[ Should Hilda find herself checking in proper, and reintroduced to the deck by whatever rank she may hold, there could be time for that. This resort had its ways of pulling people together, over and over again. Were he thinking more straightly, than the more euphoric haze of a 'dream' he finds himself slipping further into with her, he'd be thinking that if a meeting was going to happen, that he'd do right by her. Do things right. Start small. Enjoy a meal and a drink. At this point, Ragna can't really bring himself to care about the fact that he's made a penchant out of treating others to meals. With or without the laced meat, Hilda would have been given that much. But with the combination of that salacious lupine skewer and the forsaken fruit that urges him to act upon his own yearning impulses...
She'll get more than a treat for a meal. Far, far more than that if she just squeezes that trigger a little tighter. It's so delicate, but as her joyful laughter trills from her, colour dusting both their faces as anything Steve manning the grills could say is thrown into the ether. It's only her voice, the soft and inviting taste of her lips upon his as he can't fight the urge to wet his own, that he's finding worth his attention. If Hilda steps forth, Ragna answers her in kind half a moment after that, the cinch of her more slender fingers woven with his as callous palms practically locking him in. A muted hitch escapes him as her other hand slides up his broader chest. It's a reflex— how the pec flexes beneath her touch and sets his skin ablaze as a pang of something more wanton shoots straight to the kiln of his loins.
He's no real dancer. But he does know how to step up and answer. He knows how to take that next step by now, sliding his gloved hand around the small of her back. Dipping dangerously low without actually taking that possessive, risque grasp of her backside. No. Hilda will just have to contend with the flirt of his fingertips just brushing above her bikini bottom as she asks if he got it.
Finally, it's his turn. The trace of a smile that graces his lips is just downright criminal as he takes hold of her and answers: ]
brainfog via being sick sucks. sorry for the wait!
She'll get more than a treat for a meal. Far, far more than that if she just squeezes that trigger a little tighter. It's so delicate, but as her joyful laughter trills from her, colour dusting both their faces as anything Steve manning the grills could say is thrown into the ether. It's only her voice, the soft and inviting taste of her lips upon his as he can't fight the urge to wet his own, that he's finding worth his attention. If Hilda steps forth, Ragna answers her in kind half a moment after that, the cinch of her more slender fingers woven with his as callous palms practically locking him in. A muted hitch escapes him as her other hand slides up his broader chest. It's a reflex— how the pec flexes beneath her touch and sets his skin ablaze as a pang of something more wanton shoots straight to the kiln of his loins.
He's no real dancer. But he does know how to step up and answer. He knows how to take that next step by now, sliding his gloved hand around the small of her back. Dipping dangerously low without actually taking that possessive, risque grasp of her backside. No. Hilda will just have to contend with the flirt of his fingertips just brushing above her bikini bottom as she asks if he got it.
Finally, it's his turn. The trace of a smile that graces his lips is just downright criminal as he takes hold of her and answers: ]
I'm in a thorough mood.