bakerstreet | Smut Picture Prompts Meme: Full of Ragrets Edition

For that brief moment where their eyes meet, Luke is positively, absolutely sure that the distance is going to close and that there's going to be a kiss. His throat works in a swallow and he can feel the tension start to peak -- and then she pulls away. Just a bit. He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and tamps down the twinge of disappointment. He was the one who suggested they go somewhere else, right? He flashes a smile (just a bit nervous) and sets the clipboard aside, their task not quite finished.

He'll do it tomorrow and deal with the stern talking to he'll probably get. This place is safe. Worrying about a few numbers on a spreadsheet won't change that.

Instead, Luke allows their fingers to intertwine and he follows her insistent tug as they duck out into the office and then the front door. There are a few clouds in the clear afternoon sky and the shadows are just starting to lengthen. Despite the change, he still feels agonizingly (amazingly) on edge and can't quite believe that this is happening. He nods to the right and gives her hand a tug of his own (he can still feel the electric charge that seems to spark where their skin touches), "This way. There's a house that no one's using yet. It's pretty quiet..."

And empty. Hopefully empty.

Still, part of Luke feels like he's either going to wake up or something is going to go horribly wrong.

Maybe if somebody was going out on a run for supplies tomorrow, she'd give a damn about letting this go today. But it's beautiful outside, warm and not too humid, the sun starting to take on a more golden glow. It gives shine and to Luke's hair until she wants to run her fingers through it the way he does when he's nervous. Everything about him seems a little softer, somehow, even with the light pouring down on him.

Beth gives him a little smile, the slightest hint of a nod, when he suggests an empty house. It's not a moment that needs words, especially not from a girl who's spent too long traveling the wilderness.

The door opens easily enough when they reach it. The kind of neighborhood where nobody locks their doors--it's still crazy to her. But right now, it's a good crazy, because she calls a light hello? into the clean, empty kitchen and doesn't get a response. The house is silent, as only one of these pretty, modern houses can be; after a moment, she realizes she's waiting to hear the creak of walkers upstairs.

She gives his hand another little squeeze as the door closes behind them, her smile widening once more. It's maybe a little teasing, just like her question, "You come here often?"

The air inside smells clean, although it's a hint musty. They only come through and clean these places out every so often. They mostly just keep them... empty. It's a little surreal. There's still a refrigerator and wood-paneled cabinets and a gleaming, stainless steel sink. Through the doorway to the living room, a couch sits next to a coffee table. Despite the stillness, it still feels like someone else might come down the stairs. But that's not going to happen. Whoever used to live here is long gone and any walkers that might have been lingering cleaned out.

So Luke takes a breath and returns the little squeeze against his hand as he turns to look at her. He's laughing again, hair tousled and a bit of a mess. She looks amazing, as far as he's concerned. True, she has a scar here and there, but don't they all? Haven't they all been through their own private hell? She's full of vitality and life and he has to admit, he's a little amused and enamored of the fact that they share a similar hair color. Golden and sandy, the kind that catches the light in just the right way (and when she smiles, it makes him want to everything he can to keep that look on her face, especially when she's smiling at him).

"Every so often," he says, "Just to clean up and find some time alone to think-"

Oh, wait, that wasn't entirely serious. His grin turns a bit sheepish, but there's still that undercurrent of energy in the room, a silent jolt and crackle that passes between them every time their eyes meet. He drifts into the living room, leading her by the hand. The tension ratchets up again and he wants to do... something. He turns back again, trying to think of the right words and finds himself staring at her, hovering. It's only a few inches and he's staring into her eyes and he makes the choice to throw caution to the wind.

"Is this...?" He starts to ask. Then he kisses her. It's warm and soft and tentative, feeling out what she's comfortable with (what he's comfortable with) and it's the first time in a long time that he's kissed anyone, let alone a beautiful girl.

Edited 2017-03-22 18:27 (UTC)

She breathes out a laugh. Even if she hadn't meant it seriously, his answer is sweet. There's something admirable in the idea of keeping an empty house from getting too rough. It's the same thing that makes all of Alexandria beautiful--a little piece of normalcy still standing, held together because people want it and are willing to work for it. She remembers the funeral parlor they'd found out in the middle of nowhere, with its carefully embalmed walkers. This is the same idea, of dignity and hope for something more, but it's living.

They head into the living room, with its neatly kept furniture and sleepy, shaded windows, and silence overtakes them again. She looks up at him, wondering if this is it, the moment she'd pulled back from in the infirmary. They could kiss here, and it wouldn't matter. No one has any reason to try and peer past the blinds cutting the sun into little slashes of light--this house is empty.

She can hardly breathe, looking at him. A question's waiting in his gaze, the same one she thinks she could ask if she could recall the words she wants, and there's no time to finish his sentence before he's dipping his head toward hers.

It's the first time she's wanted anybody since Zach died, for a kiss or anything else, and it's all of Luke's kindness wrapped up in one gesture. Stretching up a bit to meet him, she's hesitant to begin with, but she's wanted this longer than the few moments they've been in the house. She breaks the kiss a moment, nods--that's you answer, Luke, this is--and presses her lips to his again, her free hand finding its way to the nape of his neck.

In another time and another place, Luke would've been worried about his aunt or uncle coming down the stairs or through the front door. In another time and place, he never would've met Beth Greene and he'd likely be off at college or (likelier) helping his uncle with the farm. But the world ended and it changed things and so here he is, a few hundred miles from home and kissing a beautiful girl in a strange, empty house, that he never would've laid eyes on otherwise. He tries not to dwell on that (and it's easy not to, especially when she returns the kiss).

There's a brief moment of heartbreak and worry, heart jumping as she pulls away, but it's replaced by exuberance and excitement and anticipation when she gives that one little nod and then they're kissing again and there are gentle, tentative fingers against his neck, making the skin pebble and tense, hair standing on end. There's the deep thudthud of his heart, which he's sure she can hear, because it's so loud and he doesn't quite know what to do with himself, so he settles for wrapping an arm around her middle and holding her close, so the warmth of their bodies can soak into one another through their clothing.

His other hand hovers for just a moment and then he carefully, cautiously cups her cheek, still feeling his way through the kiss. His teeth scrape over her lip in a bit of a clumsy motion as he deepens the kiss slightly, the breath easing out of him in a sigh. There's a world outside (and outside Alexandria, yet another), but he forgets all of that for right now. There's just her, the feel of her lips and hands and body and the rollicking, rolling swell of his emotional high as Luke desperately tries to figure out where he's going to go from here.

Then again, does that matter? He wants her, she (apparently) wants him. They can just... stay. At least for a while.

God, it's nice just to hold him. He doesn't grab at her, and she's grateful for it; the way he draws her in close, until there's only a few layers of fabric between them, is tender enough that she can relax into his touch. Nothing grasping about it, nothing hard or demanding. It's like wrapping her arms around the sunshine outside. Even without a kiss, she thinks she could let herself disappear into this embrace for the rest of the afternoon.

On the other hand, she's not about to give up kissing Luke for anything.

Her other hand settles near the small of his back, curling into a fist around his shirt when she feels his teeth graze her lips. It sparks a light little noise from her, something instinctive and not at all displeased. Accidental roughness, that's what it feels like, heightened by how gentle he's been before this, leaving her chest tightening around an unnameable affection for him.

That he wants more from the kiss, she catches, and she does, too. A moment's surprise isn't enough to put her off, especially today--especially now, when it's been months since she's been able to kiss anyone like this. Wanting it, wanting him. Tentatively, her tongue flicks out at his lips, her fingertips sliding up through the soft strands of hair at the back of his head.

The little noise she makes sends shivers down his spine. It's intoxicating and enticing, even if it wasn't really meant to be. To him it is and that's what matters. It drives him, tugs at him, invites him deeper -- and then there's the tongue against his lips. The energy in the room hasn't vanished, but it has changed. The tension has just about snapped, but now there's an electric sort of urgency. The feeling that something needs to happen, has to happen soon. So Luke indulges in it and allows his lips to part and his tongue to meet hers, deepening the kiss.

His fingers curl against her cheek in a gentle caress, urging her closer (if it's possible), trying to fit their bodies together, as if he can match some of his angles against her own. He breathes in, out, presses closer, thumb tracing a line over her cheek. If this all they do, he could be perfectly content. He hasn't kissed or touched anyone like this in - well. A long time. Even if a part of him wants more (needs more), he's not going to push. Not now. Even if it's tempting, because they could all end up dead sooner rather than later.

Luke finally breaks the kiss so he can smile breathlessly at her, almost laughing, "Wow."

Her toes curl when their tongues touch. The kiss is warm, hungry, but nothing too demanding--just this side of enough. Especially with the way he strokes her cheek, his touch so light and yet so lingering. The thump of her heart speeds up to a quick, not quite steady patter, her arms tightening around him a little.

And then a breath, as the kiss ends, and then Luke's brilliant smile.

"Yeah." She grins back, a giggle bubbling in her throat at the sight of his face. He looks like someone could run him over with a truck, and he wouldn't notice until he was under the wheels. It only makes her want to pull him right back down to her. (And I could. Looking at him, she has the sensation that she could ask him to do just about anything at that moment, though she has no intention of testing that theory.)

But standing here isn't ideal, not when they have an entire empty, furnished house at their disposal. Dragging him upstairs is full of implications she's pretty sure she's not ready to make, but this room seems like fair game. Her hands slide over him--along the shivery skin of his neck, down over his collarbone--as she nods over toward the couch. Letting him go means ignoring every nerve in her body (God, it's really been a while since anyone made her feel this way, and she doesn't want to give it up), but it's not for long. She crosses the room, so she can flop down on the sofa cushions, and reaches a hand out to him. Come here.

Beth's response is everything he really wanted. That sound of her voice, the giggle that threatens (even if it is at his expense). Luke still feels a bit starstruck and bedazzled. She's not wrong - it would take a lot to snap him out of the funk he's in. Not that it's a bad thing. He thinks it's great. He's acutely aware that they're alone and equally aware that they both set it up this way. No one is going to come out here looking for them. No one is going to interrupt. They have - well. They have time.

That's something that he couldn't honestly say he had a few months back. So he wnats to enjoy it.

Which is why he's a bit disappointed when she pulls away, even with the ghost of her fingertips leaving goosebumps along the nape of his neck and against the curve of his collarbone. He follows her across the room and without much hesitation slides onto the couch with her, fingers interlacing with her's as he settles in against her. He tries to make it comfortable for the both of them, matching their bodies as best he can. Legs slide together and intertwine and even through cloth he can feel how warm she is and it makes every part of him want more. He slides his other hand up her side and then braces himself against the couch, holding himself above her as he dips down for another kiss.

It's just as electric as the last one and he can feel his toes clench and curl inside of his shoes.

It feels normal, stretching out on the couch together. It's something they could have done before, if he'd found his way down to Georgia, and that makes it feel like home. (And in the soft sunlight, inviting him over to a soft couch with a raise of her eyebrows, it's about as far from the hospital as it gets. It's nothing like being backed up against a desk in a dark room.) The sight of Luke following her is one that's full of tension, but only the nice kind. She's all bright anticipation, making room for him beside her.

She lifts her head to meet him halfway, the fingers of one hand stroking over his cheek as she kisses him. It's one she takes slow, letting it build until she's breathless and aching a little for something she hasn't wanted in months.

This time, when she pauses to catch a breath, it's with his lower lip trapped between her teeth. She pulls, gentle, and lets her teeth raze lightly over his skin as she lets him go. It doesn't occur to her until that moment to try it--but it feels right, playful and a little eager.

This does feel almost normal. Like something that might've happened back home with her (in another time, in another place). It pushes out all the thoughts of death that still hover perilously close, even in this little walled community, and allows him to just be. It's a good feeling, even if it's not a choice or something he brings up consciously. Instead, all of his attention and all of his actions are on her and the way she kisses him and the way her fingers slide against his skin. The kiss is breathless, sweet, and agonizing all at once. It builds, making his spine arch just slightly, hips dipping against her as they press closer.

Then there are teeth against his lip and he makes a low noise as she tugs against him -- part laugh, part noise of desire. His eyes flash as he stares down at her and then he leans down and kisses her again. It's harder, a bit more possessive, eager. His skin seems to be too tight to hold in all of the energy that wants to escape, that wants to find a way through him and into her. It's been -- well, a very long time since he's actually kissed to tried to hold someone like this and it means he's a bit clumsy about it.

His eagerness hopefully makes up for it. His hand finds her hip and then slides over the denim of her jeans and just under the hem of his shirts, moving cautiously, as if he doesn't want to push anything. His fingers ghost over bare skin where he finds it, fingertips curled as he starts to draw tiny little circles.

Beth doesn't mind clumsy--not when it's accompanied by that intent look in his eyes, never mind the sound he makes when she's got him trapped between her teeth. She smiles up at him, satisfied and a little proud of the reaction she got. The kiss is consuming, determined, the kind of thing you daydream about for a week after. Her fingers tangle in his hair, drawing him closer.

It's the hand on her side, pushing under her shirt, that makes her start, tensing up unpleasantly. And it's stupid, she's sure in retrospect that it's so stupid, but for a moment, all she can remember is Gorman's grasping touch and his breath in her ear. She turns her head away instinctively, her eyes squeezing shut, and tries to take a breath.

This isn't the same. This isn't him. This is somebody he likes, somebody she has no reason not to trust. Nothing about this is the same--he wasn't even touching her the same way, he was gentle. And she just freaked out over it, which she's pretty sure means they're done here. She gets a Too Weird To Make Out With label, and they try not to think about what happened next time they say hi to each other.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, risking a glance back Luke's way, trying to gauge just how embarrassing the end of this is. How do you explain look, I want to keep going, just not with your hand right there without sounding crazy? "I'm--um. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--" Screw all of this up.

For a moment, all is right with the world and Luke breathes in her scent, drinks down the taste of her lips. They're pressing closer and there are fingers twisted in his hair. He returns the all-consuming kiss, deepening it as they press closer - and then things spiral a bit out of control. He can feel the change in her before she says anything. The way her body tenses up and the way her hands move are different from before and then she's turning away from him.

Luke sits up and leans back to give her some space as the moment snaps and reality comes flooding back into the room, a mixture of confusion, shame, and disappointment all running through his head. He's blaming himself, mostly. He should've asked. He did something wrong. But she hadn't-

Well. She's not happy now and that's the important part, right? He's flushed and red-faced, partially in embarrassment, partially from all of the (ahem) activity. He watches her, brow furrowed as he tries to figure out what's going on and he almost runs into her apology with one of his own as they both speak up.

"No, it's fine - I'm sorry - I should've asked before I tried doing anything like that-"

He sounds sheepish, very much like the farmboy that he is (was). Why is she apologizing to him? She didn't do anything wrong, at least in his mind.

"I just thought - well, I wasn't thinking. Not with my head, anyway," he continues, face going even brighter red, "It's not your fault."

And here they are, tripping over one another's words.

Edited (Minor spelling) 2017-04-07 15:15 (UTC)

"No! No, it wasn't--it's not you--" God, she really doesn't want to get into it. The last thing she wants is to go through that agonizing time again, let alone in front of somebody she wants to kiss. More than kiss. They have all afternoon to themselves, and she wants to enjoy it however they end up using it. Digging all this up isn't going to make things more comfortable. "It's...complicated."

She's huddled herself against the arm of the sofa, her cheeks pink with embarrassment, arms crossed around her stomach. Looking at him, seeing the abashed way he stumbles over an apology, only makes this hard. The last thing she wants is for Luke to blame himself.

You could just explain part of it. He's smart, he can put two and two together. She just has to find a way to say it.

"I really...like you," she starts, then realizes it probably sounds like she's dumping him before they've even really been anything. "And I want to...to be here. With you. I was just--"

Surprised? Scared? Every word she can think of seems too small or too large, too melodramatic, to explain it. Beth sighs, trying to get someplace close enough to the truth that he doesn't have to guess. "It made me think of something else. It wasn't you, I swear."

Luke's found himself settled on the sofa. Not quite out of arm's reach, but giving her some space while they figure this out. He's nervous, more than a little embarrassed, and still kicking himself because he still figures he's done something wrong. He doesn't like that. He's found someone special and then something has to go and turn it into a complicated mess. He already has a complicated mess of a life. Why can't something be simple for once?

He rubs an arm, trying to think of what to say as he listens to her and they both stumble through the awkward moment, "Complicated...?"

Complicated sounds... not great. He's already running through alternatives and possibilities in his head, but then she says that she likes him and that just makes him a bit more confused, emotions seesawing between an emotional high and the emotional low of thinking he did something wrong.

"I really like you, too-" He starts to say (it's a teenage thing to say, too; specific enough to be safe and simultaneously not enough committal to be a threat) and then pauses as she goes on. He blinks and something finally clicks. It's not him. Something happened to her. The world outside is a nasty place. His expression wrestles with itself and then he scoots down the sofa to get a bit closer and he holds his arm open, offering a side to lean against and a shoulder where she can put her head.

"Hey, it's OK. We'll figure it out."

He knows they will, because that's the kind of person Luke is. He sort of wants to ask questions, but that's not his place, is it?

She can see the moment when a light flicks on behind his eyes, and he gets it--and it's like taking a breath after being held underwater. The relief is incredible; he doesn't have to hear the details because they don't have to keep talking about it. Luke understands at least a little.

(Someday, maybe they can talk about it--some other time, when it doesn't feel like this might be the only chance they'll get to say or do anything. Beth wants proof that there'll be other sunny, private afternoons before she wastes one.)

Tentatively, she shifts closer to him, wrapping her arms loosely around him and leaning in to kiss his cheek. Part of her doesn't want comfort, but most of her--well, most of her wants to stay as close to Luke as she can. He's not Gorman, this isn't Grady, and whatever happens next, it's going to be something they both want to do. "Okay."

She's quiet for a while, her cheek at his shoulder, while she tries to decide what, exactly, she wants. To keep kissing him--maybe to do more--and try not to think about anybody else. She's just not sure the sensation of her shirt bunching up around her middle is something she can take. It's such a small, stupid thing that it doesn't seem like it should make a difference. But somehow, it does. "We, um," she starts, then clears her throat and tries again. "We don't have to stop."

Luke lets out a breath that he didn't realize he was holding when she shifts closer and settles against him (and his cheeks burn all over again when she plants a kiss against one of them). He breathes out, breathes in, and tries to settle himself after that rather uncomfortable, awkward moment. He's not going to pry. If she wants to tell him, she will. Everyone has something uncomfortable in their past, especially now, after the world has gone to Hell in a handbasket.

He keeps his arm around her and draws her in close as they simple sit for a long moment, letting the mutual warmth of their bodies soak into one another. The nervous, awkward tension from that moment starts to bleed out, replaced by the earlier tension and excitement that came from talking to her, holding her, feeling her against him. It's a bit subdued, still, because boy, that had been a bit of a buzzkill. But all it really needs is some time.

Luke glances down at her as she starts to speak and he stifles a smile and plants a kiss against her temple, trying to figure out what to do next (where to go). They still have a sunny living room and a sofa and all the time in the world. He plants another kiss a bit lower down, trying to ease back into this.

"OK. Um."

He has to ask this, as awkward as it might possibly be.

"Is there... anything I shouldn't do or you don't want me to do? We could just stick with kissing, because - uh - I mean, I really like kissing you, so that's totally fine. I just - want to be sure I don't make you uncomfortable again."

Beth bites down on her lip, thinking about it. It is awkward, but not for anything he's done--the awkwardness comes from figuring out what's probably going to be a problem. She's genuinely not sure what might stop the afternoon dead again; she spends her time not thinking about this, when she can avoid it.

Maybe this is the only thing that's going to be a problem, touching her side. She wants to believe it will be--the last thing she wants is to freeze up again. And she can't foresee anything else bothering her, except things they're nowhere near.

"Just, um." She scrunches her nose, trying to decide how to put it, watching him from the corner of her eye. "If you don't go up my shirt from--you know, the side." And then, her expression going sheepish, she adds, "If it's in the way, I can take it off. Okay?"

Is saying that too much? It feels like it could be, but it's the truth, isn't it? And she suspects that keeping close to the truth is going to make things easier.

Well, that basically puts it forward in a rather blunt way, doesn't it? Luke's face is on its way to being bright red again and he coughs to try and cover up how awkward that question feels and how he's trying to figure out how to answer it. On the one hand, uh, yes. He would love to get closer to her and touch more of her and do more, but at the same time, is he rushing things? If he says, "yes, please" is that going to be too much? He juggles the possibilities in his mind, as only a young man with limited experience can do.

He squeezes her shoulders as he stumbles over the first few words of his reply, "You don't - I mean, I think - I'd like that, but you don't have to. If it's too fast or uncomfortable, we can just leave it. I don't want to - you know - put too much pressure or anything."

Luke feels a bit mortified.

"I can, uh... take mine off, too. If you want."

Is this moving too fast? Maybe it's moving too fast. He doesn't know.

She grins, a little embarrassed but mostly pleased--and, sorry Luke, a little amused. He couldn't really give her a better answer if he tried; the way he says it, she could get up right now, and she's about as certain as she can be that he'd let her go. But if she stays...he'd like it if she'd stay, she can see that much. It's just about bursting out of his skin, that hesitant desire, blunted only because he wants them both to want it.

And she does. If there's one thing she wants to trust in right now, it's her feelings for him--and right now, she really, really likes Luke.

Her gaze drifts over his chest, considering for a moment, and then she nods--quickly, decidedly. She wants to remember what it's like to want someone touching her body. Getting to put her hands all over his isn't a bad bonus.

With a little breath, she pulls her shirt off over her head, leaving her in the first nice bra she's owned in years: clean, not a sports bra, tiny flowers printed on the fabric. For now, she leaves it on--if they get that far, and it seems like they might, they get that far--and looks expectantly at him. Your turn.

There's a few moments where he's nervous and entirely sure that one of the best people that he's ever met is simply going to reject him, push him away, do anything other than what she does. Which is nod and slip her shirt over her head. For a moment he blinks and he can't help but stare. She's... beautiful, as far as he's concerned. Even with the ravages that life in the aftermath has left on all of them, he still finds her incredibly attractive. He hasn't looked at many bras in his life, but he notices the flowers on this one - and the way that she fills it out. It takes him a second or two for his brain to catch up and he finally glances up to meet her eyes (and feeling sheepish for just staring) and finds the expectant look she's giving him.

He swallows, that nervous, electric energy slowly reasserting itself. The air in the room feels heavy and charged, as every movement might be able to actually give off sparks. He leans back slightly and tugs his shirt over his head and lets it join hers on the floor. There's no real underwear to speak of, but he's fit. Lean and athletic, with a thin dusting of hair covering his belly button and trailing under the waistline of his jeans. There are scars here and there - little bruises and half-healed wounds from his time outside. He settles, gives her a chance to look, and then slides forward, offering her his hand in a tentative invitation.

He's going to let her lead. At least until he's sure that he's not about to do something wrong again.

Anyone could have predicted that under those shirts and jeans, Luke's going to look pretty good. He does every odd job the Alexandrians ask of him, and plenty of those involve hard work outdoors. But God, she didn't expect him to be this handsome. He's strong without being musclebound, he's not too hairy (because ew, too much chest hair), and really, it's just all of him when you get down to it. She's willing to be there's not an inch of him that isn't attractive.

And he was just looking at her like she's more than just skin and bone and sinew (and scrawny skin and bone, at that--she doesn't have any delusions of curviness at this point). Like they've both survived for years just to get to this point. At this moment, watching the light hit Luke's skin, it feels like nearly everything was worth it, if it got them to this point.

(Nearly. But everything that doesn't qualify doesn't need to be dredged up again.)

Beth takes his hand, looking up from his breastbone into his bright blue eyes once more, and leans in for a kiss. A soft one, as tentative as everything else has been since things got weird. But there nonetheless, as there as her hand on his bare chest, right over his heart.

Luke's not sure he'd call her scrawny. Lithe, maybe. Wiry? Slender? Whatever it is, he thinks she's incredibly attractive. If he didn't, he wouldn't be here with her. His breath wouldn't be catching in his throat and maybe he'd be able to take his eyes off of her. She's warm and loving and she makes him laugh and she's smart and right now he wouldn't trade her for the world. The thought doesn't even cross his mind. Instead, he gives her hand a warm, tight squeeze as she leans in and he meets her half way.

He sinks into the kiss with a low sigh, fingers curling as her hand settles against his bare chest. It's been - well. No one's touched him like this in a long, long time. He tries not to think about that, though. Instead, he focuses on the way her lips feel against his and the way he can smell the soap she uses and the faint tang of sweat. His free hand brushes hair back out of her face and then settles on her shoulder as he starts to deepen the kiss, teasing at her lower lip with his teeth in an effort to repay her for earlier.

His heart is beating just her her hand and he shifts his weight, tugging her closer, almost (no almost about it, honestly) urging her to slip into his lap. They're close; he wants to be closer.

His lap is perfect, as it happens--she doesn't need too much encouragement to slide over and straddle his hips. It keeps them close, closer than before, but she's the one on top. There's a sense of control there, a reminder that everything's happening on her say-so. Ideally, she wouldn't need the reassurance, but in the meantime, it's really nice.

As nice as his mouth on hers, nipping at her lower lip until she makes a satisfied little noise in the back of her throat. Some things, he's definitely not clumsy about. She knows this is perfect when she stops thinking about it--sitting with him, being able to get up if she needs to, where his hands are, all of it--and just feels it. His heartbeat under her fingertips, the taste of his mouth on her lips, the warmth of his body where it's pressed against hers, even through a few layers of denim.

Slowly, she settles back into where they were, with languorous kisses that don't lack for intensity. Letting go of his hand, she lets her fingers trail up his arm and wrap lightly around his bicep. Her hips rock up against his once, testing out the sensation (and his reaction).

Feeling her slide into his lap is amazing. He leans back slightly to accept her weight, scooting himself against the back of the sofa for some support. It's a pleasant, warm feeling to have her against him, weight settled against his thighs and hips. I'ts intimate, far more so than him leaning over her. It feels right and he savors it, especially when she makes that little noise at the back of her throat. It sends a shudder through him and causes his fingers to tighten against hers and tocurl against her shoulder, at least until it moves trailing the tips of his nails up and down her upper arm.

Once her hand leaves his, it finds his way to the small of her back and then up her spine and over to settle against her shoulder-blade. He breathes out against her lips with a little, barely-there sound of pleasure - and then something louder, a moan, as her hips rock against his. Even through layers of denim and cloth, he can feel the warmth and heat of her body and the friction she brings still slides agonizingly against his growing arousal. His jeans feel far too tight for this, even if the sensation of grinding is one he tries to hold onto. Pressure and heat just aren't quite enough and he responds with one of his own, rolling his hips up against her, tugging her down as his kiss turns hungrier, tongue seeking entry.

He needs to find an outlet for this energy, but he also doesn't want to move too fast. It's a tough balancing act...

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sorry for the delay

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This thread gives me life

you and me both, friend

Awkward teenagers <3

uh, excuse you, they are obviously Very Mature Adults lmao

Re: uh, excuse you, they are obviously Very Mature Adults lmao

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