She loves the scent of him like this especially; everything is purely them, open for only each other to see, to feel and taste. To memorize. Her smugness is a cover, really, for the things that bubble up in her chest and in the back of her mind when she isn't paying attention or when she's drifting off to sleep.
Sometimes she finds herself committing a cardinal sin in actively acknowledging them, rolling them around her imagination and seeing how they taste on the tip of her tongue.
But in front of him? No way in hell. Certainly not out loud, either. Those are untested waters.
She presses her lips gently to his neck in a warm kiss as his breath cards through her sweaty hair. She can allow a little mercy and just slumps against him finally though the silence doesn't last. After a few moments she shifts and,
"This table's uncomfortable as hell anyway," she grumbles, pushing up on her elbows and wrinkling her nose cutely.
"Though you're doing your best. Y'not the worst pillow I've ever had."
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14/8/15 05:07 (UTC)Sometimes she finds herself committing a cardinal sin in actively acknowledging them, rolling them around her imagination and seeing how they taste on the tip of her tongue.
But in front of him? No way in hell. Certainly not out loud, either. Those are untested waters.
She presses her lips gently to his neck in a warm kiss as his breath cards through her sweaty hair. She can allow a little mercy and just slumps against him finally though the silence doesn't last. After a few moments she shifts and,
"This table's uncomfortable as hell anyway," she grumbles, pushing up on her elbows and wrinkling her nose cutely.
"Though you're doing your best. Y'not the worst pillow I've ever had."