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[protegge]

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

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[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.]