[ministry event] sometimes I'm peachy, and sometime I'm vulgar [tag;morr]

A brilliant grin crossed Blo’s face as the gentleman laid a chaste kiss along her fingers. He murmured something sweet to her, and moved too close to her. That cheerful grin faltered for a moment as a shiver as apprehension crawled up her spine. She was about to move away before her gaze fluttered around, and deep brown eyes met narrowed green eyes. She stood up straighter, and turned back to the man in front of her. Her smile was big but false, and maybe her lashes batted a little bit much for the circumstances. She would die before she showed that she was effected by him and his presence.

Throwing back a glass of champagne, she couldn’t help but focused on the anger that consumed her when she though about Morrison Thorne. Prior to her birthday, everything had already been shaky between them. He was always too busy for her, but when he finally found time in his schedule to pay attention to her, it was all consuming. His attention was too intense, and while she was overwhelmed, it was something that she needed. Then he got busy again. Then …her birthday. All she’d wanted to do was spend a weekend with him. Just him and her, because everyone else was too busy. And…he’d been too busy, and it’d hurt her somewhere that she couldn’t admit to hurting.

So she’d avoided him. Changed up her schedule. Blo had tried to meet new people, start new relationships, but everything seemed tarnished without Morr around. She had a lot of love, but he kept her together. She didn’t know how she’d allowed to get him in a position so intrenched in her well-being, but he was there, and she was trying to block him out. This was the first time that she’d been at an event that he’d been at for so long. It was hard, watching him socialize and play, knowing that prior to this little tiff, she’d dart over to him, and tease him the whole time. Now…Nothing.

Blo excused herself from the creepy guy and walked over to the table. She was about to make herself a small plate of treats when her feet started moving on her own, and she was unable to move her limbs. She bit her lip, and tried not to topple over at the speed, but she wanted to panic. She didn’t want to make a scene but she didn’t know what the hell was going on. She was led as if by a leash out of the ballroom into a dark hallway, and once she passed another threshold, her limbs were freed. She moved as if to rub her arms, but she was suddenly slammed against the wall. Big brown dazed eyes looked upward, and she hissed at the narrowed green gaze.

“Morr!” She moved as if to hit him, and her hands were pinned above her head. “Let. Me. Go.” She growled at him.

Of course Morrison had noticed her. He had been expectantly showing up to events for several months now with his first course of action scanning for the all too familiar frame. Even if she had no direct connection to an event, Blo had a knack for surprising him with who she was able to network with and accompany. On their upswings, she was typically guaranteed to be found on his arm, but it had been the better part of a year since the last time that had happened. Their schedules didn't match up, and he had never been good at prioritizing personal relationships over his work life. He knew this was unfair to everyone involved, and certainly detrimental to his friendships, but he could feel himself on the precipice of moving up in his department, so he couldn't slow down now.

Green eyes strayed from the witch chatting him up by the bar a followed the second hand on his watch, causing him to wonder just how long he would need to feign interest before it would have been an acceptable amount of time to excuse himself. His department head's wife had managed to corner him every chance she got since they first met at the Christmas party two years prior. Her favorite topic of conversation was her "wildly popular" knitted clothing business and she had an incredibly distracting mole just below her left nostril. In Morrison's eyes, her husband was her only saving grace, but even that was only going to get her so far with him. When he tilted his head back up to meet her gaze, he found himself staring right past her, just in time to see Blo flirting with who he could only presume was her date, and was not nearly attractive enough for her in his own, humble opinion.

Despite his efforts to control his body's autonomy, he felt the heat of blood rushing to his face and knew his cheeks had changed to the more vibrant hue. A mixture of jealousy and anger tugged at his chest, and Morr no longer had the composure to focus on his current interaction. Cutting the glorified seamstress off mid thought, he tipped back his glass, the last of the single malt in his glass being gulped down his throat as though he had been offered water after a month in the Sahara.

After what felt like months of control, he couldn't help it anymore. His attentions were locked on the expertly styled black locks cascading down her exposed back. Inconspicuously, Morrison transferred his wand from his pocket to his sleeve, hidden from view but perfectly operational. He casually strolled across the room, waiting for a safe opening, probably waiting for more precision than he actually needed. With a almost violent flick of his wand, he locked onto his target, and without hesitation began leading her out of the room, following behind. Maybe it was the jealousy, but he couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement as he watched her realize that she had been hexed.

By this point in the night, almost everyone was on their third or fourth round of drinks, so he was certain they had not been noticed exiting in such short duration of each other. The dark corridor peaked his interest, and he knew that would be the perfect location for this impromptu, and most certainly long overdue, rendezvous. His next actions were swift; his wand was returned to his pocket, breaking the hold. His steps accelerated, closing the gap he had carefully kept between the two of them before Blo had a chance to fully realize the spell had been broken.

Immediately, his hands clenched her wrists, forcing them to the first surface they could find. It wasn't until this point, that he was finally face to face with her for the first time in months, that his sudden reaction to her had been broken. Oddly enough, he was pleased with the result of this out of body experience, and the corners of his lip twisted into a smirk. Morrison immediately noticed the contrast in their skin; despite the warmer months of the year arriving, he hadn't found much time to spend outside, and as a result, he was noticeably paler than she probably remembered him to be. He could feel her fighting his restraint, so the pressure on her palms against the wall only increased, insuring she would remain in his grapple.

"It's been awhile, hasn't it?" Hopefully they wouldn't get into the details of this; Morrison had come to realize he typically was on the fault end of any conversation of that topic. "Are you telling me you came out tonight, just so I would let you go without a fight?" Placing both of her hands under the hold of his right hand, his left was free to glide its way down her arm, entangling itself on her back, winding his fingers between locks of her hair. This was instinctual, though he had not even bothered to try to resist the urge. At this point, as his fingers toyed their way up her spine, he was hoping her desire to resist was decreasing in proportion to his own.

As Blo stared Morrison down, a confusing mix of emotions flickered through her brain. It was a combination of anger, lust and vengeance, and she didn’t know which one to focus on first. She tried to tug her hands free again and was thwarted, and a low whine escaped her lips. She regretted it at once. He wasn’t supposed to win. He wasn’t supposed to use his godforsaken powers against her and manipulate her like she was that little fifth year that he’d held in this same position. Blo jerked her arms again and sighed, staring dead into his deadly gaze.

“Yes it’s been awhile, Morrison.” Her tone was dry and sharp, her eyes narrowed as if she was attempting to shoot daggers out of her pupils. “How astute of you to state the obvious, kind sir…” If there was one thing that most Slytherins had in common was this drawl of superiority that they put on when they were talking to someone stupid. And right now Morri was being stupid, and she could punch him. Dead smack in the center of the chest, so he could feel how angry and abandoned she felt.

His fingers began to graze along the bare skin of her back, and it slowly began to arch away from his touch. Not that she was disgusted, but that she knew this game. He’d touch her and caress her, and purr all of this nonsensical speech into her ear like she was some foolish kid. But like that foolish kid, she’d forgive him for treating her bad. Not this time. Not even as she bit her lip and her skin flushed, and she stared at him with pupils blown wide with confusion and desire.

“I was h-hopin’…” She was stuttering, and god did she sound like a stupid girl. “I was hoping that I could come to an event and have some fun. You didn’t even factor…” He hadn’t been in her plans originally when she’d accepted the invitation to this ball. But she’d seen his name on the list, and instead of the little black dress she’d planned on wearing, this silver number had been purchased. Apparently he enjoyed it too. Her eyes slid shut once he touched her hair, and she shook herself for a moment. Right. She was strong.

“How have you been?” Great Blo. Just great.

As he maintained his hold over her, Morrison couldn't ignore the tug at his chest. Hearing her speak, hearing her say his name, it hurt. Maybe it was the indifference she spoke with, or the fact that he was basically having to force her into conversation at the moment. Part of him wondered if maybe her voice had somehow lost some of its familiarity over the past few months. Admittedly, he did try to listen to her show when he got the chance, but that didn't satisfy his need for her, not the way he wanted it to. The airwaves didn't capture the subtleties he had picked up on over the years that he could have sworn he would carry from the Slytherin Common Room to his grave. So after months of not speaking, it was like the impact of her absence was suddenly realized, and impressing its weight on his lungs. For a few seconds, breathing became voluntary, and he internally panicked to hide his struggle. He obviously hadn't forgotten Blo, but it was like his mind had hidden so many memories from him that made the separation easier, and the difficulty of the last few months had decided to arrive all at once.

Hearing his name glide off her tongue snapped him out of it. Morrison realized his limbs had stiffened and that he had forgotten the task at hand. His clutch tightened, careful not to hurt her, though from personal experience he knew they were much too far from her limits for him to be worrying about such a thing. The man returned himself to reality. His face lit up with entertainment at her playful words; maybe it wasn't as serious as he originally assumed. Because serious was supposed to be the last thing on their agenda. They were fun, they were coy, they were playful. Her demeaning tone, and the fact that she was jumping from his touch strung him along. Unfortunately, he had put himself in this position before, but this time, was wondering if he was going to be able to find his way out.

"Blodeuwedd." He spoke her name with a knowing confidence, one that he most certainly not presently possess as much as he wanted her to think he did. "When was the last time you attended an event for the Ministry in which your attendance had absolutely nothing to do with me?' Hopefully the answer was never, that was what he was going for. With as many times as she had come as his date, maybe he was right. "You don't have to lie. I'm not going to say that seeing you here didn't factor into my night; after all, you know how I like to make my exit just after the main event, and here we are, thirty minutes after the blubbering idiot mispronounced 'paradigm' and I'm still here."

His fingers wrapped themselves around locks of dark brown hair, caressing her scalp before gripping the brown locks just as he had many, many times before. Not enough to move her head, but just enough to remind her where she was, as if either of them could forget. Now that he no longer felt paralyzed by her presence, he had to have the upper hand. Morrison knew she was going to fight for it tooth and nail just as he would, so he had to keep it up, by any means necessary.

"I've been well. How are things on your end? I've been listening to your show; entertaining as ever, but I expect nothing less. I'm thinking, what, no less than four WWN awards next go around?" As he spoke, he let her arms fall from their position above her head, freeing his own hand to fall to her lower back. He had her, he knew it, or at that's what Morrison thought. Restraining her anymore would just seem excessive, and ruin his tact that he was working so hard to maintain to mask his uncertainty.

She didn’t flinch or make an audible reaction to the tightening of his grip, but her pupils were blown wide open and she stared at him almost as if he’d encompassed the entirety of her world. She didn’t bother to struggle any more, but her chest heaved with shallow breaths. Morrison always made her feel small, delicate. He made her stir-crazy, and she was of the mind that he knew it. He didn’t care though, and it drove her nuts. Like always, Blo tracked his reactions and his facial expressions to the smallest of ticks. The way his eyebrows moved, and his eyes darkened. She licked her full lips, biting the bottom one, turning her gaze down to stare at his nose.

When he spoke her name, she stiffened, meeting his eyes again. He began to call her out, and every word was like a body shot, and she wilted in response. He always knew, and it drove her nuts. “I attend events all the time without you.” She said, her tone husky, but unable to meet his eyes. It wasn’t quite a lie, but the chances that she’d come somewhere without him and deal with the stuffy ministry peons were few. Blo didn’t even bother to convince him that she wasn’t lying, just met his gaze, knowing that she was blushing, and thankful for her brown skin so he couldn’t actually see it. She was embarrassed, and stupid. But, he didn’t need to see it. He didn’t need to know for certain. Morr could speculate all he wanted, but she wasn’t going to hand him ammunition.

Snorting, she shook her head. That speech had been the longest least informative speech she’d heard in a long time, and she worked in entertainment. Blo heard a lot of them, and often. “He also mispronounced offenses, but I still didn’t see you running for the hills. You were to busy entertaining.” She finished with a sneer dancing on her full lips. Her gaze was narrowed as she focused in on him. “I was pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to tear your way free from those narrowed claws…” Her hands flexed, and her long nails narrowed into sharp points pressed into the sides of his palms. Was she jealous? Fuck yes. She had the balls enough to admit it. He’d been dancing around one woman all night, and it’d taken some extreme measures for him to even acknowledge her.

Blo paused when she felt the grip on her hair, her mouth open to spit more venomous words at him. Her eyelids lowered over her eyes, and her body began to slowly relax, mouth open slightly before she shook it off, and stared at him. “I’ve been okay.” Tired. Sick. Lonely. All of the things that she’d never say to him, or anyone even. She shrugged at his comments about the show. “I’m surprised you still listen.” She trailed off, shaking off her honest confession. “Didn’t think you had the time.” He rarely did, even for her. “I haven’t heard anything about any awards, but that’d be great. I want to explore new horizons…see new things.”

Then her hands were free, and they slid to rest on his stomach, and she was staring up at him. “…you’re still very tall…” She let out a hoarse laugh, shaking her head. “I don’t know why I expected that to change, but I did…I’m surprised it didn’t…” She pressed white teeth down on a berry coloured bottom lip, and sighed.

“…what are we doing, Morri?” Her whisper was harsh, and filled with a tinge of self-hatred. Blo hated how foolish she felt around him.

"Of course I'm still tall. The only way that could change would be if you were no longer short." Despite his playful tone, Morrison knew exactly what she meant. With their prolonged absence now over, it was nice how familiar she felt, looked, smelled. It almost made it seem as though there was no punishment for his negligence, but the awkwardness in their encounter told him otherwise, reminding him that his actions always came with a consequence.

Blo's question threw Morrison off almost immediately. His mouth opened, ready to fire the first comment his brain could contrive, but it never came. His shoulders fell, and his eyes connected with hers, searching for the answer she was looking for. This felt like the culmination of the complicated twists and turns their relationship had taken. From they start, they were never supposed to be complicated. Their relationship was supposed to be easy; while not quite emotionless, it was never something either of them had wanted to feel responsibility toward. That was what made their arrangement so appealing. They could flirt and hook up and be a part of the other's like without the commitment or expectations. When had they let that become something else? Was it something else?

A deep sigh escaped as he brushed a hand through his hair, stalling as he continued to think. Morr continued to stroke her lower back softly, almost petting her. "Aren't we doing what we've always done? Being there for each other in the one way we know how." Physical intimacy was their forte, but hearing that she had still been well had been a huge relief of something that he had not even realized had been weighing as heavily on him as it was.

The hum of the party down the corridor no longer phased him; the man was much too lost in his thoughts and the woman in his arms to worry about the coworkers he had left behind. "I'm sorry." The apology still felt sort of ambivalent as he spoke, which he kind of appreciated since he had spent the past several minutes maintaining a demeanor she was not intended to understand. Morrison's hand glided across her back to hook around the opposite side of her waist, pulling her closer to close the gap between them. As much as he didn't want to admit it, and as much as he had spent the entire night avoiding this thought, this was comfortable. This was what he knew; he refused to use the word safe, but maybe something like it? "The last few months were my fault. You know how I get wrapped up into work. You deserved more than what I gave you." While not intended, as he thought about it, maybe that's what he needed to smooth things over with Blo. Hopefully she wouldn't take the words for more than what they were - a peace offering.

She felt her heart drop out of her chest, but made no outward expression change. Blo focused her eyes on Morri’s penetrating gaze, and she just stared. His touch used to be comforting, something that could calm her down no matter the situation. Now it just burned like lava, and as much as she wanted to run away, she couldn’t. She craved Morrison’s warmth like a dragon hoarded gold, scrambling for every bit of it that they could see. This was all she deserved, she supposed. It wasn’t like she should have expected any different, not from Morrison, not from anyone. She should stop expect anything more.

“Yes…we are…” She tiptoed carefully around the words, brow arching slowly. The only way she supposed she could. Blo wondered why she even tried to get close to people anymore. Shrugging, she leaned forward to bury her face into his chest, when he used his arm to drag her closer. She wanted to ignore his apology, but he kept speaking and it was like all of is words were barbed hooks that got stuck when she tried to drag them out. She deserved more, yes. She never got it, and she’d stop wishing for more. Blo’s arms stole around his waist and she snuggled closer, inhaling deeply. He smelled like home, but not hers. “It’s fine.”

Pulling away, she flicked a piece of hair out of her face, and gave him a beaming smile, feeling the emotional detachment beginning already. She was riding a cloud of apathy, and it was safe here. “We’re at a party Morri…why are we hiding in a hallway? I think they are playing a good song…” She jerked her chin back towards the room, feeling like a trapped creature. She needed to get out of this place, surrounded by Morr and the darkness. Blo was suffocating, and her throat felt thick and swollen, but her mask was in place. If she could hide from her parents that she was dying, she could hide from Morr that she was broken.

Blo danced from his grasp, and let her hand trail down his arm, hooking it into his fingers. She began to lead him back into the ballroom. Before they could even walk into the room, there was an argument outside the doors. She paused abruptly, using the shadows to hide Morr from view so she wouldn’t ruin his position with that woman he was talking to. When the men walked off, she pushed Morr forward, her eyes already on an exit to a garden. “I’ll meet you inside in a bit.” She said, beaming, before swishing away from him and down the stairs in a flash of silver, trying to find the nearest alcove in which she could hide away in.

As he stood there with Blo wrapped in his arms, Morrison felt a comfort settle over himself that was rare, one he never allowed himself normally. His lifestyle, his line of work, his mountains of responsibility - he didn't get quiet moments like this. And for the most part, that was how he preferred it. His lifestyle was the way it was because of his own choices. His commitments were ones he entered willingly, and for the most part, had played out in ways he had expected them to. But it meant he never had a chance to catch his breath, or slow down. There was never a dull moment for him, and when there was, it was probably because he was busy with his life as Milo Boulstridge. But stolen moments from a crowd in the dark had kind of become their thing, and it was nice to know that no matter what, he always had that to come back to.

At least, he did. Blo was pushing away again, and with one look into her eyes, Morrison stopped trying to prevent it. She stared back at him just as she always did, but the expression was empty; it wasn't the passionate stare she usually returned. The man's heart clenched, and suddenly his throat had dried up, making breathing an inconvenience. The warmth of the previous moment was gone, and Morr became all to aware of the tension creeping its way between them. She was very obviously done with their games for the night. It didn't surprise him that what he thought he had known just seconds before was suddenly a mystery; Blo had a knack for flipping that switch. This time felt different, though. This time it really, really hurt.

Wordlessly, he allowed her to lead him back toward the ballroom. His feet walked of their own accord thankfully, because Morrison's thoughts were tailspinning. Blo had always had been able to throw him off his game, but never like this. Even with her fingers curled into his own, she felt farther away than she had to him over the last few months. Thankfully her awareness had not dulled like his own; he stared at her in the darkness as they waited for the men to end their argument, but she didn't return his gaze. He knew her promise to meet him later was empty, and he didn't resist when she sent him back into the party. Before he could even turn around, she had returned to the shadows of the corridor, and despite his instincts urging him forward, in that moment he didn't have the courage to chase her. He stood at the entrance of the room, unnoticed as he stood facing the door. After taking a moment to regain his composure, Morrison straightened his tie, took a deep breath, and beelined toward the bar.

He needed another drink.