[ it speaks to her own tolerance at this stage that she barely winces anymore, when the whiskey flows past her lips β there's just that overall warmth that settles in the pit of her stomach and then slowly works its way outward along her limbs, using her bloodstream to heat her extremities until the flush in her cheeks signals that it might be having more of an effect, something she'll aim to tamper down with the occasional french fry.
but when he talks, she listens, and maybe some of that's carry-over from the bar, the conversations she's been on the receiving end of since she started working there, stopping in front of people who want an open ear and getting used to the idea of giving it to them.
she listens, and she watches, studies him in profile, the way he talks about being in the service β the marines, she remembers, because in the middle of that yellow-tinted pollen haze that had driven them to share what they had, that part had come out already. she hadn't exactly had her theories as to why he drinks that much coffee, why he sleeps those few hours, why it almost feels counterintuitive for him to stay completely still (even sitting here with her, his finger taps idly against the side of the glass), but like before, with the torn photograph, he's filling in the gaps for her a little at a time. ]
Yeah. I get it, you know? It's β sitting here like this, feeling like I should be back in the fight somehow, like I was at home, gearing up for whatever kind of shitstorm that was on the horizon, and now β [ she drops her gaze to the contents of her glass, considers it for a second and then takes another sip, down the hatch. ] Not really knowing what's coming, but still having that sense that I should be doing more than what I am. It's... it's hard to turn that off.
[ she draws in a breath, the admission leaving her on her exhale. ] Even if part of me wants to, just for a little while.
[ the words come easier in her presence, and perhaps it helps that he'd been eased to share some of the history with her before, but the silence of the room, the quiet filled only with their voices in the late hour, paired with the initial sips of the alcohol that burns nicely in his throat, he doesn't feel the resistance in sharing.
and he listens in turn, eyes lifting to watch her as she takes her own moment in turning away, always surprised when her words shift from offhand jokes to something a bit more earnest, a different side of her bare in her voice. ]
Yeah, there's never really a stop to feeling uneasy. Like it could go wrong at any minute. [ and he knows that, because ultimately, it typically does go wrong.
his gaze locks on her, own breath falling soft. ] But, you know, even with β with all the shit here, everything we have to deal with, somehow, at the same time, for the first time in a while, I ... I think this is the longest I've had ... this.
[ it's true that the time of night probably factors into some of this, the emotional defenses she'd be more prepared to equip lowered with the promise of alcohol and quiet conversation β that, and the fact that given all they've shared, she knows they've reached something of an understanding with each other, the kind that two people who have seen their fair share of shit and managed to emerge out the other side mostly intact can achieve.
she shrugs one shoulder, managing a mirthless chuckle β because that's been her experience too, more often than not. ] What's that law again? Murphy's something or other? [ anything that can go wrong, will.
but she looks up at him, eyes rising without the tilt of her chin, lower lip drawn in below the upper for her to wet it quickly with a sweep of her tongue. ]
Some people would say you should try and make the most of it. For however long it pans out.
[ frank gives a soft chuckle, nodding his head as he brings the glass back to his lips, swallowing down the last remnants, chewing on his lip to suck at the lingering taste there. ]
Yeah, that old asshole, Murphy. [ which is easier to laugh at, but there's plenty of truth to it, the very idea of things going wrong if it could practically dominating every consecutive day of his life.
but with the catch of her eyes meeting his, he struggles in looking away, even as he sets the glass back down on the table, the act prompting him to shift slightly closer in her direction unintentionally. ]
Yeah, I think I've ... begun to do that a little. [ settling in his apartment, seeking out a steadier job, accepting the car, taking care of laura β ] Guess I've been seeing some of it ain't too bad. [ another chuckle, a light curve to his lips. ] Can't complain about the company.
[ it calls back to a moment similar to this one, when their gazes had met and held over a different kind of drink; he'd shifted into her space then, however unconsciously, and she hadn't realized until later that she'd practically been holding her breath.
the same holds true for right now, when he leans forward to relinquish his glass, and her knee gently jostles against the outside of his thigh.
he'd made her a promise to stay β not dedicating that to her specifically, but voicing that assurance that he'd be around in some form, to have her back with whatever ugliness reared its head afterward. and she won't pretend that whatever this is between them has shifted beyond that agreement, but it is grounded differently in the trust they now have for one another. ]
Yeah, I guess it hasn't all been awful. [ a tugging at the edges of her mouth follows, a soft smile, and then she's the one tilting forward to free her hands, setting her glass down, before her gaze finds his, briefly drops to his lips. ] There have definitely been some highlights.
[ he'd spent so much time at the start, trying to find a way out of here, insistent that he wasn't going to stick around for long. somewhere along the way, as he'd learned more names, built more unintended bonds, he'd realized he hadn't been the only one trapped, nor the only one who deserved finding a way out. nowadays, even if they're still trying to find that exit, trying to survive whatever turmoils seem to be sent their way on the regular, he's found a little more beyond that.
a few things here and there worth sticking around for.
when she leans forward, he tilts slightly, body turned subtly to face her, the weight of an arm resting against the back of the couch while his eyes focus on the features of her face, soft smiles that seem to mirror his own that attempt to be concealed. ]
Oh, yeah? [ there's a bit of a rhetorical to it, tone turned with a bit of playfulness that seems to follow up as he adds, an unintentional swiping lick to his lip preceding, ] Like what?
[ before, she might have had excuses to point to, outside factors that had all too easily manipulated the foundations of what was already there.
right now, though? she's got nothing but a handful of fries and three-quarters of a glass of whiskey in her belly to blame for what comes next, even if it doesn't happen all at once.
he pivots outward, letting one arm trail along the tops of the couch cushions, and she shrugs one shoulder as if she hasn't really given much thought to those deeper considerations, everything that happened leading up to the afternoon she curled into bed beside him and after that. the problem is that her face gives away more, the slow drag of teeth across her lower lip as she tries to subdue the fullness of that grin, ducking her head somewhat.
she's already got one knee bent beneath her, enabling her to tilt forward; the fingers of one hand find a small grip in the unbuttoned portion of his shirt, and she brings their faces level with a small tug. ] They were all like this. [ he won't get a chance to answer before her mouth finds his, soft and warm, different than the others but somehow bearing shades of the same. ]
[ months ago, he'd never have bet things between them would ever lead them to here, but even before she shifts forward, fingers curling at his shirt, he'd already assumed he'd somehow find her lips pressed to his. he sees it in the subtleties of a plenty obvious smile, the expression of a shared playfulness that matches in tone to the teases they'd exchanged only vocally tonight.
it's in the span of those brief seconds that he has the opportunity to turn away from it, to prioritize common sense for the sake of not falling into any laid out traps they'd arranged on their own β but he doesn't.
there isn't the freezing cold temperatures of an old showerhead above them nor the sticky encouragement of the pollen to twist and play with their minds, but there's nothing to confirm that this isn't another trick, another scheme influencing their actions. yet, when she kisses him, her breath warm with whiskey, grazing at his lips, he still only tastes her, and with everything that's built them up to here from the moment they'd met with blind eyes, that might be all the reassurance he needs.
warm fingertips curl against her neck, thick pad of a thumb pressed beneath her cheekbone, and he reacts with a soft sigh before his mouth responds in kind. he leans forward, following that simple tug that guides him to align evenly with her mouth for that gentle kiss, the caress of it hosting a slow fervor, merely basking in a sensation that's come to him once, twice, and still seems to overwhelm him yet a third time. ]
[ right up until she kisses him, the one thought she never stops having is about what a bad idea this is β and then she kisses him.
and she remembers all of it, the memory of his mouth against hers, past kisses she's tried to forget, to stifle down in her awareness so she doesn't waste her time thinking about what it feels like to do this, to have his hands trailing over her, the warmth of his skin emanating out from his touch β seriously, how he is always so warm β but it all comes flooding back to her anyway, in a rush. the way his fingers had swept soaking wet hair back from her face while she'd stood there, cold and shivering, only to tremble differently when he'd given her the heat of his lips. his arm wrapped across her middle to haul her over and atop him as they'd lain tangled together in his bed, those kisses defined by mounting passion until she'd inadvertently aggravated that still-healing wound.
they'd always encountered interruptions in those moments, something to force them to pump the brakes and rethink all of this, and a part of her is still waiting for that to happen, but it doesn't.
instead, she gets the slide of his hand, palm and lightly calloused fingers sweeping across the side of her face and she tilts into it, effectively deepening the kiss as a result; her mouth moves against his with a soft urgency, tender but not racing, because she's still not completely convinced this is real and she doesn't want to rush it if it is. ]
[ the night he'd kissed her in that shower, lips wet with cold droplets soon warmed with tenative caresses, it was easier to pass it off as a mistake. she'd shouted at him for it, caring little that she'd risk her life in the face of an unpredictable bear for that chance, and he'd apologized, knowing his fault in the gesture. and it was done.
the pollen was at fault for the exchanges in his bed, for a stream of kisses which he'd lost count of after the first several, easily memorizing her lips in the span of those minutes as if he'd already kissed her a thousand times. and if he had, she'd let him then, the curve of her body easy as she'd rolled into him, her warmth overtaking his bare skin, finding small contact with her own in places where her shirt had ridden up to expose her belly, his fingers curling for a secure hold around at her back. the first had been easier to excuse, but it was that memory, as influenced as it was, that was harder to forget, somehow still tasting her lips on his own even long after she'd left his side and he'd washed off the pollen from his skin.
talk of murphy's law has him believing the very same will happen here, but either the whiskey has done its part in easing the tenseness of his muscles thus allowing him to sink into this without resistence or he's determined to take the temporary heat of her mouth and run with it for whatever time he has it, valuing every shift and parting his own lips when she tilts into his palm.
his opposite hand seeks out her side, curving for a light grip against her shirt that encourages her to slide in closer. ]
[ she'd been able to find her excuses for the other kisses before β she'd been unexpectedly vulnerable, reeling from her own misplaced emotions about doc and kate and looking for someone to lose herself in, and the addition of a little recreational drug use had desensitized her to the concept of judgment. or the pollen, making her sneeze shortly before she'd curled herself into him in that bed, woken up to find him ready to kiss her again and again, prepared to let the moment take them even further than it had the first time.
but she doesn't have anything directing her forward now apart from the tension that's been hovering between them since that first meeting of mouths, curiosity and want coaxing her to find out now if those kisses were just a fluke, a result of influence, and this won't hold any of the same heat that makes desire unfurl low in her belly.
turns out third time might really be the charm after all.
with one knee bent beneath her she drifts forward at that tug on her shirt, the brief tightness of fabric drawing her nearer to him; she stops with one leg crooked across his thighs, just shy of actually seating herself in his lap yet definitely closer than where they started, and her hand comes up to cup the side of his face, his growing beard tickling the top of her lip when the kiss persists. she chuckles, withdraws just long enough to whisper against his mouth. ] Feels different. [ her fingers trail over the edge of his jaw, that longer facial hair surprisingly soft to the touch. ] With this.
[ he shouldn't be giving in to this as easily as he does; for a multitude of reasons, moments such as these can't be afforded with his lifestyle, the things he has to often prepare himself for. as he'd said to her tonight, he'd lost his ability to simply pause, and for all the times he's attempted it, he's been reminded that he merely isn't meant to bask in this softness, this warmth, this quiet.
though literal quiet is broken with the rise of her laugh on his lips, eyes blinking open to half shutters to peer at her, mostly catching sight of her soft grin through the light crinkles near her eyes. and he laughs too, quiet and brief in his breath but obvious in his own grin, momentarily ducking his head from the vague bashfulness of it. ]
Yeah? [ he rolls the tip of an index vertically down the well of her cheek, the skin bearing a silky smoothness contrasted to his own, peering at her with an affectionate gaze, teeth gently tugging over his own lip. ] Bad different?
[ it'd been a simple change, mostly a result of the time needed for his arm to heal, but even after he'd regain that motion in the muscle, he hadn't bothered to do anything more than a minor maintenance, shaving stray ends and letting the hair atop his head continue to grow as well into soft curls β more subtle hints of his unintentional attempts to blend in here, to settle into something more comfortable, the same way in which his arm curves around her waist when she slides in closer, letting her settle into his space, helping her secure that balance. ]
[ once her fingers alight on his jaw, she almost doesn't want to stop touching him, that impulse to caress over the unshaven portions of his face increasing the longer she maintains a contact there, nails raking lightly along his cheek, the harder angles of his features. she slides her hand back and along the nape of his neck as he ducks down, grins as he looks to her again. his finger traces the indent in her cheek, made all the more drastic when she smiles this broadly, and she shakes her head. ]
No. [ her other hand shifts to fall along his chest, fingers deliberately tucking in and under the open sides of his shirt to find the skin there, the warm firmness of muscle, briefly nudging across the chain he wears around his neck, though the ring that she already knows dangles from its lowest point is still hidden beneath the buttoned portion. ]
Not bad. [ the fingers at the back of his neck comb over the longer strands there, too, run through the thickness of it, and she wonders how much he'll let it grow before he starts thinking about a haircut.
her eyes are drawn in, again, as his teeth find purchase in his bottom lip β and she doesn't have to refrain from kissing him again so she won't, leaning in to lightly urge her mouth to his with a slow breath, a rising nudge of her body along his side, chest to his and hand slipping further beneath his shirt to roam over that smooth plane. she's seconds away from letting herself melt fully, like she did when they were in his bed, and it scares her more than she's willing to admit. ]
[ it's a soothing caress, those fluttering fingertips gliding through strands of hair, shorter ones low on his cheeks compared to the messier locks forming above his neck. it all grants that same sensation of easing him into her touch, and he finds that if she wanted to merely offer him soft caresses like this through the rest of the night, he'd have no objections to the addictive temptation of it, head tilting slight into the hand at his nape.
but her lips find him again, drawing him back out of his helpless smile to focus again on the direction of her curving mouth, the momentary pause in between doing nothing to deter that rising heat that magnetizes the kiss to continue.
and perhaps maybe the naturalness of it all is the oddest part of all, the way it doesn't actually feel odd at all. even if it's hardly the first time, it's still the first that they act on this without the guidance of excuses; frank doesn't seek an escape, doesn't even consider it when he makes that low rumbling sound against her mouth, prompted by the stealth of her palm finding that slot to stroke over his chest, her touch warm compared to the coolness of the chain that flutters there at the center. he follows with his own drifting fingers, the hand at her back, rising beneath the loose hem of her shirt, seeking the flat expanse of bare skin beneath, palm kneading vertically up a naked spine. ]
[ it might go without saying, but the longer strands under her fingertips, the growing fullness of a more defined beard on his face β it all works together to soften his harder edges, to leave her more willing to incline towards him, and maybe she'd felt that pull before when he'd been clean-shaven, shorn down nearly smooth against his scalp, but it's even stronger now that she has something more to hold onto, to lightly grip while their lips meet.
she feels the vibration in his chest when he groans, incapable of stifling that low noise even with her mouth there to cover his, and she's emboldened by it, desire spiking hot at the base of her spine when his hand trails beneath the hem of her shirt.
it's another callback to the way his touch had skimmed along her back when she'd been resting against his side, one leg thrown over the both of his, and she's halfway there now with them merely lounging back into the sofa cushions, her hands beneath his shirt and in his hair and her lips parting warmly for a kiss that offers more hunger in return. she realizes, with no shortage of surprise, that just like the previous time, she'd be content to simply linger here, exchanging lazy kisses tasting of whiskey and salt and delivering roaming caresses from palms and fingers, without having to urge it along into anything more. but the whimper she voices against him, once they're pressed together more firmly, betrays a deeper intent. ]
[ he hadn't actually considered the temptation to grow out his hair beyond those days when his arm movements were limited; she'd said something or other in the aisle of the mart about it being a "good look" and perhaps the casual comment had stayed with him long enough that by the time he could bring a razor to his chin again, he wasn't too bothered to put in the effort (not that he'll confess to her that she had any contribution to his lack of shaving).
but she proves that there is an interest to that change in style, hair longer now than it had been when their lips last met, because there previously hadn't been that light hold of fingertips making use of those strands, clutching almost in tandem with the motions of their kiss β and finding no reason to complain of it.
she might even be apart to pick up that quicker pace of his heart, where her palm lingers over his skin, covering the ink of a skull he hadn't asked for, the motif seeming to echo more than just the the mysterious deer for this town and reminding him of a dirtied vest he keeps hidden in a closet. he hasn't forgotten who he is, what he's meant for, but under the power of her lips, it's easy to forget, to imagine he can bask in this, and he'll embrace it when his mouth parts and his tongue tastes the whiskey on her lips, the pellets of salt from her favored fries, and then everything else that's merely natural about her mouth. that's the part in which he finds most addictive, especially when she whimpers and he draws him to kiss her a bit more firmly, wanting to meet the needs of those implied aches.
fingers curling at her back, massages that shift from gentle to an unintentional longing need, he presses her to his chest, losing himself more and more within the warmth they conjure on every heated press of their lips. ]
[ she probably hadn't given any thought to that comment beyond a brief observation, seeing the scruff that had already started to come in during their unplanned run-in at the mart, her with work-limpened hair and him already showing signs of that willingness to change up his routine here, to let certain habits lapse. of course, some of it had been brought on by not having access to his full range of motion, injured shoulder in the midst of healing, but now that he's fully on the mend and still keeping that look? yeah, she can't say she minds it all that much.
she is reminded of his latest wounds, though, when the touch of her fingers skims closer to that place where an emergency cauterization had seared flesh closed, sensitive to even the slightest press of bandages and she wonders how it looks now. she's curious enough to let her hand slip out from that open gap in his shirt and work open a few more buttons beneath, guiding the sides open with another roaming caress of her palm as the fabric catches on the ridges of her knuckles.
her weight is pressed more definitively against his by the time she breaks the kiss again, backpedals to slow, pursing pecks of her lips to his until she can trust herself enough to maintain more space β and then she touches him there, those twin wounds perfectly sized to the claws she'd seen emerge from between laura's knuckles, silent and seamless with only a few drops of blood left where they open up the skin. ]
Do they still hurt? [ her fingers stroke across the scars, darker than the others she's seen on his body, those times he hadn't necessarily shied away from her gaze but hadn't wanted to give her more opportunities to glimpse them β and she looks from where her hand rests on him up to his face, the shine of their kisses residing on his mouth, and she wants him all over again. ]
[ he feels the flutter of fabric against his chest as they're guided open, the slide of her hands tucking them away as they perform as a replacement of warmth across the exposed skin. but it doesn't distract him away from her mouth, not until she's the one who impose that separation. his eyes remain closed, however, right up until there's the graze of her touch over that fresh wound, and he sighs softly at the contact over that dried skin.
he finds her eyes settled on him, unable to tell if she's asking for a vocal response, or if she's peering to see if she can decipher the answer by merely watching the motion of his expression as she traces the wound.
he doesn't hiss, doesn't react beyond catching that breath. ] They all usually do. [ it's a quiet answer, implication highlighting not only those burnt claw marks but the scattered decoration of other molten skin, set there by mixes of bullets and blades, some more damaging than others. in the same way coffee had become a filler to drown away those sensations of exhaustion and tired limbs, he'd unintentionally found a replacement for physical pain in the way of deeper scars, most often in the shape of that photograph she'd once had to put back together with scotch tape. it was easy to ignore stinging aches no matter how often they came, if the nightmares were louder.
guiding his fingers to rest over hers at his shoulder, stroking gently along the peaks of her knuckles, he doesn't steer his eyes away from hers, foreheads nudging together from a slight tilt as he whispers, ] But it doesn't hurt right now.
[ what hurts more than the scars are the memories; if she actually had the ability to bear a more physical reminder of what she's sustained, maybe her skin would be as marred as his is.
but she can't scar, hasn't, not since before she became the heir, the only silver-light marks on her body reminders of an unsupervised childhood growing up on the homestead, getting into trouble. the line across her knee, where she'd ripped it open climbing on the tractor in the barn. the smaller pit at her hairline from where willa had chucked an old doll at her head. everything that hurts her now fades into nothing, and the only things she has left to show from it are her ghosts, her regrets, her list of names.
he doesn't flinch under her touch, doesn't pull away, his hand shifting to cover hers instead β and she's mindful of what any kind of pressure might do to an area that's still sensitive, fresher than the others, but her fingers do curve over the firm round of his shoulder then, as he traps them there with that slow sweeping.
and she doesn't answer him out loud β because she wouldn't know what to say even if she could β his face disappearing from her sight when her eyes flutter shut and her mouth finds his again, a certainty in that kiss now that maybe hasn't been there before, an assurance that isn't propelled forward by pollen wafting through an open window and into their senses. she kisses him as she finally shifts forward, settles herself anew on top of him with her knees pressed into the cushions on either side of his hips, until she can ease her weight down across his lap, fingers sliding into his hair to cup the back of his head. ]
[ it's an honest answer; no matter how many shifts he might try to pick up at the diner or the number of gigs he takes up in fixing home appliances, there's an emptiness that leaves room for the ache of his memories, always set to return no matter how much distance has been placed between them.
but there's been moments, smaller pockets of time, where he can set them down, not to forget, but to accept, to balance it alongside something that can give him a new weight to fill those slots, something that isn't stained with blood and gunpowder. he finds them when he's working up a makeshift recipe with laura in the kitchen, testing out just how much time between flipping the pancake batter and tossing in fruits for flavor. he finds them showing diamruid smarter angles to swing a bat to send those pitches flying further. he finds them when chloe asks him to look after the dog for a few hours, which ends up feeling more like a given favor than one for him to grant when she looks at him with soft eyes that tell him she's remembering an old friend with his face.
many times, though, he'll find them when wynonna's laugh spreads so wide she's left grinning long in the extended seconds after, when she's overly proud of a joke that's less funny in its delivery and more in her joyful reaction to it. or when she prods him hard on the ribs with a sharp elbow as they sit side by side in a movie theater while he mocks the old timey dialogue on the screen. or when she pretends to be listening when he attempts to teach her how to fix a clogged pipe so he doesn't have to come back and take it care of it so often even when they both know better.
he finds it now when she says nothing with words and instead covers his mouth with more firm kisses, and the way their lips find one another again and again so easily as they did the hours they lay in his bed make him wonder if the pollen ever really had an effect on them at all.
but he doesn't stay at her mouth, urged suddenly when she climbs upon his lap, thighs sliding together, to sink into the crook of her throat, a trail of kisses down the arch of her jawline getting him there. his breath falls heavy, hot, there on the outlines of bone at her collar, right until he's pressed more deeply against sensitive skin, seeming to find himself content in that solid new home for his lips β until his fingers curl at the hem of her shirt and guide it slow up her sides, aiming to tug it overhead. ]
[ she'd seen the change in him β gradually and over time, but still occurring, usually in spite of his attempts to counter it at every turn. and she can't take entire credit for that, she won't, isn't under any illusion that her influence is the primary source of any choice that's his to make, but even in the months they've both spent here, he's had a willingness to make his presence more prominently felt. like a job at the diner, rather than just ducking in for a quick breakfast and all those cups of coffee before leaving.
and they'd continued to bump into one another, either by choice or coincidence, those encounters doing everything to bring them to this moment here, with her chin tipped up against his mouth and his breath ghosting hot across her skin, making her thighs squeeze reflexively on either side of him, her fingers clutching harder at his scalp.
she thinks of the day she'd confronted him at his place, his eyes gently observing her from behind a bear's snout, a pair of fuzzy and rounded ears twitching at the sound of her lecturing him on why he shouldn't have kissed her at the height of chloe's party, drinks and drug zooming through her bloodstream and making her more willing to guide her mouth against his.
and she thinks about the promise they'd made each other while tangled up in his bedsheets β that maybe while they're here, they don't need to keep running, can just stop and exist here, and she wonders if this counts at all, that for however long they fall into this warm, wanting embrace it means neither of them has an out in mind. leaving is the furthest thing from her thoughts now when his kisses descend over the curve of her neck and his hands coax up the bottom of her shirt; she lifts her arms slowly, enabling him to roll it further, past her shoulders, her hair tumbling down once freed from the collar.
it's no more uncovered than how he'd seen her at the party, nearly the same amount of skin exposed, but it's different when she anticipates his mouth on her, his gaze roaming, and a more vivid color rises in her cheeks and the top of her chest as she peers to him now, suddenly nervous. ]
[ as he peels the shirt over her head, fabric tossed carelessly to the floor by the couch as his attention diverts elsewhere, he watches the fall of her hair, long locks coating her naked shoulders, smooth skin that seems to stretch even further with that removal, save for where dark straps still hold her at her center. the look that he gives her isn't one overturned by lust, even when his breaths hint at the encircling heat that spirals throughout, blood surging further below β not well concealed when she squeezes her thighs tighter against him, and any subtle roll could spell it out more clearly.
but somehow his gaze presents a softer affection, one conjured by the notice of her flushed cheeks, caught even beneath the fallen hair there, and he reaches up with both hands to tuck those strands away, palm soothing a caress where he knows the deep press of her dimples before reeling her in for a kiss.
somehow he manages to offer something more tender despite the urgency he feels to taste her even further, to guide his tongue back into her mouth; instead, it's a gentle press, almost chaste, before giving their noses a soft brushing stroke. ] Y'know, we don't have to. [ it's a soft offer, final words to give her that opportunity to reconsider where they're inevitably steering this fast moving train. that first time, he'd kissed her on his own whim, selfishly acting on his spontaneity and bearing the consequences (quite literally) when she'd scolded him afterwards. the second was under a cloud of pollen which skewed both of their certainty as to how much of those kisses had been by their own personal choice. ]
Anything you want. [ he wants to make sure that despite whatever impulses cue him forward, this time he intends to leave the choice in her hands. to take every kiss, every touch, and decide whether to run with it, or turn tail in the chance that this may leave her in regret when the faint taste of whiskey fully clears. ]
[ she'd found it all too easy to give in to her want for him before, back when the pollen had fueled her impulse to feel more of his body against hers, his skin, even if it didn't evolve beyond the simple press of mouths, the idle stroking of hands β and it had been similarly easy to convince herself, later, that all it had been building on was superficial attraction, any deeper yearning she'd felt some warped, tainted thing that was rendered meaningless in the harsh light of day.
she's predicting the return of his mouth to her, exploratory hands; she isn't planning on the slow sweep of hair back from her face, her shoulders, and the tender urging of his lips, a peck that doesn't venture deeper before his nose nudges into hers and he offers the soft assurance that this doesn't have to go any further than she wants it to. and for what feels like a small infinity, even though it probably only lasts for a few seconds, she just looks at him with a burgeoning wonder, head tilted into the slide of his palms across her jaw.
because for the longest time, she thought she'd had him pegged a certain way when they'd first met, careful words and guarded smiles, measured reactions to even her most blatant humor, to a degree where it always felt like a personal satisfaction whenever she'd provoke more than a small chuckle from him. he'd expressed his appreciation for her help in reeling him back to himself from the precipice of pure animal fury, and there'd been shades of it then, depths in his gaze, a greater softness that she wasn't prepared to handle. but she'd found her axis tilting towards him right there in his damn kitchen, the air holding something heavier and more meaningful before she'd ultimately broken free.
and sitting here now, confronted with that look again, she finally gives in, as if all it's taken is him telling her she has a choice to make her realize what she wants. no more backpedaling, no more paralyzing indecision, and she can't even undercut it with a lame joke either. her hand resumes that slow slide through his hair, soothing strokes that comfort her too, and she drifts in close enough for the tip of her nose to bump his, exhaling shakily. ]
You. [ don't ask her to explain what it's going to look like moving forward, if they're even going to have anything beyond tonight; she's not thinking that far ahead, not considering anything but the man whose arms are around her and whose mouth she returns to again, sealing her decision in that yielding kiss. ]
[ for a moment, he thinks she might actually draw herself back, as soon as the offer leaves his lips, and he remembers how undeserving he is of serenity like this, her smooth skin beneath his fingertips as she breathes softly against his mouth. but she jolts him instead, with the whisper of a single word β you β and as she closes in on him, he realizes thereβs little he wants more in the moments that follow than the soothing press of her kiss.
and itβs exactly that which he earns, tenderness as he tilts her with his palm, turning his own head for that sought out deepening. with the curl of his tongue within her mouth to meet with hers, he echoes a low rumble, his own wordless response to being wanted, even if only for however long they embrace it tonight. because for whatever reason heβd fallen into this bizarre trap, sheβd twisted him into knots from the early seconds in which heβd only heard her voice, banter exchanged with useless trivia but easing him into softening those tender cracks of his skin, a subtle effort that had its long term effects with every meeting that followed, casual conversations across the diner table that had inevitably brought them about to that first kiss as their bodies shivered wet and cold.
but everything about this is warm, heat exchanged passionately from mouth to mouth, eagerly now that any remnant of uncertainty has been vanquished for good; if sheβs sure of it, then he wonβt consider any other sense of logic that points to the flaws of this entanglement.
when he leaves her mouth again, itβs to seek out that original perch of skin heβd originally intended to taste, lips pursing softly at the center of her collar, peppering kisses that shuffle the soft hairs of his face across her chest in subtle ticklish caresses. and then his mouth parts to massage the soft flesh at the height of her breast, just above the fabric that conceals the rest of it, as his hand curves to her back, stealthily finding the clasp to undo with careful fingers. ]
[ she doesn't have time to be scared, doesn't have time to second-guess β not because of anything he's done, but because she doesn't allow it for herself, doesn't let the doubts creep in when his lips meld to hers again, firm and yet pliable. because she'd underestimated what his kiss would do to her, even if the last time had been clouded, spurred ahead into certain territory faster than they were completely prepared for. because she'd believed she would only have to settle for this in dreams that felt all too real and left her wet and aching upon waking, and now that it's become her reality, she wants it more than anything else.
the whiskey is still strong on his lips, passed between them in the tangling of tongues, the slow rhythm they find themselves in that quickens in small increments, unhurried regardless of the later hour. it's a taste she wants to get drunk on, sinking into the guidance of his hand along the side of her face, gentle and cradling, and she gives voice to a soft, breathless sound alongside the groans that pitch lower, deep in his throat.
her fingers are a temporary flurry between them, only working to thumb open the remainder of the buttons that hold his shirt closed, but she won't get as far as peeling it off his shoulders, only in parting the sides across his front before the band of elastic across her back snaps apart when the clasp gives way, the straps easing forward by gravity and a subconscious roll of her body before she flings the whole thing aside. she hasn't extricated herself from his lap yet, unable to find a good excuse to pry herself away for too long, and his mouthing over the curve of her breast, those mounds rendered softer and heavier ever since alice, stills her completely, a shiver coursing up the length of her spine to make those sensitive buds draw up taut from new exposure, from arousal, from awareness.
and she hasn't found a reason for her hand to slip out of his hair yet, using those strands for purchase now while his lips navigate all that bared territory, warm skin aching for touch, the rasp of his beard an added friction that would make her knees weak if she wasn't already straddling him. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action;
but when he talks, she listens, and maybe some of that's carry-over from the bar, the conversations she's been on the receiving end of since she started working there, stopping in front of people who want an open ear and getting used to the idea of giving it to them.
she listens, and she watches, studies him in profile, the way he talks about being in the service β the marines, she remembers, because in the middle of that yellow-tinted pollen haze that had driven them to share what they had, that part had come out already. she hadn't exactly had her theories as to why he drinks that much coffee, why he sleeps those few hours, why it almost feels counterintuitive for him to stay completely still (even sitting here with her, his finger taps idly against the side of the glass), but like before, with the torn photograph, he's filling in the gaps for her a little at a time. ]
Yeah. I get it, you know? It's β sitting here like this, feeling like I should be back in the fight somehow, like I was at home, gearing up for whatever kind of shitstorm that was on the horizon, and now β [ she drops her gaze to the contents of her glass, considers it for a second and then takes another sip, down the hatch. ] Not really knowing what's coming, but still having that sense that I should be doing more than what I am. It's... it's hard to turn that off.
[ she draws in a breath, the admission leaving her on her exhale. ] Even if part of me wants to, just for a little while.
action;
and he listens in turn, eyes lifting to watch her as she takes her own moment in turning away, always surprised when her words shift from offhand jokes to something a bit more earnest, a different side of her bare in her voice. ]
Yeah, there's never really a stop to feeling uneasy. Like it could go wrong at any minute. [ and he knows that, because ultimately, it typically does go wrong.
his gaze locks on her, own breath falling soft. ] But, you know, even with β with all the shit here, everything we have to deal with, somehow, at the same time, for the first time in a while, I ... I think this is the longest I've had ... this.
[ peace, maybe? something of a life? ]
action;
she shrugs one shoulder, managing a mirthless chuckle β because that's been her experience too, more often than not. ] What's that law again? Murphy's something or other? [ anything that can go wrong, will.
but she looks up at him, eyes rising without the tilt of her chin, lower lip drawn in below the upper for her to wet it quickly with a sweep of her tongue. ]
Some people would say you should try and make the most of it. For however long it pans out.
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Yeah, that old asshole, Murphy. [ which is easier to laugh at, but there's plenty of truth to it, the very idea of things going wrong if it could practically dominating every consecutive day of his life.
but with the catch of her eyes meeting his, he struggles in looking away, even as he sets the glass back down on the table, the act prompting him to shift slightly closer in her direction unintentionally. ]
Yeah, I think I've ... begun to do that a little. [ settling in his apartment, seeking out a steadier job, accepting the car, taking care of laura β ] Guess I've been seeing some of it ain't too bad. [ another chuckle, a light curve to his lips. ] Can't complain about the company.
action;
the same holds true for right now, when he leans forward to relinquish his glass, and her knee gently jostles against the outside of his thigh.
he'd made her a promise to stay β not dedicating that to her specifically, but voicing that assurance that he'd be around in some form, to have her back with whatever ugliness reared its head afterward. and she won't pretend that whatever this is between them has shifted beyond that agreement, but it is grounded differently in the trust they now have for one another. ]
Yeah, I guess it hasn't all been awful. [ a tugging at the edges of her mouth follows, a soft smile, and then she's the one tilting forward to free her hands, setting her glass down, before her gaze finds his, briefly drops to his lips. ] There have definitely been some highlights.
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a few things here and there worth sticking around for.
when she leans forward, he tilts slightly, body turned subtly to face her, the weight of an arm resting against the back of the couch while his eyes focus on the features of her face, soft smiles that seem to mirror his own that attempt to be concealed. ]
Oh, yeah? [ there's a bit of a rhetorical to it, tone turned with a bit of playfulness that seems to follow up as he adds, an unintentional swiping lick to his lip preceding, ] Like what?
action;
right now, though? she's got nothing but a handful of fries and three-quarters of a glass of whiskey in her belly to blame for what comes next, even if it doesn't happen all at once.
he pivots outward, letting one arm trail along the tops of the couch cushions, and she shrugs one shoulder as if she hasn't really given much thought to those deeper considerations, everything that happened leading up to the afternoon she curled into bed beside him and after that. the problem is that her face gives away more, the slow drag of teeth across her lower lip as she tries to subdue the fullness of that grin, ducking her head somewhat.
she's already got one knee bent beneath her, enabling her to tilt forward; the fingers of one hand find a small grip in the unbuttoned portion of his shirt, and she brings their faces level with a small tug. ] They were all like this. [ he won't get a chance to answer before her mouth finds his, soft and warm, different than the others but somehow bearing shades of the same. ]
action;
it's in the span of those brief seconds that he has the opportunity to turn away from it, to prioritize common sense for the sake of not falling into any laid out traps they'd arranged on their own β but he doesn't.
there isn't the freezing cold temperatures of an old showerhead above them nor the sticky encouragement of the pollen to twist and play with their minds, but there's nothing to confirm that this isn't another trick, another scheme influencing their actions. yet, when she kisses him, her breath warm with whiskey, grazing at his lips, he still only tastes her, and with everything that's built them up to here from the moment they'd met with blind eyes, that might be all the reassurance he needs.
warm fingertips curl against her neck, thick pad of a thumb pressed beneath her cheekbone, and he reacts with a soft sigh before his mouth responds in kind. he leans forward, following that simple tug that guides him to align evenly with her mouth for that gentle kiss, the caress of it hosting a slow fervor, merely basking in a sensation that's come to him once, twice, and still seems to overwhelm him yet a third time. ]
action;
and she remembers all of it, the memory of his mouth against hers, past kisses she's tried to forget, to stifle down in her awareness so she doesn't waste her time thinking about what it feels like to do this, to have his hands trailing over her, the warmth of his skin emanating out from his touch β seriously, how he is always so warm β but it all comes flooding back to her anyway, in a rush. the way his fingers had swept soaking wet hair back from her face while she'd stood there, cold and shivering, only to tremble differently when he'd given her the heat of his lips. his arm wrapped across her middle to haul her over and atop him as they'd lain tangled together in his bed, those kisses defined by mounting passion until she'd inadvertently aggravated that still-healing wound.
they'd always encountered interruptions in those moments, something to force them to pump the brakes and rethink all of this, and a part of her is still waiting for that to happen, but it doesn't.
instead, she gets the slide of his hand, palm and lightly calloused fingers sweeping across the side of her face and she tilts into it, effectively deepening the kiss as a result; her mouth moves against his with a soft urgency, tender but not racing, because she's still not completely convinced this is real and she doesn't want to rush it if it is. ]
action;
the pollen was at fault for the exchanges in his bed, for a stream of kisses which he'd lost count of after the first several, easily memorizing her lips in the span of those minutes as if he'd already kissed her a thousand times. and if he had, she'd let him then, the curve of her body easy as she'd rolled into him, her warmth overtaking his bare skin, finding small contact with her own in places where her shirt had ridden up to expose her belly, his fingers curling for a secure hold around at her back. the first had been easier to excuse, but it was that memory, as influenced as it was, that was harder to forget, somehow still tasting her lips on his own even long after she'd left his side and he'd washed off the pollen from his skin.
talk of murphy's law has him believing the very same will happen here, but either the whiskey has done its part in easing the tenseness of his muscles thus allowing him to sink into this without resistence or he's determined to take the temporary heat of her mouth and run with it for whatever time he has it, valuing every shift and parting his own lips when she tilts into his palm.
his opposite hand seeks out her side, curving for a light grip against her shirt that encourages her to slide in closer. ]
action;
but she doesn't have anything directing her forward now apart from the tension that's been hovering between them since that first meeting of mouths, curiosity and want coaxing her to find out now if those kisses were just a fluke, a result of influence, and this won't hold any of the same heat that makes desire unfurl low in her belly.
turns out third time might really be the charm after all.
with one knee bent beneath her she drifts forward at that tug on her shirt, the brief tightness of fabric drawing her nearer to him; she stops with one leg crooked across his thighs, just shy of actually seating herself in his lap yet definitely closer than where they started, and her hand comes up to cup the side of his face, his growing beard tickling the top of her lip when the kiss persists. she chuckles, withdraws just long enough to whisper against his mouth. ] Feels different. [ her fingers trail over the edge of his jaw, that longer facial hair surprisingly soft to the touch. ] With this.
action;
though literal quiet is broken with the rise of her laugh on his lips, eyes blinking open to half shutters to peer at her, mostly catching sight of her soft grin through the light crinkles near her eyes. and he laughs too, quiet and brief in his breath but obvious in his own grin, momentarily ducking his head from the vague bashfulness of it. ]
Yeah? [ he rolls the tip of an index vertically down the well of her cheek, the skin bearing a silky smoothness contrasted to his own, peering at her with an affectionate gaze, teeth gently tugging over his own lip. ] Bad different?
[ it'd been a simple change, mostly a result of the time needed for his arm to heal, but even after he'd regain that motion in the muscle, he hadn't bothered to do anything more than a minor maintenance, shaving stray ends and letting the hair atop his head continue to grow as well into soft curls β more subtle hints of his unintentional attempts to blend in here, to settle into something more comfortable, the same way in which his arm curves around her waist when she slides in closer, letting her settle into his space, helping her secure that balance. ]
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No. [ her other hand shifts to fall along his chest, fingers deliberately tucking in and under the open sides of his shirt to find the skin there, the warm firmness of muscle, briefly nudging across the chain he wears around his neck, though the ring that she already knows dangles from its lowest point is still hidden beneath the buttoned portion. ]
Not bad. [ the fingers at the back of his neck comb over the longer strands there, too, run through the thickness of it, and she wonders how much he'll let it grow before he starts thinking about a haircut.
her eyes are drawn in, again, as his teeth find purchase in his bottom lip β and she doesn't have to refrain from kissing him again so she won't, leaning in to lightly urge her mouth to his with a slow breath, a rising nudge of her body along his side, chest to his and hand slipping further beneath his shirt to roam over that smooth plane. she's seconds away from letting herself melt fully, like she did when they were in his bed, and it scares her more than she's willing to admit. ]
action;
but her lips find him again, drawing him back out of his helpless smile to focus again on the direction of her curving mouth, the momentary pause in between doing nothing to deter that rising heat that magnetizes the kiss to continue.
and perhaps maybe the naturalness of it all is the oddest part of all, the way it doesn't actually feel odd at all. even if it's hardly the first time, it's still the first that they act on this without the guidance of excuses; frank doesn't seek an escape, doesn't even consider it when he makes that low rumbling sound against her mouth, prompted by the stealth of her palm finding that slot to stroke over his chest, her touch warm compared to the coolness of the chain that flutters there at the center. he follows with his own drifting fingers, the hand at her back, rising beneath the loose hem of her shirt, seeking the flat expanse of bare skin beneath, palm kneading vertically up a naked spine. ]
action;
she feels the vibration in his chest when he groans, incapable of stifling that low noise even with her mouth there to cover his, and she's emboldened by it, desire spiking hot at the base of her spine when his hand trails beneath the hem of her shirt.
it's another callback to the way his touch had skimmed along her back when she'd been resting against his side, one leg thrown over the both of his, and she's halfway there now with them merely lounging back into the sofa cushions, her hands beneath his shirt and in his hair and her lips parting warmly for a kiss that offers more hunger in return. she realizes, with no shortage of surprise, that just like the previous time, she'd be content to simply linger here, exchanging lazy kisses tasting of whiskey and salt and delivering roaming caresses from palms and fingers, without having to urge it along into anything more. but the whimper she voices against him, once they're pressed together more firmly, betrays a deeper intent. ]
action;
but she proves that there is an interest to that change in style, hair longer now than it had been when their lips last met, because there previously hadn't been that light hold of fingertips making use of those strands, clutching almost in tandem with the motions of their kiss β and finding no reason to complain of it.
she might even be apart to pick up that quicker pace of his heart, where her palm lingers over his skin, covering the ink of a skull he hadn't asked for, the motif seeming to echo more than just the the mysterious deer for this town and reminding him of a dirtied vest he keeps hidden in a closet. he hasn't forgotten who he is, what he's meant for, but under the power of her lips, it's easy to forget, to imagine he can bask in this, and he'll embrace it when his mouth parts and his tongue tastes the whiskey on her lips, the pellets of salt from her favored fries, and then everything else that's merely natural about her mouth. that's the part in which he finds most addictive, especially when she whimpers and he draws him to kiss her a bit more firmly, wanting to meet the needs of those implied aches.
fingers curling at her back, massages that shift from gentle to an unintentional longing need, he presses her to his chest, losing himself more and more within the warmth they conjure on every heated press of their lips. ]
action;
she is reminded of his latest wounds, though, when the touch of her fingers skims closer to that place where an emergency cauterization had seared flesh closed, sensitive to even the slightest press of bandages and she wonders how it looks now. she's curious enough to let her hand slip out from that open gap in his shirt and work open a few more buttons beneath, guiding the sides open with another roaming caress of her palm as the fabric catches on the ridges of her knuckles.
her weight is pressed more definitively against his by the time she breaks the kiss again, backpedals to slow, pursing pecks of her lips to his until she can trust herself enough to maintain more space β and then she touches him there, those twin wounds perfectly sized to the claws she'd seen emerge from between laura's knuckles, silent and seamless with only a few drops of blood left where they open up the skin. ]
Do they still hurt? [ her fingers stroke across the scars, darker than the others she's seen on his body, those times he hadn't necessarily shied away from her gaze but hadn't wanted to give her more opportunities to glimpse them β and she looks from where her hand rests on him up to his face, the shine of their kisses residing on his mouth, and she wants him all over again. ]
action;
he finds her eyes settled on him, unable to tell if she's asking for a vocal response, or if she's peering to see if she can decipher the answer by merely watching the motion of his expression as she traces the wound.
he doesn't hiss, doesn't react beyond catching that breath. ] They all usually do. [ it's a quiet answer, implication highlighting not only those burnt claw marks but the scattered decoration of other molten skin, set there by mixes of bullets and blades, some more damaging than others. in the same way coffee had become a filler to drown away those sensations of exhaustion and tired limbs, he'd unintentionally found a replacement for physical pain in the way of deeper scars, most often in the shape of that photograph she'd once had to put back together with scotch tape. it was easy to ignore stinging aches no matter how often they came, if the nightmares were louder.
guiding his fingers to rest over hers at his shoulder, stroking gently along the peaks of her knuckles, he doesn't steer his eyes away from hers, foreheads nudging together from a slight tilt as he whispers, ] But it doesn't hurt right now.
action;
but she can't scar, hasn't, not since before she became the heir, the only silver-light marks on her body reminders of an unsupervised childhood growing up on the homestead, getting into trouble. the line across her knee, where she'd ripped it open climbing on the tractor in the barn. the smaller pit at her hairline from where willa had chucked an old doll at her head. everything that hurts her now fades into nothing, and the only things she has left to show from it are her ghosts, her regrets, her list of names.
he doesn't flinch under her touch, doesn't pull away, his hand shifting to cover hers instead β and she's mindful of what any kind of pressure might do to an area that's still sensitive, fresher than the others, but her fingers do curve over the firm round of his shoulder then, as he traps them there with that slow sweeping.
and she doesn't answer him out loud β because she wouldn't know what to say even if she could β his face disappearing from her sight when her eyes flutter shut and her mouth finds his again, a certainty in that kiss now that maybe hasn't been there before, an assurance that isn't propelled forward by pollen wafting through an open window and into their senses. she kisses him as she finally shifts forward, settles herself anew on top of him with her knees pressed into the cushions on either side of his hips, until she can ease her weight down across his lap, fingers sliding into his hair to cup the back of his head. ]
action;
but there's been moments, smaller pockets of time, where he can set them down, not to forget, but to accept, to balance it alongside something that can give him a new weight to fill those slots, something that isn't stained with blood and gunpowder. he finds them when he's working up a makeshift recipe with laura in the kitchen, testing out just how much time between flipping the pancake batter and tossing in fruits for flavor. he finds them showing diamruid smarter angles to swing a bat to send those pitches flying further. he finds them when chloe asks him to look after the dog for a few hours, which ends up feeling more like a given favor than one for him to grant when she looks at him with soft eyes that tell him she's remembering an old friend with his face.
many times, though, he'll find them when wynonna's laugh spreads so wide she's left grinning long in the extended seconds after, when she's overly proud of a joke that's less funny in its delivery and more in her joyful reaction to it. or when she prods him hard on the ribs with a sharp elbow as they sit side by side in a movie theater while he mocks the old timey dialogue on the screen. or when she pretends to be listening when he attempts to teach her how to fix a clogged pipe so he doesn't have to come back and take it care of it so often even when they both know better.
he finds it now when she says nothing with words and instead covers his mouth with more firm kisses, and the way their lips find one another again and again so easily as they did the hours they lay in his bed make him wonder if the pollen ever really had an effect on them at all.
but he doesn't stay at her mouth, urged suddenly when she climbs upon his lap, thighs sliding together, to sink into the crook of her throat, a trail of kisses down the arch of her jawline getting him there. his breath falls heavy, hot, there on the outlines of bone at her collar, right until he's pressed more deeply against sensitive skin, seeming to find himself content in that solid new home for his lips β until his fingers curl at the hem of her shirt and guide it slow up her sides, aiming to tug it overhead. ]
action;
and they'd continued to bump into one another, either by choice or coincidence, those encounters doing everything to bring them to this moment here, with her chin tipped up against his mouth and his breath ghosting hot across her skin, making her thighs squeeze reflexively on either side of him, her fingers clutching harder at his scalp.
she thinks of the day she'd confronted him at his place, his eyes gently observing her from behind a bear's snout, a pair of fuzzy and rounded ears twitching at the sound of her lecturing him on why he shouldn't have kissed her at the height of chloe's party, drinks and drug zooming through her bloodstream and making her more willing to guide her mouth against his.
and she thinks about the promise they'd made each other while tangled up in his bedsheets β that maybe while they're here, they don't need to keep running, can just stop and exist here, and she wonders if this counts at all, that for however long they fall into this warm, wanting embrace it means neither of them has an out in mind. leaving is the furthest thing from her thoughts now when his kisses descend over the curve of her neck and his hands coax up the bottom of her shirt; she lifts her arms slowly, enabling him to roll it further, past her shoulders, her hair tumbling down once freed from the collar.
it's no more uncovered than how he'd seen her at the party, nearly the same amount of skin exposed, but it's different when she anticipates his mouth on her, his gaze roaming, and a more vivid color rises in her cheeks and the top of her chest as she peers to him now, suddenly nervous. ]
action; subtle nsfw probs
but somehow his gaze presents a softer affection, one conjured by the notice of her flushed cheeks, caught even beneath the fallen hair there, and he reaches up with both hands to tuck those strands away, palm soothing a caress where he knows the deep press of her dimples before reeling her in for a kiss.
somehow he manages to offer something more tender despite the urgency he feels to taste her even further, to guide his tongue back into her mouth; instead, it's a gentle press, almost chaste, before giving their noses a soft brushing stroke. ] Y'know, we don't have to. [ it's a soft offer, final words to give her that opportunity to reconsider where they're inevitably steering this fast moving train. that first time, he'd kissed her on his own whim, selfishly acting on his spontaneity and bearing the consequences (quite literally) when she'd scolded him afterwards. the second was under a cloud of pollen which skewed both of their certainty as to how much of those kisses had been by their own personal choice. ]
Anything you want. [ he wants to make sure that despite whatever impulses cue him forward, this time he intends to leave the choice in her hands. to take every kiss, every touch, and decide whether to run with it, or turn tail in the chance that this may leave her in regret when the faint taste of whiskey fully clears. ]
action; spot the nsfw
she's predicting the return of his mouth to her, exploratory hands; she isn't planning on the slow sweep of hair back from her face, her shoulders, and the tender urging of his lips, a peck that doesn't venture deeper before his nose nudges into hers and he offers the soft assurance that this doesn't have to go any further than she wants it to. and for what feels like a small infinity, even though it probably only lasts for a few seconds, she just looks at him with a burgeoning wonder, head tilted into the slide of his palms across her jaw.
because for the longest time, she thought she'd had him pegged a certain way when they'd first met, careful words and guarded smiles, measured reactions to even her most blatant humor, to a degree where it always felt like a personal satisfaction whenever she'd provoke more than a small chuckle from him. he'd expressed his appreciation for her help in reeling him back to himself from the precipice of pure animal fury, and there'd been shades of it then, depths in his gaze, a greater softness that she wasn't prepared to handle. but she'd found her axis tilting towards him right there in his damn kitchen, the air holding something heavier and more meaningful before she'd ultimately broken free.
and sitting here now, confronted with that look again, she finally gives in, as if all it's taken is him telling her she has a choice to make her realize what she wants. no more backpedaling, no more paralyzing indecision, and she can't even undercut it with a lame joke either. her hand resumes that slow slide through his hair, soothing strokes that comfort her too, and she drifts in close enough for the tip of her nose to bump his, exhaling shakily. ]
You. [ don't ask her to explain what it's going to look like moving forward, if they're even going to have anything beyond tonight; she's not thinking that far ahead, not considering anything but the man whose arms are around her and whose mouth she returns to again, sealing her decision in that yielding kiss. ]
action; definitely nsfw now
and itβs exactly that which he earns, tenderness as he tilts her with his palm, turning his own head for that sought out deepening. with the curl of his tongue within her mouth to meet with hers, he echoes a low rumble, his own wordless response to being wanted, even if only for however long they embrace it tonight. because for whatever reason heβd fallen into this bizarre trap, sheβd twisted him into knots from the early seconds in which heβd only heard her voice, banter exchanged with useless trivia but easing him into softening those tender cracks of his skin, a subtle effort that had its long term effects with every meeting that followed, casual conversations across the diner table that had inevitably brought them about to that first kiss as their bodies shivered wet and cold.
but everything about this is warm, heat exchanged passionately from mouth to mouth, eagerly now that any remnant of uncertainty has been vanquished for good; if sheβs sure of it, then he wonβt consider any other sense of logic that points to the flaws of this entanglement.
when he leaves her mouth again, itβs to seek out that original perch of skin heβd originally intended to taste, lips pursing softly at the center of her collar, peppering kisses that shuffle the soft hairs of his face across her chest in subtle ticklish caresses. and then his mouth parts to massage the soft flesh at the height of her breast, just above the fabric that conceals the rest of it, as his hand curves to her back, stealthily finding the clasp to undo with careful fingers. ]
action; bow chicka bow nsf-wow
the whiskey is still strong on his lips, passed between them in the tangling of tongues, the slow rhythm they find themselves in that quickens in small increments, unhurried regardless of the later hour. it's a taste she wants to get drunk on, sinking into the guidance of his hand along the side of her face, gentle and cradling, and she gives voice to a soft, breathless sound alongside the groans that pitch lower, deep in his throat.
her fingers are a temporary flurry between them, only working to thumb open the remainder of the buttons that hold his shirt closed, but she won't get as far as peeling it off his shoulders, only in parting the sides across his front before the band of elastic across her back snaps apart when the clasp gives way, the straps easing forward by gravity and a subconscious roll of her body before she flings the whole thing aside. she hasn't extricated herself from his lap yet, unable to find a good excuse to pry herself away for too long, and his mouthing over the curve of her breast, those mounds rendered softer and heavier ever since alice, stills her completely, a shiver coursing up the length of her spine to make those sensitive buds draw up taut from new exposure, from arousal, from awareness.
and she hasn't found a reason for her hand to slip out of his hair yet, using those strands for purchase now while his lips navigate all that bared territory, warm skin aching for touch, the rasp of his beard an added friction that would make her knees weak if she wasn't already straddling him. ]
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action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action;
action;
action;
action;
action;
action;
action;
action;
action;
action;
action;
action;
action;
action;
action; some suggestive nsfw
action; subtle nsfw
action; subtle nsfw
action;
action;
action;
action;
action;
action;
action;
action;
action;
action;
action;
action;
action;
action; probs back on the nsfw train lbr
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw
action; nsfw