@encreved : “please just kiss me, i can't stand it.” || te lo lancio e scappo
please, please, please 𓇢𓆸 accepting ;;
She finds it grating — the way he says that, how he leans forward to reach her and tease her — but that's merely on a physical level. The rest, he makes it quite clear, is up to her. And yet he has the courage — the fool that he is — to plead and beg like a wretched man; but he cannot fool her: she has seen and known that desperation before, though she rarely indulged it, or in it herself. No — there's a plan brewing in that mind, a scheme behind the smile and the suffering note in his voice. It can be unbecoming, and pitiable — sometimes laughable. For now though, the man simply grates on her nerves.
The way he looks at her and smirks like he knows already what's bound to happen, and is just testing her. She's a resolute kind of girl, but driven by competition; if he makes it almost look and sound like a dare, that hint of amusement and challenge behind the plea could become quite the siren's call to resist. And he knows, or he would have done it himself, already. She doesn't know what to make of him when he acts that insufferable, truly — when he's swayed by impatience mixed with desire.
She frowns, her level gaze fades. Unfair — simply unfair. The thought doesn't bother her so much as it sets her off. Her right hand shoots up — not to caress, nor to fondle or touch, but to grab of his chin and jaw, like a trainer catching the gaze of an unruly beast would do. It does not serve quite the same purpose here, for they have been staring straight into each other's eyes already; but it steadies her, and him too — and she hopes it might also wipe some of the embarrassing redness from his cheeks. Unfortunately, it almost serves instead as a clear sign of her intentions to the man, perhaps, whose mouth barely curves into a victorious grin.
Oh, it annoys her to no end. It truly does. ❛ Merde alors, ❜ she simply hisses, nose slightly wrinkling at her shifting expression, as her fingers press a little tighter against his defined jawbone. ❛ Asking, asking — a girl no less. Just to gloat about this later, I bet. ❜ And even then — what is it he cannot stand anymore, exactly ? If he thinks his begging can wash his hands of it all, he's sorely mistaken.
So she drags him down, closer to her height and to her visage, then tilts his head with her hand — fingers rigid like the talons of a bird of prey — turning it slightly to the side for an easier contact. It comes soon after. And when her lips meet his, the kiss inevitably is charged with the unsaid; each passing second of that touch grows less intense, but a bit sweeter. One responds, the other deepens it — till everything else fades away when it lingers longer than she'd thought, and she finally releases his chin, with racing heart but untouched pride.
As they break apart at last, and she finds him close, uncharacteristically silent after that lingering kiss and a deep breath, it's her turn to smirk, though still a little dazed, and flushed crimson. ❛ Feeling better, now ? ❜
