Because this isn't the kind of thing you do in front of an audience.
[ Red responds, voice low. Not quite a growl, but there's a touch of fire to it. Something a little frustrated, maybe even angry or embarrassed. She's told herself she's not backing away but it still twists in her gut; there's still that sense of shame. The thought that people are going to look at her - look at them both - and judge. Or just watch. The judging isn't really the problem, is it? Her tongue wets her lips as she tries to ignore the rolling heat in her that seems to be building now; that sense of want and arousal that lingers as she feels Coquelic press against her thigh and then the brush of fingers under her shirt or at her collar, working against bare skin.
Red swallows. She meets her gaze, teeth gritting a little as their foreheads touch. Their eyes meet and then she glances down to where her fingers rest against her knee - and she moves. Her hand slides up her leg, her nails dragging against her inner thigh in a little touch that's part tease, part just a scrape of fingers as she tries to find her way through the minefield that's sprung up around her. ]
I'm just a sore loser. That's it-
[ She finally meets her eyes again - and there's a little shiver in her spine and her body; a need she can't really ignore. ]
no subject
[ Red responds, voice low. Not quite a growl, but there's a touch of fire to it. Something a little frustrated, maybe even angry or embarrassed. She's told herself she's not backing away but it still twists in her gut; there's still that sense of shame. The thought that people are going to look at her - look at them both - and judge. Or just watch. The judging isn't really the problem, is it? Her tongue wets her lips as she tries to ignore the rolling heat in her that seems to be building now; that sense of want and arousal that lingers as she feels Coquelic press against her thigh and then the brush of fingers under her shirt or at her collar, working against bare skin.
Red swallows. She meets her gaze, teeth gritting a little as their foreheads touch. Their eyes meet and then she glances down to where her fingers rest against her knee - and she moves. Her hand slides up her leg, her nails dragging against her inner thigh in a little touch that's part tease, part just a scrape of fingers as she tries to find her way through the minefield that's sprung up around her. ]
I'm just a sore loser. That's it-
[ She finally meets her eyes again - and there's a little shiver in her spine and her body; a need she can't really ignore. ]