[He doesn't voice his thoughts on that little declaration of hers, but unbeknownst to him the ring on his finger betrays it regardless: a fast surge of fierce approval that burns and fades like a brushfire. And maybe that's because in its own twisted way, there's a victory for him in this, too, though what it is he's won is really anyone's guess.
It doesn't matter. What matters is that there's a burn of heat in every place that their skin makes contact, all the way up her spine until his fingers find the ridge of a lace strap running horizontal across her back, and it's far from the easiest thing to manage by touch and one-handed but he pulls at the delicate hooks anyway, manipulating them loose one by one. What matters is that he can coil his fingers around and through the long kinking waves of her hair (had it been tied up, when she'd fled from his rooftop?) and hold it at the back of her neck, because he doesn't know how to hold anything without some level of possession inherent.
What matters is every kiss seems to last until a need for air or to seize the last word takes precedence, and this one is no exception, like they couldn't stay apart if they tried and quite frankly neither one of them is trying.]
Is that so?
[This provocation is starkly different than the others that came before it. Before, he's laid bait and floated implications, figuratively circling her the way a curious Darkstar might just for the sake of taking her measure. This one, by contrast, is a taunt — one he's willing to give because she's asserted herself first, because now it's been made clear that these are escalations in a game and not declarations of war.]
Even if you beg me to?
[It wasn't deliberate, the way the last of the fastenings come loose on her bra at just about the same time he throws that gauntlet of his own, but hell, he's always had a knack for good timing.]
no subject
It doesn't matter. What matters is that there's a burn of heat in every place that their skin makes contact, all the way up her spine until his fingers find the ridge of a lace strap running horizontal across her back, and it's far from the easiest thing to manage by touch and one-handed but he pulls at the delicate hooks anyway, manipulating them loose one by one. What matters is that he can coil his fingers around and through the long kinking waves of her hair (had it been tied up, when she'd fled from his rooftop?) and hold it at the back of her neck, because he doesn't know how to hold anything without some level of possession inherent.
What matters is every kiss seems to last until a need for air or to seize the last word takes precedence, and this one is no exception, like they couldn't stay apart if they tried and quite frankly neither one of them is trying.]
Is that so?
[This provocation is starkly different than the others that came before it. Before, he's laid bait and floated implications, figuratively circling her the way a curious Darkstar might just for the sake of taking her measure. This one, by contrast, is a taunt — one he's willing to give because she's asserted herself first, because now it's been made clear that these are escalations in a game and not declarations of war.]
Even if you beg me to?
[It wasn't deliberate, the way the last of the fastenings come loose on her bra at just about the same time he throws that gauntlet of his own, but hell, he's always had a knack for good timing.]