bakerstreet | THE KISSING BOOTH MEME

Sorry, were you looking for something else?

[This is the face of someone honestly, genuinely, absolutely puzzled and a little injured.]

That was a peck. This is not a pecking booth.

[He shakes his head solemnly.]

You're going to have to do that one over.

What are you, the king of the booth? It was a kiss.

[She squints down at him. Rude.]

I'm not gonna keep kissing you if you're just going to reject them. Show me what counts first.

[Well. That's easy enough. He tugs her a little more firmly onto his lap.]

This is a demonstration, right? So it's not one of the twenty.

[He leans up into her then, tipping his head to kiss her soft and slow. It's not an earth-shaking kiss, but it's got the promise of one, for sure, is nearly one and would be if he'd just pull her a little closer. But they're her kisses, in the end, so she gets to guide them. That's his story and he's sticking to it.]

[The problem, of course, is that she very much wants it to be a kiss that goes somewhere. She always does with Abdul. He tugs her closer and suddenly she very much wants the half hour to be over, because they can't do a damn thing in public. She can't even straddle him, so what's the point?

She doesn't press closer. Not yet. She lingers at the kiss, fingers curled in his shirt, letting it go on as long as she can without deepening it.

She isn't breathless as she pulls back, but it's a close thing. Jeanne bites her bottom lip, eyes darting around his face.]

Twenty of those?

[It's hard not to be a little smug, looking at her. She's overwhelmed. It's cute. It's gorgeous, she's gorgeous. He can't feel her heart beating, but he's imagining he can.]

That's what you paid for.

[A beat.]

And you're the only one who gets that kind. So you're getting a deal, really.

You're damn right I'm the only one who gets that kind.

[Some of the dazed pleasure starting to leave her expression as she considers him. He's smug, which is either an attractive and irritating look for him, she can never decide which. Possibly both. Either way, it's only the first kiss; that smugness can't be allowed to continue for the next forty minutes.

Jeanne leans heavily against him, her free hand splayed over his chest, and kisses him. One. It's a good kiss, harder and hotter than Abdul's had been. It's fierce where his was sensual, and she opens her mouth to it for just a few teasing seconds before pulling back.]

One.

[She's always fierce. Fierce or playful, often both. Like now. It's one of the best things about her, and he responds as eagerly as he always does, leaning up into her and raking his fingers through her hair. He looks dazed and delighted when she pulls away, though still admittedly a bit smug.]

One, [he echoes.]

[That's a bit better. He looks about as affected as she is, and that's all she really wants.]

I'm holding you responsible if this gets out of hand.

[A word of warning before she leans in for her second kiss. She opens her mouth to it immediately, arching against him-- because every kiss has to trump the last. She can't simply falter or give him less than what he's previously gotten. And by that logic, they're absolutely not going to make it to twenty, but she'll let him worry about that.]

[He doesn't even have time to laugh. Anyway, it's not funny, especially since it's absolutely going to get out of hand, they're absolutely not going to make it to twenty, and honestly they might not even make it to ten — but in fairness to him, he didn't actually want to do the booth in the first place, and she paid.]

[And anyway: he doesn't want to say no to her. Not when she's pressed against him like this, her mouth hot and wet against his. He responds right away, hooking his arm around her waist and drawing her in, kissing back rough and a little breathless until he catches her bottom lip between his teeth and slowly pulls away.]

Two.

[God. God. It's a good thing she's wearing a skirt right now; the temptation to straddle him would be irresistible otherwise. She shifts, squirming in his lap-- not to tease him, but simply because she loves that grip around her hips.

They're not going to make it to five.]

Three.

[--she murmurs, and ducks her head down, kissing the side of his neck, light kisses interspersed with little bites. Maybe she can stretch it out to seven this way.]

[All right, it might not be meant to tease, but that doesn't mean it doesn't. He huffs impatiently, digging his fingers in a little harder to keep her still, but there she is ducking away from him.]

[Honestly, he'd like to complain. He doesn't, though: just grits his teeth and exhales sharply, keeping his hands very firmly where they are.]

Three.

Something wrong?

[She bites harder at his throat before soothing it with a kiss. Now she's teasing, squirming deliberately against his tight grip, hand pushing against his chest. She can feel his heart pounding hard, a steady rhythm she's just dying to hear speed up.]

Jeanne.

[This is so rude. He frowns sharply, glancing over her shoulder and trying not to squirm himself.]

If you don't kiss me properly, you'll have to start over, you know.

[Jeanne tips her head back, grinning widely, entirely unrepentant.]

You keep making up rules.

[She can't be bothered to put on a scolding expression.]

How am I supposed to do anything if I'm always worried you'll make up a rule about it? Kiss harder, don't kiss my throat, kiss me properly-- anything else?

You don't really look that sorry.

[At all. Even a little bit. That's the least sorry expression anyone has ever worn in history.]

What rules would you prefer? "Jeanne can do anything she wants, whenever she wants to"?

You'd have a lot more fun with a rule like that.

[She squirms again-- there's no rule against that, although there might be in a minute-- and grins at him.]

You know you would.

. . . I hate when you're right.

[She's so aggressively right, too, and she's getting his heartbeat up like she wanted, even if he won't quite look at her. A few moments' pause, and then he nods with some extremely insincere reluctance.]

That's the rule, then.

[--oh. Well. Jeanne blinks, taken aback for half a second before her grin returns.]

All right.

[But she'll be good to start with. The squirming stops, and Jeanne leans in, kissing him. It's a firm kiss, as nearly all her kisses are, but there's nothing particularly salacious about it. Indeed, after the past few minutes, it's nearly tame.]

[It's suspicious, is what it is. Meant to lure him into a false sense of security. He knows this game. He is wise to this tactic.]

[He just kisses her tenderly in response. Doesn't push back, doesn't demand anything of her. It's as sweet as if he entirely believes that she's going to continue being good, which of course he doesn't, because he's not an idiot.]

That's four.

[Five. She'll let them get to five before she starts acting filthy; that seems reasonable. They ought to get at least a quarter way through before they have to give up entirely.]

Five.

[A count, not a correction, as she leans in again. It's not dirty to go into a kiss open-mouthed, right? Or-- well, maybe it is, a little, but she's keeping still in his lap, so it could be a lot worse. Behind them, Jeanne can still hear talk-- murmurs and laughter and shouts all blended together into a background hum. It would be easy to ignore, save for the fact it's the only thing reminding her that there's a line she has to be careful not to cross.

But that line's still a mile away. Her fingers drag against Abdul's neck, nails teasing lightly against his skin.]

[His breath comes out shaky, shivery, as her nails graze across his neck. It's a little embarrassing. She hasn't even done anything really; it's just that he knows she's going to. That's what has him on edge.]

[She could make reading the mail filthy if she wanted, of course. He can't quite keep himself from angling into the kiss, teeth grazing briefly across her lip before he pulls back just a bit and looks up at her. That look, it's somewhere between worshipful and possessive.]

Five.

[That's the best look. Right there, caught between adoration and domination; that's what she loves. Jeanne leans in, bumping their foreheads together, her nails still dragging against his skin.]

Keep going, or finish the rest of your kisses in private? Your choice.

[It's a warning, really: from here on out, she's going to do her best to tease him.]

[That . . . isn't really a fair choice. Not for him, because no matter what, his responsible instincts lose out. If he lets her keep going, it'll be indecent; if he stops her, he'll have to abandon the booth.]

[The booth he didn't really even want to man anyway. Right.]

[He tugs her closer, pulls her tight against him with a hand at the small of her back. He can feel every inch of her, which is a better answer than words, really, but:]

Oh, look at that. My shift is over.

[It'd been a toss-up, honestly. There have been occasions where she'd tried to lure him away from work, only to be told firmly and politely that she would simply have to wait. Abdul can be remarkably strong-willed when he's got a mind to be, and his sense of responsibility is far too high. But this isn't something he'd wanted to do in the first place, and it's not as if they'll cheat the charity out of money if he leaves early; she's more than paid for his time.

There's a joke here about reasonably priced affections, but she's not going to make it. Not when he's holding her so firmly.]

You have to let me go if you want to go somewhere private, chéri.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject