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[He's...really cute.

She just said that to him, but she thinks it again as she watches him nod in this way that reminds her of a turtle trying to hide its head. It's awfully charming coming from someone who was teasing her about bringing him to heel.

She gives his hand a squeeze in return as she reaches out to set the rest of the churros on the table. Sugar goes pretty much everywhere in the process, but she's only looking at him as she places them down, soft fondness overlaying the steady thrum of want in her heart. This funny thing where he flirts with her and then totally loses it after she doubles down on it— it's an achingly familiar dance, and suddenly it's got her all warm and sentimental. This is someone she knows well with every part of her being; body, mind, and soul.

So maybe it's ridiculous, but she doesn't really care. She loves him, and she wants to make him feel good. They'll have to sneak around a little bit, but that just adds to the fun!

She tips her face towards his in invitation, her smile small but bright.] Will a kiss make you feel better?

[Will a kiss make him feel better. He almost laughs even though it'd be at his own expense; does smile, a crooked self-deprecating thing even as he can't stop staring at her mouth. So soft.]

I . . . yeah. Always.

[There are more words in there, somewhere. He wants to draw them out into the open. But impulse and need take him over briefly, the offer too good to pass up. It's not as though he's wanting for opportunities to kiss her, she's always eager, but this feels special, a sweet counterbalance to all the teasing.]

[When he kisses her, it's with a soft, almost pained noise, the Oath-beat of want getting louder the moment their lips touch. He's bigger than her, but he kisses her so softly, opening himself up to her in a way he'd have a hard time describing in words. The way he lingers on her bottom lip, nibbles gently rather than biting or pulling, licks his way into her mouth but not too far before drawing back and inviting her in with a tip of his head—]

[He's full of such wistful need for her to pull him apart. He doesn't know why. He just wants so badly to be in her hands.]

. . . I don't feel bad, though. [Mumbled against her mouth as he takes in a ragged breath.] I like it when you do that — mess me up like that. Feels good.

[He thinks maybe he needs it. Something to think about later, when he isn't thinking about how bad he wants her to touch him.]

[The way he kisses her makes her heart clench in her chest in a way she both knows and doesn't. The underlying pulse of want is nearly suffocating, yearning that she can't see the bottom of, and she can't comprehend that it's for her. It's impossible to wrap her mind around, even though a part of her recognizes it. As much as she wants to take a deep breath and jump into it, even though she knows she'll jump in the end, there are remnants in her of an instinct to back away from the edge.

She's pliant as he moves in, encouraging the slow, gentle way he advances with a tender sigh. When he invites her back, the slow-building momentum carries her forward; there's a little bit of firmness, a little hunger in the way she shapes her lips to his and dips her tongue in to taste him.

Because she feels that need. She can't conceptualize it in so many words, but— he needs something, and that's the real reason she knows she's going to jump in. Because he's trusting her to give him what he needs, whatever it is. How could she ever back away from trust like that?

They don't-quite-break for air, and she's smiling when he speaks.] Ehe. It's fun when you do it to me too.

[She wants him to know that, so it's worth saying, but she's pretty sure it's her turn to make a mess right now.

Her fingers squeeze tighter around his hand, accompanied by another soft bubble of laughter.] I know thirty minutes isn't very long but I promise I'll mess you up as much as I can. Maybe I could do it twice and give us an hour!

[Maybe, she says, like it's a gamble. She's pretty sure she's strong enough to do it twice. But it's kind of exciting not to know too, isn't it?]

[The way she says it, somewhere in the nexus of a theoretical, a tease, and a reward, makes him instinctively lean into her further, almost going for a kiss. Almost, but not quite. His lips brush hers before he breathes in sharply and rests his forehead against hers.]

[She knows, he thinks, that he'd be desperately happy with anything she wanted to give him. He's so confident in that that he doesn't bother clarifying — he can feel it. But the way she's dangling this in front of him does demand a response, so . . .]

Yeah. Yeah, maybe. I guess—

[Damn. He swallows hard.]

Guess it depends how I do.

[It doesn't. It's absolutely not conditional. But it's nice to think it does, in a warm way that he can't yet entirely wrap his head around.]

[Oh.

Yeah, she likes that.

She looks at him with wide eyes, taken for a moment by the heavy note of want in her own heart. There's no way she's going to manage this with any kind of composure; she's just too excitable to manage an act of ice-cold confidence or discipline.

But he'd know that about her, right? So it's okay. She'll just do her best in her own way.

She closes in for a real kiss, messy and needy but painfully brief; when she pulls back, she's grinning, a mischievous sparkle in her eye.] Don't worry. I know you'll do a really good job for me.

[Composure's overrated. He likes her like this: needy and happy and overflowing with feeling. That's who she is; that's why he loves her. There's something so gentle and healing about her, nobody how she feels or what she's doing. Everything she does makes him better.]

[This, too. The way she kisses him and pulls away too quickly, leaving him wanting, that's good. The way she grins at him pulls the floor out from under him, and that's good too. And what she says—]

[Makes him whine, actually, flustered and impatient.] Come on. [This is cruel and unusual punishment.]

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