[His weight presses into her hands and just that careful curl of his touch about her wrist sends a subtle little shudder up along the small of her back. From there, it spreads up along her and stretches out over her shoulders, leaving her, in part, pleasantly numb. For those moments, at any rate. Aerith's fingertips curl in ever slight against his chest, scar and muscle alike.
How is it possible for her to be anymore enamoured with him than she already is? He's the very portrait of attraction, housing an expression that harbours so many different, overwhelming sentiments. She doubts she could properly separate them if she genuinely tried, much less to identify them.
Still listening through the undeniable fuzzy that sentimentality and want can sometimes wrap his words in, she nods slowly. He draws touch along her thigh and though muscle instinctively flexes beneath his reverence, purely anticipation as it ever is with him, her gaze softens. The flush draped over her skin deepens.]
Every time you say that...
['Relax.' It's almost like some kind of code word that he uses before he does something that he likely shouldn't be doing. Or something they likely shouldn't be doing. Although in retrospect, considering the way things are at present, there's probably no such thing as should or its counterpart. There is do or don't.
His lips touch to the inner of her knee and for just a moment, her pulse jumps. Perhaps a moment and then some.]
...Balthier...
[It's only a kiss, but it feels so much more weighted. Her hands tighten along him before she presses more properly, perhaps more hungry for him than she's really willing to admit. A desert parched that can only be sated by him, though she'd never say it like that. Whatever it is, whatever that pull, that attraction, that desire to repeat moments where she cannot determine heartbeat from heartbeat, Aerith feels it quite clearly. It's a thing she's never asked for. A thing she's never expected. Yet he dangles it right before her.
no subject
How is it possible for her to be anymore enamoured with him than she already is? He's the very portrait of attraction, housing an expression that harbours so many different, overwhelming sentiments. She doubts she could properly separate them if she genuinely tried, much less to identify them.
Still listening through the undeniable fuzzy that sentimentality and want can sometimes wrap his words in, she nods slowly. He draws touch along her thigh and though muscle instinctively flexes beneath his reverence, purely anticipation as it ever is with him, her gaze softens. The flush draped over her skin deepens.]
Every time you say that...
['Relax.' It's almost like some kind of code word that he uses before he does something that he likely shouldn't be doing. Or something they likely shouldn't be doing. Although in retrospect, considering the way things are at present, there's probably no such thing as should or its counterpart. There is do or don't.
His lips touch to the inner of her knee and for just a moment, her pulse jumps. Perhaps a moment and then some.]
...Balthier...
[It's only a kiss, but it feels so much more weighted. Her hands tighten along him before she presses more properly, perhaps more hungry for him than she's really willing to admit. A desert parched that can only be sated by him, though she'd never say it like that. Whatever it is, whatever that pull, that attraction, that desire to repeat moments where she cannot determine heartbeat from heartbeat, Aerith feels it quite clearly. It's a thing she's never asked for. A thing she's never expected. Yet he dangles it right before her.
...How can she possibly resist him?]