[ Like his hands, she's surprised by the softness of his hair, her fingers disrupting the sleek, dark fall, tangling through it, curious and delicate - almost reverent. The knowledge that this isn't the first and only time she's thought of touching his hair weighing on her heart, another addition to the mountain of inner conflict she may not make it out of the elevator without getting crushed beneath.
'They've thought about this,' says one of the paintings before another chimes in, finishing the first's thought– 'You can tell.'
She wants nothing more than to be indignant about being called out like this, but his tongue licks deftly into her mouth when she parts her lips for him, and Aerith forgets to be annoyed, too busy trying to fight the breathless hum that escapes her, and failing miserably in the process, her body arching between him and the wall behind her, leaving her form pressing more insistently to his. ]
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'They've thought about this,' says one of the paintings before another chimes in, finishing the first's thought– 'You can tell.'
She wants nothing more than to be indignant about being called out like this, but his tongue licks deftly into her mouth when she parts her lips for him, and Aerith forgets to be annoyed, too busy trying to fight the breathless hum that escapes her, and failing miserably in the process, her body arching between him and the wall behind her, leaving her form pressing more insistently to his. ]