(no subject)
Between the way that the rain was heavily pattering against the window pane, leaving trails as the thick drops trickled down the glass, and the way that the dimming springtime light was shining through it, it almost made Allen's face look like it was marred with many, many scars, rather than just the one.
Gray eyes were watching her, sleepy and dazed beneath white lashes. Gloved hands were sliding over her hips, keeping her close and yet keeping her away. White hair tickled the back of her hands, damp and cool and leaving her feeling almost giddy. Had she really made him... feel that good?
Her legs curled tighter on either side of his hips at the thought, bringing her closer to him, and there was a moment of frustration in the fact that he was still wearing black slacks. Even she had found it in herself to squirm out of her knickers before she had slipped into his lap like this.
... so close... too close.
Goodness, how she didn't like the way those eyes were watching her. Glazed that they were, tired and not-quite-fully-aware, she didn't like the way that peering into them made her feel so...
.... small? Human?
A hand - the right one, the human one - came up and a gloved palm touched her cheek. She made a sound - a soft grunt of frustration - and tried to tilt away from it.
Anything to pull her gaze away from those eyes.
No.
The gloved fingers caught her chin to keep her in place, to keep her gaze locked on his. If she were anyone else, she would have brought it upon herself to look away. If he were anyone else, she would have brought it upon herself to make him know exactly how much she did not like this. Not at all. Not when they were so close.
But she didn't have to like it; not when she needed it. Needed this. Being so close and tangled.
He grunted and gritted his teeth when her fingers caught the back of his collar and she pushed him harder against the side of the bed. Stop that. Those eyes - the ones she didn't want to keep looking at and yet couldn't pull away from - hardened and the fingers around her chin tightened.
Her hips shifted, rocking against him, into him. One of the hands on her hips shuddered before correcting itself and laying flat again.
And that was that. A push and pull. A give and take. A slow and measuring and steadily-building struggle.
Golden eyes flashed, and once again she tried to tuck her chin away from his fingers; not that he was going to yield. As if a warning, her right hand came from around the back of his neck and curled around the strip of red satin tied in a (loosening) bow around his collar. She had half a mind to yank at it, to show him his place, and surprised herself when one of her fingers dipped into a loop and delicately slipped the ribbon free. She let it slip out of her grasp when it finally came free, and it fell into small pile over her thigh - goosebumps erupted over her skin from it, not unlike the surface of a pond after a rock had been dropped into the water.
His gaze shifted. From hard -- daring -- to...
... questioning?
Ah, that's what's next?
The gloved fingers slipped from her cheek and found the ribbon tied around her own neck. They played at the loops for a moment before --
Stop.
The hand that had slipped the ribbon free came up to catch his hand. The glove was hot to the touch, but soft, and slightly smudged with goodness knew what. Her thumb brushed over the palm.
"Ah."
It was a heavy sound. Unsure. She had done something that confused him, and no, she wasn't really sorry about it at all.
They had been here before, just like this. Her legs folded over his, both of them wrapped up in the warmth of one another, staring each other down in a silent battle of wits. But this, right now was different. Even she could feel it, and it was alarming that she couldn't put her finger on just what was so different than before.
Or maybe she did.
Her hand slipped to the fingertips of his gloves, pinching the end and giving it a gentle tug. The fabric caught briefly, almost seeming to resist her tug, until finally it came free and she held her arm out to drop the glove onto the floor.
She held her breath as his knuckles brushed over her cheek, and she gritted her teeth as warm skin brushed over hers. A shiver - unpleasant, but not entirely - raced over her spine and she tucked her head down, effectively breaking their gaze.
He was holding his breath too. Or, at least, she was almost sure of it.
There was a pause before his fingers came back up again, brushing at the hair falling around her face. He was smiling; soft and light. Reassuring? Or attempting to be, beneath the apparent confusion. Why was she letting him do this again?
I know, they were saying. I know.
Her eyes remained locked on his as she tilted her head toward the fingers brushing over her cheek.
Defiant. Daring.
Wary.
One of her hands slipped to his fingers at her hip, pinching the tip of the glove and giving it a tug.