[ It says something all on its own that this isn't necessarily how she planned on waiting out the storm together, but she can't find it in her to protest all that hard, and with the door swinging to shut behind them, a barrier that gets reinforced with his hand carefully and deliberately turning the lock, it's like any of their remaining defenses go down with it and she gets the benefit of his full smile, of the softened edges of his gaze that are reserved for those people who have earned his tenderness.
But as he looks at her now, there's no denying the heat that rises to take its place alongside the affection and she finds herself repressing a shiver for a reason entirely separate from the chill of wet clothing, especially when he takes his sweet time making his way across the small space of the living room and she forces herself to stay put right where she's come to a stop (a good exercise in self-restraint, which he probably knows she's short on even on her best days).
And that look of his stokes something in her too, more than just simple need β although that's a pretty big part of it, a reminder of shared attraction in how she meets his gaze and holds it right until he's close enough to touch. ]
As tempting as it is to go full burrito in your sweats β [ She lifts her arms, the hem of her top riding up a few more inches over her abdomen with the movement, in order to briefly rest them atop the set of his shoulders, sinking teeth into her lower lip when his fingers trace the viewable stretch of skin over the waist of her jeans. ] β I've heard it's actually a better idea to share body heat when you're totally, one-hundred-percent naked.
[ it's not as if he necessarily planned this either, but with them, nothing's ever quite according to plan, spontaneity taking the reins more often than not whenever it comes to every step of their relationship. and though he can be his own kind of heat-of-the-moment kind of guy too, he always has tried to set a plan in motion, to get an idea in his head and stick with the overall guy, even if he has to improvise. maybe that's why she'd thrown him off as much as she did, because nothing with her was ever in the plans, and eventually he'd just stopped resisting.
while he slips out the comment, it's her expression in response that lights up the rest, approval and encouragement in that surprised but urging smile, and when he reaches her to bring his hands to her hips, he sighs as she lifts up her arms for encircle him in turn.
the slight lift of her shirt exposes more skin for him to touch, splaying his palms more fully to her sides, smooth and warm with a close this touch despite the surface dampness from her shirt. ]
Yeah, you hear that? Reliable source and all? [ he scrunches his nose like he's testing her somehow, but his hands continue to rise, simply sloping against her skin and dragging the fabric with him, clumping that soaked material between his thumb and index until he gets it high enough to her arms. ] Cause I wouldn't want you to get all sick and shit from it.
[ Next to him, sheβs definitely more of the improviser, the fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants-and-hope-like-hell-it-works kind of gal β but her life was never really defined by carefully-laid plans from the beginning, even if fate and destiny (if you believe in that sort of thing) had played a role in where sheβd ultimately ended up, brought her right back to the town she spent years trying to get away from. Could be thatβs why she tries to be as spontaneous as she is now, like itβs her way of bucking those grand concepts, throwing up the proverbial middle finger and doing it different than the plan calls for.
But this β they never really had planned for it, had they? It was never supposed to be anything this intense, this meaningful; she wasnβt supposed to know how to reach for him and find those spots on him that make the tendon in his jaw leap, make him breathe a sigh, and he sure as hell wasnβt supposed to have special knowledge of all those places on her that make her fly apart and briefly forget her own name.
His hands are warm on her in spite of the wet fabric that still clings to her and she shudders again, more palpably, goosebumps rising beneath his touch as it ascends along her sides like heβs trying to mold her beneath his fingers. ]
Someone smart said it, yeah. [ She murmurs it through another grin, and then sheβs lifting her arms obligingly, letting him take the shirt the rest of the way up until her hair clears the neckline and spills down her back and over her shoulders, a few drops rolling from the wet strands to disappear down the front of her bra. Her fingers are a little less masterful in their attempts at his shirt buttons, but sheβs still managing to work them open on her end. ] Guess that means you better hurry so I donβt catch a chill.
[ they've done this a hundred times, probably a couple more hundred than that even, and it still feels as fresh as the first time, always laced with her ridiculous banter that he seeks out ways to counter with dry comebacks, even as he works her fingers firmly against her. that's the trick with them, a way to slip back into old patterns, even when external circumstances don't make it easy for them.
he glides her shirt up off of her head, but it's loosened free from his fingers almost instantly, his eyes gazing over her body, admiring it as if it's a sight he hadn't seen before. because the dampness of it almost adds a shine to her skin, the steadiness of her breaths shown in the rise and fall of her breasts.
chuckling at her response, he keeps his fingers working against her arms, stroking his thumb against her skin while refraining to move further as she works to undo his own buttons. ] Pretty sure someone else is the one taking their precious time. Need a little help with those, Judy?
[ She still remembers what the first time had been like, uncharacteristically quiet and careful, both of them gently peeling off each other's clothes to uncover skin for curious hands and mouths to explore; she remembers being nervous, remembers him fighting to meet her gaze, but the moment they'd finally come together had solidified an unmistakable rightness about what they were pursuing. She might not have wanted to acknowledge it flat-out, but she knows now what she'd felt then β that she didn't want to do this with anyone else.
They've undressed one another a variety of ways since that night β sometimes slow purposefulness, other times frantically driven β but each one lets her reveal a view she knows she'll never get tired of, the constellations of patchwork scars over his arms, his chest, his abdomen, and the hardness of muscle that yields beneath her palms. ]
I'm workin' on it, Harry, I'm workin' on it. [ She's pretending to be annoyed at the idea of being rushed along but she's chuckling too obviously to make it sound sincere, fingers working down until the last of the buttons slips free and the open halves of the shirt begin to part away from him, and when she rolls the sodden fabric away from his arms the whole thing drops to the floor with an audible wet slap. They haven't kissed yet, but the sight of his upper half already bared is enough to draw her in closer as her eyes sweep up the length of his front and catch his to hold. ] Maybe I wanted to enjoy the view a little first.
[ there are plenty of times they've been a little more desperate for this, where they've urgently tugged away layers, occasionally tearing a bit of fabric here and there if they're rowdy enough, but there's no rush here as they banter in the midst of it. they've got time here, and even if the purpose is only to seek out shelter under the storm lets out, they could easily just stay here for as long as they like, make the most of this rare chance of privacy they've managed to secure.
part of the bliss of it is in watching her, hard for even him to keep his smile at bay as she retorts back at him, his own lips pressing tight together to keep from slipping a loose laugh. ]
What, an old set of limbs like this? Nah, doesn't make for much of a sight. [ he makes a pssh noise to emphasize his point but his face and posture don't necessarily look the least bit bashful about his appearance, knowing full well that she likes to let her eyes gaze over him, and typically, so does plenty of other residents in the town (hot dad? dilf? just how many names has he had to hear from them lately?).
he's taking his time, and it shows when he stretches his fingers across her collar, the larger size of his hand evident by how much he covers of her skin. but he slopes it upwards, slowly, working up across her neck, dipping below her jaw, where he seizes hold of her, thumb pressed to one cheek as the remaining fingers press on the other. ] If you close your eyes, might give you a better surprise than a view.
[ She feels a distinct sense of calm, peace about the whole thing; why hustle through the build-up when there's so much to stop and appreciate in taking the scenic route instead? And boy oh boy, is there plenty for her to lay her eyes on, all that skin newly bared for the attention of her hands, the warm press of her lips. She knows he may not consider himself that much to look at, especially with all the scars in plain view, but to her they represent his roadmap, the trials he's been through to make it to where he is, standing in front of her now while he attempts to repress a smile. ]
I will just beg to differ then. [ What was it someone had mentioned him earning? A spot on Deerington's most fuckable list? Studying over him now, she definitely isn't inclined to disagree with that ruling, even if her special bias would put him clear at the top.
Her breath catches, the sound subtly audible beneath the faint patter of rain striking against the windows, when he guides a hand up to grasp the damp column of her throat, commanding but not controlling, and instinctively, she lifts her chin with it, tilting her head back further with the movement. The sensation of rough, calloused fingers on her skin contrasts with the gentle hold he puts her in, thumb nudged to the divot of her dimple and her eyelashes, dark with rainwater, flutter against her cheeks. ] And to think it's not even my birthday.
[ But she complies, in spite of the quip, eyes drifting shut as her mouth slowly parts, anticipation visible in how she tries to relax her expression. ]
[ he'd always been uncertain about the scars etched across his chest, his arms, his skin, because while he isn't necessarily shy about their imprint, it knows the stories they silently tell, the past that he's made for himself dating years of fighting, in a war for his country before it became a war of his own. it's pieces he can't erase, but he's embraced them more in the times that she's traced her fingers over them, painting them over with soothing caresses and tender kisses, reminders that he's more than those scars.
it might be what he attempts to often give her in turn, with the carefulness of his touch, tenderness in the hold of his hand, even when he grabs her with his fingers; it isn't rough, not at all forceful, but a silent admiration, and an assurance that she's all his eyes fall on, she's all that he wants, all that he needs β that she's everything.
he doesn't immediately move, even when she shuts her eyes, instead taking that moment to peer over her, the softness of her cheeks, flushed as she breathes steadily, skin still faintly wet.
when he leans in, he doesn't snatch her lips, instead kissing the height of her cheekbone, lips soft as they collect the rain droplets there. it's brief before he pulls back, slowly turning to do the same to the other, mouth lingering. he can hear his own breath louder, along with hers, stronger now than the hard falling rain against the window, his own skin heating all over.
finally, he draws in to kiss her mouth, slowly pressing each set of lips together, almost teasingly chaste before he strokes the seam gentle with his tongue. ]
[ It's possible that she has most of these scars memorized by this point even if she doesn't know the stories behind each and every one; she knows where she's likely to find the mottled edges of a bullet wound, can follow the longer lines undeniably caused by some kind of blade. She knows where he's more likely to feel her and where the nerve endings are more dulled to sensation, whether she's running her fingertips over them or clutching to squeeze for a harder grip.
They haven't made a point to flip the switch on very many lights on their way in, and this close she can see the pattern of the rain reflected from the window on his face, his chest before she shuts her eyes, trying to keep her breathing slow and even. It's easier said than done while he's cradling her like this, and she can't help thinking he's toying with her ability to be patient as the seconds tick by.
But then she feels him, those soft and lingering presses of his lips β not to hers at first, but the curve of one cheek and then the other, like he's mapping out the shape of her features beneath those kisses, warming her further in the process. It makes her heart clench in her chest from the sheer tenderness of it, and she faintly realizes she's maintained a light grasp on his forearms, something for her to hold onto throughout all of this.
There's a sigh that escapes her, one and then another, when he finally urges his mouth to hers, cool and drifting, her thumbs stroking against his wrists as a mere tilt of her head lets them fuse together more definitively and her lips part for her tongue to brush against his, equally slow flicks, like a tease that aims to coax him into something deeper. ]
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no subject
But as he looks at her now, there's no denying the heat that rises to take its place alongside the affection and she finds herself repressing a shiver for a reason entirely separate from the chill of wet clothing, especially when he takes his sweet time making his way across the small space of the living room and she forces herself to stay put right where she's come to a stop (a good exercise in self-restraint, which he probably knows she's short on even on her best days).
And that look of his stokes something in her too, more than just simple need β although that's a pretty big part of it, a reminder of shared attraction in how she meets his gaze and holds it right until he's close enough to touch. ]
As tempting as it is to go full burrito in your sweats β [ She lifts her arms, the hem of her top riding up a few more inches over her abdomen with the movement, in order to briefly rest them atop the set of his shoulders, sinking teeth into her lower lip when his fingers trace the viewable stretch of skin over the waist of her jeans. ] β I've heard it's actually a better idea to share body heat when you're totally, one-hundred-percent naked.
no subject
while he slips out the comment, it's her expression in response that lights up the rest, approval and encouragement in that surprised but urging smile, and when he reaches her to bring his hands to her hips, he sighs as she lifts up her arms for encircle him in turn.
the slight lift of her shirt exposes more skin for him to touch, splaying his palms more fully to her sides, smooth and warm with a close this touch despite the surface dampness from her shirt. ]
Yeah, you hear that? Reliable source and all? [ he scrunches his nose like he's testing her somehow, but his hands continue to rise, simply sloping against her skin and dragging the fabric with him, clumping that soaked material between his thumb and index until he gets it high enough to her arms. ] Cause I wouldn't want you to get all sick and shit from it.
no subject
But this β they never really had planned for it, had they? It was never supposed to be anything this intense, this meaningful; she wasnβt supposed to know how to reach for him and find those spots on him that make the tendon in his jaw leap, make him breathe a sigh, and he sure as hell wasnβt supposed to have special knowledge of all those places on her that make her fly apart and briefly forget her own name.
His hands are warm on her in spite of the wet fabric that still clings to her and she shudders again, more palpably, goosebumps rising beneath his touch as it ascends along her sides like heβs trying to mold her beneath his fingers. ]
Someone smart said it, yeah. [ She murmurs it through another grin, and then sheβs lifting her arms obligingly, letting him take the shirt the rest of the way up until her hair clears the neckline and spills down her back and over her shoulders, a few drops rolling from the wet strands to disappear down the front of her bra. Her fingers are a little less masterful in their attempts at his shirt buttons, but sheβs still managing to work them open on her end. ] Guess that means you better hurry so I donβt catch a chill.
no subject
he glides her shirt up off of her head, but it's loosened free from his fingers almost instantly, his eyes gazing over her body, admiring it as if it's a sight he hadn't seen before. because the dampness of it almost adds a shine to her skin, the steadiness of her breaths shown in the rise and fall of her breasts.
chuckling at her response, he keeps his fingers working against her arms, stroking his thumb against her skin while refraining to move further as she works to undo his own buttons. ] Pretty sure someone else is the one taking their precious time. Need a little help with those, Judy?
no subject
They've undressed one another a variety of ways since that night β sometimes slow purposefulness, other times frantically driven β but each one lets her reveal a view she knows she'll never get tired of, the constellations of patchwork scars over his arms, his chest, his abdomen, and the hardness of muscle that yields beneath her palms. ]
I'm workin' on it, Harry, I'm workin' on it. [ She's pretending to be annoyed at the idea of being rushed along but she's chuckling too obviously to make it sound sincere, fingers working down until the last of the buttons slips free and the open halves of the shirt begin to part away from him, and when she rolls the sodden fabric away from his arms the whole thing drops to the floor with an audible wet slap. They haven't kissed yet, but the sight of his upper half already bared is enough to draw her in closer as her eyes sweep up the length of his front and catch his to hold. ] Maybe I wanted to enjoy the view a little first.
no subject
part of the bliss of it is in watching her, hard for even him to keep his smile at bay as she retorts back at him, his own lips pressing tight together to keep from slipping a loose laugh. ]
What, an old set of limbs like this? Nah, doesn't make for much of a sight. [ he makes a pssh noise to emphasize his point but his face and posture don't necessarily look the least bit bashful about his appearance, knowing full well that she likes to let her eyes gaze over him, and typically, so does plenty of other residents in the town (hot dad? dilf? just how many names has he had to hear from them lately?).
he's taking his time, and it shows when he stretches his fingers across her collar, the larger size of his hand evident by how much he covers of her skin. but he slopes it upwards, slowly, working up across her neck, dipping below her jaw, where he seizes hold of her, thumb pressed to one cheek as the remaining fingers press on the other. ] If you close your eyes, might give you a better surprise than a view.
no subject
I will just beg to differ then. [ What was it someone had mentioned him earning? A spot on Deerington's most fuckable list? Studying over him now, she definitely isn't inclined to disagree with that ruling, even if her special bias would put him clear at the top.
Her breath catches, the sound subtly audible beneath the faint patter of rain striking against the windows, when he guides a hand up to grasp the damp column of her throat, commanding but not controlling, and instinctively, she lifts her chin with it, tilting her head back further with the movement. The sensation of rough, calloused fingers on her skin contrasts with the gentle hold he puts her in, thumb nudged to the divot of her dimple and her eyelashes, dark with rainwater, flutter against her cheeks. ] And to think it's not even my birthday.
[ But she complies, in spite of the quip, eyes drifting shut as her mouth slowly parts, anticipation visible in how she tries to relax her expression. ]
no subject
it might be what he attempts to often give her in turn, with the carefulness of his touch, tenderness in the hold of his hand, even when he grabs her with his fingers; it isn't rough, not at all forceful, but a silent admiration, and an assurance that she's all his eyes fall on, she's all that he wants, all that he needs β that she's everything.
he doesn't immediately move, even when she shuts her eyes, instead taking that moment to peer over her, the softness of her cheeks, flushed as she breathes steadily, skin still faintly wet.
when he leans in, he doesn't snatch her lips, instead kissing the height of her cheekbone, lips soft as they collect the rain droplets there. it's brief before he pulls back, slowly turning to do the same to the other, mouth lingering. he can hear his own breath louder, along with hers, stronger now than the hard falling rain against the window, his own skin heating all over.
finally, he draws in to kiss her mouth, slowly pressing each set of lips together, almost teasingly chaste before he strokes the seam gentle with his tongue. ]
no subject
They haven't made a point to flip the switch on very many lights on their way in, and this close she can see the pattern of the rain reflected from the window on his face, his chest before she shuts her eyes, trying to keep her breathing slow and even. It's easier said than done while he's cradling her like this, and she can't help thinking he's toying with her ability to be patient as the seconds tick by.
But then she feels him, those soft and lingering presses of his lips β not to hers at first, but the curve of one cheek and then the other, like he's mapping out the shape of her features beneath those kisses, warming her further in the process. It makes her heart clench in her chest from the sheer tenderness of it, and she faintly realizes she's maintained a light grasp on his forearms, something for her to hold onto throughout all of this.
There's a sigh that escapes her, one and then another, when he finally urges his mouth to hers, cool and drifting, her thumbs stroking against his wrists as a mere tilt of her head lets them fuse together more definitively and her lips part for her tongue to brush against his, equally slow flicks, like a tease that aims to coax him into something deeper. ]