[ he's almost waiting for her to pull back, to laugh at him, to taunt him for ever believing that she'd ever want him in a way that didn't leave him feeling used; but even when he's considering the possibility, he decides the humiliation is worth the risk so long as he's able to touch her like this even for a matter of moments. when he's able to touch her like she's already his, like he doesn't have to mark her up to prove it to himself.
even if he does want her just like this, it still takes a conscious effort to keep from taking more, the way he would any other night. he's become a creature of habit, and everything about this goes entirely against what he's used to. his hand falls from her face to her waist, slipping beneath the oversized shirt she adorns, rising just enough for scarred flesh of his palm to rest against her waist. he doesn't clutch at her the way he's used to, only holding her tight enough to keep her close, not out of the desperate need to leave bruises to remind her the following morning.
even the noises that emit from strained throat are softer, less animalistic, more humane, a soft sigh of content rasping from his chest as his tongue teases across her lower lip. ]
[ you'd think that being touched so softly, being held rather than clutched, mind would have far much more room to murmur the most unkind things to her. to remind her how wrong it was, how they could get caught, how he doesn't really want her like this- how it may be the one and only time he feels with her instead of solely for himself. but everything is still, and it's just the way he's touching her, the way he's mapping out each of her lips as if it were the first time. as if they were something good for one another.
and then that sound husks from the bed of his throat, wanton and needy in a way she's never heard it, and all she can think of is to swallow it, to keep it, to remember it. she wants to remember all of this. the greeting of his tongue, light and warm coaxes the faintest of whimpers to intermix within her breath, giving the slightest writhes against him in efforts to keep still. it's all fidgeting, nerves that didn't belong, that she shouldn't let herself feel with him— but here they are. ]
Ace- [ just a whisper, and then she lets her tongue dance against his own, welcoming it into the heat of her mouth with a retreat, exhales growing all the more stuttered in their rhythm. ]
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even if he does want her just like this, it still takes a conscious effort to keep from taking more, the way he would any other night. he's become a creature of habit, and everything about this goes entirely against what he's used to. his hand falls from her face to her waist, slipping beneath the oversized shirt she adorns, rising just enough for scarred flesh of his palm to rest against her waist. he doesn't clutch at her the way he's used to, only holding her tight enough to keep her close, not out of the desperate need to leave bruises to remind her the following morning.
even the noises that emit from strained throat are softer, less animalistic, more humane, a soft sigh of content rasping from his chest as his tongue teases across her lower lip. ]
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and then that sound husks from the bed of his throat, wanton and needy in a way she's never heard it, and all she can think of is to swallow it, to keep it, to remember it. she wants to remember all of this. the greeting of his tongue, light and warm coaxes the faintest of whimpers to intermix within her breath, giving the slightest writhes against him in efforts to keep still. it's all fidgeting, nerves that didn't belong, that she shouldn't let herself feel with him— but here they are. ]
Ace- [ just a whisper, and then she lets her tongue dance against his own, welcoming it into the heat of her mouth with a retreat, exhales growing all the more stuttered in their rhythm. ]