[For Rogue]
From here. Rogue let out a long, soft sound into his mouth and shivered. Warm calloused hands were dragging cool grains of sand along sun-heated and unfailingly sensitive skin. It was amazing. She drew the toe of one boot along his leg and slid the inside of her other knee against his hip, and splayed her fingers against the corners of his jaw and his neck to kiss him back, coaxing and hard and sweet. She kissed him like she wanted him, which she had for a while without managing to ever think on it too closely. She drank him in.
It's a good way to be kissed; it may well be Spike's favourite way, sweetness and force all bound up together.
He's said it before, and it bears repeating: he loves a girl that can kick his ass.
He loves it even more when instead of that, she's kissing him like that and shifting under him in the sand, skin warm against his palms; he slides them around to her front, and up, sitting up a little to push her shirt to her shoulders, where her arms get in the way.
Bad arms.
It's a good way to be kissed; it may well be Spike's favourite way, sweetness and force all bound up together.
He's said it before, and it bears repeating: he loves a girl that can kick his ass.
He loves it even more when instead of that, she's kissing him like that and shifting under him in the sand, skin warm against his palms; he slides them around to her front, and up, sitting up a little to push her shirt to her shoulders, where her arms get in the way.
Bad arms.