I don't want tea. [He slides his arms about her waist, holding her tightly, so that the only way she can get away from him is to rent-a-ghost out of the room. Thus assured of her continued present, Mitchell leans in to kiss her again, slowly, coaxing, a little hum vibrating in his chest.]

I don't believe that for a second. [He nuzzling a kiss to the line of her jaw, his hand sliding down from around her waist to slide over the curve of her bum, possessive and familiar like he has every right to touch every inch of her.] I'd have to be dead not to want you.

[Yes, there is a small part of him that is relieved that so far, all their attempts at intimacy have been fruitless, because for almost a century of his life, sex has equated violence, blood, death, but hell. He's not such an old dog not to be able to learn a few new tricks. And clarly it's important to Annie, and he's already proven he'd go to Hell and back fo her.]

Oh wait, I already am. [Grinning at his stupid joke, he nips a little kiss at the soft skin — all her skin is soft, she's soft all over like a plush doll when she's not paying attention — beneath her ear, rumbling a little laugh as he does so.] And I still do. Ergo, I'm pretty sure you're already irresistible.