[It takes precisely one little dusting of his thumb along her wrist for Aerith to take a moment to reassess what she means to do. If he didn't enjoy it, he'd simply tell her. Aerith knows at least that much.
He tests her discipline and each moment she catches herself attempting to draw her thighs together, she manages to keep herself from doing just such a thing. In a way, maybe the lack of their banter leaves her feeling more uncertain. Nervous. At least otherwise, she can laugh a bit about it all. In the present, the only thing she can focus on is the intense heat of his mouth and the ever-present throb of her heart.
It's near deafening, truly.
Her lean frame curves beneath his touch, the spread of his fingers atop her belly and she looses a breath she's likely held onto. It'd be all too easy to praise him, to tell him that she likes the feel of his hands upon her, that she does enjoy the sensation of his lips upon her. But somehow encouraging those from her is not an easy task to accomplish.
Aerith slides a hand over his, gently grasping it. The hand she's tangled in his hair, leaves affectionate touch against him. Nothing too hard. Nothing to hurt. Nothing to cause discomfort. Purely adoration. Devotion. The more romantic things that perhaps may not be compatible with such... exchanges. Although lust is a close accompaniment to romance. To have one is not to have the absence of the other.
These kinds of thoughts are too deep for someone like her to have.]
...Balthier...
[Because at least she can say that. In the soft, gentle way that she does, bleeding the affection that she otherwise doesn't have the courage to display.]
no subject
He tests her discipline and each moment she catches herself attempting to draw her thighs together, she manages to keep herself from doing just such a thing. In a way, maybe the lack of their banter leaves her feeling more uncertain. Nervous. At least otherwise, she can laugh a bit about it all. In the present, the only thing she can focus on is the intense heat of his mouth and the ever-present throb of her heart.
It's near deafening, truly.
Her lean frame curves beneath his touch, the spread of his fingers atop her belly and she looses a breath she's likely held onto. It'd be all too easy to praise him, to tell him that she likes the feel of his hands upon her, that she does enjoy the sensation of his lips upon her. But somehow encouraging those from her is not an easy task to accomplish.
Aerith slides a hand over his, gently grasping it. The hand she's tangled in his hair, leaves affectionate touch against him. Nothing too hard. Nothing to hurt. Nothing to cause discomfort. Purely adoration. Devotion. The more romantic things that perhaps may not be compatible with such... exchanges. Although lust is a close accompaniment to romance. To have one is not to have the absence of the other.
These kinds of thoughts are too deep for someone like her to have.]
...Balthier...
[Because at least she can say that. In the soft, gentle way that she does, bleeding the affection that she otherwise doesn't have the courage to display.]