2019-08-11 - Philly-O and Jensiet

It's around mid-afternoon on Sunday--yes, it just so happens to be Sunday--and Jens has set himself up across the street from the Daydream Theater. Jens is sitting in the stoop of a building across from it, with a rather big sketchbook--about two-by-one, the kind architects might have, except he's carrying this sucker around, apparently. His hands are all stained and he looks a bit like a vagabond. Except of course he's not.

He's an artist.

Sparrow's cheerful footfalls could belong to anyone. Just someone walking past, up the stairs. Another person in the crowd. Unless one were to look up and catch the bright red boots that go with 'em, it wouldn't seem all that out of place at all until they stopped rather close to the artist and concluded entirely with a Sparrow plopping down just a step higher than Jens so she can lean right into his personal space and peek over his shoulder. "Whatcha working on?"

"Hrm?" Jens doesn't react the same way every time someone spies his painting or drawing. Sometimes it's a frantic need to cover it up and hide it, panic in his eyes and the devil in his tongue. Other times, like now, it's, "Oh. School thing. Supposed to capture a piece of local architecture across time." He shrugs.

His piece apparently consists of charcoal and pencil, but he's only got the bottom half of the building drawn so far. Who knows what he'll do the rest with. He tilts his head back and looks up at her. "What's up?"

Sparrow beams brightly down at Jens when he tilts back to look at her. "Just checking out all the cute artists out arting today." Her eyebrows go up as her smile sinks toward seriousness, surely feigned, as she informs him it's, "Hard work," like she's been out here laboring all day. Maybe she has. Her hair's looking a bit frizzy from the humidity, a touch of sweat on her brow. Unavoidable side effects of being outside on a hot summer day. Probably doesn't help that she's dressed darkly today, loose grey tanktop with six downward pointing swords over a black bra paired with black cut-off shorts, the very red docs her only pop of color. Beside her lips, which match that high gloss candy apple shade. "Also. Wondering why you haven't stopped by yet." Not that she's ever invited him directly.

"I don't know about the cute ones, I haven't seen any around," Jens self-deprecates a little, looking around a little exaggeratedly. Then he puts one hand on top of the sketchbook, holding it up against his knee, and his other arm loops up to hike itself on her leg, charcoal-stained fingers dangling just past her knee. "I dunno. No one's invited me. Why? You been waiting up?" He tilts his head a little, looking at her through his lashes. His grin is tiny, but potent.

Sparrow shrugs helplessly over the absence of cute artists, but doesn't take her eyes off Jens even when he looks around to try and spot one. She doesn't even look down for the contact, for the threat of smudges upon suntouched skin. Maybe it's the grin that's got her hooked. "Every night," she lies without skipping a beat, low-lashed and easy. "If I weren't such a lady?" Cuz, obviously, she is. "I probably would've stormed over there three nights ago and banged on every door until I figured out which was yours." Her eyes widen to stress the significance of the next statement. "And I would've brought wine. Not... my wine, of course. I've got shit taste in wine. But I'd steal some from someone who knows better. For you." Beat. "If I weren't such a well-behaved lady."

Jens tsks his tongue and then snaps his fingers. Charcoal puffs a little from them; it's actually kind of cool. Then he shrugs, still looking up at her. "Mine's the one that looks over the yard. I wanted the one with the window straight at your house but it was taken." He shakes his head and drags his grin down to a sad, sorrowful frown. That still somehow manages to look like a smile. "Alas. Or else you could just grappling hook over with the wine, huh?"

The puff of charcoal catches Sparrow's eye, steals her attention away from Jens himself for a few seconds as she watches that dark puff disperse. "You'd be looking into Alfie's room," she tells him as she looks back. "But I can invest in a ladder. Even if it might obligate us to perform balcony scenes. What light and all that." Brows pitch upward toward her Juliet, almost hopefully.

"Long as I don't have to take any poison to prove my love. This is the twenty-first century, I think we can skip dying for that sort of thing, yeah? But hey, yo, I can be your sun. Oh, Philly-O, oh, Philly-O, wherefore art thou..." And all that. He grins at her. "S'a guy with a smoothie cart around the corner. You want one?"

Sparrow might be the one trying to emulate the sun with a smile that big, broken as laugher erupts at the magnificent bastardization of her name. She swoons closer, drawing a hand to her chest as if to still her racing heart, as if to swear a solemn vow, and promises, "I only steal the best wine." No poison. Nothing foul. She flicks a look past him while held in that tilted-in position, considering the proposition, then nods. "Sounds like an alright start to our adventure, Jensiet."

"Oh, god, yeah, all right." Jensiet. He snorts, dragging the cover of his sketchbook over it and dumping things into a satchel he's got between his legs. He stands up, tucking the sketchbook under one arm and the satchel across his shoulders. Jens is in a Led Zepellin t-shirt that's seen better decades and a pair of roughed up jeans. He offers a charcoal-y hand to Sparrow to help her up.

"You brought it on yourself." Sparrow denies all blame, a helpless actor caught up in someone else's script. She acceps the offered hand without hesitation, utterly unafraid of smudges, with a dip of her head to play at being the lady she's declared herself. She might even curtsey once she's upright, if she knew how. As it is, she falls into step beside the artist and presents him a choice: "Past or present?" Who needs context.

Context is for suckers. Jens ambles towards the previously mentioned corner, sort of tucking the sketchbook cross-ways over the satchel so he can carry it with minimal effort. Her question gets a quick, "Hrrrmmm..." And then he says, "Past."

Sparrow remains utterly unburdened, her cause for being out and about this lovely Sunday not at all apparent. Maybe she was just scoping out cute artists. Having caught one, she studies him out of the corner of her eye as if looking for an angle of approach now that a path has been chosen. With an arch of one brow, she asks, "What've you been proudest of since we last saw each other, in all that missing time?" What's it been? Three years? She makes it sound so vast.

Jens seems to think about it for a long time, all the way up until they reach the corner (from where they can actually see the guy with the smoothie cart!) and then says, "It's a tie. It's either taking down Grofnar the Bear-Bound last year at the SCA event," that's a thing, yeah, his brother and he are way into it, "turning Sheryl Lockheed down at this party she through when her folks were out of town. Man, I was tempted." Sheryl's not someone who gets turned down very often so, depending on his reasoning, it might qualify. And then he says, snapping his fingers, "No, never mind. I did this massive canvas painting that I really like--eight canvases stitched together, super huge. Shouldda been a mural, really, but at least this way the city won't paint over it."

Sparrow doesn't mind the quiet, though she might use some of it to brush her hand against her clothes, transferring charcoal from skin to fabric where it doesn't seem all that out of place among the black and grey she's wearing today. When the answer finally comes, her eyes go big as if she's trying to picture what a Grofnar the Bear-Bound might look like, but she's distracted by option two before she gives very far, snorting a laugh for that accomplishment. The last one, though, is what really catches her attention as she asks, "Where is it?" with marked interest.

"Oh, it's at my parents' house, in the garage. It's... like..." He holds up hands out in the dimensions of your average mid-sized canvas. "About sixteen of these." Okay, that's big. "But since I have nowhere to put it, I rolled it up and stuffed it in the garage. Maybe if I do a showing time day." Jens considers, as they wander up to the smoothie cart. "What flavor you want?" He grins at the vendor. "Blueberry for me."

"Cherry-lime." Sparrow doesn't even need to think about it. She tacks on a cheerful, "Thanks!" for the vendor before turning her attention back to Jens in full while they wait. "You got enough to show?" Eyebrows arch in challenge. "Pretty sure I could make it happen if you do. Unless you've got standards. In which case it would just take more time. But if you just wanna be seen?" Her head bobbles, nodding confidently for her own ability to magic something from nothing.

"I..." Jens smiles at her. "I have a lot. I don't know how much of it is fit for showing, though, and a lot of it isn't. At all. So it's a bit of a thing to... parse through." He watches her head bobbling and brows arching. Rumors abounded in high school of Jens's... paintings. He never dated anyone for more than six months. At first it was a month, then two, then three, then four, then five; and eventually half a year was the top-out. All his girlfriends bailed once they caught a look at his "personal" paintings. Something about 'freakish nightmares', or something. He's pretty talented in what he shows, though, so there's that. He clears his throat. "What about you? What are you most proud about?"

Sparrow has surely heard the rumors and looks utterly unfazed at the prospect of finding appropriate space. To the contrary, the advice she offers on the subject of what to show is, "Think about what you want people to see. Whether they want to see it or not is their business." She flashes a winning smile, entirely confident that this will all work out wonderfully. When the question is turned to her, though? She honestly seems unprepared for it, like she's used to people not bothering with the reciprocation. A scrunch of her nose, and she poses, "I built a lot of houses down in New Orleans. Not, like, by myself or anything. But that felt good. And I haven't fucked off or failed out yet?" Smile softening, skewing a little oddly, she offers a bit tentatively, "I think I managed to actually put a band together all by myself. And we sound pretty good."

"Well. I guess there's worse things to be proud of than building houses for people," Jens says with a roll of his eyes, head lolling back dramatically. He pulls his wallet out and pays for the smoothies, handing her hers. "Show off. Here I am, brawling and painting and not getting laid while you're being a fucking philanthropist. Fuck you, I walked into that one." He winks.

Sparrow croons, "It's my pageant answer," as she accepts her smoothie. Nevermind that she has been and will likely never be in a pageant. "And I left out what we did on the weekends. Fucking fantastic city for a couple of underage kids with fake IDs and no shame." Her eyes widen slightly as she adds, "Because I shouldn't be proud of most of that." Rather than elaborate, she slurps on her cherry-lime deliciousness.

"Mmm, shouldn't you, though?" Jens sips his own smoothie and then smirks at her, turning to walk away at an easily-caught-up-with pace. "You don't sound ashamed." He tilts his head side to side. "I bet New Orleans is amazing. I..." He shrugs. "We haven't really left the area." Maybe a few cities over, but never far. Maybe Disney some summer, but.

"Maybe one or two," Sparrow ventures, though whether that means she might be proud of them or ashamed is left entirely nebulous. The little swing of her hips as she falls into step besides Jens, however, suggests a more cheerful note, nothing weighing too heavily on her conscience. With a nudge of her shoulder against his, she asks, "Do you wanna change that? I might be starting a personal abduction concierge service for people who need to get the fuck away for a while."

"Oh yeah?" Jens laughs. "Maybe, sure. Road trips are nice. Usually we just hit the beach. It's far enough away it isn't /home/, you know?" He shrugs, sipping his smoothie. "Where would a Philly-O abduct me if abduct me did a Philly-O?" He side-eyes her with a smile. "Nowhere too expensive, 'cuz I'm hella broke."

"Nope," is Sparrow's answer to the question of where. "The client does not get to know the destination. Ruins the adventure." She takes a moment to tend to her smoothie as if she needs to think about this, though she might just be watching Jens out of the corner of her eye to see how he handles that not knowing. "The client is responsible for providing a list of hard limits. Your note about expenses has been heard and registered. And the client is also responsible for providing a good three day window for abductions. If the client cannot provide a reasonable three day window, the client will instead be responsible for providing excuses to work, school, family, whatever when abduction happens at random." Beat. "But I've got another client to satisfy before I can see to your needs, princess."

"Hey now," Jens says, "I'm willing to be the daughter of turn of the 17th century Veronan nobility, but princess is a little too upper crust for me, please respect the caste boundaries, here," he informs her, waving a single finger in her direction in lazy accusation. "All right. I'll come up with a couple days." He seems absolutely undeterred at the prospect of not knowing where she'll be abducting him to. "Can't think of any hard limits per se. I'd rather not end up involved in anything that hurts other people, how's that? Unless it's rich people and mostly hurting their wallets. I could stand that."

Sparrow's smoothie goes to her chest as her head bows in feigned apology. "Forgive me, my... uh. Lady? Grace?" She can't keep a straight face, snorting a laugh before any third attept arises. Her smile's steady as she nods her acknowledgement of the negotiated terms. "I've got an awful idea forming that might land us in jail. Does that disqualify it?"

"I mean, I'd prefer not to land in jail, but on the other hand, you gotta risk it to get the biscuit, so." Jens shrugs. "What are we talking? Like, misdemeanor? Felony?" He laughs. "Never mind, you wanna surprise me, I get it. I mean, how are you gonna win my hankerchief otherwise."

"I'd prefer not to land in jail," but the idea is still growing however it's gonna grow, a happy idle process at the back of her head. "Soliloquies and stolen wine. Though... don't be surprised if I show up at your window, yeah?" She angles a wide grin up at him, though it softens after a second, something nearly serious sinking into her expression. "Any chance you might be interested in helping me with a project? Got some walls I hate staring at lately..."

"And you want them painted in something that'll give you nightmares?" Jens asks. He's well-aware of his old reputation. But he runs right through that with a shake of his head. "Sure. I can help out. You just have to pony up for the materials." Because, well, broke.

It doesn't seem that simple given that Sparrow doesn't answer right away, flicking her thumb over the edge of her drink's lid. "What I would like, if you're up for it, is collaboration. Your nightmares, my... whatever. I dunno." She makes a face. "It's hard when it's just me. Just my ideas. Nothing sticks. Nothing steady. I do better when I'm fed. So. Yeah." She looks up at him again, one shouler shrugging up. "Whatever you want as long as you let me fuck with it."

"Hey, it's your walls," Jens says with a smile, turning around to walk backwards a bit, balancing his sketchbook, satchel, and smoothie as he smiles at her. "Fuck with it as much as you want." He shrugs. "Soon as summer starts, yeah? I got finals and whatnot, and then I'm free."

Sparrow smiles for his smile, a softer expression than that dopey thing she usually wears. Which happens to come back a second later, ear-to-ear and easy. "Whatever works for you, gorgeous." Her gaze strays a little as she goes back to sipping her smoothie, though it takes a detour down along his body before skirting off to the left, finally taking in a little bit of where they're wandering.

"You keep complimenting me, I'm gonna think this is all a ruse to get me in your room," Jens accuses her with a smirk. "But then again you're already planning to kidnap me, so." He tilts his head side to side, as if to say 'clues are there'.

"You got me all wrong," Sparrow starts before she looks back to Jens, her off-center smile and the angle of her dark brows selling a very 'trust me' sort of expression. "I'm trying to get you into a motel room two states over where they have paid staff who can clean up after us." Sip.

Jens's head leans back and he does an 'ooooh' face, of understanding. "I see, I see." He sips his smoothie some more. He comes to a bench, just near the park, and turns to flop down on it, setting his sketchbook and satchel aside. "So we're going to be making a mess." And now his eyes are going from red-booted feet up to her eye-lashes, taking their time. "How much of a mess? Like, 'get out before the maid realizes what went on in the bathroom' levels, or..?"

Sparrow's a bit of a been-out-all-day mess this afternoon, but certaily a well-built one. And one marked in subtle ways by Jens' presence, a bit of charcoal dusting one knee, a dark smudge against the hip of her shirt where she wiped her hand and that poor smoothie cup has little curls of black here and there where the condensation has collected the charcoal from her fingers. When she plunks down beside him, there's not a lot of allowance for personal space, going right for hip-to-hip as she answers, "Like maybe I'll leave a ten on the nightstand as apology levels. Twenty if you make fun sounds."

when she plops down that close, he lifts his arm up and then drapes it over the back of the bench and her shoulders: a little of column a, a little of column b. He turns to look at her and tilts his head. "Okay." He licks his lips and his eyes saccade up, then back down to hers. "So what do I have to do to make you leave thirty?"

Sparrow spares only a brief consideration for Jens when he poses that question, gaze dipping down to his lips before shifting forward, considering the passers-by, all these very nice people going about their very nice day as she thinks what might not qualify as very nice thoughts by certain measures. "Might take some honesty, to start. Tell me something you're into that you don't usually lead with. Something you gotta feel out first."

Jens considers the question for a long moment. It may not even be a long time, but it feels long; stretched out the way he watches her for a moment. He sets his smoothie down and then reaches up to slide his fingers through the bunch of necklaces and charms around her neck, just so he can tug on them a little. "I like collars. And leashes." The way he says it doesn't lead a person to interpret they'd be for him, either. "Occasionally."

That gets her attention. When Jens starts gathering her jewerly, Sparrow abandons her perusal of the crowd to turn all of her attention his way, studying his face. When he gives that little tug, the left corner of her mouth twitches up a little higher, a hint of a grin that lingers longer in her brown eyes than on the curve of her mouth. "Not used to being on this end of that dynamic," she admits, dark eyebrows going up in pointed challenge, a little push to test that limit. Still, she concludes, "Color me intrigued."

Jens sort of winds the charms and necklaces around his fingers a little bit, but then he slides his digits free, slacking his grip on them and lowering his hand to lap. Still, he's turned a quarter ways towards her, head tilted to the side, watching her. "Intrigued is good. I like intrigued."

Sparrow tilts a little closer with each degree of tightening, her shoulder tucking tighter against his side by the narrowest margin. She doesn't retreat with the release, remaining precisely where he left her. Is she breathing a little quicker now? By just a smidge, but one might need to look down at her chest to catch the telltale rise and fall of that heavier respiration. Again, her gaze dips to his lips, lingering there as she asks, "Will I need to provide appropriate accessories for your abduction?" Her eyes lift to meet his as she adds, "Sir?"

His eyes do fall to take note of the heightened pace of her breathing. In fact, they seem to take a few long moments to seriously note the tempo before he lifts his gaze back up to her. His arm sprawled half on the bench and half along her shoulders lifts a hand and he puts it on the back of her neck, fingers sliding up a little, into her hair, as she asks. He thinks a moment, though he never looks away from her eyes once she lifts them, and then says, "I think that'd be a good idea--something comfortable for you." Though in this case, comfortable is relative, though still important!

Sparrow starts at the touch to the back of her neck, a little gasp escaping as she suddenly sits up a little straighter. This, in turn, brings color to her cheeks, a soft sputter of nervous, half-embarrassed laughter. The little, "Mhm," she offers in answer sounds distracted, like she's still half in her own head or focused on the fingers in her hair. Or his lips. Again. When did her gaze drop? She draws in a steadying breath and corrects that dip in her attention, eyes up again, attention once more on the conversation rather than lost in all its lovely details. "Do you have any other special requests, sir, or should I get creative?"

Jens moves his fingers slowly. It's less like he's trying to tease or stroke the nape of her neck and more like he's enjoying the way her hair feels coiling around his fingers; and yet the former is definitely very much the case. When she straightens up, his own attention flits back down a little, watching her arch, rise, correct her posture, and then he looks back up at her, the color in her cheeks. Jens grins. It's a big smile; the kind that goes from ear to ear, infectious. He says, "You should definitely get creative." And then his other hand drops fingertips over her thigh, just at the edges of her shorts, pressing on the cloth just to slide back to stroke her skin. "Really like the shorts, though," he adds, just on this side of off-handedly (the side that isn't, not entirely).

There are other details to notice when one looks down, like how her smoothie cup is slightly indented where one of her fingers is holding a little too tightly, like how a drops of condensation have splattered down onto her lap and dripped inward along one thigh, a few glossy streaks caught in the sunlight farther down than where his finger begins. Sparrow's free hand keeps to the bench beside her, fingertips touched to slats, shifting with an absent restlessness as if she were maintaining some odd internal time. When he smiles, she smiles, low and wide and pleased, dark lashes low over her bright brown eyes. "I'll be sure to pack appropriately." Her knee bumps into his incidentally, a little nudge as her leg edges a little closer. "Warm as it is." Teeth tuck into her lower lip for a second, a brief and thoughtful gesture marking a thought that goes unvoiced.

Jens isn't the most perceptive person around. He's a little lost in her eyes, at the moment, and the way her hair feels between his fingertips, and the way he could possibly capture the curve of her jaw with a brush if he just had one in his hand. It's not until his finger strokes over part of her thigh wet with the condensation from her glass that he realizes he's sketching her face on her leg with his finger, moving it, stroking slowly. There's intimacy there, mostly because there can't not be; it's his art on her skin, even if invisibly. "Why'd it take you this long to be interested?" He tilts his head. "Or was I just oblivious? Or were the planets not aligned right or some shit?" It's Gray Harbor, anything's possible.

Sparrow's fingertips press between the bench slats, curling, an outlet for the tension she is very carefully not allowing to take hold elsewhere, lest she move and dispel this exquisite moment. She doesn't understand at all what he's sketching, maybe not even that he's sketching, but she certainly likes the way it feels, likes how his fingers feel in her hair as her head tips back a little or to the side. She's all but forgotten where they are, so very wholly in this moment, all of her attention his. "I dunno," she starts, that last syllable softened, almost slurred, the thought abandoned before she finishes speaking it. It's a shit answer. "You might've been oblivious. Cuz I might've only come for you when you were wasted. Cuz that was about the level of interest I was interested in from anyone back then." It sounds for a second like there might be more, but she just shrugs, frowning ever so faintly.

Sparrow adds softly, "There's a reason I asked if you were drinking the other day," as the color in her cheeks deepens.

"Might explain it." Jens doesn't seem committed to digging out some thick, heady answer from her; he doesn't want a psychological run-down of why this moment now, why not before, show me your Venn diagrams and charts, Sparrow. But her reasoning towards the end gets Jens to brush the back of his nails over her thigh and her rests his hand on her, losing the sketch--for the moment--before he catches her eyes again. "I was quieter in school," he admits. "Flipped a switch somewhere in between." Hell of a switch, innit? His fingers might be a bit tighter in her hair; hard to tell if it's on purpose or just a byproduct of him winding it around them over, and over, and only letting it slip every once in a while.

The transition from shifting to stillness against her thigh inspires a shallow shiver which presses her head more firmly against his hand and brings her thighs a little closer together, muscle tight beneath his fingers. "The quiet's still there," Sparrow counters, voice decidedly breathy. "Different, I guess." She tilts her head a little, testing the tightness at her scalp, to see if he'll hold or if there's still give. But maybe it's just restlessness. "But I like direct. This. You. But it's not one way, right? It's not like--" She stops, tongue swiping over her lips, mouth seeming so dry now. Her smoothie's right there, so close, ignored, even as condensation drips down ever, hitting Jens' hand now. "You never looked at me like this before, gorgeous. This isn't all on me."

Her head tilts forward and his fingers don't so much tighten as they do not budge; so there is a taut, sharp tug that is entirely her doing, inasmuch as he's not actively pulling. He did, though, wrap her hair around his fingers. He shrugs a little at her point. "Not one-sided, no." He curls his fingers over her thigh--his nails are just a tad longer than one might expect, enough that they can dig, just a bit, as he drags them up. "I looked. Just maybe not when you were looking." Ah, the beautiful dance of avoidance in high school. So much fun in retrospect. Not.

When was Sparrow ever looking? When did anything hold her attention long enough for her to notice? This level of focus was all but unheard of back then. Of course, his fingers were never so tangled in her hair. His nails never traced over her skin like that, never evoked a soft gasp like that, lips parted, worry knitting her brow. Very deliberately, she transfers her smoothie from one hand to the other then sets it down on the bench beside her, leaving both her hands empty, though only the nearer one, wet from condensation, takes advantage, settling lightly top his hand, fingertips tracing knuckles. "I feel like I should maybe warn you that I am definitely thinking probably-gonna-get-arrested thoughts right now, and if you keep your hands where they are, there is a very good chance I'm going to act on them."

Sparrow clarifies, "Misdemeanor," not felony. Public indecency rather than anything violent. In case the effet he's having on her isn't entirely obvious.

Jens wasn't a font of particular focus back in high school, either. He watches her move the smoothie from one hand to the other to the bench and then listens when she talks, his fingers digging nails just a little bit further against her thigh. When she's done, he licks his lips. "I think if I'm going to move my hands--or not--I need it to be an informed decision," he tells her, the seriousness somehow also playful. He leans forward a little--he might even tug her towards him just a tad, by the hair, testing, and then turns his head so that his ear is near her lips. "Tell me."

Nails dig in and Sparrow answers, her foot edging closer to Jens and her leg following until her knee is pressing hard against his, her inner thigh tipped ever so slightly upward. A soft sound escapes parted lips when he draws her a little closer, slightly pleading, vaguely worried. She answers, first, with a breath of laughter, quiet enough that it might not have been heard were he not so close, could he not feel it against his skin, stirring his hair. Straining against that immovable hold he has on her hair to lean in a little closer, she breathes him in and ventures, "I'd be willing to bet that I've still got enough range of motion that I could climb onto your lap without too much strain. Take that kiss I've been wanting. Get my hands busy getting you all worked up." Softer, almost an afterthought and yet heavy with significance, she adds, "Feel you beneath me," before withdrawing, pressing her head against the knuckles tangled in her hair.

"Babe," Jens says, tilting his head a little bit so that his mouth presses its edge against her temple and brushes over her brow, just as she tilts it back into his grip. He cedes, letting it move back so he can catch eyes again. "If you think I'm not already worked up, you haven't been paying attention." He tips his nose up against hers, his smile big and easy as he leans back again, just a few inches. Not enough for her not to feel the heat of his skin. "Though," he admits, after a moment, "Kinda wanna see you take that kiss," he says, lips teasingly close to hers, but immediately backing up, just in case she tries to take an easy dive for it.

There's a fire in Sparrow's eyes which challenges that assertion, which says 'not as much,' though it dims a little as she studies Jens up close, that smile, those lips. Oh, she goes for them the moment she's goaded, drawn short by his withdraw, by the steady pressure at the back of her head. She can't quite help the little yelp which catches in her throat, but the hungry hum which follows seems entirely intentional, almost thoughtful. Her hand falls from his as her weight shifts away, fingers pressing to the slats betwee then to give herself a point of leverage. Her neck cranes, and her body bows to the side and backwards as she works somewhat awkwardly to get a knee up onto the bench. And, if she manages that much? Well, it's just a matter of swinging the rest of her weight around to straddle him. With her head yet held wheresoever he wants it. But that's fine, she has hands, too, one of which moves to capture his jaw, intent on encouraging his head to turn toward hers, whether he obliges or not. Either way, it's not appropriate public park behavior. She's plainly past the point of caring.

It's really hard to imagine Jens having ever cared about this sort of thing. Maybe at some point he cared about other, adjacent things, enough to pretend to care, but not, it seems, anymore. Now, when she swings her leg over his lap, his hand in her hair concedes bits of movement at a time. It's not that she can't move her head, it's that it takes effort, and lots of sharp little tugs that are--again, save for the bit where he tangled his fingers in her hair and has a grip on it--all her doing. (So not entirely at all, really.) With either of her thighs around him, he grins when her hand catches his jaw. It's a wild smile, that comes with the hand that was on her thigh sliding over her hip and down over her shorts, wrapping his hand over her ass. He licks his lips and lifts both brows at her, almost as if to say, 'well?'

Sparrow chooses her agony, every little prickle of pain shot down from her scalp a price deliberately paid to get herself where she wants to be: closer. Her weight shifts when his hand starts over her hip, legs spreading a little wider so that she can get even closer still, taut muscles relaxing some when those same fingers settle on her ass. For just the barest second, it looks like she might ruin the moment with words, lips parting without any forward movement, but then she strains against his hold again so that she might crush her lips against his, hard an inelegant in those first seconds. Greedy, hungry. Sweet and tart and firm. The demand relents a little as her lips part, not quite in invitation, immidately seeking to nip at his lower lip, to return a little of the pain she's endured, enjoyed. To give her desire the sharper expression it deserves. All the while, the hand on his jaw holds both gentle and steady while her other hand takes up a fistful of his shirt, pulling slightly, another demand. Behind her, someone clears their throat disapprovingly on their way past.

How bad could it possibly be? Jens' hand slides further down, scooping fingers low between her thighs and then closing his hand over her, lifting just a bit with a long, thick grope when her lips crush themselves against his. Her hunger and her greed are met in kind, and the hand in her hair gives a little tug when she bites his lip, this tongue snaking out to lick her teeth, her lips. He grins when her hand grabs his shirt and yanks on it, and then he pulls her mouth to his against, tongue snaking out, luring hers, coaxing it even as it makes its way into her mouth. He digs the heel of his hand against her ass and press her hips down so he can make good on her request to feel him under her; there, between her legs, warm and hard.

Sparrow's hips lift in answer to his groping hand, grinding back against his digits without one little lick of shame. A soft whine answers the tug which answers her teeth, but she plays nice, easily lead, tongue chasing tongue in a manner which might be playful if she weren't still leaning into that kiss so hard. Until she isn't. Her breath hitches, lips parted and still, when he presses her weight down against him, when she grinds down again in answer. A soft, "Fuck," seems both appreciation and plea, that tug at his shirt all the harder for all of two seconds. Then her hold relaxes, threatening to release. "I, uhm." False start. She brushes her lips to his as if reconsidering whatever she was going to say, but she musters a second take. "Got more cute artists to scope out before the day's done. I should... probably..." She licks her lips and maybe his in the attempt, close as she still is. "You know where I live. You should come by." Beat. "Please."

Jens' fingers in her hair grip tightly, until her false start, and then he lifts a brow, tilting his head a little bit. When she drops into the excuse--unless she really does have more cute artists to scope out, that's fine, too!--he breaks out into a short, barked laugh and gives her ass a quick smack, that's a little sharp. He licks at her lips, and his fingers slide out of her hair. "You should text me when you're around and alone, then," he points out. "We can work up to surprises in the dead of night." He grins.

Sparrow lets out an abrupt--and rather loud--yelp at the unexpected smack to her ass, that startled, wide-eyed expression softening for the tease of tongue against lips. And, for just a second, it looks like she might give up on fleeing and melt right back into him again. But there's agreement, instructions. Freedom of movement regainst, she presses in for another quick kiss, pinning that grin beneath her lips for half-a-heartbeat before she begins the terrible, awful, no good, unwelcome work of removing herself from this delicious position. "Is alone a requirement?" she wonders, maybe teasing, just before she gets her boots on the ground. Once upright, she pushes her hand through her hair, rubbing at the back of her head. And maybe looking at his lap. Perv.

Jens lets her up after the last, quick kiss. He doesn't keep her. He just watches her rising and then leans back into the bench, his hand sliding over to grab his smoothie so he can take a too-liquid drink from what should be a lot colder. Her question gets a sudden smirk and a snort. "Maybe for next time, yeah," he says, nodding a little, chin lifting up. "Go to the other extreme." From this. Public park. When she looks at his hips, he lifts both brows and then shifts them a little, grinning.

Sparrow laughs, bright and honest if a little unsteady still. The blush on her cheeks has spread noticeably to her chest, the roseate hue too soft to be mistaken for the angrier color of too much sun. "Probably wise," she concedes as she scoops up her own smoothie, melted and separated. She hesitates just a second, smiling down at Jens as if she's still got something on her mind... but then she just turns and goes, giving her drink a stir with her straw. And then pauses to figure out where the fuck she is and where she's going... before turning back the way they came. Right. She probably was actually out here for a reason at some point. There's no looking back.