[ It's a pleasant game of sorts, boldness towards the other flitting to shyness in response: how he tells her thought about her offer before, about her doing that to him — and her hand moves down his chest, the start of a promise to make good on that offer. She makes him shy, then he does the same in return, emboldening the other to try a little more. A kind of comfortable, thrilling banter — encouraging one another with it, coaxing one another into that teasing that is often still so very new for them in ways. So much of it is new, but it comes rooted in that trust and affection for one another. It never feels scary, anxious.
It takes little effort to coax her closer; content to melt against him, close enough to count the eyelashes of his heavy-lidded look. She carefully wets her lips, the edges still curved into the coy smile as she waits for an answer. Both, he says, and her eyebrows raise a little in curiosity; gazing intently as her fingers curl a little tighter in his shirt between them — to prompt him for a little more than that. And well, he... very much does that. Slow, easy teases. For a long moment, she can't bring herself to speak. Her teeth inadvertently biting down on her lower lip, even no matter what he'd say — it still surprises her. A gentle kind of surprised, but quietly delighted at the same time.
He can very likely feel the heat radiating from her cheeks. It's no secret that she enjoys these little bursts of boldness from him, she's told him as much. And he continues, there's more, the gentlest of squeezes that have her eyes blinking wide for a moment. ... Did he just... squeeze her backside? Oh, she's not mad about that, even if it takes her a few seconds to recover. She almost giggles a little but his final words really strike her and there's an understanding of what he means — the tiniest of whines in her throat.
... She considers herself enlightened. ]
I've thought about it, too. [ Finally, she's able to bring herself to form words. Breathless, hushed in reply. It's like she's already seeing stars, little prickles behind her eyes. A pleasant kind of dizziness that makes the edges of her blur, and it's him. Just him, at her centre. Her breaths are quick and shallow, hips squirming a little without quite meaning to.
Her mouth brushes against his, slow and careful, as if a reward for revealing his thoughts to her. But also it's getting very difficult to put off kissing him for much longer. They have plenty of time, though. A night without Paimon's presence lingering close by feels like all the time in the world, a rare and precious instance. She can take her time, they can take their time — let themselves enjoy it. ]
... I like to think about you touching me, when I'm alone. [ The softest of sordid confessions. He wanted her to know that he thinks about her, she wants him to know that she thinks about him. Someone desirable. She's not one to discuss her personal habits so openly, but they do happen when she finds the time — something often a rare occurrence given their lives here. Of course she thinks about him, how it might feel like, how he might feel like; how she softly whimpers his name like prayers — much like does when he's with her in those intimate moments together. ] What I imagine it'll be like, if it were your hands instead.
[ But she supposes one of them won't need to rely solely on imagination much longer, a there's the tiniest flicker of mischief in her eyes with that. Her heart flutters, nerves and giddiness all rolled into one. She pulls back, makes space between them, but not too far away. Her hand resumes its journey downwards, brushing against the fabric of his suit pants — careful but purposeful. The gentlest pressure of her fingers, feeling for him, slow movements back and forth. ]
I can go slow. [ Her voice is low, gentle. She gauges his initial reaction at that first touch. ] If you ever want me to stop, tell me. There's no pressure.
no subject
It takes little effort to coax her closer; content to melt against him, close enough to count the eyelashes of his heavy-lidded look. She carefully wets her lips, the edges still curved into the coy smile as she waits for an answer. Both, he says, and her eyebrows raise a little in curiosity; gazing intently as her fingers curl a little tighter in his shirt between them — to prompt him for a little more than that. And well, he... very much does that. Slow, easy teases. For a long moment, she can't bring herself to speak. Her teeth inadvertently biting down on her lower lip, even no matter what he'd say — it still surprises her. A gentle kind of surprised, but quietly delighted at the same time.
He can very likely feel the heat radiating from her cheeks. It's no secret that she enjoys these little bursts of boldness from him, she's told him as much. And he continues, there's more, the gentlest of squeezes that have her eyes blinking wide for a moment. ... Did he just... squeeze her backside? Oh, she's not mad about that, even if it takes her a few seconds to recover. She almost giggles a little but his final words really strike her and there's an understanding of what he means — the tiniest of whines in her throat.
... She considers herself enlightened. ]
I've thought about it, too. [ Finally, she's able to bring herself to form words. Breathless, hushed in reply. It's like she's already seeing stars, little prickles behind her eyes. A pleasant kind of dizziness that makes the edges of her blur, and it's him. Just him, at her centre. Her breaths are quick and shallow, hips squirming a little without quite meaning to.
Her mouth brushes against his, slow and careful, as if a reward for revealing his thoughts to her. But also it's getting very difficult to put off kissing him for much longer. They have plenty of time, though. A night without Paimon's presence lingering close by feels like all the time in the world, a rare and precious instance. She can take her time, they can take their time — let themselves enjoy it. ]
... I like to think about you touching me, when I'm alone. [ The softest of sordid confessions. He wanted her to know that he thinks about her, she wants him to know that she thinks about him. Someone desirable. She's not one to discuss her personal habits so openly, but they do happen when she finds the time — something often a rare occurrence given their lives here. Of course she thinks about him, how it might feel like, how he might feel like; how she softly whimpers his name like prayers — much like does when he's with her in those intimate moments together. ] What I imagine it'll be like, if it were your hands instead.
[ But she supposes one of them won't need to rely solely on imagination much longer, a there's the tiniest flicker of mischief in her eyes with that. Her heart flutters, nerves and giddiness all rolled into one. She pulls back, makes space between them, but not too far away. Her hand resumes its journey downwards, brushing against the fabric of his suit pants — careful but purposeful. The gentlest pressure of her fingers, feeling for him, slow movements back and forth. ]
I can go slow. [ Her voice is low, gentle. She gauges his initial reaction at that first touch. ] If you ever want me to stop, tell me. There's no pressure.