( skin was different when it was offered. she'd had him shirtless and propped against that table none too far from them now, but she hadn't rid of all the layers herself. then it was blood that that left clothes falling in a hush to the side and now it would be need; the urgency felt the same. the moment the brisk air of the city let in through one of the too-many windows she keeps propped, even during the winter, bites at that hint of exposed, milky flesh, he seems to know it — moves as if to chase it away, to ensure he was the only one to touch her.
the city was a greedy suitor. the idea of him hungering for her just the same ignites her, whittles her down to the basics: want and famish.
those blonde fallen strands wisp across her brow, catch at the edge of her lips glossed with him, and her spine bows when his fingertips sprawl and tease toward the cage of her rib, breath drawing taut around it's ridges and it gives her away, as if to say: there. he brushes that callous palm against her, asks her if it's okay without that gaze once faltering from hers and she has to find her tongue, remember again how to use it if not against his own. )
Yeah— ( it's a whisper, better described as a breath given the lack of tone, and it should speak for her just how long it's been that the rounds of her cheeks are tinted red, fingers kneading at the nape of his neck where they've fallen, toying at the ends of his hair.
she keeps arched to him, releasing that forearm of his if only to let it drift further beneath that thin top of hers, and now she's cradling him — palm to his cheek, pad of her thumb grazing beneath the swell of his lower lip, tracing it's curve, watching the way it gapes for her. forehead presses to his and their noses stumble together, and before she can stop it there's another hushed breath, this time carrying a request: ) Kiss me.
( and maybe it's silly, asking for it when she can merely take it for herself — but they'd danced around the words before, suggested them without really saying them, and she wants him to hear it. to hear her want, explicit and spoken. )
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the city was a greedy suitor. the idea of him hungering for her just the same ignites her, whittles her down to the basics: want and famish.
those blonde fallen strands wisp across her brow, catch at the edge of her lips glossed with him, and her spine bows when his fingertips sprawl and tease toward the cage of her rib, breath drawing taut around it's ridges and it gives her away, as if to say: there. he brushes that callous palm against her, asks her if it's okay without that gaze once faltering from hers and she has to find her tongue, remember again how to use it if not against his own. )
Yeah— ( it's a whisper, better described as a breath given the lack of tone, and it should speak for her just how long it's been that the rounds of her cheeks are tinted red, fingers kneading at the nape of his neck where they've fallen, toying at the ends of his hair.
she keeps arched to him, releasing that forearm of his if only to let it drift further beneath that thin top of hers, and now she's cradling him — palm to his cheek, pad of her thumb grazing beneath the swell of his lower lip, tracing it's curve, watching the way it gapes for her. forehead presses to his and their noses stumble together, and before she can stop it there's another hushed breath, this time carrying a request: ) Kiss me.
( and maybe it's silly, asking for it when she can merely take it for herself — but they'd danced around the words before, suggested them without really saying them, and she wants him to hear it. to hear her want, explicit and spoken. )