[ 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 — 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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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 — 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. ]