I left the stage hers meshing with many other's mild applause; though singled out from all as my irises settled on her demure figure in curious recognition. She is familiar for her tiny physic, imploring large dark eyes that meet mine even from her place at a far table, she reclines in a wooden chair in lacluster confidence, legs crossed with large thighs showcased beneath a short lose skirt. One hand on her small glass fingers astrayed to the table slightly to tap on the wood in an pattern none could follow, while the other was thrown over her chair. No smile sat on her face, no scowl, nor frown, what dawned her was a seductive tilt of her lips upwards in a coy coil of hinted interest. I flickered my gaze away from hers, because my mind could not contort properly with the raise of confusion hitting at my mentality. Yet, even as they shift away from the image she makes, my legs move forward towards her.

"Been a time since you tread 'round 'ere ain't it?" My teens had left the impression she made stuck to my memory of Chroas, though my delusion whilst enraptured by the dellurium of swimming images and a nary floating of my body at the time, I know her still; she had been the thief of my virginity, her blonde hair seemingly unchanged by the curse of time as it sat in the exact place I remember, a piece hanging between her brow and hovering over her nose. In that same vain, she wore only a bra in form of modesty, befitting of her as she had been exacting in the streets of the district when I'd met her, seductive with graceful movements and bold confidence that I would fall into her bed without qualm, uncaring of plausible reprimand.

She stood with that same coy expression, if she possessed one further then a minimal B-cup breast she would be touched upon me intimately, though her lack of space beheld a similar feeling; and much to my own discomfort, the vision was not entirely unwelcome. Intrigue was twining in my thoughts as arousal began to arise underneath my skin in small jolts of encouragement from my body. Her voice was drawled with a twang from the Souther region of Fiore, but it pertained an elegance unfounded, it came forth breathless and near inaudible.

"You 'ere so cute back 'en, 'oft 'n delicate 'ave you grown to a full man n'ow?" A blatant tease, one I could recognize with ease, yet the challenge whispered scratched at my pride for the jaunt. The urge to prove my own shift from clumsy, wondering youth; into a proud, capable, man with a vast history of extensively satisfied women in my mind to the very first woman I'd chosen in sex, it was a strong desire taunting as a drum in the back of my mind. The loud chorus of screaming protests at the forefront of my head made me flich away from grasping at her small hips. Again however, something imitating a mockery forms on her mouth as if portraying, visually, her doubt that I could pleasure her completely now. A sudden mild anger at the implication has both my palms gripping at her hips and fingers tentatively stroking the exposed skin there. She peers up at me through long black lashes that flutter gently as she blinks, once more her coy express firmly in place as if it had never left. Now though she presses further with permission, her body against my own as her hand slowly slides down from my abdomen in brushes of feeling through my tight fit shirt, small fingers dancing over the button of my pants.

Her index finger curving into the band as she pulls away and walks with swinging hips slowly backwards to the back where she backs herself up against the wooden wall. I let her with my hands still firm on her hips, now inappropriately held tighter. Her hand once more pressing softly against me, but lowers quickly in a sudden motion and cups me roughly through the red fabric of my pants, pressing upwards so slightly as her fingers find and trace the outlines of my restrained erection. With arousal coming forward with prickles of pleasure undeniable, my fingers slip underneath the waistband of her fragile skirt, thumb coiling around the elastic of her panties, a smirk coming to my face for the thrill of knowing I'm not an uncertain teenager unto her now; as I force her body upwards, her feet not quite touching the floor before she wraps the soft muscle of her thighs around my hips. A gasping whisp of air coming from her lips brushing against my neck when I hold her up with one arm around her waist, and my hand playing at the heat of her dripping sex turning around her folds in a way I hadn't as a teen. Slick dripping over my fingers with an arousal I had not produced last time, the hum of my pride fierce as the success of my male ability once again bringing a smug turn to my mouth.

"Wait... are you jealous?" Smug and a gleam of joy is evident in his tone, fluttering around my ears as if in a mockery of my own happiness to hear the sound. The knowing grin he bares is both cocky and so pleased the heat in my cheeks is difficult to deny....

The thought of banging the metal users skull forwards into the trunk of a tree at the back of the hall burns at the cusp of my stomach and border of my chest."So what if I was? I'm allowed."

"Yup! No arguement here!"

My hand freezes without proper thought unto my actions, and I push away as the rise of disgust clenches at my esphogus with bile burning at my throat. My rapid retreat brings her skirt down and causes her head to autobly hit against the wall, she inelgantly falls to the ground as my body had been the only thing holding her up. My fingers twitch with the slick; grotesque to me now, remaining as a physical reminder of masculine pride clouding my thoughts, staring at her as she comes to her knees and beneath her long lashes are irises that glare with anger, an anger I find myself reciprocating. She is a beautiful woman, but not the person I want to be with, and there it is; the austendatious fact shown onto me in plain fact, for regardless of my own acknowledgement that I am in love with Natsu, I am still balancing myself on the idea that I'd lost a piece of my identity by falling for a man, wanting to lay with a woman to -by extension- prove unto society that I was still masculine; as if it had been in question after tying myself to Natsu. My scowl raises fully on my face, and I can feel my skin stretch to accommodate, straying my glower from the prostitute still on the ground- I cannot cast any blame on her anyway.

Because, it was wrangling within my mind as a daunting taunt, perhaps just alike my father; I am a coward. Frightened that I might not fit into society's bracket, therein running inbetween my own want and ingrained expectations looming above since childhood. The pride of knowing I can fit into what everyone believes to be acceptable, slotting effortlessly into the ideal of who I should be as a wizard, man, and person with ease. Yet, the joy of negating all those presumptions and simply doing what I want is so paramount, I cannot ignore the warming comfort it brings me ignore whatever reckoning people put on me, despite the injury it puts unto my reputation. Seeing the woman standing with a clear embarassment as she straightens her skirt, brushes at her knees and walks past me with a firm slam into my arm as she goes- I am just reminded of the man I now call my boyfriend: The joy I have felt in his plain manner, the warmth of his concern, and the raidiance of his aura that shines to resonate happiness. Should I continue to follow through with my love for him then eventually the man I've presumed myself to be for years will crumble before me as brittle surface rock, and my pride will fall under the weight in some way. However, I would rather that a fraction of my pride is lost, then forgo the grins he casts me after I make a dinner prepared with shaking hands and sweat ridden brow.

The bar's air is thick surrounding me, and the phantom pressure is enough to push me out, back into the placating crisp wind of the night streets. Somehow, the fact that I had almost needed to duck under the doorframe to fit weighed far worse on my shoulders then when I'd entered. There was little activity outside now, and the mist had begun to settle, the lighting of the lamps making a mystic vision amongst the ancient stone buildings. Walking, I can see only outlines of those worse off sitting against the walls, some curled around themselves in hope of warmth, others simply standing and watching- waiting for an easy victim to rob. I don't allow my sights to linger on any of the figures, all homeless and unable to get back up in this strangled econamy, its really only a sad thought to acknowledge them at all. The hotel gramps had reserved is not far from the bar I'd vacated, which says a lot of the state it would be in, the neighborhood a fitting tell. At this point rolling my eyes is automatic and if they roll so far that I can feel the warning ontop of my eyelids, then thats not unusual either. I can expect no more from the man as it stands, our guild is in these games to gain repitore and hopefully the attention of potenial clintile so we could earn enough money to actually be called a proper guild once more, instead of scappling band of people on the edge of a town praying for work: Even so, my grandfather has always been a frugal man and I can only imagine in knowing him that should we still be well off he'd rent a sub-par motel regardless.

Matching the distraught street the lobby of the hotel as I enter is depraved. Old furniture that looks to be cleaned once a year, several broken ceiling lights hanging precariously over my head as they flicker in sad comedy, while the beige paint of the wall is chipping showcasing what I believe to be are small holes. The reception desk is obvious, mainly because of the man sleeping rather soundly behind it with his loud snore resounding throught the area. Already his lackluster work ethic is causing a twitch in my eye, and though I simply want to march forward and cause un unneeded amount of noise just to disturb his sleep- I know how childish it is and restrain my hands from purposefully being clumsy.

Looking over his station there are several random pieces of paper, a few pens scattered about, a drink to his side, and a large folder much alike the one sitting forward on the desk for sign-in. Reading 'reservations' worn slightly on the cover. Not being intentional in my actions is one thing, if it is truly unintentional then that is another- so I can't say I care when I elbow his drink and it spills some form of purple liquid on the floor as I grab the folder. I only scan through the lines as all of them are names and room numbers and actually remembering those of strangers on accident would be uncomfortable. Still, I quickly catch onto Erza's name next to Mirajane's on a single line their room number beside, just the same with Lucy and Juvia on the next down; bluntly meaning we're all set off in pairs. Again expected with our minor amount of money, in searching for my own name I almost laugh at the sight that Gajeel is sharing with Grey, those two rarely ever talk I doubt they even remember what the other's voice sound like. But in seeing my own name together with Natsu's I do have to wonder if concidence exists and had payed me a favour by pairing me with my boyfriend out of a grouping of around fifty people; room 4B. All of the keys are in a bowl not far from the man curling in his chair- which is more then questionable security. Thinking about it however, is useless and I grab my own key throwing the folder down on the desk without caring that he might see it there and wonder how it could have moved -we live in a world of magick I'm sure he'll come up with an explaination.-

I shake the twinge of nerve over my shoulder spiking with a roll of my shoulders, the feeling of my hair sticking to my forehead is due to the humidity in the air. In entering its plain that no one is inside with me, and the relief in me frees my muscles away from tension. I throw my coat onto the nearest bed, not knowing if Natsu has claimed that one for himself or not, but taking off my shoes seems like a bad idea in looking at the grey carpet with sections of white in the corners. I head toward the bathroom, which to my surprise is rather well kept, negating the flickering lights over the mirror. I liberally later my hands with soap, the slick still vibrating against my skin, its disgusting and I stare more at my fingers then focus on rubbing them together to clean. I don't dare look at my reflection, seeing myself right now would only want me to break the image, so I walk out just as the click of the doorknob makes itself known. We meet each other's stare with a rather ingraceful hesitation, him with surprise, while I'm more uncertain of how to greet him or what I should do.

Answering that question, he closes the door with his heel and casts a large smile at me. But before I make a sentence in a form of nerve wracked response, my words dry; at seeing that in my ignorance I hadn't noticed that I hadn't thrown my coat on the nearest bed- but the only one in the room. That, has me blinking in pause; because either the old-man knew something about my new -hesitant- relationship and was taking action like the conniving bastard he is, or that everyone had gotten singles, and honestly, I cannot say which is more likely. I turn back to the pinket, I don't want to address it and make him more uncomfortable then I'm already feeling, yet he's flushed and his smile of welcome had turned bashful while he rubs at the back of his neck, not truly staring at me, but the bed we're apparently both apprehensive about. "Hey, well, I wasn't expecting you-" is how he starts, and on instinct, I snort, because neither of us had. He pretends not to have heard, or it doesn't bother him as he says nothing to the sound. That does not mean I know what to say to the situation, its awkward, and thats in the least, our relationship had hardly bloomed and while we had slept in each other's arms before; the thought of one bed is by some strange measure, more intimate.

I clear my throat, he's silent and still avoiding my gaze, blushing and shuffling his feet slightly still staring at the rather small mattress. Even though I have seen it far more frequently nowadays, seeing Natsu shy is preculiar unto my image of him in my mind, while not unwelcome by any means, it still resonates as odd. "Does it bother you?" Keeping my voice steady is difficult in my own aprehension, but he looks at me as if startled with eyes wide and irises glimmering still even under the light of the dirty hotel room.

"No- you?" Straightforward, without a show of uncertainty, makes me curious at how he manages to mask his own bashful demeanour just previous. It quells my fears though, mainly having been hesitant because he might have been uncomfortable with the idea and I wouldn't know what to do. Though, I myself am not in denial of the fact that I am nervous of the idea of it. For the idea comes unto me almost as a further step forward in mine and Natsu's relationship that I do not know if I'm prepared for.

"No." Admitting that to him however would be alikened to forcing a large pole through a nail hole, an impossible feat. In return I gain a grin, one of those I find calming and it somewhat eases my scurrying thoughts. As suddenly, without a concern given in sight, he simply relaxes and near skips to his bag in the corner. Newly comforted by his happy demeanour regardless of the awkward air that still lingered surrounding thick, but vanishing in the viberance of his aura- as it seemed so common with his blatant confidence and unabashed abilty of simply being positive. I turn to my own bag placed on the other side of the bed, likely brought in by some of the hotel staff -as marginal they might be- from the cart that had been following us all on the journey. Though it does appear to have been carelessly tossed in place, as its upside down, but nothing truly fragile resides within so theres no concern- I grab my headphones from within and the tiny control lacrima they're attached too. Unknowing what Natsu might do in a space of little excitement, I am eager to see if he will be driven mad by the bordem -literally- or if he will go to seek a challenge.

But in looking back his way, perhaps in want for light conversation, the sight of a small baton meets me, one which he looks reverantly at before lighting the ends of and walking to the unobscured area of the room. He doesn't seem to pay any attention to the fact that I'm standing not far off, because he merely takes a deep breath in preperation, then begins to twirl the stick through his fingers and around himself, throwing it in the air and catching it effortlessly, slowly his body begins to move along with his motions and some type of elegant dance is formed. Graceful as he follows the smooth movements of his baton, bending over as he passes it over himself, spinning as he brings it around his back, and stepping around each way as he continues. I feel the soft fabric beneath me as I sit to watch his intentional showcasing of his grace. I doubt he is focused at all of his surroundings, his eyes are closed and his face is relaxed in concentration, its a beautiful display for the calm happiness it seemingly brings him, and beautiful because its him who is preforming the dance and I know it wouldn't be with anyone else- not unto my mind: I am still scared of losing who I know myself to be, yet with the feeling in my gut bubbling forth I can only imagine this reformation will be far better.

Slowing, he comes to a smooth stop almost in front of me, then with hooded lids gently blows out the flames at the ends. Meeting my stare with his own and a small smile as he shifts around slightly. "What you think?" Its near whispered, I hadn't realized the show had been for me, but with this nervousness obvious its clear that it had been, its a flattering to realize and my simper is automatic; to think that he would try to impress me with something -I think- most people don't get to see.

"Beautiful." I state it plain, but its only after a second that I flinch to my own words. Realizing late, that it was not particularly complimentary to say 'beautiful' to a man, it wounds at the pride. He doesn't say anything at it however, almost giggling as he thanks me. I find it confusing, because I know how I would feel if I'd been given a compliment typically only made to a woman. "You don't mind." Of all reactions, he screws up his lips and his eyebrows furrow in his own perplextion, juxtaposing my own.

"Why would I? What's wrong with being beautiful?" He crosses his arms, and his posture tells me that he's prepping for an argument. My snort comes automatically once again, because truly, I don't think Natsu even knows what masculinity is- or at least doesn't understand the social view of it, personally, I don't know what to think of that.

Being candid though, seems to be the best way to speak. "Its not exactly a nice thing to say to another man Natsu, an insult usually." I state it as bluntly as possible, so he knows what I mean.

"I want to be beautiful- if only to you. I really don't understand why everyone is so obsessed with this whole 'manly' thing- what does that even mean? Is it just a pride thing?" His shoulders shurg, and he is nonchalant about the concept, obviously not caring for the explaination in truth, seemingly just more annoyed that it exists. His response has laughter spilling out my lips, because I should have expecting nothing more, Natsu has never cared what other people think of him -the only reason our relationship remained secret is because I asked him to keep it,- he'd been raised by a dragon, he had no reason to really grasp the particulars of human social standards, as it were they were probably just stupid ideals to him that make no sense. He wouldn't be wrong though; even if I remain attached to them myself, in plain candour, all those standards really are just a pride thing- a way for most men to prove that they're not a woman, because in some small portion of their mind its an insult to be.

I see him stare down at me with a growing irked express as I laugh and give no reason."A pride thing that shouldn't exist." I catch my breath to look at him, his midnight sky irises. "Just keep ignoring it." I pause because as the words stick in my throat once again for at least the tenth time in speaking to him, letting my smirk form however, makes me feel as if its at least partly a tease: "You are beautiful to me even without the fire baton." His smile stretches wide as his cheeks dust with pink.

Pride an idiotic notion, and yet my fingers had been playing with a stranger's cunt because of it not even an hour previous; it scrapes at my mentality to know I possess too much of it.