[It will be a strange bruise. He will note its shape and the development of its darkening color around his wrist as the days pass, as well as how it fades. But right now, the pressure is a footnote in his mind — more encouragement, more sensation when his body aches for it. (Though admittedly in far warmer, far more throbbing places.)
He huffs a little when they part from their kiss, low and vacillating somewhere between bemused and impatient. She does not touch him—no tension to be released there anytime soon—but instead loosens the fabric around his hand, giving him more clearance.]
You torture me.
[Hardly a complaint, though. If he’s been granted more space, then is he not obligated to quest further, dive in deeper?
Sholmes presses closer, and in that some motion, slips a finger into her.]
no subject
He huffs a little when they part from their kiss, low and vacillating somewhere between bemused and impatient. She does not touch him—no tension to be released there anytime soon—but instead loosens the fabric around his hand, giving him more clearance.]
You torture me.
[Hardly a complaint, though. If he’s been granted more space, then is he not obligated to quest further, dive in deeper?
Sholmes presses closer, and in that some motion, slips a finger into her.]