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[protegge]

[the chorus of blondie's CALL ME, sung extremely poorly but with great enthusiasm]

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[hxppythxughts]

[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?]

[protegge]

[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.]

[hxppythxughts]

[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.

[protegge]

[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.]