It was an overwhelming emotion.
One she didn't understand herself, but it needed to be expressed. And weren't they a form of creativity~? Such strangeness, foreign, to be coursing through her ink-like body. Gripping her r e d heart, letting the bleak liquid seep and drip.
She finds she can't control it.
It's run wild, free, rampant like the mad dashes of an inspired painter on a blank canvas.
He is working, as always, perpetual nitpicking at the gears and flow of steady time. P e r f e c t i o n. She dismisses it all, only fueled on by what plagues her new-found senses, her wet heart.
Black arms reach out towards him, hands attempting to cup his face to turn and look at her; away from what his priorities are. Rage would follow suit, but she cared not.
What sickness this was, indeed. To be expressed fully, to feed her hungering heart that howled for only him.
She leans in, obsidian lips parting as her breath hitched slightly, she can feel a sear of heat on her cheeks as if someone came to set them aflame from a candle's caress. And that heart, oh, how it growls.
And she does. However painfully slow, she is inticed, lulled, by that subtle ticking therein his being; his breathing and the gleam in his eyes. Darling, dear...Please, wait.
You always said to have patience.
Her lips are on his before he can react, chaste and sweet. The swelling of her heart rising as she deepens it, pressing forward and letting loose those jovial feelings that released like a cascade of fleeting butterflies. She does not burn him, nor scald, if at anything; there is but a nice, warmth stemming from those toxic lips. Perhaps he would compare it to oil that soothed gears.
After a moment, she pulls away suddenly. Backing up from him, "̩̙͈̩̝I̹̠̙̘̪̫̟.̙.̥.̲͎͉̣̻̥"͇͎͉̪
When will this malady cease? Oh, hungering heart!
[ I lost control, she wanted to do this. H e l p ]
A sharp irritation grips him as he’s turned away suddenly, so consumed in his work, in his daily plan he had failed to notice her presence. Its always the time he’s most vulnerable which she makes her move, hollow eyes meeting one another, his head within her grasp. But before his words could slip their way off of his tongue, words of question with a crude harshness to them, their lips meet in union.
Cool ink brushes upon thin blue flesh; his guard never ceases for the first moments. He always expects the burn, the distraction and the inevitable defeat of what he was doing; throwing his ever-planned schedule off. Yet it does not come, instead only warm liquid greets him, soft, and dare he admit, soothing. Perhaps he takes in the moment, emotions ebbing through her actions.
Hm.
Strange, was it not? What trickery was she playing? A new game,? Some creative pursuit unbeknownst to him?
Curious, how curious. But for all his suspicion, how was he letting this continue on? To waste his time, sending him spiraling into delay, or worse, being late. And the hands of the clock resisting the urge to return gestures; a forsaken surprise meshing with actions and expressions. His own ticking was a noise he had grown accustomed to, the sound hardly reaching his ears, yet in the growing seconds he could have swore it had been growing louder. Noticeable ticks and tocks through the span of the seconds she held him to her.
No, it was not only her who was keeping him here, he would have gotten out so easily, like numerous times prior.
She pulled back, stepping away with such a conflicted expression on her creative features, a single muttered syllable leaving those wet lips. A hand slowly reached his touched lips, to wipe away what had been left from her display of affection.
The Cheshire she was, a game it might be. But what sort of game? What was her goal?
Shush now, those ticks and tocks were still echoing in his own ears; delaying a response, growing silence betwixt the two. A mocking clearing of his throat, slight and quick before he speaks.
"Friend, is something amiss? Interrupting my work with a kiss?"
